Page 42 of A Christmas Miracle for the Frosty Marquess
To Clara’s surprise, Julian nodded in agreement with his cousin.
“I am certain that it will be,” he said, giving Clara another tingle-inducing smile.
Stephen clapped his hands together.
“Well, we best be off,” he said. “We have a long day ahead.”
Hannah nodded, carrying an armful of baskets into the room.
“I will be making a few deliveries myself,” she said, handing a note to Clara. “As for the rest of you, I thought that Elizabeth and Stephen could pair up, as could Thomas and Mary, and you and Julian. The village is hardly the biggest in London, but there are places where the three pairs could split off and get all the houses on the streets that I have written down taken care of a little faster. Does that suit everyone well enough?”
Everyone nodded, and Clara thought that Julian’s smile got bigger still. Clara noticed the flush in Mary’s cheeks when Thomas offered her his arm with a charming smile. She wondered if there might be a connection between the two, as she had never seen her friend smile at a gentleman the way she was at Thomas. With a palpable sense of unity, they set about loading the dogcart with baskets.
The crisp winter air was invigorating as they made their way toward the impoverished district. Muffled laughter and the occasional Christmas carol filled the atmosphere, and Clara couldn’t help but feel uplifted by the infectious merriment. The festivities of the season seemed to reflect in everyone’s faces. Even Julian appeared thoroughly swept up in the joviality.
As they reached their first stop, Clara descended from the cart, her skirts catching briefly on the wooden step. Before she could disentangle herself, Julian was at her side, effortlessly freeing the fabric.
“My thanks, Julian,” she said, her heart feeling dangerously fluttery.
Julian smiled slowly at her, taking her hand to ensure that she found the snowy ground with her feet safely.
“Think nothing of it,” he said, and for a moment, their eyes locked. An unspoken sentiment seemed to pass between them. And then it was gone, replaced by the urgent reality of their charitable mission.
Throughout the day, as they visited household after household, Clara felt increasingly grateful for Julian’s presence. He was attentive and gentle, not just with her, but with everyone they met. It endeared him to her in a way that was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. And yet, amid the backdrop of impoverished cottages and gleaming eyes of grateful children, she wondered what could bloom between them.
But as the dogcart pulled up in front of a particularly humble dwelling, a sense of unease tugged at Clara. The house stood as a crumbling edifice to poverty, its walls peeling, its windows grimy. Her hand trembled ever so slightly as she knocked on the door, which swung open to reveal a scene that made her heart plummet into her stomach. A muffled voice called to them from inside, and Clara slowly opened the door. It was all she could do not to gasp as she did so.
Stepping inside, her eyes met a distressing tableau. On a bed that was little more than a collection of straw and old blankets, lay a woman, who Clara presumed was called Agnes. Her skin was the color of parched paper, and her eyes were dim with sickness. A group of children huddled close to their mother, their faces drawn and etched with lines far too mature for their tender years.
Clara felt a pang of apprehension tighten around her chest. She stole a quick glance at Julian, who looked equally perturbed. Turning back to the room, she forced a smile.
“Good morning. We’ve brought some food and necessities,” she said, fighting to sound calm.
Agnes tried to sit up but could barely manage.
“God bless you,” she said, her voice frail but filled with gratitude.
As Thomas and Mary, who had joined them, started unloading the basket, Julian knelt beside the bed, examining Agnes’s condition with a grim expression. Clara felt a sudden flush of admiration for him. Julian, despite his past self-isolation, had a heart capable of profound compassion. He used his wrist to feel the temperature of Agnes’s forehead, then hurried across the sagging house to fetch a cloth to dampen. He put it on the woman’s forehead, and she closed her eyes. For a terrible moment, Clara thought she might never open them again.
“You should have a doctor see you,” Julian quietly told Agnes.
“I’ve no money for a physician,” Agnes said with resignation, her words followed by a harsh, wet cough.
Clara watched the exchange, her heart swelling with an emotion she couldn’t readily name. As she met Julian’s eye, she knew he was thinking the same as her. They needed to do more than just deliver a basket here. They needed to find a way to save a woman’s life.
Her mind raced with possibilities. Could the vicarage sponsor medicine or a visit to a physician? Did they have enough time to find out before it was too late for the poor woman? The questions loomed large, but at that moment, in that dilapidated room filled with despair, they felt monumentally small.
A youthful voice snapped her back to the present. One of Agnes’s children, a girl no older than seven, was trying to get Clara’s attention.
“Will Mama be alright?” she asked, sounding so frightened that Clara nearly scooped up the child and cradled her to her chest.
Clara felt her eyes mist over as she knelt beside the young girl.
“We’re going to do everything we can to help,” she said, praying that she wasn’t promising more than they could deliver.
The child nodded, but her expression was filled with doubt. Clara did the only thing she could think of to do, which was retrieve the cookies from the basket she was carrying and handing them to the child. The little girl smiled, but it was weak and full of distress. It was all Clara could do to not burst into tears.
As she stood up, she felt Julian’s hand lightly touch her arm, his eyes meeting hers in a silent communication of shared purpose. As she looked at him, who was no longer just the dashing man who’d fled the vicarage, but also a man of depth and compassion, she felt determination building. She didn’t know what they could do for poor Agnes. But she could see that Julian was as bent on doing anything possible as she was.
