Page 32 of A Christmas Miracle for the Frosty Marquess
She looked momentarily surprised, as though she hadn’t been expecting his response. He hadn’t either, of course. He was once more surprised with himself for mentioning his mother.
“Your mother was a wise woman,” she said with a sweet smile. “She was very kind, as well.”
He chuckled softly, the tension easing.
“She was,” he said.And I see that you are, as well,he added silently, surprising himself for a third time that day.
The silence that settled between them after the brief conversation was pleasant and comfortable. Julian worked to steady his breathing. He wondered at himself for what he had shared with Clara. But he also found that he didn’t regret it.
The sun streamed in through the open windows, casting a warm golden hue on the wooden floor of the sitting room. If he couldn’t see out of the window just to his left, he might have forgotten it was winter. The atmosphere was light, the hum of gentle conversations filling the air, punctuated by the occasional laughter. Julian stood at the table, slowly working on his first basket.
It had been years since he made baskets with his mother. But he found that he was recalling the skill quickly. The room smelled faintly of lavender and freshly baked bread, a combination he found both comforting and invigorating, which helped add to his budding delight in his task.
Before he knew it, he was finished with his first basket. He looked up, seeing the stack of baskets in the center of the table. He reached for another one, not seeing Clara’s hand doing the same until he had brushed against it. As each time before, there was a jolt through his body, sending tingles from head to toe.
He looked up abruptly, his eyes locking onto Clara’s. For a moment, everything around them seemed to blur and fade, leaving just the two of them in a world of their own. He didn’t understand the feeling. But he was happy to remain lost in it for a moment.
The sensation, the recognition of something profound, shook him to his core. He truly saw Clara, not just as the girl he’d grown up with, but someone who held depths of character, passion, and integrity. She was a mirror to the virtues his mother had held dear. His breath caught, and all he could do was stare at his childhood friend, and soon to be bride, in awe.
Mother would have fully endorsed the woman Clara has become,he realized as he watched Clara’s cheeks turn pink and a shy smile spread across her face. He knew it was true as soon as he finished the thought. Clara’s efforts weren’t made from a sense of obligation or duty. She genuinely cared about charity work, just as his mother had. It was clear that she possessed the love that she longed to share. Perhaps, not just with their little village, but with the people closest to her in her life. Maybe, including him.
But before he could delve deeper into the weight of that recognition, a maid walked in, balancing a tray laden with teapots and cups. The clinking of porcelain against porcelain sliced through the thick tension between them, jolting them back to reality.
“Teatime,” Hannah said. Clara finally pulled her gaze from Julian when she spoke, and Julian felt himself tremble. He fought a hard battle as he tried to remain outwardly composed. But his thoughts were in complete chaos. What was it that was happening between him and Clara? Whatever it was, it was threatening to engulf him, and it was all he could do to slow his breathing as they took seats to partake in the tea.
The moment had stretched long and intense, and Julian struggled to navigate the sudden shift of emotions. He’d always prided himself on keeping a level of civility and decorum, but now, with emotions complicating matters, it seemed a bit harder than he’d expected.
Julian sat stiffly; his spine rigid as if bound by invisible cords of tension. The mahogany table was an array of teacups, saucers, and a fine selection of cookies. Though the atmosphere buzzed with congeniality, to Julian, it was oppressive.
Hannah set down her teacup and beamed at the room.
“I must commend everyone on the remarkable work on the baskets,” she said. “They are coming along splendidly.”
Mary grinned, equally as impressed as her mother.
“Oh, indeed,” she said. “At this rate, we shall have the surprise gift baskets prepared for Christmastide well ahead of schedule.”
Modest acknowledgments and satisfied smiles greeted the words of praise, but Julian’s attention stayed resolutely on the untouched plate of cookies before him and his half-filled cup of tea. Though the tea was exactly to his preference, each sip tasted as bitter as his thoughts felt.
He’d tried his best to force himself out of his shell, at least enough to try to get to know Clara again. But even the most expert maneuvering proved insufficient when it came to suppressing the swell of his emotions. The polite nods, the measured smiles and the calculated words were all a façade, a performance that he no longer felt capable of sustaining. And he knew that Elizabeth had told him that they would be working there until nightfall. That was a feat he knew he could no longer handle.
Realizing he could no longer breathe in the same space that should have offered sanctuary, Julian rose.
“I apologise for my abruptness, but I must take my leave,” he said. “There is a previous engagement which I fear I forgot about.”
Elizabeth, sitting directly across from him, looked up with a sudden sharpness. The glow of the hearth reflected in her eyes, but that warmth swiftly dissolved into a look of dismay. Though she said nothing, her glaring eyes were louder than any spoken reproof.
“I don’t recall you mentioning any prior engagement to me on the way here, Brother,” she said. Her words were cordial enough, but her blue eyes shot daggers at him. It was the same look of reproach their mother used to give them, the same one she had given him the previous day, and Julian had to fight to keep his knees from buckling.
But Julian knew he had to be firm in his attestation. He bowed, feeling heat replace the former pallor of his cheeks.
The room went silent, the quiet only broken by the soft clatter of a teacup being set down a little too abruptly. Elizabeth’s eyes met his, and for a moment, a silent war of wills ensued.
He understood his sister too well. The protective spirit that drove her to interfere was well intended, but it was also terribly unwanted. Coupled with that was his father’s constant insistence about his marriage to Clara and the revival of their mother’s Christmas traditions. He was finding all the expectations and obligations suffocating, and he couldn’t take anymore.
“Forgive me,” he said, turning his gaze to the floor in embarrassment. He felt immense shame, which he knew he would need to reconcile later. But right then, the only thing he could think of was putting as much distance between himself and the vicarage as possible.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and exited the room, the carefully arranged realm of warmth and cheerfulness vanishing behind him as the door closed with a soft click.
