Amelia looked up from her bauble with a twinkle in her eye.
“Because of the festivities, Clara?” she asked impishly. “Or is it because of the tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, and intriguing Lord Hamilton you met at the vicarage last year?”
Clara’s cheeks flushed, and she playfully nudged her sister.
“Hush, Sister,” she said. “It’s not because of that. Lord Hamilton was quite handsome and charming, to be sure. But there was very little of substance to him apart from that.”
Amelia raised her eyebrow, her teasing expression temporarily confused.
“He was there to help Mary and Hannah with the baskets last year, was he not?” she asked, referring to the vicar’s wife and daughter. Hannah and Caleb were close with Clara’s own family, and Mary was her dearest and longest time friend.
Clara nodded, but she made a face as she recalled the stiff, emotionless husk that was the earl of Hampship.
“He volunteered his time for a day,” she said. “But it couldn’t have been clearer how unhappy he was to do it. It was only to make himself look good, I am certain of it.”
Amelia nodded, giving her sister a smile.
“I know that you take your charity work very seriously,” she said.
Clara nodded, sighing dreamily.
“Every year, I find joy in assisting at the vicarage, distributing donations to those in need,” she said. “Their smiles, their gratitude—it’s the true spirit of Christmas.”
Her younger siblings, having grown up witnessing their elder sister’s charitable endeavors, nodded in understanding. Clara’s passion for helping the less fortunate had been well known to, and supported by, her family for years. And in the past couple Christmastide seasons prior, William and Amelia had even gotten involved with the charity work at the vicarage alongside Clara. She was thrilled that her siblings seemed to be taking an interest in helping those less fortunate than their own family was.
As the afternoon wore on, the room was filled with the siblings’ banter, laughter, and occasional arguments over who got the last of the silver beads. Clara never felt more connected to her family than she did during the festivities of the season. Even with their playful taunting and fighting, that was the time of year that always made Clara the happiest.
Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed Amelia nudging her.
“Dreaming of Lord Hamilton again?” she teased.
Clara rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine.
“For the last time, no,” she said. “Now, let’s just revel in the magic of Christmas.”
And with that, they continued their crafting, the room bathed in warmth, love, and the promise of the festive nature of the season to come.
The chatter and energy in the room were interrupted as the door swung open with a loud creak. All eyes turned toward the doorway, where the Earl of Berrington stood with a thoughtful expression. The sudden change in atmosphere felt like the cold winter draft seeping into a once warm room.
“Clara, darling,” he said, his voice gentle but rather serious. “May I have a word with you in my study?”
Clara’s heart skipped a beat. Her father rarely displayed such gravity without cause. But what could make him sound so formal during such a happy time of year?
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she rose gracefully, casting a quick, reassuring glance at her younger siblings who wore matching expressions of puzzlement.
“Of course, Father,” she said, giving him a sweet smile.
The earl bowed slightly, holding open the door with one hand and gesturing for her to step into the hallway ahead of him. She complied, trying to assure herself that she was overreacting. Her father didn’t look angry, though the intensity of his eyes indicated something of major importance. She chided herself for being so nervous. Her parents had always loved their children well, and she had no reason to be afraid of whatever her father had to say to her. So, why was she?
Inside the study, a fire identical to the one in the drawing room burned in the fireplace, casting an amber glow upon the shelves of books and rich red, shining furniture. The room had always reminded her of the protection and care her father provided for his family. But on that day, it felt different, as though there was a storm creeping in through the walls and waiting to open up above them as they made their way to the earl’s desk.
Her father motioned for her to sit before taking his place behind the desk. His eyes remained intense, even as he offered his eldest daughter a warm smile.
“I wanted to let you know that I’ve had a meeting with the duke of Thornmire,” he said. His tone was pleasant enough, but Clara detected something like uncertainty.
Her brow furrowed. She knew the family, of course, as her siblings and she had grown up with the duke and duchess’s son and older daughter. But she couldn’t think of any business that her family would have with theirs that would be so official sounding. Certainly, none that involved her. And the Bennett’s hadn’t heard word from the family since the duchess had died several years prior. What could have prompted a meeting that would seem to be of such great importance?
“Oh?” she asked. “How is their family doing? It has been some time since I have heard you speak of them.” She did her best to keep her confusion and concern out of her voice. If her father noticed it, he didn’t let on. He took a deep breath, his fingers tapping the top of the desk.