Page 35 of A Christmas Miracle for the Frosty Marquess
“Well, perhaps if someone weren’t such a holiday grouch, they’d see the merit in making the home as festive as possible,” she said.
William snorted, looking at his sister with overly wide eyes.
“A ‘holiday grouch,’ am I?” William laughed, feigning indignation. “I’d think being buried under a mountain of mistletoe and tinsel would make even the holiday spirit itself claustrophobic.”
Their banter floated around Clara like the snowflakes that were just beginning to drift down from the cloud-laden sky. In another time, she might have joined in their playful argument, but now it served as little more than a façade that veiled, albeit thinly, the emotional typhoon within her.
The clomp of the horse’s hooves as they made their way home seemed to echo her conflicted thoughts, each one a counterpoint to the unresolved melody of her feelings for Julian. Should she reach out to him and try to understand the mystery of his abrupt departure? Or should she guard her heart, her most tender feelings, and distance herself from the conundrum that was Julian?
Chapter Sixteen
Two days later, Julian sat in the portrait room, desperate for the solace he needed to ease his troubled mind. He had spent much of his time, since the debacle at the vicarage, in that room, avoiding interactions with his family in favor of seeking solace in the scents in the room, which he often imagined still smelled faintly of his mother’s perfume, and in which he usually felt most at home.
But even the familiar leather scent of the high-backed chair in which he sat could not lift his spirits. The days following the visit to the vicarage had unfolded in a slow, monotonous crawl. He had been biding time, counting hours, waiting for the holiday season to end. Even though it meant he was due to marry Clara then, it would at least put an end to the awkward gatherings and the silent judgments.
The quiet rustle of paper under his fingertips did little to engage him as he leafed through the tome on architecture that he had picked up in a futile attempt to distract himself. In truth, the elaborate designs and plans barely registered. His thoughts were on that dreadful visit to the vicarage, on Elizabeth’s stern gaze, on the impending marriage that would define the rest of his life.
The door swung open, breaking his contemplation. His father, Albert, walked in, the gravitas of his presence filling the room as he did so. Julian instantly closed the book, rising to his feet in a gesture of deference.
“Father,” he said, swallowing the unsettled feeling that had lodged in his throat. He wondered if Elizabeth had told their father of his rude, untimely departure from the vicarage. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. But he would have hoped that she would have confronted him herself, rather than running to their father. Perhaps, he was just overreacting. He hoped, at least.
Albert took a moment to observe the room before setting his eyes on him. Julian wanted to believe there was a little sentimental reason for the idle glance. But he knew it was more likely that he was trying to get a grasp on the words he was about to speak.
“I suspected that I might find you in your sanctuary,” Albert said, moving further into the room to sit opposite Julian.
His tone was even but unreadable, and Julian wondered what manner of tongue lashing was to come.
“Indeed, it has always offered me some form of peace,” Julian said, his words tinged with a politeness he didn’t fully feel. “Did you need something?”
The duke looked at his son as though considering the question. Julian expected a lecture about etiquette in the weeks leading up to a man’s wedding, especially during holiday obligations. That did not come, however. His father shook his head, glancing at the large portrait of his late wife longingly.
“You can’t hide in here forever, you know,” he said. “Life goes on, regardless of our willingness to participate.” Albert’s eyes were discerning, as though he was trying to read his son’s face.
Julian shifted uncomfortably.
“I have no intention of hiding, Father,” he said. “I am merely collecting my thoughts.”
The duke sighed, and Julian noticed for the first time that he was beginning to look tired and sad.
“I remember a time when you’d be eager to share those thoughts,” he said. “Elizabeth tells me your visit to the vicarage was eventful.”
A pang of emotion shot through Julian. So, Elizabeth had reported back.How quaint, he thought bitterly.And how ironic, seeing as it was her brilliant idea that I attend in the first place.
“It was nothing of particular note,” he said, bracing himself for the argument he was once again certain would ensue. He wanted to point out Elizabeth’s involvement in the affair. But even though she had tattled on him, he had no intention of returning the favor.
Albert sighed deeply, his gaze softening as if reaching into a past that Julian had boxed away.
“I didn’t arrange your marriage to Clara as some form of punishment, Julian,” he said. “I did it because I want for you all the things that men deserve. I yearn for the son I once knew. The one who was full of life, before we suffered our loss.”
The tension in the room had taken on a tangible form. Each man took measure of the other, their words pregnant with years of unsaid emotions.
Finally, Julian broke the silence.
“You wish for the son you once knew?” he asked with a bitterness that surprised even him. “You wish for a son whose life was never shaped by the absence of a mother? How can I be that person, Father, when the very fabric of this family has been torn apart? And now you wish to mould my life further by forcing me into a loveless marriage?”
Albert sighed. It was a heavy sound, filled with the weight of a lifetime’s worth of decisions, both good and ill.
“I truly am doing what I believe is best for you, Julian,” he said. “One day, you’ll understand that.”
