Page 52 of A Christmas Miracle for the Frosty Marquess
After bidding farewell to Hannah and Mary, Clara at last headed home. The trip was a slow one as she avoided icy patches and thick piles of snow, but she made it back before nightfall. As with Hannah, her parents and siblings were worried sick about her. But as Mary had done, she explained what had happened the previous night and the dire need to help Agnes and her family.
“Oh, darling,” her mother said, embracing her tightly. “I know that must have been terrible to see. I am glad that you are all right. And your father and I will do everything we can to help that family.”
The earl nodded, taking his turn to hug his eldest daughter.
“We certainly will,” he said.
***
The following day, the heart of the orphanage was abuzz with excitement, and Clara stood amidst a sea of young, eager faces, each one reflecting anticipation. The children, with their wide eyes and ruddy cheeks, were clustered around her, talking and giggling. There were whispers of “Miss Bennett” and “baskets,” and Clara felt warmth spread through her at their innocent enthusiasm.
A sigh of relief swept over Clara, a weight lifted from her shoulders, as she thought of Agnes and her little ones. The previous evening after Clara had left them, Hannah had planned for them to find refuge at the vicarage. Clara’s gratitude knew no bounds. Hannah’s act had ensured that they would be safe, warm, and cared for.
She bent down to hand a festive basket to a young boy with tousled hair and bright blue eyes. His face broke into a wide grin as he took the basket, peeking inside with wonder.
“Oh, Miss Bennett, there are sweets,” he said joyfully, holding up a piece of candied ginger for everyone to see.
Clara chuckled, brushing a stray curl behind her ear.
“Of course, Tom,” she said. “It wouldn’t be a festive basket without a little sweetness.”
The boy beamed up at her, hugging her arm tightly with the arm that wasn’t holding the basket.
“Thank you, Miss Bennett,” he said.
As she continued distributing the baskets, Clara felt her heart swell with each exclamation of delight and each gasp of wonder. Their faces, glowing with happiness, seemed to radiate a light brighter than any candle. The laughter of the children, pure and untainted, echoed in the room, warming her more than any hearth.
She paused for a moment, taking in the scene. The orphanage was more than just bricks and mortar to her. It was a sanctuary, a haven where innocent souls found solace, and where the magic of Christmastide was especially potent. Clara believed, with all her being, that every child here deserved to feel the warmth and joy of the season. And seeing them do just that was better than all the gifts she could ever receive.
A tiny hand tugged at the hem of her dress, bringing her attention back to the moment. Looking down, she saw a little girl, no more than four, her big brown eyes glistening.
“Miss Bennett, thank you,” she said shyly, clutching her basket close to her chest.
Clara knelt, her eyes meeting the child’s.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” she said, kissing the girl on the forehead. “Merry Christmas.”
The little girl nodded, her lips curving into a bashful smile, before running off to join her friends.
With every basket she handed out, Clara felt a joy so profound, it threatened to spill over. The smiles of the children, their laughter and their happiness were calming to her soul.
And as she stood there, in the heart of the orphanage, surrounded by the very essence of Christmas, Clara felt a deep connection to the world around her. In this moment, with the snowflakes falling gently outside and the joyous voices filling the air, she felt true joy.
The echo of laughter and merriment danced in the room, filling every nook and cranny of the orphanage. Clara, lost in the wonder of the day, was busily tying a ribbon around a basket when a familiar, yet unexpected squeak from the door caught her attention.
She turned, and a wave of astonishment washed over her as her gaze landed on Julian. Tall and refined in his cutaway coat, he was a stark contrast to the playful chaos around her. His arms were laden with neatly wrapped parcels, their bows and paper shimmering with festive elegance. The sight of him, unexpected yet deeply welcome, made her heart flutter.
She quickly brushed away the stray wisps of hair that had fallen over her forehead.
“Julian,” she said, trying to keep her composure despite the warmth that crept to her cheeks. “What brings you here?”
He peeked around the armful of packages he held and flashed her one of his heart-melting smiles.
“I thought that I would go on and bring my contribution to the additional Christmas surprises,” he said. “Besides, who could resist lending a hand on such a special occasion?”
She watched, mesmerized, as he distributed the parcels among the eager children. There was a tenderness to his actions, an authenticity in the words he spoke to them. Over the past few days, she had seen a profound change in Julian’s demeanor, a softening of his edges. The Julian in front of her was not the rigid gentleman she had witnessed at the beginning of their betrothal. The side of Julian she was seeing right then was genuine and compassionate.
As he knelt to hand a package to a little girl, Clara caught the earnestness in his blue eyes. They sparkled with genuine affection, making her heart race even faster.
