Page 11 of A Christmas Miracle for the Frosty Marquess
His father shook his head, his jaw set in determination.
“The union will be beneficial for both families,” he said again, as if that explained the reason why Julian hadn’t deserved a say in the subject.
Julian felt a tightening in his chest.
“Father, I hardly know Clara anymore,” he insisted, as if saying it again would make any difference. “We’ve barely exchanged more than a few pleasantries in the past few years. Why her?”
The Duke fixed him with a firm gaze.
“The earl is the wealthiest of his station,” he said. “And among the top wealthiest of us in the whole ton. His family’s name is spotless and utterly untainted. And even though you haven’t spoken to her in some time, you do know her. Our families have been friends since before the two of you were born. Truly, it is one of the best matches I could have made for you.”
Julian snorted, ignoring his father’s stern glare as he did so.
“One of,” he said. “Which implies that I could have at least tried to match with someone of my own choosing, who might still meet your standards.”If I didn’t flee to the far east and refuse to marry at all,he thought bitterly.
The duke raised a warning eyebrow, staring firmly at his son.
“You will come to appreciate the match, in time,” he said. “Now please, do not fight me on this any longer.”
Julian understood his father had just given him an order, not a request. The room felt smaller, the walls closer. In society’s eyes, Julian’s reputation as a brooding hermit preceded him. He couldn’t help but wonder how Clara had taken the news. Was she as trapped as he felt?
“Did she have a say in this?” he asked.
His father’s expression remained unreadable.
“Arrangements were made,” he said. “The details are of no consequence to you.”
Resentment flared within Julian. He wasn’t some pawn to be maneuvered. And neither was Clara. Rising to his feet, he met his father’s gaze evenly.
“Every choice has consequences, Father,” he said. “Especially ones made without our consent.”
His father raised an eyebrow at him.
“I trust that is not some kind of threat,” he said.
Julian scoffed, shaking his head.
“No,” he said flatly. “It is simply a fact. Perhaps, you think this union will appease me in time. But I know my mind and my heart. And I know that it will not. You did this without considering giving me a choice. And, from the sound of it, you robbed Clara of her choice, as well. There is no way this could ever end well. No matter what delusions you feed yourself.”
His father narrowed his eyes, and Julian felt a pang of regret. His father had always been a firm decision maker, but there was a time when they had more understanding and respect between them. Now, however, he didn’t recognize the man who had sired him. How could his father make such a decision without consulting him?
“The decision has been made,” he said again. “The arrangements for the engagement party are taking place now. There will be no more discussion on the matter. You will marry Clara Bennett. That is final.”
With a curt nod, Julian excused himself from the room. There was no sense in arguing, he knew. But nor was he in the mood to continue the discussion with his father. The comforting memories of his mother’s warmth clashed jarringly with the cold reality of his impending nuptials. And right then, he wanted to wallow in the sadness of missing her and longing for her presence, rather than in the disappointment and anger he felt at being forced into this union.
The chill of winter had made the grounds of Thornmire Manor appear as cold and desolate as Julian himself felt. The trees were bare beneath the layers of snow, their skeletal branches creating eerie patterns against the gray sky. Once, this season had brought Julian immense joy, due to his mother raising her children with a love and affection for the holiday.
Every year, Eleanor Hawthorne transformed their home into a haven of warmth and festivity, with garlands winding down banisters, and candelabras lighting every corner of their home. Their home became filled with the fragrances of cinnamon and spruce, and even with the ice and snow outside, Julian recalled that their mansion had never felt warmer.
But now, that joy was nothing more than a distant memory. It was easy for Julian to believe that he had dreamt all the warmth and delight he once found in the holiday season. The estate, vast and magnificent, was merely an empty shell since his mother’s death. The only sounds he heard in the dead of night since her passing was the reminiscence of happier times. Julian wandered through the house, lost in his memories of winters past, recalling the way his mother’s eyes would twinkle as she twirled about the house, arranging decorations and making plans for all the holiday events they would be both hosting and attending.
He found himself pausing by the great window in the drawing room. The world outside mirrored Julian’s heart perfectly, which added more weight to his burdened heart. The landscape was colorless, apart from the acres of icy cold that stretched as far as he could see.
His train of thought was disrupted by the soft tread of footsteps behind him. Before he could turn around, a familiar voice addressed him, tinged with concern.
“Julian,” the voice said. “Your father told me that I might find you here.”
It was Thomas, and relief flooded him. He feared he might have lost his temper had it been his father pressing the matter of the marriage any further. That his cousin was with him during such a time of great turmoil was a blessing.
