Page 23 of A Christmas Miracle for the Frosty Marquess
Before the tension in the room could become unbearable, Elizabeth, mischief sparkling in her eyes, clapped her hands together.
“Now, Clara, I have something special in mind for today,” she said.
Curiosity piqued; Clara tilted her head slightly.
“Oh?” she asked, grateful to pull her attention from Julian’s indifferent stare.
Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled as she unveiled her plan.
“You see, the Hawthorne’s have a particular family tradition,” she said proudly. “We’ve always decorated our manor for Christmas ourselves, never fully entrusting this task to our staff. And since you are soon to be a part of our family, I thought it only fitting you join us.”
For a moment, Clara fell speechless. This was not what she had expected from the visit. She cast a glance towards Julian, who seemed equally surprised by his sister’s proposition.
Elizabeth’s laughter filled the air, light and melodic.
“I apologise for not mentioning this in the invitation,” she said. “I thought it would be a delightful surprise, since you enjoy decorating for Christmas, and that it would be a wonderful way to welcome you into our traditions. What do you say?”
Clara hesitated, her gaze drifting towards the towering Christmas tree, its branches bare and awaiting adornment. A surge of warmth bubbled up within her at the thought of her inclusion in such a cherished family tradition. There was a nagging sensation as she caught Julian’s stunned expression from the corner of her eye. But Elizabeth’s enthusiasm was contagious, and she didn’t see how she could refuse. Besides, it could be just the opportunity she needed to better understand and connect with Julian. Maybe she could melt some of the iciness which he always seemed to possess when she was near.
“I would be honoured, Elizabeth,” she said with a small smile.
Chapter Ten
Julian silently stewed in his frustration with his sister as she sat talking with Clara. He had joined her in the drawing room under the pretenses of having a private conversation with Elizabeth. His sister had given him no indication that anyone would be joining them for tea. Least of all, Clara. But when Elizabeth mentioned the family tradition of decorating Thornmire Manor, he could keep quiet no longer. He looked at Clara, stunned when she agreed to help them with the decorating.
“Elizabeth,” he said pointedly. “I hardly think we should go troubling Clara with our little traditions. Her pending familial status aside, I am sure she has her own decorating to tend to at her home.”
His sister looked at him, her expression calm but her eyes icy. He felt bad for snapping at her, but she had put him in a corner. And he was hardly going to remind his sister about his aversion to Christmas decorating since their mother’s death in front of company, even if that company was just Clara.
“It’s all right,” Clara said softly, seeming to sense the tension between the siblings. “I enjoy decorating. It’s one of my favourite things to do during the holidays.”
He tensed. The holidays. Images of his mother, laughing and dancing around the Christmas tree, flooded his mind. The delicate way she would hang the ornaments, the stories she’d tell, and her gentle hands teaching him the intricacies of tying a perfect bow were memories he had actively tried to forget. Now, here was Elizabeth, shoving triggers for those memories down his throat. And him without any escape from the emotions.
Elizabeth and Clara exchanged glances, having noticed his demeanor. Clara wrung her hands nervously, which made Julian feel bad once more. But he could not bring himself to offer solace or reassurance. His sister should know better than to get him involved with such an activity. How could she expect him to be thrilled about something that brought him such pain?
He took a moment, battling the swell of emotions threatening to overtake him. The very thought of decorating, of bringing back those memories, was painful. But looking into Clara’s nervous eyes, and seeing Elizabeth’s determined gaze, he realized that he had little choice.
He sighed, praying for some interruption that would steal him away from the women. When none immediately came, he looked at his sister, careful to show her nothing more than bland disinterest.
“I haven’t done it in years, Elizabeth,” he said. “I fear that I won’t be the helping hand that you need. But I will aid where I can.” He forced a smile that, even to him, felt tight and false.
Elizabeth nodded, seeming pleased.
“We’ll be there with you, Julian,” Elizabeth said. “It’ll feel familiar to you again before you know it.”
Julian looked away, keeping his thoughts silent once more. He wasn’t sure if he hoped that Elizabeth would be wrong, or if he hoped she would be right. He didn’t want decorating to feel familiar to him. It would never be the same without his mother. To him, that was all that mattered.
Elizabeth stepped forward, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.
“We’ll make it beautiful, Brother,” she said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Just like it always used to be.”
That is precisely what I fear,he thought bitterly. Elizabeth never had seemed to understand his grief for their mother. She had spent her time grieving, but then, to Julian, it almost seemed as though she had all but forgotten the duchess. He knew that couldn’t be true. Elizabeth had loved their mother just as he had. But why did she seem so insistent on dredging up Julian’s pain as though she was completely unaware of it?
Julian drew in a deep breath, steeling himself to speak his mind. The very idea of taking up this holiday tradition again was becoming harder to bear with each passing second. He didn’t like that his sister had invited Clara without telling him. And he certainly didn’t like being put on the spot about decorating in front of her. But just as the words were about to tumble forth, Elizabeth fixed him with a look.
It was the same look their mother used to give them when she knew they were about to make a grave mistake. He clearly recalled that firm, penetrating gaze which carried a depth of understanding, love, and a hint of stubborn insistence. It momentarily took Julian’s breath away. How had he never noticed just how much Elizabeth mirrored their mother in certain expressions?
Elizabeth’s eyes were a shade darker blue than their mother’s had been, her hair the same light brown as his, versus the deep brown that the duchess had had. And yet, in that moment, he saw his mother standing before him again, and his heart stopped. As did his bubbling protestations.
