“Is there anything you need me to do for you right now, Mother?” he asked.
The duchess shook her head, her eyes becoming briefly unfocused as she did so.
“No, darling,” she said. “I am just glad you are sitting here with me.”
Julian nodded, swallowing again.
“I am happy to sit with you for as long as you like, Mother,” he said.
They sat in silence for a while, his mother’s increasingly raspy breathing filling the wordless room. Julian’s mind raced, and he had to keep pushing his anguish to the back of his mind. He wanted to offer his mother comfort and keep her adequate company. But all he could think about was the moment when the rasping would stop, and her last breath would leave her.
He desperately wanted to turn back the clock, to relive those moments of joy and laughter. He would do anything to have such an opportunity. The wild notion of the magic in storybook tales being worth a try crossed his mind more than once. If he thought even for a second it might work, he knew that it would. But for now, he would cherish the time they had left. He would hold her hand and offer her solace and try not to let the storm cloud of his grief drown him.
As the days wore on, Julian couldn’t help but behold his mother’s dignity and grace with awe. Even as the illness took over, as the pain and discomfort increased and her strength decreased, she maintained much of the poise Julian had known all his life. It showed in her weak but gentle smiles and in the serene acceptance of what awaited her in her eyes. She seemed at peace with her situation. While Julian did not share the sentiment, he respected his mother’s bravery. It helped him make the most of the time he had left with her and forget the hopelessness that was quickly sinking into his heart.
The Christmas season continued outside the walls of his mother’s bedchambers. The servants bustled about, making preparations for the holiday feast and family events, and carolers came to the gates more frequently and in larger numbers. The duchess seemed content to listen to them from a cracked window in her chambers. But Julian’s heart found no comfort in the songs that used to fill him with immense Christmas spirit.
As the final days of the year drew to a close, the notes of his mother’s favorite song, “Auld Lang Syne” began to drift in through the window. His mother closed her eyes, her weakest smile yet on her lips, but the song was nothing more for Julian right then than a reminder that time would move on, no matter how much he wished he could make it stop. It wasn’t just a year that was ending for Julian. It was the end of the life Julian had always known. It was the end of Julian’s ability to open his heart to the world.
As the clock signaled the new year’s beginning, his mother drew her last breath. The stillness left in the wake of her passing was palpable, and all Julian could do was weep. Grief-stricken, he found himself falling into the cold, dark pit of loss and heartbreak. His mother’s death left behind a hole in his heart that no merriment or celebration could ever again fill. Every holiday song, every joyful well wish and holiday tradition, served as a reminder of what his family had lost, forever turning him bitter toward the time of year that had once meant the world to him. No world that had cruelly ejected his mother from it would ever be worth celebrating to him again.
Chapter One
At present
The Berrington Estate drawing room was filled with the golden light filtering in from tall windows that overlooked the snow-covered gardens outside. The hearth burned brightly, the flames producing an inviting warmth that made the room feel cozy and magical on that cold December afternoon.
Clara Bennett sat at the ornate wooden table, surrounded on either side by her younger siblings. The table was littered with piles of ribbons, paper strips, colored beads, and small silver hooks, all meant for crafting Christmas ornaments, as was her family’s tradition. Clara’s fingers moved deftly, twisting and curling a piece of wire into an intricate pattern that, when she finished, would be in the shape of a star.
“I think this one will be my best yet,” Amelia, the second eldest Bennett child, said, holding up a fragile glass ornament that shone with freshly painted snowflakes.
Clara smiled, looking at her sister with great pride and her heart filling with the spirit of the season.
“It’s lovely, Amelia,” she said. “But do remember not to let William near it, lest he sends it crashing to the floor.”
Sixteen-year-old William rolled his eyes at his elder sisters, a smirk playing on his lips.
“I’m not a child, Clara,” he protested, even as he fumbled with a roll of ribbon, wrapping it around his fingers in a haphazard manner.
With a chuckle, Clara shook her head, her chestnut curls cascading over her shoulder.
“Perhaps not,” she said. “But you have all the grace of a spooked horse.”
William narrowed his eyes, and the distraction was all it took for him to drop the ribbon spool.
“That was your fault,” he mumbled, his eyes sparkling despite the pouting in his voice.
Clara giggled again, exchanging a glance with her eighteen-year-old sister.
“Is he not just incorrigible?” she asked.
Amelia laughed, nodding.
“He most certainly is,” she said.
The Bennett children went back to their tasks, the playful banter continuing. They had always been close. Clara had loved her siblings from the first moment she laid eyes on them when they were born. And the holiday season always made her appreciate their bond and connection that much more. She sighed happily, finishing the shaping of her star, and holding it up for inspection.
“Christmas is only a week away,” she said, reaching for the gold ribbon spool. “It’s always been my favourite season.”
