Page 36 of A Christmas Miracle for the Frosty Marquess
Julian clenched his jaw, biting back the urge to lash out. He wanted to yell, to shake his father until he understood the well of feelings dammed within him. But as he met his father’s eyes, he recognized the flicker of genuine concern there. It was not an excuse for controlling his life, but it was an explanation he could not disregard altogether.
“Then why not allow me to find what is best for me on my own?” Julian asked.
His father looked at him, not with contempt for his insubordination, but with a sadness that was growing by the minute.
“I prayed every night that you would,” he said. “But you only continue to suffer.”
Julian floundered for words, knowing full well he had no argument. His father was right. He had done nothing but wallow in his grief over his mother. And nothing he could say to his father right then would convince the duke that anything would change. Especially since, Julian was sure, nothing would.
“Is that any reason to drag poor Clara into this marriage?” he asked, trying the only other plea of which he could think.
His father simply shook his head.
“Her father is looking out for her, as well,” he said matter-of-factly, the understanding and emotion fading from his eyes. “His reasons are his own, but I trust that we are both doing the right thing.”
Julian’s shoulders sagged, and he stared at the floor, defeated. He was doomed to marry Clara, whether he wanted to or not. As it seemed that she would be doomed to marry him.
There was a moment of long silence before the duke spoke again.
“We have been invited to dinner by George and Harriet tonight,” he said. “I expect you to attend, and I expect you to exhibit at least the basic courtesies of a gentleman.”
The mention of another social obligation was dreadful to Julian. Dinner with Clara’s family was the very last thing he could imagine himself suffering through, especially after his display at the vicarage in front of Clara and her siblings. Yet Julian sensed that this was not the battlefield upon which he wished to wage another war. What would be the point? His father had made up his mind. Julian’s words were as important to the duke as dust knocked off the mantle.
With a nod, curter than he intended, Julian acquiesced.
“Very well, Father,” he said.
Albert studied him for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if to figure out whether his son’s words were mere false promises, or a genuine oath. Finally, satisfied, he nodded.
“Good,” Albert said softly, before turning and leaving the room.
Julian sank back into his chair, his body as weary as his spirit. The door clicked shut, but the room felt no emptier than before. His father’s words lingered, as did the ghostly presence of all their shared history and repressed feelings.
Julian ran his fingers through his hair, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability in the solitude of the room. He had given his father his word, and he intended to keep it. But that obligation did nothing to alleviate his inner chaos.
As he sat there, contemplating the complexities of duty, love, and free will, he couldn’t help but feel as though he were standing at the edge of a precipice. Would the next steps take him further into a life scripted by others, or was it possible that they might lead him down an untrodden path of his own making?
Later that afternoon, Julian stepped outside the portrait room, dread filling his insides. He was dressed well enough in a simple but clean black suit, so he opted to not bother dressing for the dinner event. He found the entire household bustling about, making ready for their departure to the Berrington Estate.
His father offered him the choice to travel by carriage or on foot, and despite the crisp air, Julian opted for the latter. He welcomed the solitude that walking often brought, a reprieve from the constant expectations of society. Especially since he was still very unhappy with his sister.
“Mind if I join you?” Thomas asked with a smile, putting an arm around Julian’s shoulders.
Julian returned the gesture, grateful for the company of someone who demanded little of him.
“I would appreciate it,” he said.
The two men set off, the gravel crunching underfoot as they navigated the winding paths that would lead them to the Bennetts’ residence. Tall trees lined their way, their branches barren but elegant against the backdrop of the winter sky.
For a time, both men walked in a comfortable silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Julian found his mind drifting back to the emotionally charged conversation with his father, the specter of his mother’s memory, and the unbidden thoughts of Clara.
“You’ve been distant these past days,” Thomas finally spoke, breaking the contemplative silence.
Julian groaned, pulling away from his cousin and looking at him skeptically.
“Father and Elizabeth did not send you to talk to me on their behalf, did they?” he asked.
The surprise in Thomas’s eyes made Julian immediately regret his question. But his cousin just gave him a sad smile and shook his head.
