“I suggest you look forward to losing another race, as well,” he said.
Julian chuckled at his cousin’s good-natured ribbing.
“Next time, I might not let you win,” he said.
The men laughed.
The echoes of the men’s footsteps as they entered the mansion were swallowed by the vastness of the grand hallway. The chandeliers swayed gently, casting golden patterns on the well-designed marble floor. Thomas and he parted ways, and Julian prepared to make his way to his small study. But just as he turned the corner to head through the grand hall, the butler intercepted him.
“Lord Silverstone,” Jenkins greeted with a respectful nod. “Your father wishes to speak with you. He awaits you in his study.”
Julian nodded, puzzled. It was the holiday season, and he didn’t think that his father would need his assistance with any business dealings, as many London businessmen would be taking time off from work, by and large, to spend the holiday season with their families. And he knew that his own family had no holiday plans, apart from a feast on the day of Christmas, which Julian tended to skip since his mother died. What could his father want to discuss?
“Thank you, Jenkins,” he said.
Without hesitation, he proceeded to the study, the heavy wooden doors swinging open to reveal a dimly lit room dominated by towering bookshelves and a grand desk. His father sat at the desk, his grey hair shining in the light from the fireplace.
“Julian,” Albert Hawthorne said, his voice, deep and authoritative. He motioned for Julian to sit across from him. As Julian complied, the duke poured two glasses of amber-colored whiskey, pushing one towards Julian.
“Thank you, Father,” he said, accepting the drink. “What was it that you wished to discuss?”
Taking a tentative sip, Julian barely had time to savor the warmth before his father spoke. And as soon as he did, Julian wished he hadn’t taken a drink right then.
“I’ve decided it’s time for you to marry,” he said.”
Julian choked on his whiskey, the liquid burning a fiery trail down his throat.
“Father,” he sputtered. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Albert met his gaze squarely, his steel-blue eyes cold and determined.
“It’s time you settled down, Julian,” he said. “Your persistent bachelor state has drawn attention within the ton. And I can see clearly that it is not good for you. That is why I spoke to the earl of Berrington about his eldest daughter. Clara and you are to be betrothed, with the announcement to be made at the annual festive ball.”
Julian stared dumbly at his father. The annual ball had been withheld since his mother died. Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t seen Clara in years, and marriage had never even crossed his mind. That his father would present such a proposition out of the blue was ludicrous to Julian. He shook his head, taking another long pull from the drink before slamming the glass down on the desk.
“Surely, you can’t be serious,” he said. “I am in no position to even consider marriage.”
The duke narrowed his eyes at his son.
“This isn’t just about you anymore,” he said. “This is about our legacy, continuing the dukedom after you and I are gone. It is the duty of every man who is to reign as a nobleman to produce an heir. Now, it is your turn to do so.”
Julian’s temper rose.
“I will not be dictated to, especially not about what will permanently affect my own life,” he said. “You cannot just arrange a marriage without my consent. Mother would never allow such an atrocity.”
The duke’s irritation with his son’s insubordination was palpable. He frowned at Julian, shaking his head.
“It’s been six years, Julian,” he said. “You’ve secluded yourself, allowing the world to paint you as a recluse. You cannot live this way forever.”
Julian glowered at his father.Can’t I?he wondered with biting bitterness.
“That’s my life, my choice, Father,” he said. “I do not care what society things, especially where my own life is concerned. And I won’t be forced into marriage.”
The tension in the room thickened, both men locked in a silent battle of wills. It was the duke who broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying a weight that Julian couldn’t ignore.
“Your mother loved the festive season,” he said. “It brought her so much joy. She would’ve been heartbroken to see you so distant, so removed from life and from the world. This isn’t what she would have wanted for you.”
Those words, laced with truth and pain, hit Julian like a train. The room suddenly felt suffocating, the memories rushing in like a tidal wave. The vibrant laughter of his mother, her bright eyes shimmering with festive spirit, and the heartbreaking Christmastide season that had stolen her from their family. He could almost hear her voice, the lullabies she sang, and her ever-encouraging words. And he could also hear her objections to his father trying to force him into marriage.
