Page 27 of The Earl's Christmas Deal
After about half a minute, however, the entire room fell silent. The music swelled through them like a tide, touching each person as it progressed.
In Adam’s breast, something stirred. It was a feeling of unique ecstasy, a lightness that stretched from his sternum to the top of his head and fluttered there happily like a bird. If hecould have described it, it felt like a straight line of shimmering gold that gently unfurled within him and expanded through his entire being.
His heart beat in tandem with the music, his back against the chair felt more vivid, his breath easier. Everything that was painful in his mind seemed to float away as though it had never been there, and for the longest moment, there was only Emilia and the music.
Emilia.
The piece ended, and Adam snapped back to the room as the applause began. He opened his eyes without any real understanding of where he was for a few seconds, but instantly, as though guided by a magnet, they found Emilia’s.
She was watching him as though assessing what he might have thought of the piece. Adam quickly began clapping along with the rest of the room. When he should have looked away, however, he did not, and neither did she.
Their gazes locked, suspended like the final note of a high soprano, lingering in the air, gentle and soon to break. It faded and she looked away, but as the hubbub of the room returned, Adam could not hear it.
All he could hear was that single suspended chord, scattered with gold and diving inexorably down into his chest, straight to his heart.
***
The following day was grey and cold. The snow had continued to fall, and there were some grumblings in the house about how deep it was becoming. Many were concerned about the state of the roads, and the Marquess and Marchioness were not the only members of the party to speak of how grateful they were that they would not have to make a long journey until after Christmas.
The party had gathered to make Christmas baskets for the poor. Emilia, who had been asked to help her mother, carried the empty baskets into the room and handed them out to everyone.
Lionel Spencer and Lord Bellebrook were seated at one table, and Charlotte was close by, waiting for Emilia to sit beside her.
“It is rather hot beside the fire, is it not?” Lord Spencer commented as Emilia handed him a basket.
“Are you uncomfortable, my Lord?” she asked. “Perhaps we could move the table a little further away.”
“Lionel, whatever are you about? We are a full five feet from it,” Adam said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. However, the amusement quickly died when Lionel rolled his eyes at him.
“You never feel the heat, my friend, and are always chilled to the bone. I run hot and I cannot sit here another minute. Lady Emilia, would you be very cross if I moved to Miss Fairfax’s table if you will permit me, Miss Fairfax.”
Emilia held back a laugh at the artless way Lord Spencer was inserting himself into Charlotte’s life, but a part of her rejoiced at the sight of it, too.
“As long as Lord Bellebrook does not mind a change in partners, I would not mind you doing so,” she said. As she handed out the last of the baskets to Lady Pinkerton—who had no such qualms about the fire as was almost sitting inside the hearth—Emilia took her seat beside Adam, her hands trembling.
Upon the table were an array of various items, all of which warmed Emilia’s heart. Her parents were by no means troubled by money, but her mother had been very generous, considering how many boxes they would make with almost twenty guests.
The items that were scattered before her were delicate tartan fabrics curled into rolls and tied with sprigs of holly. There were small fabric sacks that contained woollen socks and some finer strips of cloth dotted amongst them. Their cook had prepared several dozen pots of jam and preserves that had been laid out across the tables—they were Emilia’s father’s favourite, and she was touched that he would wish to use them in this way.
Adam was surveying the table with a look of confusion.
“I do not believe I would know where to begin. All of the ladies have made everything look so beautiful. I am afraid I am not good at creative pursuits,” he said, fingering one of the candles that was laid at the side of the table and almost knocking it to the floor.
Emilia struggled to settle her nerves being so close to him again and was conscious that she had been staring at his face for far too long for it to be natural. She looked hurriedly back at the table and nodded.
“I felt the same when I began making the baskets, but there is no right way to do it. Everything in them will be of some use to a family in need and they will not care how they are presented, just that they are received.”
Adam visibly relaxed at her words, and a little smile played over his lips as he leaned forward. He stretched his long legs beneath the table, and Emilia felt a little thrill as they brushed against the edge of her skirts.
“You did not speak of your traditions, Lady Emilia. Is this one, perhaps?” Adam asked.
“Oh yes,” Emilia replied, thinking of the Cartwright family in the village. Their father had been badly injured in a farming accident, and her parents had been helping him manage the tenancy of his property in the hopes that he would recover. “I have given the baskets to the poor every holiday. Easter is myfavourite, as they are so bright to look at. We paint eggs each year, and they are always well received.”
“But Christmas, I suppose, has its charm too,” Adam conceded, but his face did something strange that Emilia could not read. Something about the expression reminded her of the first time she had seen him, the vulnerability that seemed to be shared between them.
She was not sure what made her admit what she did next, but she expected it was that strange, unknown look at the back of his eyes.
“I have not enjoyed Christmas for many years,” she confessed.
