Page 10 of Christmas with the Earl (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #1)
Christmas Eve Supper
T he drawing room at Greystowe Hall had been transformed for Christmas Eve.
Candles flickered from every available surface—tall tapers in silver holders, squat pillars nestled among evergreen boughs, and delicate votives that cast dancing shadows across the ancient stone walls.
The scent of pine and holly mingled with the warmth of applewood burning in the great hearth, creating an atmosphere that seemed to wrap around the small gathering like an embrace.
Nell stood before the looking glass in the Blue Room, adjusting the simple strand of pearls at her throat with hands that trembled slightly.
She had chosen her finest black silk—appropriate for her mourning, yet elegant enough for Lady Greystowe's carefully planned evening.
The gown's cut was becoming without being ostentatious, and she had allowed her maid to arrange her dark hair in a softer style than usual, with gentle curls framing her face.
It was only the three of them for dinner, yet Nell felt an anticipation that had nothing to do with the meal and everything to do with the way Thomas had looked at her during their morning walk.
Something had shifted between them in the snow-covered gardens, some barrier had begun to crack, and she found herself both yearning for and terrified of what the evening might reveal.
A soft knock interrupted her nervous preparations. "Come in," she called.
Lady Greystowe entered, resplendent in deep burgundy silk with her late husband's garnets at her throat and ears. In her hands, she carried a small velvet box that seemed to glow in the candlelight.
"My dear," Lady Greystowe said, her voice carrying an unusual note of emotion, "you look absolutely lovely."
"Thank you," Nell replied, though her attention was drawn to the box in the older woman's hands. "Is that...?"
"Something I hoped you might wear tonight." Lady Greystowe moved closer, opening the box to reveal a pendant that made Nell's breath catch in her throat. It was a delicate thing—a small oval of amber set in gold filigree, suspended from a fine chain that caught the light like captured sunbeams.
"It's exquisite," Nell breathed, but something in Lady Greystowe's expression suggested this was more than mere jewelry.
"It belonged to Isabella," Lady Greystowe said gently. "She wore it on her wedding day, and often during the happiest moments of her time here. When she..." The older woman's voice caught slightly. "Before she died, she asked me to give it to someone who would bring joy back to Greystowe Hall."
Nell felt tears prick her eyes as she looked at the pendant. To wear something of Isabella's felt both like an honor and a responsibility she wasn't certain she could bear.
"I couldn't possibly—" she began, but Lady Greystowe stepped forward with the determined air of someone who would not be refused.
"She specifically mentioned you, my dear. Said that if anything happened to her, I should remember that you had the gift of bringing light to dark places." Lady Greystowe's hands were gentle but firm as she lifted the chain. "May I?"
Nell nodded, too moved to speak, and bowed her head to allow Lady Greystowe to fasten the pendant around her neck. The amber felt warm against her skin, as though it carried some echo of her sister's spirit.
"There," Lady Greystowe said with satisfaction, stepping back to admire the effect. "Perfect. Isabella would be so pleased to see you wearing it."
Before Nell could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of masculine footsteps in the corridor. Thomas's voice carried clearly as he spoke to his valet about some detail of his evening attire.
"He's been rather particular about his appearance tonight," Lady Greystowe observed with obvious amusement. "I believe he's changed his cravat three times. Most unusual for a man who typically approaches dress with military efficiency."
The implications of this information sent a flutter of anticipation through Nell's stomach. If Thomas was taking special care with his appearance, it suggested the evening held significance for him as well.
When they made their way downstairs, they found the dining room had been prepared with equal attention to beauty and intimacy.
The long table had been abandoned in favor of a smaller round table positioned near the fireplace, set for three with the finest china and crystal.
More candles provided the only illumination, creating pools of golden light that made the room feel like a jewel box.
Thomas stood near the fireplace, and Nell's breath caught at the sight of him.
He wore evening dress with the same precision he brought to everything else, but there was something different about his bearing tonight.
The rigid military posture had softened slightly, and when he turned to greet them, his smile held a warmth that reached his eyes.
"Ladies," he said, offering formal bows that somehow managed to convey both respect and affection. "You both look radiant this evening."
His gaze lingered on Nell, and she saw the exact moment when he noticed the pendant. Something flickered across his expression—recognition, perhaps, or surprise—before his features settled into something that might have been gratitude.
"Aunt Margaret," he said quietly, "that's Isabella's pendant."
"Indeed, it is," Lady Greystowe replied with perfect composure. "I thought it belonged with someone who would honor its history while creating new memories."
The look that passed between Thomas and his aunt spoke of understanding that went beyond words. Then his attention returned to Nell, and there was something in his expression that made her pulse quicken.
"It suits you," he said simply, but there was a depth to his voice that suggested layers of meaning beneath the polite observation.
The meal that followed was unlike any Nell had experienced since Isabella's death.
Cook had outdone himself despite the reduced household—delicate soup flavored with herbs from the estate's gardens, perfectly roasted fowl with winter vegetables, and a delicate syllabub that tasted of Christmas itself.
But more than the food, it was the atmosphere that enchanted her.
Lady Greystowe proved herself a masterful hostess, guiding conversation through topics that allowed all three to contribute while never letting the mood grow heavy or awkward.
She drew out stories of Thomas's boyhood summers at Greystowe, encouraged Nell to share memories of Christmas traditions at her family's estate, and somehow managed to weave their separate histories into something that felt like the beginning of a shared narrative.
"I remember one Christmas when Thomas was perhaps ten," Lady Greystowe said as they lingered over their wine, "he decided the estate needed a proper Yule log and dragged in something that was practically a small tree.
It took four footmen to get it into the fireplace, and it burned for nearly a week. "
"I was very thorough in my approach to Christmas traditions," Thomas replied with what Nell was almost certain was embarrassment. "I had read that the Yule log should burn continuously until Twelfth Night."
"And did it?" Nell asked, delighted by this glimpse of Thomas as an earnest boy taking his holiday responsibilities seriously.
"Nearly. Though I believe Cook threatened to quit when the smoke made the entire house smell like a forest fire for days.
" Thomas's smile held genuine fondness for the memory.
"I was devastated when they finally had to remove what remained.
I was certain I had failed in my duty to ensure proper Christmas luck for the household. "
"Such a serious child," Lady Greystowe said with affection. "Always so concerned with doing everything correctly, with living up to expectations."
"Some things never change," Thomas observed wryly, but there was something in his tone that suggested he was beginning to question whether living up to expectations was always the highest virtue.
As the evening progressed, Nell found herself watching Thomas with growing fascination.
Away from the formality of day clothes and surrounded by candlelight and family affection, he seemed younger, more relaxed.
His laugh came more easily, his smiles were less guarded, and there were moments when she glimpsed the boy who had worried about Yule logs and Christmas luck.
When they moved to the drawing room for coffee and the small gifts Lady Greystowe had prepared, the intimate atmosphere only deepened.
She had clearly planned this evening with care—small presents that spoke of thoughtfulness rather than expense, carefully chosen to honor their individual tastes while binding them together as a temporary family.
For Thomas, she had found a leather-bound volume of poetry that had belonged to his father.
For Nell, a delicate set of watercolors that she claimed had been gathering dust in the estate's art supplies, but were clearly of excellent quality.
And for herself, she accepted a beautifully bound journal that Thomas had somehow procured despite their confinement—a testament to his resourcefulness and growing affection for his aunt.
"I thought you might enjoy recording your observations about estate management," Thomas said as Lady Greystowe examined the journal with obvious pleasure. "Your insights have been... illuminating during my assessment."
It was a diplomatic way of saying that his aunt's perspective had changed his understanding of Greystowe Hall, and Nell saw Lady Greystowe's satisfied smile at the admission.
"Now then," Lady Greystowe said, settling herself more comfortably in her chair, "I believe Christmas Eve calls for a reading. Eleanor, my dear, would you honor us with something from that poetry collection Isabella loved so much?"