Page 12 of Christmas with the Earl (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #1)
The Earl's Offer
N ell woke on Christmas morning to the sound of church bells carried on the crisp winter air.
For a moment, she lay still in the warmth of her bed, savoring the memory of the previous evening—Thomas's careful words, the weight of Isabella's pendant against her throat, and the tender kiss she had dared to press to his cheek before fleeing to the safety of her chambers.
Had she been too bold? The question had tormented her through the long hours of the night, alternating with moments of breathless wonder at the possibility that Thomas might truly care for her as more than just a welcome guest or a reminder of his beloved cousin.
The pendant lay on her nightstand where she had carefully placed it before retiring, its amber surface catching the morning light that streamed through her windows.
Isabella's gift, for surely it had been Isabella's intention all along, was conveyed through Lady Greystowe's loving hands.
The thought offered comfort, tempered, however, by an unspoken weight of duty.
If her sister had somehow orchestrated this connection from beyond the grave, what obligations did that create?
A soft knock interrupted her contemplation. "Come in," she called, expecting her breakfast tray.
Instead, a young maid she didn't recognize entered with obvious excitement barely contained beneath proper deference. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but there's been a delivery from the village. A basket, my lady, and Mrs. Hartwell says it's most unusual for Christmas morning."
"A delivery?" Nell sat up, curious despite her preoccupation with weightier matters. "Who would be abroad in such weather on Christmas Day?"
"Young Tom from the Widow Hartley's cottage, my lady.
Says his grandmother sent him especially, snow or no snow, with grateful regards to his lordship.
" The maid's eyes sparkled with the pleasure of being part of something significant.
"Mrs. Hartwell says the whole village is talking about how the new Earl has come home at last."
The words sent a warm flutter through Nell's chest. Thomas was no longer being viewed as a distant heir assessing his inheritance, but as the rightful lord of the manor returning to take his place among his people.
The transformation spoke to something fundamental shifting in how he was perceived—and perhaps in how he perceived himself.
After the maid departed, Nell dressed with particular care in her finest day dress—still black for mourning, but made of silk that caught the light beautifully, with jet buttons that gleamed like dark stars.
She arranged her hair in the softer style she had adopted since arriving at Greystowe, and after a moment's hesitation, fastened Isabella's pendant around her neck.
Whatever the day might bring, she would face it carrying her sister's blessing.
She found Thomas and Lady Greystowe in the breakfast room, both looking remarkably pleased with themselves despite the early hour.
A large wicker basket sat on the sideboard, overflowing with what appeared to be humble but heartfelt offerings—preserves in mismatched jars, knitted items that spoke of careful handiwork, and several small items wrapped in brown paper.
"Good morning, my dear," Lady Greystowe said with a brightness that suggested she had slept better than Nell had managed. "I trust you rested well?"
"Very well, thank you," Nell replied, hoping her voice didn't betray the sleepless hours she had spent reliving every moment of their evening together. "I understand there's been some excitement this morning?"
"Word has spread through the village that Thomas is in residence," Lady Greystowe explained, gesturing toward the basket with obvious pleasure. "The Widow Hartley sent her grandson through the snow with tokens of gratitude from several families. It seems your reputation has preceded you, Thomas."
Thomas looked distinctly uncomfortable with the attention, though Nell noticed he was examining the contents of the basket with genuine interest rather than the dismissive assessment she might have expected from their first meeting.
"I've done nothing to merit such generosity," he said, lifting what appeared to be a hand-knit muffler from the collection. "They don't even know me."
"They know you're family," Lady Greystowe corrected gently. "They know you've come home for Christmas, and they remember your father and grandfather with affection. Sometimes that's enough to begin with."
Nell watched Thomas process this information, noting the way his expression softened as he handled each humble gift. These were offerings from people who had little to spare, yet had chosen to share what they had with a lord they hoped might prove worthy of their loyalty.
"Perhaps," Thomas said slowly, "we might return the gesture. Is it not traditional for the estate to provide Christmas gifts to the tenants?"
"Very traditional," Lady Greystowe agreed, though her tone carried a note of surprise at his interest. "Though we've had to reduce the scope in recent years, with the uncertainty about the estate's future."
"What would be appropriate?" Thomas asked, and Nell felt her heart warm at the genuine concern in his voice. "I'm afraid my military experience didn't include instruction in estate traditions."
"Usually, baskets of food—hams, preserves, perhaps some sweets for the children.
Coal or firewood for those who need it most. Nothing elaborate, but enough to show that their lord remembers them during the season of giving.
" Lady Greystowe paused, studying her nephew's face.
"Though organizing such distributions at short notice would be quite challenging. .."
"What if we delivered the gifts personally?" Nell suggested, surprising herself with the bold offer. "Surely a few visits to express Christmas wishes would be both manageable and meaningful?"
Thomas turned to her with an expression of such gratitude that she felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Would you truly be willing to brave the cold for such a purpose? It would mean trudging through snow and visiting cottages that may be quite humble compared to what you're accustomed to."
The suggestion that she might find honest folk beneath her notice stung slightly, but Nell reminded herself that Thomas was still learning who she truly was beneath the polished exterior of her breeding.
"I think," she said carefully, "that sharing Christmas joy with those who have offered their own kindness would be an honor, not a hardship."
The warmth that flooded Thomas's expression at her words was worth any amount of cold or inconvenience she might face.
"Then we shall make it an expedition," Lady Greystowe declared with obvious satisfaction.
"I'll have Mrs. Hartwell prepare appropriate baskets, and you two can serve as the estate's Christmas ambassadors.
The fresh air will do you both good, and it will give the village a chance to see their new lord in person. "
Within two hours, they were bundled in their warmest clothing and setting out across the snowy landscape with a small sledge bearing carefully packed baskets.
Thomas had insisted on harnessing the sledge himself, claiming that military experience had taught him the value of understanding one's equipment.
Nell suspected he was simply enjoying the novelty of being useful in a domestic capacity.
The village was picture-perfect in its winter dress—stone cottages with smoke rising from their chimneys, children building snowmen in tiny gardens, and the sound of laughter carrying on the crisp air.
The church bells had fallen silent, but their Christmas message seemed to linger in the very atmosphere.
Their first stop was the Widow Hartley's cottage, where they were greeted with such overwhelming gratitude that Nell felt tears prick her eyes.
The elderly woman insisted on offering them tea despite their protests, and her grandson, the brave soul who had made the morning delivery, regarded Thomas with something approaching worship.
"Your lordship is so good to remember us," Mrs. Hartley said, her hands shaking slightly as she accepted the basket of provisions. "We weren't sure... that is, we hoped the new Earl would be as kind as his father was, God rest his soul."
"I hope to prove worthy of that legacy," Thomas replied, and Nell heard something new in his voice—not the stiff formality of duty, but genuine warmth and a dawning sense of responsibility that went beyond mere obligation.
As they continued their rounds, visiting cottage after cottage, Nell watched Thomas interact with his tenants with growing admiration.
He listened to their concerns about roof repairs needed after the storms, made careful mental notes about families that seemed to be struggling, and accepted their thanks with a humility that spoke well of his character.
More importantly, she saw how the villagers responded to him.
Initial wariness gave way to cautious approval, then to genuine pleasure as they realized their new lord was neither cold nor condescending.
By the time they reached the last cottage on their list, word had spread ahead of them, and they were greeted with smiles and eager welcomes.
"This is harder work than I anticipated," Thomas admitted as they made their way back toward the estate, the empty sledge much easier to pull through the snow. "Not the physical effort, but the emotional weight of their expectations."
"They don't expect perfection," Nell observed, noting how his cheeks had reddened from the cold and exercise, making him look younger and more approachable. "They simply want to know that someone cares about their welfare."
"And do I?" Thomas asked, pausing in his efforts to look at her directly. "Care about their welfare, I mean. Or am I simply playing a role I think I should fill?"