Page 14 of Christmas with the Earl (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #1)
A Gift of Courage
T he days between Christmas and New Year's Eve passed in a haze of domestic contentment that Nell had never imagined possible.
The formal barriers that had defined her first encounters with Thomas had dissolved entirely, replaced by an easy companionship that felt both natural and precious.
They spent their mornings walking the estate grounds, their afternoons reading by the fire in the library, and their evenings in quiet conversation with Lady Greystowe that often stretched long past proper bedtime hours.
Yet beneath the surface calm, Nell felt the growing weight of an approaching decision.
Her original plan had been to return to London after Twelfth Night, to resume the life she had fled and somehow find a way forward that honored Isabella's memory without being consumed by it.
But that plan had been made by a different woman—one who had not yet discovered the possibility of love growing in the most unexpected of places.
A soft knock interrupted her contemplation. "Come in," she called, expecting Lady Greystowe with some final detail about tomorrow's Twelfth Night celebrations.
Instead, her maid entered with an expression of barely contained curiosity. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but there are voices in the corridor. His lordship and her ladyship, speaking quite earnestly about something."
Nell frowned. Neither Thomas nor his aunt was prone to airing matters of consequence where servants might linger. "What sort of voices?" she asked, though she immediately regretted the question. She had no business eavesdropping on private family discussions.
"Well, my lady," the maid said with the air of someone bursting to share important intelligence, "his lordship seems to be asking her ladyship's advice about matters of the heart, if you take my meaning."
Despite her better judgment, Nell felt her pulse quicken with interest. "Matters of the heart?"
"Something about whether a certain lady might ever truly care for him, and whether he should speak his feelings before it's too late." The maid's eyes sparkled with romantic excitement. "Her ladyship seems to think he's being unnecessarily cautious, if you ask me."
Before Nell could respond—or properly chastise herself for listening to servants' gossip—the voices in question grew louder, as though the speakers were approaching her door. Without quite meaning to, she found herself moving closer to listen.
"—simply cannot let her leave without knowing how I feel," Thomas was saying, his voice carrying a note of frustration she had never heard before. "But how can I burden her with my sentiments when she's still grieving, still finding her way back to life?"
"Thomas," Lady Greystowe's voice was gentle but firm, "Eleanor has been finding her way back to life these past weeks. Anyone with eyes can see that she's begun to heal, to hope again. The question is whether you're brave enough to be part of that healing."
"But what if I'm wrong about her feelings?
What if I've misinterpreted kindness for something deeper?
" Thomas's voice held a vulnerability that made Nell's heart clench with tenderness.
"I cannot bear the thought of making her uncomfortable, of forcing her to choose between honesty and politeness when she's been nothing but gracious about my growing attachment. "
Nell pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Growing attachment—such careful, controlled words for what she had begun to hope might be love.
"My dear boy," Lady Greystowe said with affectionate exasperation, "for a man who showed such decisiveness in military matters, you are remarkably obtuse about affairs of the heart.
The girl has been watching you with the same longing you show when you look at her.
She lights up when you enter a room, hangs on your every word during our conversations, and has taken to wearing Isabella's pendant as though it were a talisman. "
"The pendant..." Thomas's voice softened. "I wondered about that. Whether it meant... but surely I was reading too much into..."
"You were reading exactly what any sensible person would read into it," Lady Greystowe interrupted. "Eleanor is not a frivolous girl given to dramatic gestures. If she wears Isabella's pendant daily, it's because she understands its significance—as a blessing, as a bridge between past and future."
There was a long pause, during which Nell found herself holding her breath.
"I had planned to wait," Thomas said finally. "To give her time to complete her mourning period properly, to return to London and rejoin society before making any sort of... declaration."
"And by then, she'll have convinced herself that what happened here was merely a pleasant interlude, a respite from grief rather than the beginning of genuine affection.
" Lady Greystowe's tone carried a note of warning.
"Thomas, some opportunities come only once.
Eleanor is planning to leave the day after next.
If you let her go without speaking your heart, you may find that distance and time conspire to make cowards of you both. "
Another pause, longer this time, filled with the weight of decision.
"What would you have me do?" Thomas asked quietly. "Ambush her with declarations on her last evening here? Press my suit when she's already committed to leaving?"
"I would have you trust in what you've both discovered here," Lady Greystowe replied firmly. "Trust that the connection between you is real and worth fighting for. Give her the choice, Thomas, but make sure she understands what choice she's making."
Their voices began to fade as they moved away down the corridor, but Nell had heard enough to set her world spinning. Thomas cared for her—truly cared, not just as Isabella's sister or a welcome guest, but as a woman he might wish to court, to marry, to build a life with.
The revelation should have filled her with joy, but instead, she found herself gripped by a terrible fear.
What if Lady Greystowe was wrong about her own feelings?
What if she was mistaking gratitude and the comfort of healing for something deeper?
What if her feelings were real, but not strong enough for the future Thomas would need?
He deserved a true partner, someone who wouldn't forever be compared to Isabella's memory.
The doubts that had been whispering at the edges of her consciousness suddenly roared to life. By the time her maid withdrew, Nell had convinced herself that leaving was not just wise but necessary—for both their sakes.
She completed her packing with grim efficiency, carefully wrapping Isabella's pendant in silk. Tomorrow, she would return it with appropriate gratitude and explanation.
But as she settled into bed, sleep proved elusive.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Thomas's face as he had looked during their Christmas morning expedition—alive with purpose and growing affection, looking at her as though she were something precious and wonderful.
She remembered the warmth in his voice when he spoke of building a future at Greystowe Hall, the careful way he had avoided pressing her for any commitment while making his own hopes quietly clear.
Was she really so lacking in courage that she would flee at the first sign of genuine connection? Was she so afraid of risking her heart that she would choose the safety of familiar loneliness over the terrifying possibility of love?
The questions tormented her through the long hours of the night, and when dawn finally broke over Greystowe Hall's snow-covered grounds, Nell rose with red-rimmed eyes and a heart heavy with indecision.
Twelfth Night was traditionally a day of celebration and gift-giving, marking the end of the Christmas season with festivity and joy.
Lady Greystowe had planned a special dinner to mark the occasion, complete with the traditional Twelfth Night cake and small gifts exchanged among the household.
It should have been a day of happiness and gratitude for the unexpected blessings of the season.
Instead, Nell found herself counting down the hours until her departure the following morning with a mixture of relief and devastating loss.
She made it through breakfast by focusing on Lady Greystowe's cheerful chatter about the day's planned activities.
She managed the morning's walk through the estate grounds by listening to Thomas point out various improvements he was planning for the spring while carefully avoiding his increasingly concerned glances at her subdued manner.
But when they retired to the library after luncheon, and Thomas quietly suggested they might use the time to exchange their Twelfth Night gifts privately before the evening's formal celebration, Nell felt her carefully maintained composure begin to crack.
"I have something for you," she said abruptly, before he could present whatever gift he had prepared for her. Better to get this over with quickly, before her courage failed entirely.
From her reticule, she withdrew the small wrapped package she had prepared the night before. Inside was Isabella's pendant, carefully cleaned and placed in its original velvet box, along with a letter she had written and rewritten until the words were as diplomatic as she could make them.
Thomas accepted the package with obvious surprise, his brow furrowing as he recognized the shape and size of the jewelry box. When he opened it and saw the pendant nestled in its velvet bed, his face went very still.
"Eleanor," he said quietly, "why are you returning this? Aunt Margaret gave it to you. Isabella wanted you to have it."
"I cannot keep something so precious," Nell replied, hating how formal her voice sounded, how cold and distant after the warmth they had shared. "It belongs with your family, with Greystowe Hall. I have no right to it."