Page 15 of Christmas with the Earl (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #1)

Thomas set the box carefully on the table beside his chair, then turned to face her fully.

"What has happened?" he asked, and there was something in his voice—hurt, confusion, a dawning realization that she was pulling away—that nearly broke her resolve.

"Yesterday you seemed... that is, I thought we had reached an understanding of sorts.

Now you speak as though you're already gone. "

"I am leaving tomorrow," Nell said, forcing herself to meet his gaze despite the pain she saw there. "I've imposed on your aunt's hospitality long enough, and it's time I returned to my proper life in London."

"Your proper life," Thomas repeated, and there was a bitter edge to his voice that she had never heard before. "Of course. How foolish of me to think that a few weeks of country isolation might compete with the attractions of society and suitable marriage prospects."

The accusation stung because it was so far from the truth, yet Nell found herself unable to correct it.

How could she explain that she was leaving not because London held more appeal, but because she was terrified of the depth of feeling growing between them?

How could she admit that she was running from love because she didn't trust herself to be worthy of it?

"It's not..." she began, then stopped, realizing that any explanation would require a honesty she wasn't prepared to offer. "I must go, Thomas. Surely you understand that."

"No," Thomas said, rising from his chair with the controlled precision that marked his military background.

"I'm afraid I don't understand at all. What I understand is that something has changed, and you won't tell me what it is.

What I understand is that you're choosing to leave rather than.

.." He paused, seeming to struggle with how much to say.

"Rather than explore what might be possible between us. "

The words hung in the library's quiet air, and Nell felt tears prick her eyes at the pain beneath his carefully controlled tone.

"Perhaps it's better this way," she said softly. "Perhaps we're both reading more into a passing Yuletide companionship than what was ever really there."

Thomas recoiled as if physically struck, and Nell hated herself for the cruelty of the words even as she spoke them.

"A pleasant holiday friendship," he repeated slowly. "Is that truly how you would characterize what we've shared these past weeks?"

Nell opened her mouth to confirm the dismissive description, to drive home the final nail in whatever fragile hope he had been nurturing.

But the words wouldn't come. Looking at him—really looking at the man who had shown her such patience and growing affection, who had revealed his own vulnerabilities while respecting her grief, who had begun to build a vision of the future that included her happiness—she found she couldn't complete the lie.

"I..." she began, then stopped, her throat closing with emotion.

Thomas studied her face for a long moment, and something in his expression shifted from hurt to understanding.

"You're afraid," he said quietly, and it wasn't an accusation but a recognition. "Something has frightened you, and your instinct is to flee rather than face whatever it is."

The gentle accuracy of his observation was her undoing. Tears spilled over despite her efforts to contain them, and she found herself covering her face with her hands in mortification.

"Eleanor," Thomas said, his voice infinitely gentle as he moved closer. "Please. Tell me what troubles you. Let me help."

"You can't help," she managed through her tears. "Don't you see? This is exactly why I have to leave. I'm falling apart, becoming someone I don't recognize, feeling things I'm not sure I can trust. How can I make any decisions about the future when I don't even know who I am anymore?"

Thomas was quiet for a moment, and when she finally looked up, she found him watching her with an expression of profound tenderness.

"Perhaps," he said carefully, "the question isn't who you are, but who you're becoming. Perhaps the woman you don't recognize is simply the woman you were always meant to be, finally free to emerge."

The words hit her like a physical blow, cutting straight to the heart of her fear and confusion.

Was it possible that her uncertainty wasn't a sign of weakness or confusion, but of growth?

That the woman she was becoming at Greystowe Hall—warmer, braver, more open to possibility—was actually more authentic than the careful, controlled person she had been in London?

"I don't know how to be her," Nell whispered. "I don't know how to be the kind of woman who could make you happy, who could be worthy of this place, of the life you're building here."

"Then perhaps," Thomas said, kneeling beside her chair so they were at eye level, "we could learn together. Perhaps we could discover who we're meant to become side by side, without any expectations except kindness and patience and whatever affection grows between us."

His words were so gentle, so free from pressure or demands, that Nell felt something tight in her chest begin to loosen.

Here was no grand declaration or overwhelming passion, but something far more precious—an offer of partnership, of mutual discovery, of love patient enough to wait for her to find her courage.

"I'm so afraid of disappointing you," she admitted, the words barely audible.

"And I'm afraid of the same thing," Thomas replied with a rueful smile. "Afraid that I'll prove inadequate to the task of being a proper earl, a worthy lord of this estate. Afraid that my feelings for you are stronger than anything I can offer in return."

The mutual confession of vulnerability shifted something fundamental between them. Here they were, two people struggling with their own sense of worthiness, each afraid of failing the other when what they both needed was simply the grace to grow into love together.

"What are you saying?" Nell asked, though her heart was already beginning to hope.

"I'm saying," Thomas replied, reaching for her hands with infinite care, "that if you're willing to take the risk of staying, of seeing what we might become together, then I'm willing to take the risk of offering you my heart and hoping it might be enough."

The words were simple, honest, and completely without artifice. No grand gestures or overwhelming passion, just the quiet offer of a man who had found something precious and was brave enough to fight for it.

Nell looked into his gray eyes and saw patience, hope, and a love steady enough to weather whatever storms their future might bring. And for the first time since arriving at Greystowe Hall, she felt truly brave enough to reach for the happiness being offered.

"Yes," she whispered, the word barely audible but carrying the weight of a lifetime's worth of courage. "Yes, I think I'm willing to take that risk."

Thomas's smile was radiant as he lifted her hands to his lips, pressing gentle kisses to her knuckles with a reverence that spoke of promises and possibilities and the kind of love that grew stronger through patience.

"Then," he said softly, "perhaps you should keep this after all."

He reached for Isabella's pendant, lifting it from its velvet nest with careful hands. "May I?"

Nell nodded, bowing her head as he fastened the chain around her neck once more. The amber felt warm against her skin, as though Isabella's blessing was settling over them both.

When she looked up, Thomas was watching her with an expression that stole her breath away—wonder and gratitude and the quiet certainty of a man who had finally found his way home.

"I suppose your aunt will be insufferably pleased with herself," Nell said, surprising them both with a watery laugh.

Thomas chuckled, the sound warm and rich in the library's quiet. "Insufferably. She's probably listening at the door right now, ready to claim full credit for our understanding."

"As if the pendant had a mind of its own and refused to stay packed away," Nell added, touching the amber at her throat.

"Perhaps it did," Thomas said softly, his expression growing serious again. "Perhaps some things are simply meant to be."

"Merry Twelfth Night, Eleanor," he said softly.

"Merry Twelfth Night, Thomas," she replied, and meant it with her whole heart.

Outside the library windows, the first soft flakes of new snow began to fall, but neither of them noticed.

They were too busy discovering that sometimes the greatest courage required was simply the willingness to stay and see what love might build from the foundations of friendship, patience, and hope.