Page 16 of Christmas with the Earl (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #1)
Twelfth Night
T he thaw began the morning after Twelfth Night, arriving with the sound of dripping eaves and the subtle shift in air that speaks of winter's grip loosening.
Nell woke to the unfamiliar music of melting snow and felt her heart lift with something that might have been hope—or perhaps simply the relief of a woman who had finally stopped running from her own happiness.
She dressed with particular care in a gown of deep sapphire blue—the first time since Isabella's death that she had chosen to wear anything but black or gray.
The color felt foreign yet liberating, like stepping into sunlight after months of shadow.
Isabella's pendant gleamed against the rich fabric, and Nell found herself smiling at her reflection with something approaching her old confidence.
The breakfast room was awash in golden morning light when she entered, and she found Thomas already there, standing by the window with a cup of coffee and an expression of quiet contentment that transformed his entire countenance. When he turned at her entrance, his smile was radiant.
"Good morning," he said, setting down his cup to move toward her. "You look..." he paused, seeming to search for words adequate to the transformation, "like sunshine after the longest winter."
The compliment brought warmth to her cheeks, but also a flutter of the old uncertainty. "I thought it was time," she said, smoothing her skirts with hands that trembled slightly. "Time to stop hiding behind my grief and see what lies beneath it."
Thomas reached for her hands, stilling their nervous movement with his steady warmth. "And what do you find there?"
Nell looked up into his gray eyes, noting how they seemed lighter this morning, touched with silver like frost in sunlight. "Someone I used to know," she said softly. "Someone I thought I had lost forever, but who was simply waiting for permission to hope again."
Before Thomas could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of Lady Greystowe's approach, her voice carrying clearly from the corridor as she spoke to Mrs. Hartwell about the day's arrangements.
"...must be quite passable by afternoon, I should think. The main roads will take longer, naturally, but the village path should be manageable for anyone foolish enough to venture out so soon..."
She appeared in the doorway, resplendent in morning dress of rich burgundy, and stopped short at the sight of them standing so close together, hands entwined, both wearing expressions of barely contained joy.
"Oh," she said, and her voice carried a satisfaction so profound it might have been audible from the next county. "Oh, my dears. I take it yesterday's conversation proved fruitful?"
Thomas cleared his throat, but his smile never wavered. "Aunt Margaret, I believe Eleanor has something to tell you."
Lady Greystowe's gaze moved between them with the keen attention of a woman who had been hoping for exactly this development. "Indeed? And what might that be?"
"I've decided to extend my visit," Nell said, surprised by how steady her voice sounded when her heart was beating like a bird in her chest. "Indefinitely, if you'll have me."
"Will I have you?" Lady Greystowe's laugh was pure delight as she moved forward to embrace them both. "My dear girl, I have been plotting for exactly this outcome since the moment you arrived. Thomas, you have finally shown some sense in matters of the heart."
"Finally," Thomas agreed with good humor, though Nell caught the slight tightening around his eyes that suggested his patience with his aunt's matchmaking had been severely tested over the past weeks.
As they settled around the breakfast table, the conversation flowed with an ease that spoke of barriers finally dissolved.
Lady Greystowe regaled them with plans for the spring improvements to the estate—clearly assuming Thomas's commitment to Greystowe Hall was now permanent—while Thomas outlined his thoughts on the tenant cottages that needed repair and the agricultural improvements he hoped to implement.
Nell found herself drawn into the planning with an enthusiasm that surprised her.
These were not the sort of domestic concerns that had ever engaged her attention in London, yet here, with Thomas's steady presence beside her and Lady Greystowe's encouragement, she discovered opinions and ideas she hadn't known she possessed.
"The village school could benefit from expansion," she found herself saying as they discussed the allocation of estate resources. "I noticed several children who seemed eager for learning but perhaps lack the means for proper education."
Thomas turned to her with an expression of such approval that she felt herself glowing under his regard. "You've given this considerable thought."
"I've had time to observe," Nell replied, then surprised herself by adding, "and I find I care about the outcome. These people, this place—they matter to me now in a way I never expected when I first arrived."
"Of course they do," Lady Greystowe said with satisfaction. "Love makes us larger, my dear. It expands our capacity for caring beyond ourselves."
The word 'love' hung in the morning air like a benediction, and Nell felt Thomas's hand find hers beneath the table, his fingers intertwining with hers in a gesture of solidarity and promise.
After breakfast, they walked through the estate grounds together, noting where the thaw had revealed damage from the winter storms and discussing plans for repair and improvement.
The snow still lay thick in protected areas, but the main paths were beginning to clear, and there was something hopeful about the way the landscape seemed to be awakening from its winter sleep.
"I have something to show you," Thomas said when they reached the rose garden, where Isabella's carefully planned beds lay dormant beneath their protective covering.
He led her to a stone bench positioned to overlook the formal plantings, brushing away the snow to reveal the carved inscription beneath: In memory of love that blooms eternal.
"Isabella had this placed here," Thomas explained, his voice gentle with memory. "She said every garden needed a place for quiet reflection, somewhere to remember that beauty returns even after the harshest winters."
Nell traced the carved letters with her gloved fingers, feeling the weight of connection across time. "She would be happy, I think. About us, I mean."
"I believe she would," Thomas agreed. "She wrote to me once about her hopes for this place, for the family that might grow here. She wanted Greystowe Hall to be filled with laughter and love and the sound of children playing in these gardens."
The gentle mention of children sent a flutter of awareness through Nell's chest. They were speaking of the future now, of practical possibilities rather than distant dreams. The realization was both thrilling and terrifying in its immediacy.
"Thomas," she began, then stopped, unsure how to voice the questions that were suddenly pressing at her consciousness.
"What is it?" he asked, settling beside her on the bench with the patient attention she had come to treasure.
"I need to know that this is real," she said finally. "Not just the product of winter isolation and shared grief, but something that can survive the return of ordinary life, of outside obligations and expectations."
Thomas was quiet for a moment, his gaze moving across the snow-covered gardens with the thoughtful expression she recognized as his way of organizing complex thoughts.
"Do you remember," he said finally, "what you said to me about the difference between running toward something and running away from it?"
Nell nodded, remembering their conversation during their first walk in the snow.
"For years, I convinced myself that I was moving toward purpose, toward duty and honor and all the things a soldier should value.
But I think, if I'm honest, I was running away from the possibility of caring too much, of making myself vulnerable to loss.
" Thomas turned to face her directly. "Being here with you has taught me the difference.
This—what I feel for you, what I hope we might build together—this is running toward something.
Toward love, toward home, toward the life I want rather than the life I thought I should want. "
The words were simple but carried the weight of absolute conviction. Here was a man who had examined his own heart with military thoroughness and found it sound.
"I love you, Eleanor," Thomas continued, and though his voice remained steady, she could see the slight tremor in his hands that revealed the courage this declaration required.
"Not because you remind me of happier times, not because you've helped me heal from old wounds, but because your courage, your kindness, your beauty—all yours alone, untouched by comparison.
I love the woman you are becoming, the woman you've always been beneath the grief and doubt. "
Nell felt tears prick her eyes at the simple honesty of his words. No flowery speeches or grand gestures, just the truth offered with the quiet confidence of a man who knew his own mind.
"I love you, too," she whispered, the words feeling foreign and wonderful on her tongue. "I think I began loving you the moment you steadied me in the snow and looked at me as though I were something precious rather than something broken."
Thomas's smile at her confession was radiant, transforming his entire countenance with joy and relief. "Then perhaps," he said, reaching into his coat pocket with the deliberate care of a man who had been planning this moment, "you might consider making our understanding official."