Page 2 of Christmas with the Earl (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #1)
Greystowe Hall
N ell woke to the soft patter of snow against her window and the distant sound of church bells from the village below. For a moment, she lay still in the unfamiliar bed, wrapped in the warmth of down quilts and the peculiar peace that comes from being somewhere no one expects anything of you.
The Blue Room was even lovelier in daylight than it had been by candlelight.
Morning sun filtered through frost-etched windows, casting delicate patterns across the rose-pink hangings and polished wood floors.
Someone, Mrs. Hartwell, she presumed, had already been in to stoke the fire and leave a basin of steaming water on the washstand.
Nell rose and moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy curtains to look out over the winter landscape.
The view took her breath away. Snow had fallen steadily through the night, transforming the gardens into a pristine wonderland.
Ancient yews stood like sentinels draped in white, and the bare branches of what must be magnificent roses in summer created intricate lacework against the pale sky.
Beyond the formal gardens, she could see the dark line of a forest and, in the distance, smoke rising from the chimneys of what appeared to be a small village.
The entire scene looked like something from one of the fairy tales Isabella used to read aloud during their childhood—beautiful, peaceful, and utterly removed from the complexities of London life.
A soft knock at the door interrupted her reverie. "Come in," she called, expecting Mrs. Hartwell or perhaps a maid.
Instead, Lady Greystowe entered, already dressed for the day in an elegant morning gown of deep plum wool. Her silver hair was arranged in a simple but becoming style, and her eyes held a brightness that spoke of genuine pleasure.
"Good morning, my dear. I hope you slept well?" Lady Greystowe moved to stand beside Nell at the window, following her gaze out over the snowy landscape. "Rather different from London, isn't it?"
"It's magnificent," Nell said. "I don't think I've ever seen anything so peaceful."
"Isabella said the same thing when she first came here as a bride.
" Lady Greystowe's voice held only warmth now, the sharp edge of grief softened by happy memories.
"She spent hours at this very window, planning improvements to the gardens.
She had such ambitious ideas—a rose walk, an herb garden near the kitchens, even a small maze using the old boxwood hedges. "
"Did she... were any of them completed?" Nell asked carefully.
"Oh yes, several. The rose walk is quite lovely in summer, though you can barely make it out under all this snow.
And her herb garden has provided the kitchen with fresh seasonings for two years running now.
" Lady Greystowe smiled. "She would be pleased to know her ideas took root, quite literally. "
They stood in comfortable silence for a few moments, watching fat snowflakes drift past the window, the shared memory of Isabella settling between them like the falling snow—gentle, persistent, impossible to ignore.
At length, Lady Greystowe stirred, her expression softening into something more resolute. “It does no good to dwell only in the past,” she said, as much to herself as to Nell. “Come—perhaps a tour of the house might lift our spirits.”
She gestured for them to follow. "It's been so long since we've had proper guests, and I confess I'm rather eager to show off Isabella's improvements. She had an excellent eye for both beauty and practicality."
"I would love that," Nell said, meaning it. The prospect of learning more about how her sister had made her mark on this ancient place held unexpected appeal.
"Splendid. Mrs. Hartwell has prepared a breakfast tray for the morning room—nothing elaborate, but Cook does make the most delightful scones. Shall we say in half an hour?"
After Lady Greystowe departed, Nell dressed carefully in one of her simpler morning gowns—black wool trimmed with jet buttons, appropriate for her mourning but not so severe as to cast a pall over the day.
She arranged her dark hair in a neat chignon and pinned Isabella's locket at her throat, as had become her custom.
The morning room proved to be a charming space overlooking what Lady Greystowe informed her were the kitchen gardens.
Windows on two sides filled the room with light, and a small fire crackled cheerfully in the grate.
The promised breakfast was indeed delightful—warm scones with butter and jam, strong tea, and thin slices of ham that Cook had somehow managed to cure to perfection despite the reduced household.
"The kitchens are Mrs. Hartwell's domain," Lady Greystowe explained as they ate.
"She's been here since before my late son was born, and I don't believe there's anything related to the running of this house that she doesn't know.
The woman is worth her weight in gold, particularly now that we're operating with a skeleton staff. "
"Have many of the servants found other positions?" Nell asked, then immediately regretted the question as potentially too personal.
But Lady Greystowe seemed happy to discuss the practical matters.
"Some, yes. When it became clear that the new earl might not.
.. Well, that the future of the estate was uncertain, I encouraged several of the younger staff to seek employment elsewhere.
Better to find good positions while they can than wait and risk being turned off without references.
" She took a delicate sip of tea. "Though I must say, those who chose to remain have been utterly loyal.
I couldn't ask for better support during such a difficult time. "
After breakfast, Lady Greystowe proved to be an excellent guide through the sprawling house.
They began in the formal drawing room, where family portraits gazed down from gilded frames, and silk-covered furniture spoke of generations of refined living.
Nell found herself searching the faces in the paintings for any resemblance to Isabella, but the Greystowe features seemed to run to dark hair and strong jawlines rather than her sister's fair beauty.
"The library is my particular pride," Lady Greystowe said as they entered a magnificent room lined floor to ceiling with leather-bound volumes.
Tall windows provided excellent reading light, and several comfortable chairs were positioned near the fireplace.
"My late husband was quite the scholar, and his father before him.
Some of these books date back two centuries. "
Nell ran her fingers along the spines, marveling at the collection. "Isabella must have loved this room."
“Indeed, she did. She spent many evenings here, particularly during..." Lady Greystowe paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. "During the later months, when she was not feeling quite herself. She found great comfort in poetry, I believe."
They continued through the house—the formal dining room with its massive table that could seat twenty, the conservatory where exotic plants somehow thrived despite the winter cold, and several guest chambers that rivaled Nell's own in comfort and elegance.
Each room told a story of family history and careful maintenance, even with the reduced staff.
"The estate has been in the Greystowe family for over three hundred years," Lady Greystowe explained as they paused in what had clearly been the master's study. "Each generation has added its own touches while respecting what came before. It's quite a legacy to inherit."
Something in her tone made Nell look at her more closely. "You speak as though you're not certain that legacy will continue."
Lady Greystowe moved to the window, gazing out at the snow-covered grounds with an expression that mingled love and worry.
"The new earl is... shall we say, a practical man.
A military man, with a soldier's view of sentiment versus necessity.
I fear he may see Greystowe Hall as more of a burden than a blessing. "
"Surely he wouldn't sell such a beautiful estate?"
"In truth, I do not know." Lady Greystowe's voice carried a weight of uncertainty that made Nell's heart ache for her.
"We've had very little correspondence since he inherited.
A few formal letters from his solicitors, notification that he was concluding his military service.
.. but nothing to indicate his intentions regarding the estate or, indeed, his intentions to visit at all. "
They were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening with considerable force, followed by voices in the great hall below. Lady Greystowe frowned, moving quickly toward the study door.
"That's odd. We're not expecting anyone, and in this weather..." She paused, listening to what sounded like Mrs. Hartwell's voice, unusually flustered, speaking to someone in urgent, low tones.
A man's voice replied—cultured, authoritative, and distinctly displeased about something. Nell couldn't make out the words, but the tone suggested someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.
Lady Greystowe's face went pale, then flushed with what appeared to be a mixture of surprise and dismay. "Oh dear. Oh my dear. I do believe..."
Heavy footsteps could be heard ascending the main staircase, accompanied by Mrs. Hartwell's continued protests about the propriety of arriving unannounced and the state of the roads and whether his lordship had taken proper care not to catch his death in such weather.
"Thomas," Lady Greystowe murmured, pressing a hand to her throat. "It must be Thomas."
Before Nell could ask who Thomas might be, the footsteps reached the landing and approached the study. Lady Greystowe straightened her shoulders and moved toward the door, clearly preparing to greet whoever was about to enter.