Page 6 of Christmas with the Earl (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #1)
"Perhaps you should remain inside," Thomas suggested, noting her reaction. "I can gather what we need and bring it to you for assessment."
"Absolutely not," Nell replied with more vehemence than she intended. "I'm hardly so delicate that I cannot tolerate a bit of fresh air."
Thomas studied her for a moment, and she thought she saw a hint of approval in his expression. "Very well. But stay close and tell me immediately if you become too cold."
As they worked their way through the snow-laden garden, selecting the best branches and discussing the merits of different types of evergreen boughs, Nell found herself enjoying the collaboration more than she had expected.
Thomas approached the task with the same systematic thoroughness he seemed to bring to everything, but there was something almost playful in the way he tested branches for fullness and debated the aesthetic merits of pine versus fir.
The snow was deeper than anticipated in places, and more than once, Nell found herself struggling with the uneven terrain beneath the pristine surface.
When she stumbled slightly over a hidden root, Thomas reached out instinctively, steadying her with a firm hand to her elbow.
The contact was brief, but it left her unaccountably breathless, and she was grateful for the cold air that might explain the flush in her cheeks.
"Careful," he said, his voice gentler than usual. "The ground is more treacherous than it appears."
Nell drew back as soon as she was steady, brushing snow from her gloves with exaggerated focus. “Yes, well. I wouldn’t want to be another liability.”
Thomas blinked, his mouth opening as if to speak, then closing again. He turned back to the pine boughs with renewed intensity, the moment vanishing beneath a drift of silence too thick to wade through.
“Lady Greystowe once told me Isabella favored holly,” he said at one point, carefully cutting a branch laden with bright red berries.
“She claimed the contrast of the berries against the green was essential for proper Christmas spirit.”It was the first time he had mentioned Isabella without prompting, and Nell felt a flutter of surprise at the casual way he spoke of her sister.
"She was right," Nell said softly. "Isabella had excellent taste in such matters. Our Christmas decorations at home were always magnificent when she was in charge of them."
Thomas paused in his cutting, glancing at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "You must miss her terribly during the holidays."
The simple statement, offered without pity or excessive sympathy, somehow touched Nell more deeply than all the elaborate condolences she had received in London.
"I do," she admitted. "Last Christmas was... difficult. I couldn't bear the thought of celebrating anything when she was so recently gone."
"And this year?"
Nell considered the question as she watched Thomas carefully wrap the cut branches in the cloth they had brought to protect them during transport. "This year feels different somehow. Perhaps it's being here, where she was happy. Or perhaps it's simply that grief changes over time."
"In my experience," Thomas said quietly, "grief never truly leaves us. But it does become... more manageable. Like a wound that heals but leaves a scar."
There was something in his tone that made Nell look at him more closely.
"You speak from experience."
Thomas didn’t look at her. “I lost my entire unit in Spain,” he said. “Good men. Better than I deserved to lead.”
Nell stepped closer, the snow crunching beneath her boots. “That isn’t your fault.”
He met her gaze then—unflinching, wounded. “Isn’t it?”
This, Nell thought, is what grief looks like in a man who hasn’t let himself weep.
The stark admission hung between them, and Nell felt her heart clench at the pain beneath his matter-of-fact delivery. So that was the shape of his grief—discipline, silence, control. Not so different from her own, she realized, though manifested differently.
"I'm sorry," she said, inadequate though the words were.
Thomas straightened, shouldering the bundle of evergreen branches with practiced ease. "Thank you. However, my point is that we learn to carry our losses differently over time. They become part of us rather than something that consumes us."
As they made their way back through the snow toward the warmth of the conservatory, Nell found herself seeing Thomas Greystowe in an entirely new light.
The man who had seemed so coldly practical the day before was revealed to have depths of understanding born from his own encounters with loss and responsibility.
As she peeled off her damp gloves, Nell glanced sidelong at the Earl.
He’d worked without complaint, offered a steady arm without presumption, and even remembered Isabella’s fondness for holly.
That last detail struck her unexpectedly—not as a performance, but as the mark of someone who had paid attention, even when no one had expected it of him.
It was such a quiet kind of goodness, the kind one rarely noticed until it was gone—or standing beside you with snow in his hair, asking nothing in return.
Perhaps, she thought as they stamped the snow from their boots and stepped back into the conservatory's embrace, being snowbound at Greystowe Hall might not be a hardship after all. Especially when the cold outside made the warmth between them so unmistakable.