Page 9 of Christmas with the Earl (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #1)

When they reached a slight rise that offered a view back toward the house, Thomas stopped, and Nell found herself looking at Greystowe Hall as though seeing it for the first time.

From this vantage point, the ancient stone walls seemed to glow in the morning sunlight, and smoke rising from the chimneys spoke of warmth and life within.

It looked like a place where people belonged, where families had found happiness for generations.

"I used to come here when I needed to think," Thomas said, following her gaze. "There's something about seeing the house from this distance that puts things in perspective."

"What sort of things?" Nell asked, though she thought she might already understand. There was something about the view that made the estate seem less like property and more like home.

"Whether duty and practicality are always the same thing," Thomas replied. "Whether preserving something beautiful is worth the cost, even when the numbers don't quite add up."

Nell turned to study his profile, noting the way his expression had softened as he looked at his inherited home. "And what conclusion have you reached?"

"That perhaps I've been asking the wrong questions," Thomas said, his voice carrying a note of revelation. "I've been calculating whether I can afford to keep Greystowe Hall. I should have been asking whether I can afford to lose it."

Nell turned to him. “You said there’s a deadline.”

He gave a short nod. “If I do not take formal possession—by way of proving occupancy and solvency—before Twelfth Night, some of the peripheral lands may be sold to satisfy the clause in the entail. The Hall itself would remain, for now. But stripped of its farming income, it would become a liability. A hollow shell.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Then this place depends on your decision.”

“As do others. Tenants, staff, my aunt… all waiting to see whether I choose to keep a legacy I never asked for.”

The admission hung between them, and Nell felt her heart clench at the pain beneath his practical words. “Perhaps,” Nell said, “it’s not about what you asked for, but what you might deserve.”

Here was a man who had trained himself to value duty over desire, responsibility over sentiment, and yet the sight of his family's home in its winter beauty was threatening to undo all those careful defenses.

"It would be a tremendous loss," she said gently. "Not just for your family, but for everyone who has found happiness here." The words 'including me' hovered on her lips, but she caught herself, startled by how readily the thought had formed.

Thomas turned to look at her then, and there was something in his expression that made her breath catch. "I'm beginning to understand that," he said quietly. "Though I confess I'm not entirely sure what to do with the understanding."

Nell hesitated, her gloved hands clasped in front of her.

“You said something once,” she murmured, not quite meeting his gaze. “About stars burning too brightly.”

Thomas tilted his head. “Did I?”

“Yes. When we were decorating. I thought you meant—” she paused, her voice tight. “That I was only ever going to be a poor imitation of Isabella.”

The wind stirred a drift behind them, but neither moved.

“No,” he said quietly, but with the clarity of someone who meant to be understood. “I meant she never saw the edge of things coming. You do. You guard yourself. That’s not weakness, Eleanor. It’s the reason you’re still standing.”

Nell exhaled, something between a sigh and a release. The ache she hadn’t named loosened its grip.

They stood there in the crisp morning air, two people who had found themselves in circumstances neither had expected, looking at a house that somehow represented possibilities neither had dared to consider.

The snow sparkled around them like scattered stars, and the silence stretched with the weight of things unspoken.

It was Thomas who finally broke the spell, though his voice was gentler than usual. "We should head back. I’m certain your hands are beginning to turn blue, and Aunt Margaret will never forgive me if I allow you to take a chill."

Nell looked down at her gloved hands, surprised to realize she had indeed grown quite cold without noticing. But as Thomas offered his arm again, she was acutely aware that the warmth spreading through her had nothing to do with the prospect of returning to the house's heated rooms.

As they retraced their steps through the snow, walking closer together now against the cold, Nell found herself stealing glances at Thomas.

The rigid military bearing she had first encountered was still there, but softened somehow by their morning's expedition.

He moved through his family's grounds with a growing sense of belonging that seemed to surprise him as much as it pleased her.

When they paused at a particularly icy patch where the path curved around a fountain, Thomas tightened his grip on her arm, his other hand coming up to steady her waist as she navigated the treacherous footing.

For a moment, they were very close, close enough that she could see the individual snowflakes caught in his dark hair, close enough to notice the way his breathing had quickened despite the leisurely pace of their walk.

"Careful," he murmured, but his hands remained at her waist even after she had found her footing, as though he were reluctant to let her go.

Nell found herself looking up into his gray eyes, noting the way they seemed to reflect the winter light, the way his gaze seemed to linger on her face as though memorizing every detail.

There was something in the air between them—awareness, possibility, the faint tremor of connection that neither was quite ready to acknowledge aloud.

"Thank you," she managed, though the words came out breathier than she intended.

"My pleasure," Thomas replied, and there was something in his tone that suggested he meant far more than simple politeness.

They remained frozen for a heartbeat longer, hands connected, breath mingling in the cold air, the silence between them heavy with possibility, before Thomas seemed to catch himself and stepped back with careful deliberation.

"The house," he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual. "We should... that is, the warmth..."

"Yes," Nell agreed quickly, though she felt oddly bereft when his hands dropped away. "Lady Greystowe will be wondering what's become of us."

As they completed their walk back to the conservatory, both carefully maintaining proper distance now, Nell couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had shifted between them.

The barriers Thomas had maintained so carefully were showing cracks, and the glimpses of the man beneath his defenses were proving dangerously appealing.

When they finally stepped back into the conservatory's welcome warmth, Thomas helped her remove her cloak with the same careful attention he might have given a precious artifact.

Their fingers brushed as he lifted the heavy wool from her shoulders, and Nell felt that same jolt of awareness that had marked their moment by the fountain.

"Eleanor, Thomas, there you are!" Lady Greystowe's voice carried from the doorway, though Nell thought she detected a note of satisfaction beneath the maternal concern. "You both look wonderfully refreshed. I trust the gardens were worth the expedition?"

"Very much so," Nell replied, working to keep her voice steady as she avoided Thomas's gaze. "The winter beauty is really quite extraordinary."

"Indeed," Thomas agreed, his tone carefully neutral, though Nell noticed he was having similar difficulty with normal conversation. "Most... illuminating."

Lady Greystowe's smile suggested she had heard far more in their responses than either had intended to reveal.

"Splendid. Well then, perhaps you'd both like some hot chocolate by the fire?

Cook has prepared a lovely luncheon, and I thought we might continue our discussion about tomorrow's Christmas Eve preparations. "

As they made their way toward the house proper, Nell found herself acutely aware of Thomas walking beside her.

The morning's expedition had revealed layers to his character she hadn't suspected, and the growing warmth in his manner toward both her and Greystowe Hall suggested possibilities she wasn't entirely sure she was prepared to examine.

But as they settled by the drawing room fire with steaming cups of chocolate, and Lady Greystowe began outlining her plans for Christmas Eve dinner, Nell caught Thomas watching her with an expression of quiet thoughtfulness that made her pulse quicken with anticipation for whatever revelations the day might yet bring.

Outside, fresh snow had begun to fall again, but gently this time—not the fierce storm of confinement, but the soft blessing of a world being made new.