“Another Christmas Alone,” She Thought — Until a Duke’s Carriage Broke Down at Her Gate
Chapter 10
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"My standards merely require that breakfast remain edible.""A demanding household.""Terribly."Peters and Daniel joined them shortly afterward, both looking considerably warmer than they had the previous evening. Rosamond insisted they eat at the kitchen table.Peters hesitated. "Miss Fairchild, His Grace—""—is perfectly capable of eating breakfast in the same room as his servants," Julian interrupted.Rosamond glanced at him. He met her eyes. "I believe I have survived more dangerous situations.""Such as frying an egg?""Precisely."Daniel laughed before he could stop himself. Peters looked horrified, but Julian only smiled. Soon all four were seated around the table, while Pickles stationed himself beneath Daniel's chair with the unwavering optimism of a dog who believed every meal was intended for his benefit.It was not the Christmas breakfast Rosamond had imagined: it was noisier, less orderly, and infinitely better.When the meal ended, Peters went to examine the damaged carriage. He returned 20 minutes later, snow covering his hat."I'm afraid the wheel cannot be repaired here, Your Grace. We'll need a replacement from Ashcombe, and the road is completely blocked."Julian unfolded his napkin. "How long?""If the weather improves, perhaps two days. Possibly three."Rosamond watched Julian's face. He showed no obvious displeasure, only a thoughtful stillness."Then we must make arrangements," he said.Rosamond put down her cup. "There is nothing to arrange."Julian turned toward her. "Miss Fairchild—""—you will remain here until the roads are safe.""I could not possibly impose upon you for several days.""You already have."He blinked. Rosamond smiled."I assure you, Your Grace, once a gentleman has destroyed my gate, frightened my dog, and attempted to murder my breakfast, the question of whether he is imposing becomes rather irrelevant."Daniel nearly choked on his tea. Julian lowered his head. "I fear I have made a poor first impression.""On the contrary, Pickles has decided you are tolerable.""That is reassuring.""He is generally a severe judge of character."Julian looked down at the terrier, who was attempting to steal a crumb from his boot. "I shall endeavor to deserve his confidence."Later that morning, Rosamond discovered Julian standing in the sitting room, studying the little pianoforte beside the window."Do you play?" she asked.He turned. "A little.""That sounds suspiciously modest.""It is entirely accurate."Rosamond approached the instrument. "My aunt played beautifully. She could make even the most dreadful weather seem cheerful.""And you?""I play with considerable enthusiasm."Julian smiled. "A valuable quality.""Unfortunately, enthusiasm is the only quality I possess."She sat and placed her fingers on the keys. The opening notes of a familiar Christmas carol emerged, then several notes that did not belong to it. Rosamond stopped. "Good heavens."Julian's mouth twitched. "I recognize the melody.""Did you?""Eventually."She looked over her shoulder. "You are being very diplomatic."