“Another Christmas Alone,” She Thought — Until a Duke’s Carriage Broke Down at Her Gate
Chapter 11
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"I am a duke. It is occasionally expected."Rosamond rose. "Then perhaps Your Grace would care to demonstrate how the piece ought to sound."Julian hesitated. For the first time since his arrival, something like genuine reluctance crossed his face. "I have not played in some years.""Neither have I played successfully in some years. You will be among friends."He studied her. Then he sat. His hands rested on the keys. For a moment, he did nothing; Rosamond wondered whether she had pressed him too far.Then Julian began to play.The melody filled the little room: it was gentle, beautifully controlled, and touched with a sadness Rosamond could not explain. She stood beside the pianoforte, listening. Julian did not look up; his expression had changed—the humor was gone, and in its place was something distant and painfully familiar.When the final note faded, silence settled between them.Rosamond spoke softly. "That was beautiful."Julian stared at his hands. "Thank you.""Who taught you?""My wife."The words were quiet. Rosamond felt her heart tighten: she had known that he was a widower only because the title had once appeared in a newspaper account of a charity concert, but knowing a fact and hearing the sorrow behind it were very different things."I am sorry," she said.Julian shook his head. "You have nothing to apologize for." He rose from the instrument. "My wife, Catherine, loved music. She could sit at a pianoforte for hours, entirely forgetting that the rest of the world existed."Rosamond listened."She died five years ago," he continued. "A fever. It came quickly." He paused. "I have never been particularly fond of Christmas since."Rosamond looked toward the evergreen branches above the fireplace. "Because you miss her?""Yes." Julian gave a faint, sad smile. "And because everyone seems determined that one ought to be happy at Christmas, as though the calendar itself can command the heart."Rosamond understood that feeling so completely that for a moment she could not speak. Then she said, "I think Christmas makes absence louder."Julian looked at her.She continued: "The rest of the year, one can occupy oneself with ordinary things: there are gardens to tend, accounts to settle, letters to answer. But at Christmas, everything seems to ask whom you are sharing it with."He nodded slowly. "Yes."Rosamond folded her hands. "My aunt used to say that Christmas was not about pretending life was perfect; it was about remembering that kindness still mattered when it wasn't."Julian looked at her for a long moment. "She sounds very wise.""She was. Although she also believed that eating plum pudding before dinner was perfectly reasonable.""Another admirable principle."Rosamond smiled. Julian returned the smile, but his eyes remained thoughtful.