“Another Christmas Alone,” She Thought — Until a Duke’s Carriage Broke Down at Her Gate
Chapter 12
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"I was traveling to my mother's house," he said. "She has arranged a gathering: several families, a great many guests, and no doubt an extraordinary quantity of advice concerning my future."Rosamond tilted her head. "Your future?""My mother believes five years is quite sufficient time for a widower to remain unmarried.""Ah.""She has selected several suitable ladies.""How efficient of her.""Exceedingly.""And have you selected one?""No.""Then I imagine your mother is disappointed.""Frequently."Rosamond tried not to smile. Julian noticed. "You find that amusing?""A little.""May I ask why?""Because you appear to be a man capable of commanding a regiment, managing an estate, and intimidating a room full of politicians.""I have done two of those things.""Yet you seem thoroughly defeated by your mother."Julian laughed. "She is a formidable opponent.""Then perhaps you should learn to fry an egg before attempting battle."He looked at her, then he laughed so suddenly that she joined him. And the sadness in the room became something gentler: not gone, but shared.That afternoon, the snow stopped falling. The clouds remained heavy, but the wind had softened enough for Rosamond to venture into the garden. She carried a small basket of breadcrumbs for the birds.Julian appeared at the doorway. "May I accompany you?""Certainly. Although I warn you that the garden is not especially impressive beneath three feet of snow.""I have seen a great many impressive gardens, and very few have offered such interesting conversation."Rosamond looked away before he could see her smile.They walked slowly along the cleared portion of the path. Julian had borrowed a pair of sturdy boots from the gardener's stores, and his dark greatcoat made a striking contrast against the white landscape. Rosamond scattered breadcrumbs beneath the bare branches; a small robin appeared almost immediately.Julian watched it hop across the snow. "An industrious little fellow.""He comes every morning.""Does he?""I call him Captain."Julian raised an eyebrow. "Captain?""He behaves as though he owns the garden.""A familiar characteristic among men of rank."Rosamond laughed. "Your Grace, I would never suggest such a thing.""Of course not."They continued toward the orchard. The trees stood in quiet rows, their branches heavy with snow. Rosamond stopped beside an old apple tree."This was my aunt's favorite."Julian looked up. "It must be very old.""Nearly 50 years.""Does it still bear fruit?""More than I know what to do with.""Then it is considerably more productive than some gentlemen of my acquaintance."Rosamond smiled. She touched the rough bark. "My aunt used to sit here in summer. She said the tree was proof that growing older did not mean becoming less useful."Julian looked at her. "And do you believe that?""Very much." She glanced toward him. "I think people are too quick to decide when a woman's life ought to be considered finished."