“Another Christmas Alone,” She Thought — Until a Duke’s Carriage Broke Down at Her Gate
Chapter 5
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The cottage was smaller than any residence he had occupied in years, and yet it possessed something that many of his grand houses lacked: warmth. Not merely the warmth of the fire, though that was considerable; there was a lived-in happiness about the place. Books crowded the shelves, small framed paintings hung above the writing desk, a faded embroidered cushion rested on the sofa, and a knitted blanket had been folded across the back of an armchair. Nothing appeared arranged to impress a visitor; everything appeared to belong.Julian stood before the mantelpiece. A little wooden angel hung from one of the evergreen branches. Its wings were uneven; its face had been painted with a slightly crooked smile. He touched it gently."An unusual ornament."Rosamond entered carrying a tray. "It was made by a child who believed angels ought to look cheerful.""An admirable belief.""My aunt bought it at a village Christmas fair. She declared it the finest ornament she had ever seen.""Was it?""Certainly not."Julian looked at her. Rosamond set down the tray."It was dreadful. The paint came off on her gloves, and one wing fell off before we reached home.""Yet you kept it.""She insisted.""And now?"Rosamond glanced toward the little angel. "Now I insist."Julian understood more from those three words than she probably intended. He looked away, allowing her the privacy of the moment. "Your aunt sounds like an interesting woman.""She was." Rosamond poured tea. "She believed that life was far too short to waste on dull conversation, uncomfortable shoes, or people who made one feel smaller.""A formidable philosophy.""She was a formidable woman.""Did she live here?""For nearly 40 years. She left the cottage to me."Julian accepted his cup. "And you have lived here since?""Yes.""Alone?"Rosamond gave him a look. "With Pickles, naturally.""Forgive me. I had not intended to overlook such an important gentleman.""He will be deeply offended when I tell him."Julian smiled. Then he noticed the second cup on the table; it stood beside an empty chair. Rosamond followed his gaze. For a moment, her expression changed—only slightly, but Julian saw it."I was expecting no visitors," she said."I gathered as much.""The second cup is merely a habit."He did not ask whose habit. Instead, he said quietly, "Some habits are worth keeping."Rosamond looked at him. His expression held no pity, only understanding; it was somehow more difficult to bear. She turned toward the fire."Would you care for another biscuit, Your Grace?""Very much.""Good. Because I made far too many."He took one, then another. Rosamond watched him with amusement."I should warn you that those contain rather more ginger than is customary."Julian swallowed. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Indeed.""Too much?""Not at all.""Your Grace, your expression suggests otherwise.""I merely find them... spirited."Rosamond burst into laughter. Julian looked down at the biscuit. Then, to her astonishment, he began laughing, too. And for the first time in three years, the little sitting room at Willowmere Cottage sounded like Christmas again.