Chapter One

At present

The Berrington Estate drawing room was filled with the golden light filtering in from tall windows that overlooked the snow-covered gardens outside. The hearth burned brightly, the flames producing an inviting warmth that made the room feel cozy and magical on that cold December afternoon.

Clara Bennett sat at the ornate wooden table, surrounded on either side by her younger siblings. The table was littered with piles of ribbons, paper strips, colored beads, and small silver hooks, all meant for crafting Christmas ornaments, as was her family's tradition. Clara's fingers moved deftly, twisting and curling a piece of wire into an intricate pattern that, when she finished, would be in the shape of a star.

"I think this one will be my best yet," Amelia, the second eldest Bennett child, said, holding up a fragile glass ornament that shone with freshly painted snowflakes.

Clara smiled, looking at her sister with great pride and her heart filling with the spirit of the season.

"It's lovely, Amelia," she said. "But do remember not to let William near it, lest he sends it crashing to the floor."

Sixteen-year-old William rolled his eyes at his elder sisters, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I'm not a child, Clara," he protested, even as he fumbled with a roll of ribbon, wrapping it around his fingers in a haphazard manner.

With a chuckle, Clara shook her head, her chestnut curls cascading over her shoulder.

"Perhaps not," she said. "But you have all the grace of a spooked horse."

William narrowed his eyes, and the distraction was all it took for him to drop the ribbon spool.

"That was your fault," he mumbled, his eyes sparkling despite the pouting in his voice.

Clara giggled again, exchanging a glance with her eighteen-year-old sister.

"Is he not just incorrigible?" she asked.

Amelia laughed, nodding.

"He most certainly is," she said.

The Bennett children went back to their tasks, the playful banter continuing. They had always been close. Clara had loved her siblings from the first moment she laid eyes on them when they were born. And the holiday season always made her appreciate their bond and connection that much more. She sighed happily, finishing the shaping of her star, and holding it up for inspection.

"Christmas is only a week away," she said, reaching for the gold ribbon spool. "It's always been my favourite season."

Amelia looked up from her bauble with a twinkle in her eye.

"Because of the festivities, Clara?" she asked impishly. "Or is it because of the tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, and intriguing Lord Hamilton you met at the vicarage last year?"

Clara's cheeks flushed, and she playfully nudged her sister.

"Hush, Sister," she said. "It's not because of that. Lord Hamilton was quite handsome and charming, to be sure. But there was very little of substance to him apart from that."

Amelia raised her eyebrow, her teasing expression temporarily confused.

"He was there to help Mary and Hannah with the baskets last year, was he not?" she asked, referring to the vicar's wife and daughter. Hannah and Caleb were close with Clara's own family, and Mary was her dearest and longest time friend.

Clara nodded, but she made a face as she recalled the stiff, emotionless husk that was the earl of Hampship.

"He volunteered his time for a day," she said. "But it couldn't have been clearer how unhappy he was to do it. It was only to make himself look good, I am certain of it."

Amelia nodded, giving her sister a smile.

"I know that you take your charity work very seriously," she said.

Clara nodded, sighing dreamily.

"Every year, I find joy in assisting at the vicarage, distributing donations to those in need," she said. "Their smiles, their gratitude—it's the true spirit of Christmas."

Her younger siblings, having grown up witnessing their elder sister's charitable endeavors, nodded in understanding. Clara's passion for helping the less fortunate had been well known to, and supported by, her family for years. And in the past couple Christmastide seasons prior, William and Amelia had even gotten involved with the charity work at the vicarage alongside Clara. She was thrilled that her siblings seemed to be taking an interest in helping those less fortunate than their own family was.

As the afternoon wore on, the room was filled with the siblings' banter, laughter, and occasional arguments over who got the last of the silver beads. Clara never felt more connected to her family than she did during the festivities of the season. Even with their playful taunting and fighting, that was the time of year that always made Clara the happiest.

Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed Amelia nudging her.

"Dreaming of Lord Hamilton again?" she teased.

Clara rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine.

"For the last time, no," she said. "Now, let's just revel in the magic of Christmas."

And with that, they continued their crafting, the room bathed in warmth, love, and the promise of the festive nature of the season to come.

The chatter and energy in the room were interrupted as the door swung open with a loud creak. All eyes turned toward the doorway, where the Earl of Berrington stood with a thoughtful expression. The sudden change in atmosphere felt like the cold winter draft seeping into a once warm room.

"Clara, darling," he said, his voice gentle but rather serious. "May I have a word with you in my study?"

Clara's heart skipped a beat. Her father rarely displayed such gravity without cause. But what could make him sound so formal during such a happy time of year?

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she rose gracefully, casting a quick, reassuring glance at her younger siblings who wore matching expressions of puzzlement.

"Of course, Father," she said, giving him a sweet smile.

The earl bowed slightly, holding open the door with one hand and gesturing for her to step into the hallway ahead of him. She complied, trying to assure herself that she was overreacting. Her father didn't look angry, though the intensity of his eyes indicated something of major importance. She chided herself for being so nervous. Her parents had always loved their children well, and she had no reason to be afraid of whatever her father had to say to her. So, why was she?

Inside the study, a fire identical to the one in the drawing room burned in the fireplace, casting an amber glow upon the shelves of books and rich red, shining furniture. The room had always reminded her of the protection and care her father provided for his family. But on that day, it felt different, as though there was a storm creeping in through the walls and waiting to open up above them as they made their way to the earl's desk.

Her father motioned for her to sit before taking his place behind the desk. His eyes remained intense, even as he offered his eldest daughter a warm smile.

"I wanted to let you know that I've had a meeting with the duke of Thornmire," he said. His tone was pleasant enough, but Clara detected something like uncertainty.

Her brow furrowed. She knew the family, of course, as her siblings and she had grown up with the duke and duchess's son and older daughter. But she couldn't think of any business that her family would have with theirs that would be so official sounding. Certainly, none that involved her. And the Bennett's hadn't heard word from the family since the duchess had died several years prior. What could have prompted a meeting that would seem to be of such great importance?

"Oh?" she asked. "How is their family doing? It has been some time since I have heard you speak of them." She did her best to keep her confusion and concern out of her voice. If her father noticed it, he didn't let on. He took a deep breath, his fingers tapping the top of the desk.

"They are well," he said, pausing to shrug. "Well, as well as you might expect after such a devastating loss."

Clara nodded, biting her lip.

"Is there something that you need me to do for them?" she asked. It occurred to her that they might be in need of something to bring them cheer during the holiday season. Or, they could have fallen on hard times, and they might have reached out to their closest friends for help.

The earl shook his head, but his eyes flashed with something that Clara couldn't understand.

"The duke and I have reached an agreement, one that concerns you directly," he said.

Clara's heart raced, but she gave her father another small smile.

"Oh?" she asked again, trying to sound casually curious, rather than suddenly on edge.

Her father nodded, a smile spreading across his face. Whatever was on his mind, he seemed rather proud. She chastised herself for tensing up and worrying. Her father would never do anything to hurt her. Whatever his announcement was, she might even find herself delighted by it.

"Shortly after Christmastide," he continued, hesitating for just a moment, "you are to be wed to Julian, his son."

Time seemed to stop. Clara's mind raced faster than her heart, her thoughts becoming a storm of chaos. They knew the duke and his family well, of course. But a marriage? And one of convenience at that? She hadn't even seen Julian since his mother died. What had prompted her father's brash decision?

"But why?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Her father sighed, running a hand through his graying brown hair.

"There is much to be gained from such an arrangement, Clara," he said. "Both his estate and mine, as well as both our families stand to benefit from this union. And as you just finished your second season, I believe it will be beneficial to you, specifically."

Clara's mind screamed in protest, even though her mouth could not form words. She had always dreamt of marrying a man that she loved, someone who touched her heart and soul, and loved her as passionately as she loved him. But now, that dream seemed to vanish before her eyes.

She blinked back tears, allowing the enormity of her father's revelation to sink in. Her father's gaze held a combination of sympathy and resolve, as well as a silent plea for understanding. Clara drew a deep breath, digging deep to hold her composure. She knew it was pointless to argue with her father. But how could she just accept his decision?

Once, Julian and she had been considerably close friends. He had been the mischievous boy with twinkling blue eyes who pulled on her hair and chased her into mud puddles and played games with her and her governess during events attended by him and his entire family. There had even been a time during which she had developed feelings for him, the feelings of a young, smitten teenage girl who could have seen herself marrying him one day, if he had only ever returned her affections.

But the universe seemed to have other plans for Clara and Julian. When Julian's mother died, so, too, did the young man Clara had known for so much of her life. The devastating loss transformed Julian, and they had lost touch a few months after her passing. She couldn't believe that Julian would be entertaining the notion of marriage with as terribly as his mother's death had affected him. She certainly couldn't understand how she, of all the women in London, had been chosen to become his wife. But with the arrangement made, what choice did she have?

With a deep breath and the weight of years of tradition behind her, Clara nodded slowly.

"I understand, Father, and I will respect your decision," she said flatly.

Her father exhaled in evident relief, but Clara noticed the hint of sympathy in his eyes. He knew the sacrifice he asked of her. Unfortunately, that didn't make her feel better. It made the notion that he would even ask such a thing, especially without consulting her beforehand, that much harder to comprehend.

"I am glad to hear that, darling," he said. "Now, you may rejoin your brother and sister with the ornament making, if you like."

Clara nodded once more, but she didn't say anything more. There was nothing else to say. The decision was made, and her agreement was entered with her father. Her reluctance and dread about the situation were hers alone, and she would sift through it in the sanctuary of her chambers.

Exiting the study, the world seemed different. The approaching holiday events and plans, which she looked forward to every single year, now had an extra, unwanted layer of significance. It would now also be the season of her betrothal. It would be the season of her marrying Julian. Could she ever truly reconcile with that notion?