Chapter Two

The brilliant sun splashed the sprawling, snow-covered grounds of Thornmire Manor in warm shades of yellow. The steady claps of hooves echoed against the crunchy snow as Julian and his cousin, Thomas, rode along with all the care of young children chasing butterflies in the summer. Julian, tall and regal, urged his horse onward, shivering at the briskness of the cold wind on his face. Beside him, Thomas, two inches shorter and two years younger, grinned, his laugh ringing through the meadow.

"Last one to the back of the meadow treats the winner at White's next time," Thomas said, narrowing his eyes and focusing on the landscape before him.

Julian chuckled.

"Impish as always, dear cousin," he said. Julian only ever lost a race against his cousin if he chose to do so. And on that day, he decided he would do just that. It was nice to be on horseback with the cousin who was more akin to a brother to him. But he was enjoying the light atmosphere of a relaxing trot, rather than the competition of a full-blown race.

The race was short, with Julian keeping a steady but intentionally slower pace behind his cousin. When they reached the edge of the meadow that melted into the edge of the woods between Thornmire Manor estate and the neighbouring mansion, Thomas was laughing and wiping his brow.

"You let me win, didn't you?" he asked.

Julian grinned, reigning in his horse with care and shrugging.

"Perhaps," he said. "Or perhaps old age is catching up with me."

Thomas pretended to look shocked.

"You think you are old?" he asked. "Cousin, we shall live forever. And even if you were getting old, you'd be the most handsome and charming elderly gentleman in all of London."

Julian shook his head, giving his cousin a bemused smirk.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, it seems," he said with another smile. He looked out towards the horizon, his usually aloof demeanor dissolving as he relished the time with his cousin. "I cherish our rides, Thomas. They are a most welcome escape from life and responsibility."

Thomas seemed to sense the underlying currents in Julian's words. He shifted his horse closer to Julian's, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder.

"You've always been a source of great strength for me, Cousin," he said. "Even when society wrote you off as cold and uncaring, I always felt the warmth coming from within."

Julian's eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

"Dear Thomas," he said. "Your parents would be so proud of the man you've become."

For a moment, a slew of memories hung between the two men.

The death of Thomas's parents had brought him to live with Julian and his family. And Thomas had been Julian's lifeline after the death of the duchess of Thornmire. The shared tragedies made the bond they shared, having spent many of their years growing up together, unbreakable. And yet, in some ways, those tragedies had broken the men. Julian, especially.

"I miss them," Thomas whispered, the playful glint from earlier replaced by a melancholic shadow.

Julian reached over, taking his turn in placing a comforting hand on Thomas's shoulder.

"They live on in you," he said. "And you'll never truly be without them. Remember that." He understood the irony as he spoke the words. But he pushed aside his own thoughts and pain. His cousin needed his support. And he gave it happily.

Thomas's eyes welled up, but he nodded.

"Thank you, Julian," he said.

The two sat in silence for a while, absorbing the serenity of the meadow. Even with the ground and trees coated with snow, it was a picture of peace and calm. Julian hadn't realized how long they had been riding until he noticed how low the sun was sitting in the sky. He looked at his cousin, whose eyes were now dry and his earlier easy smile was returning.

"We best return before Father sends a search party for two rogue gentlemen," he said.

Thomas chuckled, his spirits seeming to lift immediately.

"Lead the way, dashing elder," he said.

As they approached the sprawling estate, Julian thought about the circumstances that formed his bond with Thomas. They were good friends as children when Thomas's parents came to visit the duke and duchess. But after Julian's father adopted Thomas, he became Julian's best friend. Even though he was, regarding his station, merely a very wealthy wine businessman, he was still closer to Julian than any of the gentlemen with whom Julian attended Eton.

He was also, in Julian's opinion, far more deserving of a spot within ton society than most of the noblemen. He was sure that he and Thomas would have grown close, even if tragedy hadn't stricken their family. And even though their closeness was borne from that tragedy, he couldn't help being grateful for having a friend who was more like a brother to him. Julian loved his elder sister, Elizabeth. They had also been close growing up, and he adored her. He saw little of her since she married her husband and heir to an earldom, Stephen Farley, and less still since she had her children, Sarah and Edward, whom he adored just as much as he did his sister. But there was nothing quite like the brotherly bond between Thomas and him. Despite the constant ache in his heart over the loss of his mother, Julian could take a moment to appreciate his cousin, and the time he got to spend alone with him.

Dismounting, Julian looked to Thomas, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Thank you for today, my dearest brother in all but name," he said.

Thomas returned the smile, his heart full.

"And thank you for letting me win the race today," he said.

Julian laughed as they walked together toward the mansion.

"I look forward to our next one," he said.

Thomas laughed and clapped him on the back.

"I suggest you look forward to losing another race, as well," he said.

Julian chuckled at his cousin's good-natured ribbing.

"Next time, I might not let you win," he said.

The men laughed.

The echoes of the men's footsteps as they entered the mansion were swallowed by the vastness of the grand hallway. The chandeliers swayed gently, casting golden patterns on the well-designed marble floor. Thomas and he parted ways, and Julian prepared to make his way to his small study. But just as he turned the corner to head through the grand hall, the butler intercepted him.

"Lord Silverstone," Jenkins greeted with a respectful nod. "Your father wishes to speak with you. He awaits you in his study."

Julian nodded, puzzled. It was the holiday season, and he didn't think that his father would need his assistance with any business dealings, as many London businessmen would be taking time off from work, by and large, to spend the holiday season with their families. And he knew that his own family had no holiday plans, apart from a feast on the day of Christmas, which Julian tended to skip since his mother died. What could his father want to discuss?

"Thank you, Jenkins," he said.

Without hesitation, he proceeded to the study, the heavy wooden doors swinging open to reveal a dimly lit room dominated by towering bookshelves and a grand desk. His father sat at the desk, his grey hair shining in the light from the fireplace.

"Julian," Albert Hawthorne said, his voice, deep and authoritative. He motioned for Julian to sit across from him. As Julian complied, the duke poured two glasses of amber-colored whiskey, pushing one towards Julian.

"Thank you, Father," he said, accepting the drink. "What was it that you wished to discuss?"

Taking a tentative sip, Julian barely had time to savor the warmth before his father spoke. And as soon as he did, Julian wished he hadn't taken a drink right then.

"I've decided it's time for you to marry," he said."

Julian choked on his whiskey, the liquid burning a fiery trail down his throat.

"Father," he sputtered. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Albert met his gaze squarely, his steel-blue eyes cold and determined.

"It's time you settled down, Julian," he said. "Your persistent bachelor state has drawn attention within the ton. And I can see clearly that it is not good for you. That is why I spoke to the earl of Berrington about his eldest daughter. Clara and you are to be betrothed, with the announcement to be made at the annual festive ball."

Julian stared dumbly at his father. The annual ball had been withheld since his mother died. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't seen Clara in years, and marriage had never even crossed his mind. That his father would present such a proposition out of the blue was ludicrous to Julian. He shook his head, taking another long pull from the drink before slamming the glass down on the desk.

"Surely, you can't be serious," he said. "I am in no position to even consider marriage."

The duke narrowed his eyes at his son.

"This isn't just about you anymore," he said. "This is about our legacy, continuing the dukedom after you and I are gone. It is the duty of every man who is to reign as a nobleman to produce an heir. Now, it is your turn to do so."

Julian's temper rose.

"I will not be dictated to, especially not about what will permanently affect my own life," he said. "You cannot just arrange a marriage without my consent. Mother would never allow such an atrocity."

The duke's irritation with his son's insubordination was palpable. He frowned at Julian, shaking his head.

"It's been six years, Julian," he said. "You've secluded yourself, allowing the world to paint you as a recluse. You cannot live this way forever."

Julian glowered at his father. Can't I? he wondered with biting bitterness.

"That's my life, my choice, Father," he said. "I do not care what society thinks, especially where my own life is concerned. And I won't be forced into marriage."

The tension in the room thickened, both men locked in a silent battle of wills. It was the duke who broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying a weight that Julian couldn't ignore.

"Your mother loved the festive season," he said. "It brought her so much joy. She would've been heartbroken to see you so distant, so removed from life and from the world. This isn't what she would have wanted for you."

Those words, laced with truth and pain, hit Julian like a train. The room suddenly felt suffocating, the memories rushing in like a tidal wave. The vibrant laughter of his mother, her bright eyes shimmering with festive spirit, and the heartbreaking Christmastide season that had stolen her from their family. He could almost hear her voice, the lullabies she sang, and her ever-encouraging words. And he could also hear her objections to his father trying to force him into marriage.

The duke, contrasting with his earlier sternness, seemed to waiver, a hint of regret reaching his eyes.

"Julian, I want you to produce an heir, but I want you to find happiness, as well." he said. "Your mother would want that for you, too. You will not find that by wallowing in your sorrow alone for the rest of your life."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Julian looked away from his father.

"Happiness cannot be forced, Father," he said. "And who's to say that happiness exists only in marriage and conforming to societal expectations?"

With those words, Julian rose. His mind was reeling and his heart was racing, but his expression remained cold and stern. He let the study door slam behind him, pretending not to hear his father call after him. He was in shock. How could his father think that the solution to anything was forcing him into marriage? And why would he not give Julian, as a full-grown man, any say in what happened with his future?

The portrait room beckoned him like an old friend, promising solace from the brewing anger and frustration bubbling within Julian. His father had caught him completely off guard, and Julian couldn't pick one single thought from the turmoil that was his mind in that moment. Pushing open the door, Julian stepped into a room bathed in the soft light of the setting sun. The walls were lined with portraits of ancestors, each face telling a silent story. But it was one particular portrait that always drew him in—a painting of a younger Julian, his face innocent and hopeful, standing beside his mother. Her eyes sparkled with joy and love, and there was a smile forever painted on her lips.

He approached the portrait, a sad smile touching his own lips.

"Oh, Mother," he whispered, his voice catching. "I wish you were here. You always knew how to help me make sense of the world."

Losing himself in the depth of his mother's picture, memories once again flooded him. The sound of her laughter, the touch of her hand, and the endless words of wisdom she bestowed upon him resonated in his mind as clearly as if he had just experienced them that morning. He remembered how she used to tell him that true love was worth waiting for, and how she wanted him to find a wife that he adored, and who adored him just as equally in return.

His thoughts turned to Clara, the girl with chestnut curls and the innocence in her eyes. She had been a constant in his life, their families intertwining in various events and gatherings since childhood. He recalled their playful squabbles, his constant teasing her, and their shared adventures on the grounds of both Thornmire Manor and Berrington Estate. Over the years, Clara had blossomed into a young lady typical of the ton.

Yet, for Julian, their friendship had dissipated during the years since his mother died. He hadn't even seen her in years, so he didn't even know how she looked now. Whether he had pushed her away, or she had distanced herself from his brooding, he wasn't sure. But the fact remained that he didn't know her anymore. The thought of marriage felt almost sacrilegious, especially since his mother would not be there to witness the union. He harbored no illusions of passion or deep-seated romantic desires for Clara. And he was sure that she had to feel the same way.

"Why would Father do this?" he asked, addressing the portrait of his mother.

But the silent image of his mother offered no answers, only a reminder of a life lost too soon.

Julian sank into a plush chair, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He could never do what his father was expecting of him. But he also didn't have the emotional strength to fight with the duke. His father thought he was doing what was best for Julian. But how could Julian ever convey that his father was pushing him further into the darkness that had ruled his life since his mother died?