Page 42 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

She cast an unbelieving glance around the winter picnic. “It certainly is.”

“Which—a surprise or nice?”

“Both.” Her astonished eyes landed on him. “Thank you. But you really shouldn’t have done all this.”

“Mrs. Hansen did it.” He placed her gloves beside her on the edge of the chair. “All I did was come up with the idea.”

“Then thank Mrs. Hansen for me.” She forgot herself and rested her bare palm against his cheek for a moment before dropping her hand onto her lap. “And thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He pulled the fur throw from the chair back and spread it across her lap to keep her warm now that they’d stopped moving. “I thought it would make for a nice refreshment stop on our ride.”

“A true winter’s tea,” she murmured. “This is…simply magical.”

Hiding all traces of the way his chest warmed at her reaction, he stood and tossed his hat and gloves onto the rug beside his chair. “I also thought you should have a quiet moment to enjoy yourself before all the holiday festivities keep you too busy to think straight.”

The corners of her mouth curled knowingly. “Thank you for that, too.”

“My pleasure.” It was. More than she would ever know. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the sideboard. “I told Mrs. Hansen that we’d be happy to serve ourselves. No point in making the footmen freeze by waiting on us.” Or destroying his time alone with her. “May I bring you a plate?”

“Please.”

As Michael filled two plates with the food from the chafing dishes, he deftly switched the conversation to the views around them and told her about Northbourne Park and the estate, the village, and his future plans for all of it. They might have been back to painfully polite conversation, the same as they’d shared when she’d first arrived, but he would gladly take it. He wanted her focus to be on anything other than her leg and all the activities she wrongly thought she could never do again.

He set the plates onto the table and let her pour the tea. Its steam rose on the air with a sweet aroma that perfectly matched the woodsy setting, and they both welcomed the delicious warmth of it.

Between bites, they shared news of common acquaintances, remembrances of old friends and old times, and silly stories about his nieces and nephews and her eccentric Aunt Gertrude. All happy stories, all lighthearted conversation. Just like old times. So much so, in fact, that he often found himself forgetting about the accident. It seemed that time had folded in upon itself and the last two years had never happened, that he’d last waltzed with her in London only yesterday.

When they’d finished their slices of chocolate cake and had no room left for another bite of food, Michael moved his chair next to hers. They both silently stared out across the valley as the sun sank closer to the sloping tops of thedistant hills.

He reached out slowly and covered her hand with his as it rested on the chair arm. To his joy, she didn’t pull away.

Finally, when they’d lingered as long as they could while still having enough daylight left to return safely to the house, he helped her back onto her horse.

He didn’t immediately mount his gelding, though, and stood with his hand on hers as she held the reins on the mare’s neck. “I might have created a magical fantasy for you today, but I’m not lost there.”

She blinked in bewilderment. “I never thought you—”

“I’m realistic. I know that you’ll never be able to waltz again or go walking through Hyde Park. I know you’ll never go swimming in Brighton or walking along the ocean.” A knot of emotion formed in his throat at the way her eyes glistened. “But you can have so much more from life than what you’ve been letting yourself have. The only person stopping you is you.”

She swallowed, hard, but for once she didn’t argue.

“The world is full of wonderful things to do and see, even for someone who cannot walk on her own.” He squeezed her fingers, then dropped his hand away and stepped back. “I won’t push you—” When she began to challenge that, he shook his head. “Well, I won’t push you too hard. But I hope to go riding with you every morning while you’re at Northbourne, and I won’t accept your refusal.” He patted the horse’s neck. “This mare’s yours to use whenever you’d like, and you have free use of the library and the music room, too. Take tea in the garden room every afternoon and claret by the drawing room fire every evening. Cut all the flowers in the conservatory you’d like and put great armfuls of them into vases throughout the house.” He lowered his voice reassuringly. “You’re safe here, in every way. I promise you. So take advantage of that freedom.”

She lowered her eyes as if uncertain, yet she nodded.

He prayed she was being honest.

He swung onto his horse, and they started back through the woods and across the fields toward the house. Clara remained largely silent while Michael continued the innocuous conversation they’d shared during tea. She was thoughtful rather than angry, contemplative rather than annoyed at him, and he let her remain as quiet as she wanted because he was certain her attention was preoccupied by the thoughts he’d sent spinning through her head—thoughts that needed to be sorted out and dealt with if she would ever regain a semblance of the happy life she’d led before.

When they arrived at the stables, the shadows had grown long. The sun had slipped behind the far hills in a brilliant show of oranges and purples, and only the very tops of the tallest hills weren’t yet cast into dusk’s darkness.

Two grooms scurried up to hold the horses. Before Michael could dismount and help her down, she’d already requested help from his head groom to take her to the house rather than be in Michael’s arms, even for such a short distance.

Michael stood in the stable doorway and frowned as he watched her silhouetted form be carried toward the house. The magic of the afternoon had vanished.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Clara lightly pressed the keys of the pianoforte and slowly brought the piece she’d been playing for herself to an end. As the last notes died quietly away into the soft shadows of the music room, her fingertips tingled with barely controlled excitement.