Bosworth Manor, Shropshire. Twelve years later
Evelina walked into the parlour. Her father was standing at the window, peering out. She sighed heavily. He stood like this, often for hours at a time, these days. It was as if he were searching for something. Or someone.
Her heart flipped over with sorrow in her chest. She knew for whom he hunted and she knew he was searching in vain. At that moment, he turned around, seeing her. She saw his face still haggard with grief before quickly trying to mask it.
“Evelina,” he said, coming to her and kissing her on the cheek. “How lovely you look today, my dear.”
“You were not at breakfast, Papa,” she said, trying to keep a light tone. “You know you need to eat regularly.” Her eyes drifted over him carefully. “You have lost so much weight.”
It was true. Her father’s face was thin and gaunt and his clothes hung on his frame. He looked ten years older than he had just a year and a half ago. Her heart clenched with worry for him, just like it always did these days. It seemed she could never leave it behind.
He waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Oh, yes. I quite forgot.” He sighed, collecting himself. “What was it you wished to talk with me about, my dear child?”
Evelina bit her lip. “I want to talk to you about Christmas, Papa,” she said in a cautious voice. “Most importantly, I want to talk to you about our annual Christmas Eve Ball.” She took a deep breath. “I think we should hold it this year. It was appropriate not to hold it in the year we suffered our loss, of course, but it has been a year and a half now, Papa.”
His face contorted. Evelina felt a stab of sorrow. She knew that he still suffered even mentioning their significant loss, but she had to push through his discomfort. It was important. Christmas was fast approaching, and she wanted things to go back to normal. Or at least to the nearest approximation of normal they could manage.
She felt a stab of grief. Mama was gone forever, carried away by a sudden fever. It had been shocking and the worst pain her family had ever endured. She was still grieving badly herself. But it was nothing compared to her father, who had retreated inward, becoming a virtual hermit.
Evelina had no choice but to tuck away her own pain and help him. Her brother Richard spent most of his time in London these days, and during his brief visits at Bosworth Manor, was no help with their father at all.
“I do not think so, Evelina,” said her father, his brow furrowing. “I do not think I could endure the ball without your mother.” His eyes filled with tears. “It was her glory. She was the one who planned and prepared for it. She was the one who did it all.” He sighed. “I would not even know where to start, my dear.”
Evelina took a deep breath. “Let me do it, Papa. I watched Mama for years.” She struggled to keep her tone light. “I want to have it in her memory. I also want to do it for us. Our Christmas traditions have always been so important to our family. I do not want to lose them.”
She watched the uncertainty flicker over his face. “Ah, Christmas,” he said, in a low voice. “Yes, it was always a special time when you and Richard were children.” He looked at Evelina searchingly for a moment.
“You are a young lady now, Evelina. A lovely young lady. I am sorry that I am not actively looking for a husband for you as I should be. I am remiss in my duties, but it is all beyond me.”
Evelina sighed. “I do not care about you finding me a husband,” she said in a firm voice. “I am still only two and twenty. There is plenty of time for that in the future. My only concern right now is you and our life at Bosworth Manor, Papa. And Christmas is an integral part of that.”
He still looked uncertain. “You really want to host the ball? You are prepared to do all the preparations for it that your mother undertook? It is quite an effort, you know.”
Evelina nodded. “I am prepared to do it,” she said in a firm voice. “I will do everything that my mother did. I will oversee the ball and every other Christmas tradition that Mama undertook.” She took a deep breath. “I am planning to visit Charingstoke as Mama always did. I will oversee the Christmas pantomime, tend the villagers, and read to the children.”
Her father’s face contorted. “What a saint your mother was! How generous and giving she was to everyone! Her loss must be felt in the village, as well. I must admit, I hadn’t even thought of it.”
Evelina nodded again. She wasn’t surprised her father hadn’t thought of the impact of the loss of the Duchess of Bosworth in the district. He was so absorbed in his own pain that there was simply no room for anyone else’s. Not even hers or Richard’s. Although her brother seemed to be managinghisgrief well, judging by the life of hedonism he led in London, and the fact they barely saw him here.
Her heart tightened at the thought of her brother. She and Richard had never been close, and they had drifted even further apart since Mama’s death. A lot of it was the age gap–Richard was seven years older than her. They had never shared the nursery or played games together. Her brother had been a young man for most of her childhood.
Richard was superficial and only interested in the pursuit of pleasure, such as cards and dice. Evelina had never been able to have a decent conversation with him about books or art, which were her primary interests. They simply had nothing in common, and the emotional distance between them had grown with the physical distance.
She also resented the fact that he left her here to deal with their father’s heartbreak alone. Richard was the son and heir to the Bosworth duchy. He should be doing his duty to his family here, instead of living the high life in London. Even the thought of her brother frustrated her. She suddenly realised he would arrive home for Christmas soon. She almost gritted her teeth at the thought.
Quickly, she took a deep breath, pushing the unpleasant thought aside. She didn’t have time for it right now.
“So,” she said, looking her father firmly in the eye. “I have your permission to hold the ball?”
The Duke nodded reluctantly. “It will be hard seeing this house filled with revellers again,” he said. “It will remind me of your mother. But I can see it is important to you, dear Evelina, and so you have my permission to do so.”
She hugged him tightly, trying not to notice how his thin frame. “I promise you shall not regret it, Papa. We are doing it in her memory, after all. She would want all our traditions to continue.”
He sighed. “Of course, dear child.” He smiled tremulously. “You have my blessing. I am sure this year’s Christmas Ball will be as spectacular as always.” He looked at her lovingly. “You are your mother’s daughter, Evelina. You not only share her beauty, but you also have her sweetness and kindness. How proud I am of you.”
Evelina’s heart twisted. Her mother’s shoes were hard to fill, but she was determined to try. Christmas was always a special time at the Manor. It was one of her most cherished memories of her mother. Perhaps she could never be as warm, gracious, and giving as the late Duchess of Bosworth, but she must try.
***