Updated Apr 18, 2026 • ~12 min read
Chapter 8: Christmas Traditions
Emmeline
Emmy wakes in early January to pale winter light and the awareness that she’s been married to the Duke of Ashford for nearly two weeks, and when she makes her way downstairs for breakfast she realizes with surprise that the Christmas decorations are still up throughout Ashford Hall—holly and ivy still wound around the banisters, greenery still adorning the mantels, the massive tree in the entrance hall still standing with its ribbons and ornaments exactly as they were during the Christmas party where Emmy first begged the Duke for mercy.
It seems odd that the decorations haven’t been taken down yet—it’s already January third, well past when most households would have removed their Christmas decorations—but Emmy finds something comforting about the greenery and festive touches that make the cold house feel slightly less austere, so she doesn’t question it.
She’s reading in the Duke’s private library that afternoon—a position that’s become her habit over the past week, sitting in her chair near the fireplace while the Duke works at his desk, both of them existing in companionable silence that’s the closest thing to partnership their marriage has achieved—when the Duke suddenly stands with an expression of clear agitation.
“The decorations are still up,” the Duke says, and his voice has gone sharp with something that might be anger or distress. “Why are the Christmas decorations still up?”
Emmy looks up from her book, confused by his sudden intensity about something that seems relatively minor.
“I assumed the staff would take them down when appropriate,” Emmy says carefully. “Is there a problem?”
“Christmas is over,” the Duke says flatly, already moving toward the door. “They should have been removed days ago.”
He leaves abruptly, and Emmy hears him shouting for Mrs. Winters in the corridor outside, hears him issuing sharp orders about removing all the decorations immediately, hears an urgency in his voice that seems excessive for something as simple as holiday greenery.
Emmy follows him—partly out of curiosity and partly because his reaction seems so disproportionate that she’s concerned—and finds him in the entrance hall standing in front of the massive Christmas tree with an expression that’s not anger like she expected but rather something closer to pain.
“Your Grace?” Mrs. Winters appears, slightly breathless from rushing to respond to the Duke’s summons. “You called?”
“Remove all the Christmas decorations,” the Duke orders without looking away from the tree. “All of them. Today. I want every trace of Christmas gone from this house.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Winters says, and she’s looking at the Duke with clear concern. “I’ll have the staff begin immediately. I apologize—we usually remove them on Twelfth Night, but I thought perhaps this year with your marriage you might want to keep them longer—”
“I don’t,” the Duke interrupts. “Remove them. Now.”
Mrs. Winters retreats quickly to organize the staff, and Emmy approaches the Duke carefully because he’s still staring at the Christmas tree with an expression that makes her chest ache.
“You hate Christmas?” Emmy asks quietly. “Why?”
The Duke doesn’t turn to look at her, just continues staring at the tree like it’s personally offended him.
“That’s not your concern,” the Duke says, his voice carefully controlled again but Emmy can hear the emotion underneath.
“I’m your wife,” Emmy presses, because she’s tired of him shutting down every time something personal comes up. “Your concerns are mine. Why do you hate Christmas so much that you can’t even tolerate decorations past New Year?”
The Duke finally turns to face her, and his expression is harder than Emmy has seen before.
“In name only,” the Duke says sharply. “You’re my wife in name only. Don’t confuse our legal arrangement with actual partnership. My personal feelings about Christmas or anything else are not your concern.”
Emmy should probably retreat—accept his dismissal and return to the library where they were existing in careful peace—but something about the way he’s looking at the tree with such obvious pain makes her want to understand what’s driving this reaction.
“The decorations are causing you distress,” Emmy observes. “I’m not blind. Whatever your feelings about Christmas, they’re clearly affecting you right now. Talk to me about it.”
“Why?” the Duke challenges. “What purpose would that serve? You can’t fix it. Knowing won’t change anything. It will just burden you with information you don’t need about a past you weren’t part of.”
“Maybe I want to understand you,” Emmy suggests. “Maybe I want to know why the man I’m married to reacts with such pain to something as innocuous as Christmas decorations.”
The Duke looks at her for a long moment, and Emmy sees something complicated flash through his ice-blue eyes before the familiar emptiness returns.
“Caroline died on Christmas Eve,” the Duke says finally, his voice flat but Emmy can hear the strain underneath. “Five years ago. In the chambers you currently occupy. Trying to give birth to our son who lived less than an hour before he died too. Christmas used to be my favorite time of year—the one holiday where Caroline was genuinely happy, where we decorated together and celebrated and felt like a normal couple instead of a duke and duchess with all the attendant pressures. And then she died on Christmas Eve, and our son died on Christmas Day, and now every Christmas decoration, every carol, every mention of holiday cheer is just a reminder of what I lost.”
Emmy’s anger deflates completely in the face of his obvious anguish, and she understands suddenly why he married her on Christmas Day—not because he’d moved past the grief but because he was forcing himself to create new associations with a holiday that’s become synonymous with loss.
“I’m sorry,” Emmy says quietly. “I didn’t know the specific timing. I knew they died around Christmas, but I didn’t realize it was Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”
“Now you know,” the Duke says, turning away from her to watch the staff beginning to remove decorations under Mrs. Winters’ direction. “Now you understand why I need these removed. Why I can’t tolerate them remaining up any longer than necessary.”
Emmy watches him watching the decorations being taken down, and she notices something important—he’s not looking at them with hate like she initially thought, but rather with pain so raw it’s almost unbearable to witness.
He doesn’t hate Christmas.
He’s devastated by it.
There’s a difference, and Emmy’s starting to understand that difference matters in understanding the Duke’s carefully maintained emotional distance.
“She was happy at Christmas,” Emmy says, making it a statement rather than a question. “That’s why it hurts so much. Because it was a good time that became associated with the worst loss.”
The Duke doesn’t respond, but his shoulders tense in a way that tells Emmy she’s right.
“I won’t push you to celebrate Christmas,” Emmy says gently. “But Sebastian, shutting down every time something reminds you of her isn’t protecting you from pain. It’s just ensuring you stay trapped in it.”
“Don’t presume to understand my grief,” the Duke says sharply, but there’s less heat in his voice than Emmy expected. “You’ve never lost someone you loved desperately. You’ve never watched them die knowing you caused it. You’ve never had to live with that kind of guilt.”
“You’re right,” Emmy agrees. “I haven’t experienced that specific loss. But I’ve lost people I loved. My mother died when I was fourteen. And I know that avoiding everything that reminds you of them doesn’t make the grief less. It just makes you lonelier.”
The Duke is quiet for a long moment, watching the staff carefully pack away ornaments and wind up garlands, and Emmy stands beside him in silence because pushing further seems cruel when he’s clearly already struggling.
“I married you on Christmas Day,” the Duke says finally, “because I thought enough time had passed. I thought I could create new associations with the holiday instead of being trapped in the old ones. But standing here watching the decorations come down, all I can think about is the Christmas five years ago when I had a wife I loved and a child we were expecting and everything felt possible. And now I have a wife who resents me and empty chambers where Caroline died and nothing feels possible anymore.”
“I don’t resent you,” Emmy says, surprised by his admission. “I resent the situation. I resent being trapped in a loveless marriage. But you specifically? I’m trying very hard not to resent you even when you make it difficult.”
The Duke looks at her with something that might be surprise beneath the pain.
“Why?” the Duke asks. “I’ve given you every reason to resent me. I’ve been cold and distant and barely present. I’ve kept you at arm’s length while demanding you fulfill obligations you never wanted. Why wouldn’t you resent me for that?”
“Because I understand you’re damaged,” Emmy says honestly. “I understand you’re doing the best you can with capacities that have been fundamentally broken by loss. That doesn’t make it less lonely or frustrating, but it makes it harder to blame you for being exactly what you warned me you’d be.”
The Duke stares at her for a long moment, and Emmy sees something shift in his expression—not quite warmth but maybe the beginning of actual acknowledgment that she’s trying to understand him instead of just demanding he change.
“Thank you,” the Duke says quietly. “For not pushing. For accepting that some things are too painful to discuss. For… for trying to understand even when I don’t make it easy.”
“You make it nearly impossible,” Emmy corrects, but there’s no heat in her words. “But I’m stubborn. And patient. And I have nowhere else to go, so I might as well try to make this marriage tolerable even if it can’t be happy.”
“Tolerable is more than I expected,” the Duke admits. “I thought you’d spend our entire marriage hating me for trapping you in this arrangement.”
“I might still,” Emmy says with a hint of dark humor. “Ask me again in a few months when the novelty of being a duchess has worn off and I’m just lonely and bored in your cold house.”
The Duke almost smiles at that—not quite, but close enough that Emmy can see the ghost of it in his expression.
“I should return to work,” the Duke says, already stepping back and creating distance. “Estate business doesn’t manage itself.”
“Of course,” Emmy agrees, because expecting him to continue this moment of connection seems unrealistic when he’s already struggling with too much emotion from the Christmas decorations.
He leaves, and Emmy watches the staff continue removing greenery and ornaments and all the festive touches that apparently cause the Duke too much pain to tolerate, and she understands something important about her husband—he’s not cold because he doesn’t feel anything, he’s cold because he feels too much and has no idea how to manage those feelings except by avoiding anything that might trigger them.
That doesn’t make living with him easier.
But it makes his distance make more sense.
And maybe—just maybe—if Emmy can be patient enough and understanding enough, eventually he’ll learn that not everything has to be shut away to be bearable.
That some pain can be survived without complete emotional shutdown.
That building new associations with difficult times requires actually engaging with them instead of just avoiding everything that reminds him of loss.
But that’s a lesson for another day.
For now, Emmy just watches the Christmas decorations disappear from Ashford Hall and tries not to feel too sad about watching the last traces of holiday cheer being packed away into storage where they’ll remain for another year while the Duke continues avoiding anything that might make him feel something beyond carefully controlled emptiness.
It’s depressing.
But it’s also progress, in a way.
He talked to her about Caroline, even briefly.
He admitted why Christmas hurts him.
He acknowledged that she’s trying to understand instead of just resent.
Small steps.
Tiny increments of trust.
Barely noticeable except to someone desperately looking for any sign that her impossible husband might eventually let her close enough to actually know him.
Emmy clings to those tiny signs of progress and tries to believe they’ll eventually add up to something resembling actual partnership.
However long that takes.
However many painful conversations about Christmas and Caroline and all the things the Duke would prefer to keep locked away with the decorations.
She has time.
And patience.
And absolutely nowhere else to go.
So she’ll keep trying.
Keep pushing gently at the walls he’s built.
Keep hoping that eventually he’ll realize he doesn’t have to stay trapped in grief forever.
That new associations are possible.
That loving someone new doesn’t betray the memory of someone lost.
But those are conversations for another day.
For now, Emmy just accepts that Christmas is over at Ashford Hall.
And maybe next year—if she’s still here, if this marriage somehow survives—she can help the Duke build new Christmas memories that don’t hurt quite so much.
Maybe.
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