The Perfect Christmas: With Bonus Material Added Read online

  They both spoke at once.

  Oh, but he would wish to gloss it over for his children.

  Lord Crestwood cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. The inn.”

  Heavy silence fell once again. After the maid cleared away the bowls, not even a minute passed before the younger man excused himself to follow her. The innkeeper’s wife entered the room to refill their glasses of wine, and at the same time, Miss Fairchild excused herself as well.

  Eliza would eat the last few spoonfuls that remained in her bowl and then retire for the evening. She had no wish to sit alone in Lord Crestwood’s company any longer than necessary. She took a sip of wine and dabbed at her lips.

  As the door closed behind the his daughter, Lord Crestwood cleared his throat a second time. “I am sorry.”

  Eliza did not look up at him, choosing instead to stare into her almost empty bowl. “That does nothing to change the facts.” She didn’t wish to dwell on this any more than necessary.

  “I realize that.” He’d raised one hand to his forehead. “But I cannot forgive myself, if that gives you any satisfaction at all.”

  “It—”

  “And I know an apology means nothing. What I did… It was unforgivable.”

  “It was.” Eliza finally forced herself to look up at him. “I never would have…” She could not bring herself to say the words. “I would not have!”

  He stared back at her, and she required all her strength not to remember how gazing into his eyes had made her feel all those years ago. He’d always been so intense, and he was no different than that now. In fact, perhaps, he seemed even more so.

  “It was unfair of me to take advantage of your innocence. My marriage made it even more deplorable.”

  Deplorable. Yes, an excellent description for what he’d done.

  “Your daughter says your wife has passed.” He was a widower now. “Are you remarried?” Why would she ask this? She did not care if he was married.

  “She has.” He nodded. “And I am not.” It was his turn to stare down at the table.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” She could not stop herself from uttering her condolences. It was what she did.

  Even after he’d left her, she’d dreamt of his return. She’d wished… And he’d had a wife all that time.

  “You never married,” he commented.

  “Brilliant observation.” She half laughed. “No. I couldn’t remain at the Dog and Pudding Pot after you left. After discovering us… Matthew wanted nothing to do with me. His mother wrote to my parents and they disowned me. If it weren’t for my brother…” Why was she telling him all of this?

  “The vicar.”

  “Yes. Thomas took pity on me. I’ve been with him ever since. I assist him with parish duties.”

  “So, your brother never married either. I remember you saying you thought he would marry once you moved out of the vicarage.”

  He’d remembered that?

  “No, Thomas never married either.” Oh, but she was making them sound pathetic. “We are content though. It is a very satisfying life.”

  “Tending to the needs of others.”

  “Yes.”

  His returning stare seemed skeptical.

  “It is,” she persisted most adamantly.

  “I am not arguing with you.” His voice sounded languid again, now that they’d moved on from the subject of his horrific behavior. And hers… “I am only making conversation.” He leaned back, folding his hands in front of his flat mid-section. “Might I inquire as to where you are traveling to in the middle of winter? Some relative requiring caring for, perhaps? Seeing as you have become an angel of mercy.”

  Eliza stiffened her spine. “I have been invited to a house party for the holidays.” She was not some charity case, nor was she a martyr.

  At her words, his brows rose. “Indeed?”

  “The Earl and Countess of Kingsley have invited me to their country estate, if you must know. The countess and I have known one another for several years. She grew up near Misty Brooke.”

  Upon this information, he shook his head and chuckled softly.

  Eliza pinched her lips together. She hated that her gaze was drawn to the attractive creases that appeared at the corners of his eyes and that she wished he was laughing at some anecdote she’d recounted rather than the notion of her attending such an exclusive gathering.

  “The countess is a dear friend of mine.” She insisted.

  Lord Crestwood grew serious. “The Dowager Countess of Kingsley is a distant cousin of my mother’s. I only recently met the Kingsley’s wife in London this past summer. Kingsley’s estate is our destination as well.”

  He knew Lord Kingsley’s wife? He had met Olivia? Olivia had invited Lord Crestwood to the same house party that she’d insisted Eliza attend?

  Was it possible that her had friend done this on purpose? The year before, Eliza had told Olivia a rather innocent version of what had happened twelve years ago, while in the course of advising her not to carry on with the Earl of Kingsley—rather useless advice apparently—and she’d mentioned Henry’s name.

  Had Olivia remembered?

  But that would be ridiculous.

  Olivia could not have done this on purpose. He’d said they were family… simply an unfortunate coincidence.

  Eliza inhaled deeply.

  When the storm let up, she ought to return to the vicarage and write to Olivia that she’d changed her mind. She could not spend the holidays in the same house as this man!

  The idea of returning home was appealing in some ways but quite disappointing in others. Eliza had been excited about the party. Something fun and different to break up the long winter months.

  And what if Thomas had been anticipating the time to himself as well?

  “You are traveling to Sky Manor as well?” She at least ought to verify the facts before making any decision.

  “It seems we are to spend the holidays together.” He lifted his glass of wine toward her. “Merry Christmas to us.”

  Eliza winced and ignored him.

  With a shrug, he finished off his wine in one swallow.

  Eliza closed her eyes. Nearly a fortnight in this man’s company! Days on end with the constant reminder that she’d been complicit with him in committing the act of adultery.

  How was she to endure it?

  * * *

  Henry remembered why he’d been attracted to her in the first place. Not that she was the same as she’d been when they first met, but she posed such a contradiction of femininity, he found himself unable to abstain from teasing her—from goading her to speak her mind.

  She sat across from him, stiff as a board, intent on proving to herself, to him, to anyone who cared to know her, that she rejected the needs most women had. That she was happy in her spinsterhood and felt no desire for anything more.

  Guilt riddled his thoughts. She would have a great deal more if it had not been for him.

  Vague memories flashed in his mind and forgotten emotions flooded in with them. Felicity had been incapacitated for two years at the time that he’d stumbled into that damn inn. He’d been in the depths of despair. His wife had been stolen from him, trapped in her own body. He’d never known such hopelessness and Eliza… He’d been drawn to her light. Her lure had been so innocent. And the passion. It had erased his pain for a time.

  He’d never thought that he would do something so selfish. It was as though he’d wanted to fall in love again––go back in time––become a different person.

  And he had. Somehow both his past and his future had disappeared over the course of that one week.

  Had and of it been real? Had there been more between the two of them than physical attraction?

  He disdained the thought as quickly as it came. She wanted nothing to do with him. She’d told him she hated him. She could never forgive him. And she had every right.

  Besides, he was firmly established in his widowhood. His most pressing concerns were his children a
nd the management of his estate.

  “Your daughter is lovely. She resembles you a great deal.” As soon as she spoke the words, however, she blushed, as though realizing she’d indicated he was lovely as well.

  Henry would have chuckled but did not wish to add to her discomfort. “She was much easier as a child… These past few years, I feel as though I barely know her.”

  The woman across from him shrugged, and her shawl slid down her arm, revealing some of the skin along her nape and the slim line of her shoulder. “Five and ten is not an easy age for a young girl. Caught between being a child and a woman.” Miss Cline’s features softened at her words.

  His daughter’s moods baffled him. As much as he’d tried these past few years, everything he said to his daughter seemed either angered her or caused her to burst into tears. “It’s as though we are speaking entirely different languages.”

  Henry’s gaze landed on her hands as they drew her shawl around her shoulders once again. She was a tall, slim woman but not without a pleasant shape.

  Miss Cline nodded. Her manner cordial… peaceful even, as she listened to his trials as a father.

  She continued talking to him about some of the young girls in her brother’s church, and he couldn’t help thinking she would have made a wonderful mother.

  His own wife had not been given much of a chance.

  Bart had been little more than three and Charlotte not even two at the time of Francine’s accident. She’d been so young. And after…

  He shook his head, dismissing the painful memories.

  “Anyhow, I wouldn’t worry too much. She simply needs to find her way.” Miss Cline smiled at him for the first time all day.

  In fact, she smiled at him for the first time in twelve years. Ah, yes, he remembered why he’d been drawn to her before.

  Chapter Five

  Change in plans

  Eliza hated that she dreamed of him that night. She’d done so almost nightly for the first year after he’d left, but eventually the dreams had tapered off, become less vivid.

  Seeing him again had stirred them up. They were all too real sometimes, causing her to awaken with longings that disturbed her throughout the day. Causing her to wish…

  She opened her eyes the next morning with that renewed sense of wanting. Rather than lie in bed in such a state, she quietly climbed out from the trundle and tiptoed to the window. She’d given up the larger bed so that Miss Fairchild would not have to sleep beside a stranger. She could sleep beside her maid.

  The snow appeared to have let up, but large mounds of the white fluffy stuff covered the yard. Small flakes meandered from the sky but in the east, it looked as though the sun might perhaps break through and make an appearance later that day.

  “Probably have to wait a few days to travel,” Mrs. Blake spoke softly from across the room. “Hope the family doesn’t have to miss the party altogether.” She glanced surreptitiously toward Miss Fairchild, who snored evenly from the other side of the bed. “The children have not had an easy time of it.”

  Eliza wondered.

  She would not ask Lord Crestwood about his wife but she could not help but be curious. “Lady Crestwood passed nearly a decade ago?” It was both a question and a statement. Ten years was a long time to mourn…

  “No. But her ailment was rather morbid. Lord Crestwood had her cared for in a separate wing of the house, where the children would not be exposed to her… condition.” Eliza blinked at the maid’s startling words.

  But… Miss Fairchild hadn’t said her mother passed when she a child, but that she’d gone without a mother since then. Eliza raised her brows in question.

  “Lady Crestwood didn’t pass until last Christmas.” The woman shook her head solemnly. “It was time, though. Poor dear. Never was the same after the accident.”

  Eliza’s curiosity grew even more. At home, she’d done her best to avoid gossip whenever possible. As the vicar’s sister, it had been her duty to set an example.

  But she absolutely could not help herself. “When did she suffer her accident?” And what kind of accident? And why wasn’t she the same afterward? But Eliza couldn’t ask all these questions.

  Mrs. Blakely twisted her mouth thoughtfully. “Hmm. That would have been… almost fourteen years ago, I’d say. Miss Fairchild was just a wee little thing.” Realizing she might be revealing more of her employer than he might wish, Mrs. Blakely smoothed her skirt, reached for her apron, and turned away from Eliza. “I best be seeing about some chocolate for Miss Fairchild. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Eliza nodded and then stared at the closed door for several minutes after the woman departed, confused, wondering what ought to feel. Were his actions even more unforgivable knowing that his wife had been at home, injured and infirm? Or were they less so?

  Miss Fairchild moaned and rolled over in the bed, bringing Eliza’s thoughts back to the present.

  She dismissed her musings.

  It changed nothing. He’d lied. Eliza took a deep breath. There was nothing to be done about it now. She glanced again at the snow-covered landscape outside the window. Lord Crestwood had made his choices, as had she. There was nowhere to go but forward. For now, however, she had another choice to make: was she going to miss the Christmas party in order to avoid him and his family?

  Eliza missed Olivia. Her long-awaited time away from the vicarage stood in jeopardy. Likely, Thomas had counted on his time alone as well.

  She would go ahead with her original plans. First, though, she must locate her driver. Coachman John, as he had told her to call him, had been sent by Olivia and Lord Kingsley so that she did not need to ride the mail coach. Although she’d written to her friend that the gesture would be far too extravagant, Olivia had insisted adamantly, giving Eliza no say in the matter.

  She would find him this morning, however, so they might discuss when he wished to set out again.

  Eliza dressed quickly, donned her shawl and climbed down the stairs. Stepping into the tap room, she found it more than a little curious to see him conversing intently with none other than the man who had been foremost in her mind for the past twelve hours, Lord Crestwood. They both appeared as though they’d already spent time out of doors, still wearing their coats and snow sticking to their boots.

  Lord Crestwood glanced up first and grimaced at the sight of her.

  Likely, he wondered if she would spew more hatred in his direction. Shame washed over her but part of her remained adamant that he deserved every word she’d hurled the day before.

  “Miss Cline.” Coachman John seemed somewhat pained. “I’ve just been discussing the state of our coach with Lord Crestwood, here.”

  Eliza pinched her lips together. There had been that loud cracking sound when they’d pulled up in front of the inn yesterday. She’d hoped whatever was the matter would only require a quick repair.

  “The futchel is broken all the way through and can’t be repaired. I did some work on it yesterday, but until I can locate a replacement, that vehicle isn’t safe.” Eliza’s heart sunk at the notion that she might be stranded in this inn over Christmas while the coachman went on to explain how this futchel piece connected some axletrees to splinter bars and other things she didn’t understand.

  “So, we cannot travel?” she finally interrupted him.

  “I’m afraid not, Miss Cline.” He truly looked disappointed himself. Of course, it meant he, too, would be away from his home over the Christmastide. And then he brightened somewhat. “Fortunately, Lord Crestwood here has offered us a ride to Sky Manor! I can retrieve the parts I need, and you can join Lady Kingsley’s house party.”

  No wonder Henry had grimaced at the sight of her.

  “I cannot impose—“

  “It’s no imposition. And my driver believes we can set out later this afternoon. We aren’t far from Sky Manor and ought to be able to arrive before nightfall.”

  Could he not ask her opinion on these matters, rather than simply assume she would fall
in line without question?

  Only, it was rather generous of him, and he was also willing to help Coachman John.

  She dipped her chin in acknowledgment.

  “If we wait until just after the nuncheon, that ought to give the snow a chance to melt.”

  “I… Thank you.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. And this time, at the sight of the lines around his eyes, and at the corners of his mouth, she contemplated the circumstances of his marriage. How ill had his wife been that he’d had to keep her away from her children?

  Although he’d remained a robust-looking gentleman, his face seemed harsher, his eyes… haunted. How had she missed these details before? Was she only imagining them now?

  “I’ve ordered breakfast.” He seemed hesitant all of a sudden. “Would you care to join me?”

  Ah, he was finally asking. A rumbling in her stomach reminded her that the soup she’d eaten the night before had not been as filling as she’d like.

  “Thank you. Yes. I would.”

  He gestured toward the same private dining room they’d shared with his children the night before and, after the briefest moment of doubt, she preceded him inside.

  * * *

  Henry had lain awake, restless, most of the night, and it hadn’t been because his son had been snoring loudly beside him. No, once he’d climbed into bed, memories of twelve years ago refused to allow him peace.

  He’d been returning home to his wife and two small children after meeting with several physicians in London and being told in no uncertain terms that his wife’s condition had no chance of improvment. They’d examined her several times already and told Henry he was wasting his time. His only course of action was to make provisions for the future.

  He’d traveled the first day in a daze of hopelessness. He’d loved his wife when they married. He’d cherished her, in fact.

  “Are you certain traveling today will be safe?” Miss Cline’s voice jerked him out of his reverie.

  Would it be safe? The sun slanted brightly across the small dining room. “If enough snow doesn’t melt, we will delay.”