The Perfect Christmas: With Bonus Material Added Page 7

  “Very well, John.” Lord Crestwood’s answer was succinct.

  Eliza ought to have been afraid they’d slide off the road, or that perhaps that the Furchel–thingymerbob would break on this particular carriage, but her senses were only aware of the man pressed up beside her.

  Of the strength of his arm, the spicy leather aroma that laid siege to her senses. Without realizing it, she’d raised her right hand and grasped hold of the collar of his coat.

  She felt his presence so acutely that she could have cried. Get a hold of yourself, Eliza!

  The carriage creaked and groaned over the next half a mile or so, and then, just as quickly as the bouncing began, the ride turned smooth again.

  Mrs. Blake released Charlotte and stared out the window. Charlotte rested her head on her maid’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

  Lord Crestwood did not remove his arm.

  “It shouldn’t be much farther.” His voice vibrated beside her. She dared not look over at him for fear he’d read her thoughts somehow.

  Fool that she was.

  “Have you been to Sky Manor before?” Her voice sounded more breathy than normal. Hopefully, he’d chalk that up to the harrowing section of the drive they’d just endured.

  “Once. Ages ago. But I know the area well.”

  She was all too aware of his hand resting on her arm. Beneath the wool of her coat and the cotton of her dress, she could feel the heat from his fingertips acutely. And she remembered in a flash how his hand had once felt upon her skin. She squirmed uncomfortably and he removed his arm.

  But she no longer flattened herself against her side of the coach. She inhaled deeply to preserve the memory of his masculine scent. Her hand rested on her thigh and the length of her arm made the slightest contact with his.

  And her heart raced.

  “I imagine you’re looking forward to becoming better acquainted with your cousins.” She still did not look at him. Neither Mrs. Blake nor his daughter seemed at all interested in their conversation.

  “I am. And you must be anticipating seeing your friend again.”

  “Indeed,” she answered in lieu of anything more meaningful.

  But what could they talk about in the presence of his daughter and her maid? “Do you think it will snow again?” she asked. Anything to take her mind off the most inconvenient turmoil that had sprung up inside of her.

  He chuckled. Ah, yes. He knew. He knew precisely what she was doing. “It may.” His voice held laughter. “Then again, it may not.”

  She could not help but laugh out loud herself. When she caught his eye, she saw something… interesting dancing there.

  * * *

  She was breathtaking when she laughed. The thought struck Henry from out of nowhere.

  Her eyes came to life, the corners of her mouth lifted, and her very essence tugged at something primitive inside of him.

  “What’s so funny?” his daughter demanded.

  Henry tore his gaze away from Eliza Cline to instead settle upon his daughter. She oughtn’t to be so shocked to hear him laugh.

  Another thought that brought him up short. He hadn’t done much laughing over the past few years. Come to think of it, his children hadn’t either.

  “I believe that I am simply relieved to have made it through that harrowing section,” Miss Cline supplied. “Were you as terrified as I was?”

  The thought that she had been terrified made him want to wrap his arm around her again. But of course, he could not. And she likely wouldn’t have wanted him to.

  Although, she hadn’t seemed too reluctant a few moments ago. But then she’d squirmed as though she’d realized who was holding her and remembered how much she hated him. The thought was a sobering one.

  “I wasn’t afraid,” Charlotte answered. His dear, brave daughter. Never wanting to admit to any weakness.

  “I envy you, then.” Miss Cline’s voice still held a hint of laughter.

  “One is unusually brave at such a young age,” Mrs. Blake supplied.

  Henry allowed his arm to relax, and in so doing, pressed it closer to the feminine one lying beside it.

  She did not move hers away.

  After he’d departed most abruptly from Misty Brooke, he’d done his best to forget the entire affair. In between bouts of guilt, however, he occasionally had remembered the emotional comfort he’d found with her. And that his body had enjoyed hers immensely.

  They’d spent a good deal of time talking throughout the course of his visit—a visit he’d extended so that he could avoid returning to his wife and family.

  He’d paid her silly compliments, and she’d delightfully flirted back. It was not until he’d taken her into the forest that night, to watch the woodpeckers hatch, that he’d crossed the line.

  It had been her duty to make up his bed and clean his chamber. That last day she entered, and he’d closed the door behind her. She had known what he wanted. She’d not been shy or coy with him in any way. They both had seemed to want it.

  He ought to have locked the door.

  He ought never to have closed it.

  Henry had barely found his release, bare-assed and quite satisfied, when the damn fiancé came barging in.

  And by God, Henry had had the audacity to be annoyed with the man for barging in unannounced. The truth of the matter was that he’d been more angry with himself than anyone else.

  Henry had not wanted to face the aftermath of what he’d done. The reality had been that he’d had nothing to offer her. He had no excuse for what he’d done, nor any explanation that could have satisfied her in any way. He’d not waited to speak with her. He’d not even left a note.

  The fiancé had hurled all kinds of names at them both and then slammed out of the room. Eliza had been in tears, horrified by what she’d done. The memory was something he’d forgotten until now. But she’d kissed him on the lips before she’d dressed and gone after the other man.

  She had kissed him… Why had he convinced himself that she’d gone to repair matters with the fiancé? To make him feel less horrible to abandon her? Henry replayed some of their conversations in his mind.

  She had kissed him.

  She had not been horrified to lose the fiancé. She had believed that he, that Henry, was going to offer for her. She’d believed Henry would protect her.

  Rather than wait for her return, he’d paid his bill and departed in a hurry, determined to complete his journey home as he ought to have done initially. He’d vowed to love his wife, in sickness and in health. He’d vowed to forsake all others…

  He’d left and done his best to pretend he’d not ruined the young woman who had trusted him. Or broken her heart.

  No wonder Eliza hated him.

  And yet, here she sat, in pleasant conversation with his daughter.

  Was it possible he’d not ruined her life completely? Was it possible she was not dissembling when she’d asserted that she found her life satisfying?

  Confounded, Henry only partly listened as Miss Cline managed to extract information about his daughter that Charlotte never would have shared had he been the person doing the asking.

  And then his sweet daughter was laughing at some anecdote Miss Cline regaled about one of the boys in her brother’s parish who’d gotten himself stuck in a large oak tree.

  Henry’s lungs filled and he felt… Was this contentment? The sensation was most unfamiliar. For the past decade, he’d gone through life carrying out his duties and responsibilities in what had felt like some sort of purgatory. For the past year, he’d finally been allowed to openly mourn his wife.

  But that feeling… He inhaled deeply, hoping to capture it again. So foreign and yet he could not help but remember it from before…

  “Oh, Father, is that it?” Charlotte asked with more enthusiasm than she’d shown him since she’d passed the age of twelve.

  He glanced out the window and then nodded.

  “If Crawford is here, it’s possible he’s brought his siste
rs, one of whom I’d guess is quite close to your age,” Miss Cline offered.

  “A duke’s sister? Is she a pleasant girl?” The information had quite piqued Charlotte’s interest in this house party.

  “Oh, very. I only met her a few times, but they all seem like very sweet young ladies. Oh!” Miss Cline was peering out the window as well. “It’s enormous! And so… majestic! I wonder how old it is.”

  This gave Henry an excuse to lean forward, to peer out the window from behind her and offer her some explanation.

  “Lady Kingsley was telling me last summer that the main part of the house was built in the sixteenth century. Every fifty years or so, apparently, the lord of the manor adds a new wing. She told me it’s very easy to get lost until one becomes familiar.”

  Miss Cline’s lips parted in awe as she gazed out the window.

  If he dipped his chin just a few inches, his lips would touch the delicate skin behind her ear. Already, soft tendrils of hair tickled his face. A lifetime had passed since he’d kissed her, since he’d inhaled her fragrance, and yet… he remembered. She must still use the same soap and wear the same perfume. She smelled sweet and clean, like snapdragons and sunshine.

  He forced himself to lean back once again before his actions seemed untoward.

  He had made her uncomfortable before. He’d best watch himself. He did not deserve to touch her. He could not flirt with her. He’d wreaked enough havoc already.

  Chapter Eight

  Sky Manor

  The carriage pulled to a halt and a uniformed footman approached and jerked the door open, sending a rush of cold air inside. Lord Crestwood exited quickly and then reached in to assist his daughter, Mrs. Blake, and then Eliza out and onto the ground.

  Eliza chastised herself for enjoying the touch of his hand for that brief moment but didn’t have time to dwell on her feelings. With a squeal of delight, Olivia came rushing down the wide stairs that spread out from the castle doors.

  Because, yes, in truth, it was more castle than a house.

  “Eliza!” Olivia shouted before rushing toward her and exuberantly embracing her in a warm hug. And if Eliza was not mistaken, her friend’s belly seemed more swollen than normal. When they pulled back, she raised her brows in question and without her having to say a word, Olivia nodded, smiling.

  Olivia had never looked happier.

  “But why have you arrived with Lord Crestwood?” Olivia asked, looking far too smug for her own good. At that moment, Eliza knew her friend had remembered his name. She’d remembered the story Eliza had conveyed to her last year.

  “Miss Cline, you are looking as beautiful and serene as ever.” Olivia’s husband, Lord Kingsley was magnanimous in his compliments, of course. Throughout his and Olivia’s courtship, if that was what one could call it, Eliza had not withheld her disapproval. She blushed, a little embarrassed at her sanctimonious opinions.

  This time, she sent him an approving smile. Because, indeed, his intentions had been honorable after all.

  Lord Crestwood stepped up from behind her. “Kingsley.” He grasped the earl’s hand and then explained how they’d come across one another at the inn and how the coach they’d sent still required some repairs. After introductions between Olivia and Lord Crestwood’s children had been made, everyone was climbing the stairs and chattering as they entered the cool foyer.

  Eliza could not help but be awed by the magnificently high ceilings as well as the paintings hanging on the wall. Commanding suits of armor stood guard outside ornate doors that lined the corridor, sending a shiver of insignificance down her spine.

  And for the first time, it really hit her; Olivia was a countess. And looking at her, not only was she a countess, but she was a woman in love, soon to become a mother.

  Nobody deserved it more than her friend.

  They’d driven for much of the afternoon and as the sun was nearly set, dinner was to be served shortly. A maid appeared, and Olivia instructed her to take Eliza to “the Rose Room.” Everything seemed so luxurious. After traversing through several winding hallways, Eliza could hardly believe her fortune when she found herself in the most opulent chamber she’d ever seen. And to think it would be hers for her stay!

  She would become spoiled for certain, and her little room at the vicarage would never feel the same.

  When a knock sounded, she opened it to find a manservant carrying her luggage and another maid announcing she was to attend to her for the course of her stay.

  A lady’s maid!

  Eliza nearly laughed out loud. One look at the girl’s face, however, and she knew it would have been unkind to do so.

  She welcomed her inside and after the manservant left, found herself at odds with the reversal of fortune.

  “My name is Sally. Shall I unpack your bags, then, mum? Her ladyship had me steam a few gowns before you arrived. She said your own dresses would likely need some airing out after your journey. If you’d like, we can order a bath brought up, but you haven’t much time since the gong rang ten minutes ago.”

  That meant Eliza had all of fifty minutes to clean up. Even less so if she took into account the fifteen minutes required to make her way back to the main part of the house.

  Had Sally said gowns? As in more tha none of them?

  She turned and caught sight of a lovely emerald silk that the maid had pulled from the wardrobe. “This ought to look lovely with your coloring.”

  What had Olivia done? As her friend was at least six inches shorter than herself, Eliza knew these were not any of Olivia’s castoffs. In fact, they looked to be brand new and suspiciously precise for her size.

  What must it feel like to wear something so beautiful?

  “I… um…” Eliza glanced around until she saw a washbasin. “A bath isn’t necessary. Are you quite certain Lady Kingsley meant for me to wear that?”

  Sally nodded her mob-capped head. She couldn’t be much older than Charlotte. “There are silk slippers to match.”

  Eliza hadn’t even realized she’d covered her mouth with her hand.

  Oh, Olivia! What are you trying to do?

  The gowns Eliza had folded neatly in her valise were not much different than the one she wore now. Thick cottons in muted colors, dull with age and mended more than once.

  The maid lifted the gown and held it in front of Eliza.

  It was beautiful.

  Before she knew what was happening, Sally was unfastening Eliza’s gown from behind, lifting it over her head, and leaving Eliza standing in only her shift.

  And for the first time in her life, Eliza Cline found herself being styled, pinned, and dressed by a most fashionably sensible ladies’ maid.

  Eliza didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  * * *

  A small burden lifted off Henry’s shoulders very soon after arriving.

  Lady Kingsley had made a point to not only introduce Charlotte to the other young lady her age but had also gone so far as to place their chambers beside one another’s. As easy as that, the young countess had given his daughter cause to look forward to the duration of their stay. Lady Martha, the youngest of the duke’s sisters, was five and ten. Charlotte had been quite awestricken to meet the middle daughter and discover her to be nearly seven and ten.

  And he’d realized that the young ladies, including his own daughter, were indeed that… Ladies. Not little girls. It was difficult to not think of this dark-haired emerging beauty as that same little girl who’d sat with him in Francine’s room so many times. When he’d peeked into her chamber just now, she’d frowned at him for treating her like a child.

  And she’d looked so very much like her mother.

  “Stay out of trouble,” he’d warned.

  She’d responded with a groan. Would he ever cease to worry about his children?

  He’d left the three young ladies giggling and pulling out dresses.

  The older his daughter became, the less he seemed to understand her. He was only happy that Miss Cline and t
he countess had managed to crack her resistance somehow.

  Once in his own chamber, he was pleased to find that his valet and thereby, his traveling coach, had not met with any difficulties and arrived intact. Not that he could not manage alone, but Martin had been in the family’s service for decades. The gentlemen’s gentleman would be devastated if not allowed to carry out the tasks of the trade he’d performed all his life.

  And although halfway into his seventies, Martin exuded more energy than most fifty-year-old men.

  “The dinner gong rang a while back, so we’ve not much time, M’Lord,” Martin reached for Henry’s jacket almost before the door had closed behind him.

  Glancing around, Henry took stock of what was to be his chamber for nearly a fortnight.

  Slanted ceilings, round windows, and odd angles reminded him that this was no ordinary home. And the large bed must have been built upon a pedestal of some sort, requiring a small set of steps to climb onto.

  It was charming and for a moment, his breath caught. There it was again. Pleasure.

  An odd sensation swept through him, and it took a moment to realize he anticipated the evening ahead. He hadn’t anticipated much of anything for further back than he could recall.

  He’d brought a valise full of work to do but only a small portion of it was urgent. He could make and attempt at enjoying himself, his children, his hosts, and the other guests.

  Miss Cline.

  Eliza.

  Only he could not enjoy her in the sense he’d like. He’d stolen her affection before and had no right to even attempt to… do what? Seduce her again? Woo her? Court her?

  The irony of such thoughts was almost too much to bear.

  He could, however, watch out for her. He could act as a protector of some sort, in the absence of her brother.

  A handful of the other guests would be single gentlemen, and Miss Cline was likely not much more worldly than she had been twelve years ago.

  He turned his head so Martin could shave the other half of his face.