by Erin Grace
The Viscount’s Christmas Miracle
Erin Grace
The Viscount’s Christmas Miracle
Copyright © 2018 Erin Grace
Cover by Erin Dameron-Hill
Originally published as
Christmas Eve at Etford Park by Knox Publishing
Copyright © 2012, Erin Grace
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical, without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Fire of My Heart
Also by Erin Grace
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chelsea, England, March 1849
A wrenching cry of anguish pierced the darkness of Gabriel’s mind, as a cold sweat broke out along his skin and tension pooled within his gut. Instinctively, he reached for his sword, only to grasp a fistful of rough cotton sheeting where his scabbard should be.
Hell.
With great reluctance, his clenched fingers relaxed and released the coarse fabric, before settling once again by his side. Allowing his hazy vision to adjust to the dim light, he swallowed dryly and waited for the heartbeat pounding in his ears to fade away.
How many nights would he endure such torment?
Another, albeit softer, groan echoed from the bed next to his. Upon the tangled covers, a restless creature writhed within the flickering shadows, as if the devil himself had possessed the poor soul.
Jenkins was the man’s name, if he wasn’t mistaken. Though calling the soldier, who was surely no older than a schoolboy, a ‘man’ was farcical if not tragic. How in God’s name had such a youth been admitted into the army?
But, he already knew the answer to his own question. The lure of a position, even as an infantry soldier, without purchase would have been too irresistible to refuse. A pang of guilt surfaced, but he pushed it back down. He hadn’t wanted a captaincy, but with his family’s rank and fortune he was certain the commander of the regiment saw an opportunity to profit from his joining the dragoons.
Except, the money for his colors hadn’t come from his father. No. After all, why should the Earl of Etford squander over three thousand pounds on nothing more than a second son?
A hint of a smile curled his lips, as he gazed into the amber light from a dirty oil lamp on the small table between the beds. A half empty glass of murky water also sat there, evidence of his dislike for the foul taste of laudanum. He winced each time the acrid smell of opiate floated upon the musty night air. No matter how bad the pain had become, he’d refused to ingest the vile liquid.
Yet despite his steadfast resolve, he could just imagine what his father would think of him laying here, his thigh having been run through with an enemy’s sword.
The man would no doubt believe he’d deserved it.
Jenkins tossed about, causing the woolen blankets to tumble to the floor. The young foot soldier had been brought into the infirmary just two days before, and it appeared a fever from infection had already taken hold. Few survived such complications.
Perhaps…perhaps it was for the best.
Rising anger and pity filled his chest when he glanced at the man’s bed to where the sheets were blotted with fresh stains of crimson.
If it were he who’d lost both legs, would he wish to continue? ‘Captain. Captain Holsworthy, sir? Is that you?’
Startled, he looked up and met the wide-eyed gaze of the feverish soldier. How long had the boy been watching him?
‘Jenkins. I hadn’t realized you were awake. Stay still now and I’ll get the nurse.’
‘There’s no need, sir.’ Jenkins licked his pale lips, struggled onto his side and reached under his pillow. ‘I don’t want to be a burden, sir.’
‘For heaven’s sake, man, you’re no burden.’ Ignoring the stabbing pains of protest from his wound, he pushed back his covers and attempted to move his legs to the side of the bed. Dull moonlight filtered into the makeshift ward, casting an eerie gloom on an already dismal scene. Besides the dozens of beds lined closely together, there didn’t appear to be any hospital staff within sight. The sudden, overwhelming fog of decay surrounded him, suffocated him, in a room that reeked of neglect. Impatience and frustration exploded within, fuelling his efforts to stand, throbbing leg threatening to send him to the floor. ‘Where in hell are the nurses? You need medicine, something for the fever.’
‘Please, sir. I have a favor to ask.’ Jenkins held out a small crumpled note in his shaky hand. ‘I know it’s not my place to request such a thing, Captain, but I was told you have lands in Kent.’
He stared at the paper, suspecting the information it contained and hoped refusing it would also deny the terrible fate the young man had obviously accepted.
Damn it all.
‘Yes.’ Despite his desire not to, he reached forward and gently removed the letter from the soldiers failing grasp. ‘My family’s ancestral home is in Kent.’
Jenkins lay on his back, his chest rising and falling hard. ‘It’s a letter for my granny, sir. One of the other men wrote it for me. I can’t write, you see.’
He folded the tattered parchment carefully and forced a smile that made his face ache. ‘But why trust it to a stranger like me? After all, it won’t be long before you’ll be home, yes?’
‘Begging your pardon, Captain, but I don’t think I will be able to…go home, that is. I have some money put aside, from my wages, you see. I wouldn’t trust just anyone, but everyone who knows you, respects you, Captain. I know you’d make sure she got the money. It’s not much, but she doesn’t have anyone else, sir.’
Bloody hell.
He could lie to the boy; tell him he’d be seeing his grandmother again soon. But somehow, the words failed him. If nothing else, the young man deserved to have his mind put at ease.
And though he’d never admit it, he found an odd sense of comfort in the fact a total stranger would entrust him with such an important request, when his own family wouldn’t give him the time of day.
He gave a curt nod, reached over and placed his hand upon the wounded man’s shoulder. ‘You have my word, Jenkins. I will see to it your grandmother is taken care of, until your safe return.’
Jenkins sagged against the mattress and exhaled a deep breath, his expression the epitome of relief.
‘Thank you, sir. You don’t know what your kindness means to me.’
A wry smile crept to his lips. ‘You flatter me. I have been called a great many things, Jenkins, but never kind.’
He placed the letter within the coat that hung upon a rough hook beside his bed then mustered his remaining strength to haul himself back upon the lumpy mattress. ‘Now, get some rest, soldier.’
‘Yes, sir. Good night to you, sir.’
Certain the young man’s conscience had been eased, he lay his head upon the coarse pillow, closed his eyes and let out a sigh of pure exhaustion. Every muscle and sinew in his thirty-year-old body cried out, aching all at once.
Never had he felt so bone weary.
Yet, even as he ignored the pain and tried to get back to sleep, the thought entered his mind of those far worse off than him – many waiting for a bed in the infirmary. He should return to his old life. With his money, he could afford to be treated by his own doctor, and in the comfort of his bachelor apartments in London. He’d been given his orders that morning, releasing him from duty. He could leave the hospital whenever he chose to. Just why he felt ill at ease by the notion of leaving, he didn’t know.
Or, perhaps he simply didn’t wish to acknowledge how much he’d miss the feeling of camaraderie and purpose he had with these men. Though he’d only been in the military a short time, it had given him a sense of family he’d never known. Men, like Jenkins, had relied upon him, looked up to him. And, in return, he’d done his damndest to help keep them alive.
Nothing awaited him in London but an empty room and sycophantic friends he’d little in common with now more than ever. Yet, somehow even that notion was more agreeable than returning to Etford Park. He’d no real desire to see his father, and his brother he could meet up with later at one of their clubs.
Henry was never one given to affection, very much like their father, but he did treat him well enough. His brother would often take the time to read him a book as a child or help him with his studies. In short, Henry never ignored him.
For that fact alone, he held his brother in high esteem - the closest emotion to love he could give.
He awoke with a start, his hands ready to strike out at an unseen enemy.
But there was no one there, just as there wasn’t the day before, and the day before that. How he wished he could just wake up like any other bloody normal person.
He rolled onto his back, raised his hands and rubbed his eyes. Bright light glowed through squinting eyelids and the familiar odor of damp sheets and stale blood assailed his senses, grimly assuring him he was still in the ward. Lord, what time was it?
‘Careful, clumsy. Yyou don’t want to be waking the captain.’ A familiar female voice rasped from somewhere next to him.
He grimaced. Nurse Colbrook, no doubt. The stout, no-nonsense woman could have been a general in the dragoons if she’d been a man.
He slowly opened his eyes and blinked his vision into focus. After his decision last night to return to London, he was now eager at the prospect of a hot bath, good food and clean sheets.
In fact, he was certain Jenkins would be too.
Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? He would take the young man to London. His physician was one of the best in England. Surely the man could help the boy.
Filled with a surge of renewed energy he turned to face Jenkins, but instead found an empty bed, its covers stripped down to the threadbare mattress.
A heavy, cold sensation balled in his stomach.
‘Good morning, Captain. Or, should I say, good afternoon.’ Nurse Colbrook’s greeting echoed in his ears as he tried to make sense of the situation.
‘Afternoon? What time is it?’
‘A little bit after two o’clock, sir. You’ve been sound asleep all morning. Must have done you a world of good though, I must say. The color has returned to your cheeks.’
His cheeks? What in the name of the devil…how had he slept so long? ‘I should have been woken. Now, where is Jenkins?’
The smile fell from the woman’s face as she turned to the small side table and began adjusting the position of the lamp as if it was the most important task in the world.
‘There’s no need to worry now. Didn’t realize the young man wasn’t an officer. He shouldn’t have been in here with you.’
‘I don’t care if he wasn’t an officer. Where is he?’
‘He passed on through the night, sir, in his sleep it seems. One of the nurses discovered him on her rounds early this morning.’
His throat tightened. Hell, and damnation, he’d wanted to help the boy. He glanced up at his coat and thought about the note within. He’d keep his promise. Once in London he would have his secretary deliver the money to the elder Mrs Jenkins. And, if the funds were not enough to last, then he would ensure she would not do without until the end of her days.
‘Nurse. I wish you to send word to my lodgings in Grosvenor Square, London. Contact my valet, Reynolds, and tell him to arrange for my carriage. I wish to return as soon as possible.’
‘Yes. Yes, sir. Of course. I’ll have a courier sent right away.’
At his harsh tone, the woman turned and near ran from the room. Guilt nudged his conscience. Blast it all. He hadn’t meant to sound so cold, but he was in no mood for idle pleasantries.
Two younger nurses approached Jenkins’s bed and began restoring it ready for a new occupant. They turned the bloodstained mattress over then covered it with the same scratchy linen covering his. When they were done, no one would ever have known Jenkins had existed.
Chapter 2
Speckles Wood, Kent, November, 1849
‘This is nothing personal, you must understand. But I’m afraid you have an overdue appointment with Mrs Jenkins’s boiler pot.’ Lily Bowden lunged forward, her grasp narrowly missing the squawking tangle of reddish-brown feathers.
Abominable creature.
Frustrated, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, ruefully noting the sting from bright red scratches scored across her fingers. Before moving to Kent, she never would have taken chickens for being such vicious little beasts.
Not that there was much flesh upon the scrawny old foul. And, no doubt it would prove to be about as tender as her old leather boots, but she understood all too well the need to take food where you could find it.
Old and frail, Mrs Jenkins had very little to sustain her as it was. With the woman’s grandson off fighting in the military, none were left to tend the failing little farm, and almost no money to buy bread and meat.
Once a week she would bring the lady some vegetables and a little butter on behalf of her uncle’s church, at other times she’d manage some jam and even biscuits when she could procure them under her aunt’s watchful eye.
But, despite being the vicar’s wife, Henrietta Talbot was not someone given to being generous outside of her public role. If her aunt knew of her efforts to help Mrs Jenkins, she would most certainly be punished.
In fact, at that very moment she was supposed to be running an errand for her aunt, not chasing insolent chickens around a yard. The muddy stains on her skirts alone would take some explaining.
She’d noticed several hens wandering around the derelict farm for some time now. Obviously past their prime for laying, she saw no point in wasting what could be a nourishing meal for the old woman.
An icy wind whipped up and sliced through her thin layers of calico and woolen cloth, sending goose bumps rippling along her skin. She pulled her shawl tight around her and shivered.
How she hated the cold. But there was little time to waste in dreading the inevitable. The first snows were falling early this year, and heaven knew the dear lady may not see out another winter unless she could put some weight on those bones.
Very well. Time to take another tactic.
She reached into her coat pocket and produced a small handful of dried grain before walking slowly toward the animal as it pecked at the withering grass next to the stable. ‘Come along now, don’t be so difficult. We both know this is for the best.’
As she got closer, the chicken appeared to ignore her as it continued to scratch at the ground. This time she would catch it, and i
f she was fortunate she could have it plucked and hung in time to be prepared for Mrs Jenkins’s supper.
Just a few feet from the fowl, she crouched down and tossed out some of the feed. The hungry creature began pecking greedily at the food, obviously more eager to eat than consider the impending danger.
‘That’s it.’ The whisper left her dry throat as she leaned forward, mere inches from her goal. ‘Steady now. Steady…’
‘Excuse me, madam.’
‘Oh!’ The startled chicken flapped its wings in her face and jumped at her head before knocking off her bonnet and embedding its claws within her thick auburn hair.
‘Ow, get off me!’ She swatted at the creature, her scalp alive with pain as though her hair was being pulled out from the roots. ‘Get off.’
‘Hold still, madam.’
With watering eyes, she squinted through the rain of feathers and hair, and caught sight of a dark blue coat and buff breeches shortly before two hands moved hers aside.
‘Who are you? What are you doing?’
‘If you will hold still, madam, I can remove the fowl unless, of course, you wish it to remain there permanently.’
Her face blushed at his arrogant remark. ‘How gracious, considering it is your fault the creature is there in the first place. Ow. Don’t pull so hard.’ But the words had no sooner left her lips, than her head was free of the wretched beast.
‘Madam, if you had merely captured the chicken instead of trying to talk it into submission, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.’
Her mouth popped open at his affront. Good Lord. Of all the impertinent things to say.
