Hell Hath Frozen Over

by Anders, Annabelle

This woman. Damn his eyes, but he wished she didn’t affect him so.

  Even now, pinched lips, hair pulled back into an austere knot. But she had not donned her black gowns again. She wore a pale blue instead.

  He held her gaze intently, reminding her with his eyes that she could no longer hide from him.

  “I don’t waste my time with flattery.” Thomas would not play games.

  She dropped her lashes, but nodded. As though she ought to have expected nothing less from him. “Thank you.” Her voice lacked its normal haughtiness, coming out nearly a whisper.

  Thomas stepped forward and winged an arm for her. “Will you walk with me?” In almost all aspects of his life, he controlled, directed, ordered. He couldn’t impose his will in this case.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she relented, slid her hand in the crook of his arm, and directed them further along the gallery. “I always loved strolling through here. One would think it would be depressing, the constant reminder of what is now gone. But it always comforted me somehow. Made me feel… not so very alone.”

  He noticed she used the past tense. “And now?”

  She exhaled loudly. “I have lost my sense of belonging. Prescott is gone.” She stopped and pointed at her deceased husband’s portrait and then two others. “As is Lucas…and Harold…”

  Thomas examined her eldest son’s painting and then the one of her son who yet lived.

  Thomas could not remember any particular occasion where he’d met the man, and yet his eyes seemed familiar. And the set of his jaw.

  “I cannot help thinking, as Sophia and the others prepare for Christmastide, that the season is supposed to represent hope.” She shook her head and pressed her free hand to her chest. “I cannot seem to shed this hopelessness inside.”

  His own heart weighed heavy upon her words. “Why do you think that is, Duchess?” He’d hoped for more than he ought. Hope was a fickle friend indeed.

  Releasing his arm, she stepped closer to the painting of Harold. “Harold loved the Christmas festivities more than any of us. It was his enthusiasm that drove the decorations and the feasts and the gift giving. I ought to have appreciated him more. I ought to have appreciated him for who he was.”

  Thomas held his peace. No one had the ability to draw guilt from a person like one’s children could.

  “I was so happy when he married Sophia. Ecstatic when I believed he’d changed his ways and fallen in love with her. So very foolish of me. He’d loved his valet for years. I refused to accept that part of him.”

  “You were afraid for him, I’d venture.”

  “Terrified. There were rumors. Prescott knew what was required to hush them.”

  “A wife.”

  “Oh, yes. Sophia. I think she was a great friend to him in the end. But nothing more.”

  “So, he did not perish off the cliff. He must have had conspirators then.” She obviously needed to speak of this with another person. It had been festering in her for over a year now.

  “Prescott and Sophia.” At his raised brows, she rushed to add, “They would not have encouraged him. I believe Sophia did her best to stop him in the end. She was quite distraught, so much so that I truly believed she grieved his death… when in fact he’d gone to the docks. I do not know his destination. I only know that he is safe and content.”

  Thomas studied the portrait with narrowed eyes.

  The docks… A vague recollection gnawed at him.

  She’d wanted to seek Thomas Findlay out and yet at the same time hoped never to see him again. If he had departed, then she wouldn’t have to turn him away. If he wanted to continue their affair, that was.

  She couldn’t bring herself to wish for more.

  How could she, herself, pursue happiness, when her one living son had been denied the same? Not that she could change public matters, but she could have done something.

  Couldn’t she? Something to keep him at home, something to keep him from giving up his birthright. Perhaps if she’d loved him better, unconditionally.

  If there was such a thing.

  Thomas watched her intently with those stormy eyes of his. Ah, but she craved his touch already. She’d craved it every night since returning to Eden’s Court.

  He’d introduced her to her own needs, and then fulfilled them one by one. Such a man deserved a woman who would love him wholeheartedly.

  She didn’t believe that woman could be herself. She’d already failed at love dismally.

  Her nature was too tied into the aristocracy.

  He was of low birth. He had not an ounce of nobility to him. Loretta didn’t trust herself to accept him for who he was.

  And yet she wanted to walk into his arms.

  Who was she now?

  The question that had been haunting her for months reared its ugly head again. Was she only part woman? Must she sacrifice feminine wants for the title she’d taken on years ago? She was still the Duchess of Prescott, and yet she was also an imposter.

  Her Prescott lay in the ground.

  “Duchess.” The low timbre of Thomas’ voice reached into her core and sent warmth flowing through her veins. “I’ve missed you.”

  Oh, dear God, but she’d missed him too. Forcing herself to meet Harold’s painted gaze, Loretta hugged her arms in front of her.

  She could not stop herself from recalling the feel of Thomas’ naked body tucked around her, cradling her in sleep. Nor the taste of his kiss. She’d missed him too.

  How could that be?

  Yes, she’d been aware of his masculinity since they’d first met, at Sophia and Dev’s wedding, but she’d been in a fog then. She’d barely spoken with him until this week.

  And she’d known all along they would not suit.

  How could he have come to mean so much to her?

  She bit her lip to keep from responding with the same. Instead, she merely nodded, and then felt all kinds of a fool for the inadequacy of her response.

  Had she forgotten how to be a woman?

  She hadn’t forgotten when he’d taken her to bed.

  “Are you going all duchessy on me again?” His question drew the briefest of smiles to her lips.

  “Mr. Findlay, have you forgotten that I am a duchess and that you are a man of the merchant class?” She cringed at her own words.

  And then his arms wrapped around her from behind. Her body’s wants warred with everything her brain insisted upon. “How could I forget that?” he growled, holding her tight to him, his desire apparent enough.

  Not only her body, but her heart.

  She could not help herself. Raising her hands, she covered his arms with hers and relaxed into his warmth. “Would be best for us to forget all of this. I am afraid…”

  But what was she afraid of?

  Change?

  Guilt?

  Gossip?

  His chin rested atop her head heavily. All those years she’d been married, and she’d not realized how badly she needed this: affection, tenderness, touch.

  “What are you afraid of?” His question echoed her thoughts.

  She shook her head. “Too much. And I’ve no courage to face it all.” As a girl, she’d been matched to a duke. She’d used up all of her courage then.

  “No courage even for love?” Was that what this was? He’d not mentioned the word before. And she had not expected him to…

  She swallowed hard. “Especially not for love.” Because she’d break eventually. The two of them were too different. They’d lived such very different lives. He’d eventually decide she was too pampered and aloof and she’d tire of his uncouth habits.

  She nearly had herself convinced.

  And she did not think she could manage an affair without experiencing an abundance more guilt.

  “Ah, so I should keep my offer to myself then?” Offer? Whatever was he going on about?

  He couldn’t mean… Of course, he couldn’t. He’d meant to suggest they have an affair, surely. “Perhaps that would be best.”
<
br />   He squeezed her tighter.

  “I cannot, Thomas. I am past my time.” She voiced the words to persuade herself, at the same time leaning into his strength.

  “Nonsense.”

  Loretta dropped her lashes, closing her eyes against his protest. Even if he thought he loved her now. He did not know her. He would leave England again and remember her only as the pathetic duchess she’d become. A woman who’d failed at love time and time again.

  The next morning, as the sun barely crept above the horizon, Loretta Brookes, Duchess of Prescott, stood and watched out her window as Mr. Thomas Findlay mounted his horse. She presumed his luggage and valet would follow him shortly.

  Or perhaps they’d departed earlier.

  Frost hung in the air, hovering over the dormant meadows, but most of the snow from earlier had melted.

  He’d miss spending Christmas, only five days away, with his daughter and grandson, presumably because of her. Because she’d been a coward.

  He’d not told her goodbye. When she’d finally mustered the courage to push his arms from around her, he’d gone silent for all of a minute.

  He’d not pushed for her love.

  Her heart flinched, feeling nearly as cold as the window pane.

  What had she done?

  CHAPTER TEN

  He’d awakened something inside of her. And although she’d wanted to ask his daughter of his destination, or why he’d chosen to make an early departure, she’d felt too foolish to do so.

  Instead, she would assist Sophia in planning all the upcoming festivities. With just two days until Christmas, Loretta had promised to meet Sophia to go over the meals and decorations that would be put out on the following day, on Christmas Eve. It was considered bad luck to put them up sooner, and the Prescott family did not need any more bad luck.

  She wrapped her scarf twice around her neck and embarked on the brisk walk to the manor. She ignored the section of the path she’d taken with Thomas just over one week ago, choosing a slightly longer route instead, and concentrated upon the task ahead of her today.

  The elaborate family dinner would follow Christmas Eve services. Although most gentry families preferred venison, Prescott had favored turkey. Loretta wondered if she ought to mention this to Sophia. Did it even matter anymore?

  They had not celebrated last year.

  Sophia had scheduled an outing for tomorrow morning, on Christmas Eve. They were all to go in search of evergreens and holly and rosemary. Surely, the babies were too young to participate.

  All the young people would don their warmest coats and hats and mittens for the brief outing. It was a shame the snow had mostly melted, or they could have made gone sledding down the hills or ice skating on the pond.

  They would bring greenery back and hang bows and garlands throughout the house. Wassail must be prepared for the carolers who would surely come visiting.

  An even larger party would be held on Christmas night. Many neighbors and villagers would be invited.

  She wondered what Thomas would be doing on that magical night. Had he already made plans to sail away? If he did, she hoped the weather was not too violent.

  A pang of some unwanted emotion washed through her.

  He ought to have stayed. A part of her wanted to run and hide from him, but the other part could never put him far from her mind.

  Loretta increased her pace when a frigid gust of air penetrated the material of her long woolen coat.

  Why had she pushed him away?

  With the death of her husband and oldest son, and Harold’s disappearance, she’d experienced tremendous change over the past eighteen months.

  But Thomas.

  His companionship had not been tragic. It had been… comforting. His manners, his habits, they were all so very different from hers. Was different such a horrible thing?

  She liked the affection he’d shown her. Even now, she craved his touch!

  Thomas had no intention of missing Christmas with his daughter and grandson and all of her friends. But mostly he had no intention of allowing the duchess to face the Christmas holiday without him.

  He thought he knew what she needed and an idea had formed in his brain that afternoon in the gallery. If he hurried quickly enough, and met with a small amount of luck, he’d be back in time for Christmas Eve.

  Or perhaps he’d need a large amount of luck. What he lacked in luck, he’d make up for in perseverance, damn it. After a day and a half of travel, he’d have preferred to check into some lodgings and rest, but he didn’t have time. So instead, he began his search.

  There was one Christmas gift he could give that might change everything for her and he’d find it if he had to tear the docks apart to do so.

  Celebrating Christmas Eve tried Loretta’s emotions more than she had expected. How had she never noticed before that the holiday allowed for displays of affection, both in gift giving and physical touch?

  And this year, more so in particular, a plethora of young love descended upon Eden’s Court. The four girls who’d formed their friendships sitting along the dance floor with other wallflowers had all managed to find true love. Miss Goodnight was now Lady Blakely, Miss Mossant had married Lord Carlisle, and Cecily had eventually become the Countess of Kensington after all.

  In addition to Sophia’s close friends, distant Prescott family members had been invited. Loretta’s own parents had not traveled due to weakened health, nor had any of her younger sisters made the journey, but a few cousins were in residence as well as many unfamiliar faces who Loretta assumed to be related to Sophia’s mother and stepfather.

  Overall, the manor was overrun with merriment.

  Sitting in church, this evening, Loretta captured a small measure of the peace she needed to get through the next thirty-six hours.

  She listened to the story she’d heard every year for most of her life, hoping she could extract some measure of comfort. The message of forgiveness, hope, and new beginnings.

  Could such a message be applied to her own life?

  It would mean forgiving herself, and yes, Harold, for leaving her. It would mean forgiving God, for taking Prescott and Lucas from her so violently. It would mean forgiving God for giving her a husband who could never love her, and then a son whose love would be considered equally tainted.

  Loretta closed her eyes and waited for the Christmas message to fill her soul.

  Please, dear God, Please. She needed a sign. She needed something to know that her life hadn’t been lived in vain.

  The congregation rose, and the choir took up singing, Silent Night, Holy Night.

  What about this song tormented her? That it was about a son, a son who’d been sacrificed. Silent night, holy night, Son of God, love’s pure light. Radiant beams from Thy holy face, With the dawn of redeeming grace.*

  A Lord who would sacrifice his own son would not hate Harold for who he was. This Lord would only love him, and accept him, with all of his redeeming grace.

  Loretta dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief clutched in one fist. She could not begin crying now.

  She bit her lip until the song came to an end, and all that could be heard were a few shuffling feet and a cough from behind her.

  Prayer. More songs. Songs about Joy and Heaven. A crying child. And then at last, the reverend wished them all the happiest of Christmases and dismissed them into the loving embrace of their families.

  Prescott escorted her outside and into the waiting carriage.

  Oh, but it was starting to snow again after all! Just a few flurries, but perhaps they’d amount to something by morning time and the children could coast down the hills on sleds and frolic in the snow after all.

  The children.

  In her heart, she remembered Lucas, Harold, even Devlin and some of their other cousins on long ago Christmases before the world had turned dim.

  Sophia climbed in behind her and then Devlin.

  With Devlin’s knock on the ceiling, the driver slowly pulled the
carriage away from the church, careful of all those who must travel on foot. Loretta willed away tears.

  One needed to embrace life every day, for in the blink of an eye everything might very well be gone. And yet, in her heart, she was the same girl she’d always been. She’d simply taken a few turns she’d not expected.

  At this thought, she furrowed her brows.

  The carriage was traveling in the wrong direction.

  “Dev?” She turned to face her nephew and his wife. Both Prescott and Sophia smiled secretly.

  “Where is the driver taking us?”

  “A Christmas surprise for you, Aunt.” The carriage slowed to a halt before turning onto a seldom used road at the edge of Prescott property. “Not long now.”

  From what Loretta remembered, this road would take then to an old gamekeeper’s lodge. One that hadn’t been used for years, having been replaced with one closer to the main house.

  “I don’t want any presents,” she chided them. “You know that.”

  But the young couple continued to sit quietly, smiles dancing upon their lips. The carriage bounced and turned through the winding road until it came to a halt. Yes, this was indeed the old gamekeeper’s cottage. But what?

  And then the door to the carriage flew open and Loretta could hardly believe her eyes.

  Thomas?

  With only moonlight shining down on them, to illuminate the man peering inside, she could not be certain.

  “Come inside, Duchess. We’ve a fire burning and some hot cider.” He reached into the carriage and offered his hand.

  Of course, she took it.

  “You came back?” She glanced over at Devlin and Sophia. Oh, she ought to be dreadfully embarrassed. What had Thomas told them?

  But tonight, for some reason, none of it mattered. All that mattered was that he’d returned, and she was not to imagine him alone on Christmas after all.

  And when his hand wrapped around her gloved one, she felt.

  Comfort.

  Peace.

  Belonging.

  “Oh, how silly of all of you,” she chastised them as she alighted from the carriage. Once outside, she noticed another carriage parked along the side of the house, and a few horses. “Thomas could just as easily have come back to the house for dinner. I’m certain Cecily will be happy to have him here for the holiday. And little Finn.”