And then she pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps I ought to send a servant to ensure she did not have trouble. Even with the sconces lit, these corridors are daunting after dark. I’d go after her myself if I wasn’t required to remain with my other guests.”
“If it would make you feel better, I’d be more than happy to take a look around that wing. It’s near my own chamber, I believe.” Of course, it was not the thing for an unmarried gentleman to go anywhere near a single lady’s chamber, but if the countess was concerned…
She nodded thoughtfully. “Would you mind? I’d be ever so grateful.”
“I do not mind at all.” In fact, he’d feel better himself.
And so that was how he found himself wandering a literal maze of hallways fifteen minutes later. And it was a good thing he had, too.
For if he wasn’t mistaken, the green he saw at the end of this particular corridor was the same hue as Miss Cline’s dress. And the woman inside it looked more than a little distraught, huddled on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees.
Chapter Eleven
A mistake
After searching fruitlessly for her own chamber for all of half an hour, Eliza had not been able to suppress her panic any longer.
Tired, cold, and demoralized, she’d dropped to the floor and forced herself to breathe in and out in between a few pathetic, shuddering sobs.
“Miss Cline?”
Eliza lifted her forehead from her knees and tried to focus on the man in the distance. For the past ten minutes, she’d been doing her best to steady her breathing.
“Henry?” Surely, she was imagining it was him. But as he neared, she realized he was all too real. Even in the shadows and without her spectacles, she recognized his gait, his posture. Him. His pace increased as he neared and then dropped to his haunches in front of her.
“Are you all right? These blasted hallways go on forever.” But his hands felt warm, rubbing along her upper arms in a soothing motion. “You’re frozen through and through. Why didn’t you find a servant to show you the way?” He sounded angry but his hands were gentle as he pulled her to her feet, up off of the cold floor.
She hadn’t realized she was shaking. “I k-k-kept thinking I’d see something familiar around the next c-c-corner.” This was so very foolish. To have become lost and then to have allowed herself to become so unnerved in such a dramatic fashion.
He removed his jacket, with a bit of a struggle, and placed it on her shoulders.
Overcome with relief, she buried her face on his shoulder, clinging to him as though he might run off and leave her alone again. When his arms wrapped around her, she relaxed only slightly and absorbed his warmth. “S-s-stupid of me. I’m so sorry.”
But his hands soothed up and down her back now, and he was whispering reassuring words. “It’s all right. Anyone could get lost in these halls. No need to be sorry, my dear. I’m only relieved that I found you.”
Oh, but he smelled safe and comforting.
It reminded her of how she’d felt before. How she’d wanted only his protection and love.
The desire to push him away warred with the part of her that had… missed this.
Missed this dreadfully.
Her hands rested on his chest, and she could feel his hard length from the top of her head to just above her knees. Henry. She wanted more from him, just as she had all those years ago.
“Lady Kingsley was worried that you might get lost. Allow me to escort you to your chamber and then I’ll go assure her of your safety.” His voice sounded gruffer than it had before.
Olivia had asked him to come after her! But of course!
Eliza was going to have to have a serious talk with that young lady. For a few glorious moments, Eliza had thought he might have noticed her absence and come after her out of his own concern.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to step out of his arms. “I’m sorry you’re missing out on the evening’s entertainments.” Although she had no idea if there were any, other than the conversation and excitement of the first night of a house party. “It was foolish of me to attempt to locate my chamber on my own.”
He’d dropped his hands when she’d stepped away but otherwise had not moved. His green eyes seemed as though he wanted to say something to her, but she was very good at imagining such things—especially where Henry Fairchild, Lord Crestwood, was concerned.
“A mistake. We all make mistakes.” And when her gaze met his, he smiled sadly.
Something unrecognizable squeezed her heart.
“I do not hate you.” The words rushed past her lips. “It was a mistake. But we are all human, are we not?” And then she added again, in a most resigned-sounding whisper, “I do not hate you, Henry.”
A light flickered behind his eyes but disappeared just as quickly. “You are too kind.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “My wife was injured—slowly dying. And I…“
“Made a mistake,” Eliza filled in for him.
Again, he met her eyes and nodded.
Eliza bit her lip. “So…” She glanced up and down the dimly lit corridor. “Do you have any idea where we are? If we can make it back to the main foyer, I can ask a maid—“
“Lady Kingsley told me the location of your chamber. I believe I can get us both there as mine is in the same vicinity.” He winged an arm. “Shall we?”
Eliza swallowed around the sudden lump that seemed to have lodged itself in her throat and then placed her hand in the crick of his elbow. It was almost bittersweet, to touch him again, the same as any lady might do when presented with the polite gesture.
At first, she thought they were walking in circles again and yet she felt none of the fear that had gripped her earlier.
He made her feel safe.
And then they climbed a spiral staircase and the painting she’d taken note of when she’d first arrived appeared before them. “Right here,” she said, almost in awe. By now she’d been lost for nearly an hour.
He halted but did not release her immediately. He gestured across the hall. “My chamber is right here. If you have need of going anywhere—or have need of anything—don’t hesitate to come to me.”
He would be sleeping only a few dozen feet away from her, separated by a hallway, walls, and two heavy doors, of course, but still…
She nodded. “You will tell Olivia, the countess? I hate for her to worry.”
He looked tired but nodded. “I’ll locate her directly. It’s been a long day. I’ll check in on Charlotte and Henry and then retire, myself.” He paused, again looking as though he had something more to say. “You are quite certain you are all right?”
She nodded again and shrugged out of his jacket for the second time in as many days.
“And you’ll… come to me if you are not?” He took the jacket slowly, making her imagine he wished to delay their parting.
She searched his eyes, wondering what he was thinking. “I will.”
Realizing he was not going to leave until she was safely inside her chamber, she opened the door behind her and backed into the room. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done…”
“You never have to thank me for anything.” A gravelly tone sounded in his voice. Holding the jacket in one hand, he bowed sharply.
She stepped all the way inside and closed the door.
She wanted him. God help her, but she wanted him.
She turned, pressed her back against the door, and closed her eyes. She was a vicar’s sister—a Godly woman. And yet, she would not allow herself to have the dreams of him she’d had as a young girl. Dreams that had involved an offer of marriage, a lifetime of loving, of sharing and caring for a family together.
He’d not indicated the desire for any of these things. Even if she thought he did, she could not trust herself.
But she wanted him.
* * *
He wanted her.
Henry tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair and then rubbed the muscles at the ba
ck of his neck.
Even after locating Lady Kingsley and informing her that her friend had been safely delivered to her chamber, checking in on his daughter who had made arrangements to share her chamber with Lady Martha, and ascertaining that Bartholomew was keeping out of trouble, he could not shake the need Eliza had ignited.
He had grown surprisingly adept at resisting temptation. The guilt he’d experienced twelve years ago had been enough to curtail any further deplorable behavior on his part. Even now, with Francine buried in the small cemetery on the edge of his estate, he found himself hesitant to seek any sort of physical gratification with a woman.
For twelve long years, he’d made do with finding his own release and now… Hell and damnation, any other man would think he was bent for Bedlam.
He was not worthy of her.
Of any decent woman.
Chapter Twelve
A flickering smile
After spending two full days indoors, Olivia declared that despite the cold weather, they must explore the magnificent landscaping of the gardens at Sky Manor. Most of the plants were dormant but there were follies and paths and vistas that all begged exploring, nonetheless.
A few of the older guests declined, but nearly everyone under the age of forty was game.
And the minute she stepped outside, Eliza decided it was, indeed, a brilliant idea.
The combination of crisp air and sunshine was exactly what everyone needed. It also gave her an opportunity to wear the lovely cloak that had shown up in her wardrobe, red velvet with a white fur-trimmed hood.
“Almost all of the snow has melted.” Lord Crestwood stepped up behind her. She did not need to look over her shoulder to know it was him. She’d noticed that she could practically feel the air change whenever he was near.
“It’s a beautiful day, though, don’t you think?” She turned to gage his reaction.
A smile flickered on his lips. “It is.” And then he pointed to a small structure in the distance at the top of an imposing hill. “Are you up to the climb? I do believe that the peak is Lady Kingsley’s destination for us all.”
“It’s practically a mountain.” But Eliza stepped forward eagerly. She’d enjoy his company for now. She was not mistaken, he’d avoided her since the evening of their arrival. Although he was never too far away…
“Tell me about your home. I know so little about you,” she urged him.
She knew the major events that had defined his life for the last decade and a half, but she didn’t know anything about his likes, his hobbies. What made him happy.
As the path was wide here, he walked beside her, both hands behind his back. She could not help but think that despite wearing what looked to be a well-worn, favorite jacket and waistcoat, he looked very lordly and very distinguished. Rather in the manner in which he held his head, the set of his chiseled jaw.
“Fair Lakes is in the south, about ten miles from the sea.”
“And you are the baron.” She slid him a sideways glance. “Not the second son.” As he’d told her when they first met. But she spoke the words with a gentle smile.
He nodded. “Ah, yes. What other lies did I tell you back then?”
“That you’d been on a leisurely journey. I take it that was a fabrication.”
They walked several yards in silence, the climb becoming gradually steeper. The youngsters had taken off and were now far ahead of them and Olivia and her sister trailed behind with other guests.
“I had gone to London to meet with a group of physicians. They’d all examined Francine at one point and had conferred over her case. None of them were able to offer any hope for her condition.”
“You loved her.” This was not a question.
“I did. By the time I met you, she’d been in her disoriented state for two years. It was as though her physical body was there but not her spirit. Not her person.”
Eliza could not imagine going through that with anyone, let alone a spouse.
“And so you were… distraught when we first met.”
Again, they walked several steps with no words exchanged.
“I was numb. When I met you, I wanted to be somebody else. It doesn’t make sense, but I offer no excuses, I simply… acted poorly.”
He slipped behind her as the trail narrowed. And when she stumbled slightly, he grasped her, only for a moment, by the waist.
“You seemed happy.” This was something she didn’t completely understand. “I suspected nothing.” She wished she could see his face but had to concentrate on the ground ahead.
“When I met you, I felt… almost drunk. You were young and innocent. I’ll not deny that I found you incredibly attractive. If I hadn’t been a married man…”
Eliza swallowed hard. It was still difficult to acknowledge what she’d done.
“We cannot change the past. We can only paint our futures.” Only he had far more choices in painting his, as a man, a titled man at that, than she did. A woman of the lower classes was not presented with many opportunities.
She had been young, eight and ten, when they’d first met. He’d been an older gentleman and he’d found her attractive. And now? Twelve years later… Women were on the shelf by the age of five and twenty and yet an eligible man was eligible… Good heavens! Until he was buried six feet under.
She might as well be in her dotage. Be that as it may…
But she had daily choices. Opportunities to offer comfort, to improve the circumstances—even if only slightly—of those around her, of those less fortunate.
She had the opportunity to draw a smile from someone who had little reason to smile.
“We can make every day a little bit like Christmas, if we so choose.” She observed.
Eliza selected that moment to pause in her hiking, her breathing somewhat labored as she hadn’t slowed her pace with the steeper grade.
Lord Crestwood stopped as well and seemed to be studying her. “You are an impressive person, Miss Cline.”
“I am not.”
“No. Do not deny me this compliment.”
She backed up against a nearby tree and leaned against it, feeling almost feminine—almost pretty, and not only because of the elegant cloak Olivia had provided.
But because of a man.
This man.
Those following had fallen out of view and she could no longer hear the chattering of the group ahead.
“Very well.” She could almost remember how she’d flirted before. “I will not deny you.”
She was on holiday. He was no longer married. Was she so very foolish to want for him to kiss her?
He stepped forward, causing her heart to jump, but then seemed to catch himself. He cleared his throat and then skimmed his gaze over everything but her.
Oh, but she was foolish! Did she not remember that she’d been invisible before coming here and wearing Olivia’s fine dresses? Did she not remember that she was nearly thirty? That she wore spectacles and was an uninteresting spinster?
He must think her quite forward and somewhat pathetic.
She pulled herself away from the tree and pushed onward. Thank heavens he was behind her so that he did not see the tears she refused to allow to fall.
* * *
He’d almost kissed her.
Henry followed closely in case she stumbled on one of the tree roots that grew across the path, all too conscious of her derrière swinging naturally with each step.
She wanted him to kiss her, he was certain of that. Just as she had before. When he’d taken advantage of her.
His guilt would not allow it this time.
Even if he was no longer married, and she was no longer a naïve girl who was engaged to the Inn owners’ son.
He hated himself whenever he remembered it. And yet. It was not fair to her for him to regret what they’d done. She slowed and lifted her skirts a few inches in order to pick her way around some rocks. He could not keep from smiling at the sight of her most practical boots.
Su
ch a contradiction of femininity.
One minute fluttering her lashes at him, her lips parted for his kiss, and the next marching sternly toward the top of a mountain.
Why can’t I kiss her?
What had she said?
We cannot change the past. We can only paint our futures.
“If you could change the past, would you?” Perhaps this was an obnoxious question to ask her. Good Lord, she’d become physically ill at the sight of him less than a week ago. Of course, she would change it.
“What we did was wrong,” she huffed.
So, she would. She would wipe her soul clean of their sinful affair.
“But I would not.” And then they turned the corner to a view that stretched for miles as well as a buzzing group of boys and girls on the cusp of adulthood.
“What took you so long?” Bartholomew teased them. “We’ve been here for hours.”
Chapter Thirteen
An unexpected guest
A low murmur of conversation hummed in the room. It was late in the afternoon but not so late that everyone had returned to their chambers to dress for dinner.
But Henry was not interested in any of the discussions nearby. And on this afternoon, the day before Christmas Eve, he was only curious as to the conversation between Miss Eliza Cline and his son, taking place near the large terrace doors.
Bart stood earnestly nodding and then cast his gaze downward as Miss Cline placed one hand upon his son’s shoulder. What on earth?
Henry edged closer, wishing he could somehow make out their words. Before he could join them, his unruly son brushed his hair back from his forehead and nodded solemnly at her, bowed, and then slipped out the French door.
The Perfect Christmas: With Bonus Material Added Page 9
