Clay followed his father into their grand home—humble home when compared to the Biltmore house, however. He whispered a prayer of thanks to his heavenly Father. He had business to take care of in the city and things to order to complete the house he was building. He wanted to secure the finest of rings for Charity. That allowed his mother several days to finish her packing.
Dearest Charity,
I miss you terribly. I shall return the week of Christmas. Though I’d most certainly prefer your company, it is good to be with my family once again.
Love,
Clay
Occasionally Charity received a short note from him. If only she’d thought to request his address, she could return the correspondence. Taking a few minutes right before climbing into bed each night, she wrote to him, only instead of mailing them, she tucked the letters into a drawer, planning to give him the entire stack upon his return.
As silly as it seemed, she often slept with his latest communication. Somehow he felt closer that way.
A small contingent of servants were pulled aside the following morning after breakfast. Charity was the only one from brown laundry.
“I will be hosting the event of the century here at Biltmore this year,” Elizabeth Claybrook announced withglee. “My cousin Joseph Malachi Claybrook …” She paused, her gaze fixed on Charity.
Charity suddenly took great interest in the floor, breaking the intense stare. Why is she scrutinizing me so?
“As I was saying, my dear cousin will wed my dear friend Eunice Hopewell. The engagement party shall take place here on Christmas Eve, a formal affair to rival the parties in New York City.”
Sounded dreadful to Charity. How awful, to pretend everything must appear better than it was. Charity gave thanks she’d been born less fortunate and could live more honestly.
Charity drew her thoughts back to Miss Claybrook. “The gardeners shall provide you with fresh cedar and pine for the mantels, making the house smell heavenly. Miss Bradford, you shall oversee the entire main floor. Please make certain each room is taken care of.”
Charity nodded.
Miss Claybrook assigned a servant to each floor of the house. “Tomorrow we’ll begin unpacking the ornaments for the trees. Each will need to be hand-polished before it is ready to hang. By the end of the week, the house will be filled with Christmas.” And with that, she turned and headed upstairs to the main floor.
Charity felt rather glad she’d been assigned this duty. She loved Christmas, and the thought of touching and cleaning each precious ornament excited her. She wondered if Miss Claybrook knew the true meaning of the holiday. Did she know Jesus? How Charity loved Him, hoping the same for her.
She finished her task, but very late in the day. Each mantel was dressed up with fresh greenery, and the smells delighted her senses. It reminded her of her childhood.
Though not wealthy, her family celebrated big. Mama and Peggy made special cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. Papa always sneaked in a toy he’d made for the four sisters to share and placed it under the decorated tree he’d chopped down for them. He’d bring out the big family Bible that Mama kept next to their feather bed and read the Christmas story. Charity strained to remember the rich timbre of his voice. Then they’d spend hours around the piano, singing Christmas songs and hymns. A pang of longing hit her with blunt force. She still missed Mama and Papa every single day, even after all these years. But now that she knew how it felt to be in love, she understood what a blessing it was that they passed together.
Chapter 7
Charity slipped out of the house, just as the sun lit the eastern sky. How she hoped to avoid Mr. Courtland. Running into him at every turn made heeding Clay’s warning most difficult. She often wondered if he purposely sought her out, but why would that be so? Any number of wealthy single women guests clamored for his attention. Surely he’d not think twice about her.
Making her way down the snow-covered path to the barn, Charity missed Trixie almost as much as she missed Clay. Last week she’d not taken a day off, needing to wash and press all the beautiful Christmas linens trimmed in mostly reds and golds. They must spend more money on some of their finest linen pieces than she earned in an entire year. If wealthy she’d give it all away. Easier said than done, I’m quite sure. She hadn’t intended to judge.
She stood at Trixie’s gate, scratching the mare’s ears. Clay arranged for the other stable hands to care for both horses while he was away. He didn’t want her sledging through the snow on cold, dark mornings. She hadn’t ridden in nearly two weeks and ached for the chance.
“Miss Bradford, how good to see you today. I shall ride into Biltmore Village this fine morning. Would you care to join me?” Mr. Courtland continued past like he couldn’t careless one way or the other, stopping a few stalls down, where his dappled gray resided.
Perhaps Clay was wrong about him. And she did have the entire day off. Mr. Courtland offered a chance to exercise Trixie and see her sisters. Charity argued with herself. On the one hand, she’d promised, at least in one of the letters that lay in a drawer. But on the other, a golden opportunity called her. Surely Clay would understand.
When Mr. Courtland finished saddling his horse, he led him down the wide corridor, stopping next to Charity. “Well, Miss Bradford?”
Charity’s gaze danced between good and evil, Trixie and Mr. Courtland.
“I suppose. A day away shall prove nice.”
“A bit restless, are you?” His face split into a broad grin that said he understood. “The snow makes one feel entirely too cooped up. Would you like help with your mare?” He handed her the reins to his horse and made quick work of bridling and saddling Trixie.
Once they were riding together away from Biltmore and toward town, he asked, “What are your thoughts on Malachi’s impending nuptials? Aren’t you and he close?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never met him, only his cousin Elizabeth.”
“Really?” Somehow her confession caused Mr. Courtland pleasure. He reminded her of a sinister man with a devious plot. Perhaps she should have heeded Clay’s advice a bit more closely.
“Why would you think otherwise?” She studied the man intently.
“I thought I’d seen you together a time or two. Perhaps I’m mistaken.” His eyes roamed across the snow-covered peaks. There it was again, that mischievous spark in his eyes.
They rode a mile or so in silence. “Who is the man I see you riding with on occasion?” He leaned in, studying her with an uncomfortable intensity.
“Clay?”
“Umm, yes, Clay. He resembles Malachi Claybrook.”
Did he hope to upset her? “I could not say.” She refused to play his silly game. “Clay is far from an aristocrat. He is a simple stable hand—a Biltmore servant, as am I.”
Mr. Courtland nodded, rubbing his chin. “You seem quite fond of this stable hand.”
Heat rose in her cheeks, and she averted her gaze to the snow-laden mountains. “They are most beautiful this time of year.” She had no intention of admitting personal feelings to a stranger.
“That they are, as is Miss Hopewell. She arrived late last week. Have you been granted the opportunity to see her yet?”
“No, I never see any of the guests. If I were a maid, perhaps, but I’m in the basement all day, either that or the fourth floor.” She returned her gaze to the handsome rogue. “Except this week, as I have been decorating the main floor.”
“Well, my dear, you are missing a treat. Keep your eyes open for a stunning redhead with ivory skin.”
Charity wondered why he spoke of people she did not know. How odd. “Are you and Mr. Claybrook friends then?”
He paused. “I’d not say that, though we do travel in the same circles and have common acquaintances.”
“I see.” Maybe Mr. Courtland carried a torch for this Eunice Hopewell woman. They arrived at the orphanage at a perfect time, ending their conversation.
In two hours Mr. Courtland called
for her. The visit with her sisters and Mama Elsie proved to be wonderful, as always. She joined them for breakfast. The food at the orphanage tasted far better than the offerings at Biltmore. Of course she doubted all would agree.
As she mounted Trixie, Charity hoped for a quiet ride back. If she had her wish, there’d be no more babble about people she neither knew nor cared about.
“Perhaps it’s best that you don’t know Mr. Claybrook.” Mr. Courtland pulled his horse even with Trixie.
She wanted to ask why that was, but to end the conversation, she only said, “Perhaps.”
“He is a dishonorable man.”
Charity squirmed under Mr. Courtland’s scrutiny, longing to run Trixie all the way to Biltmore.
“He leads a double life, pretending to be a man he is not. He has his fiancée and a woman he sees on the side.”
Charity could keep quiet no longer. “How sad for Miss Hopewell.” Her curiosity drew her deeper into the conversation. “Does she know of the other woman?”
“It’s not clear, but she loves the scoundrel nonetheless.” He shrugged one shoulder, sadness pulling his small mustache downward.
“What about the other woman? Does she love him as well?”
“Hard to say. She’s a servant girl, so scraps of attention from a man of his looks and caliber may have been more than the poor thing could resist.”
Charity nodded. “Perhaps.” Though she felt certain she’d not fall into such a situation. Thank You, Lord, for Clay. I feel blessed to have found such an honest, hardworking man.
She knew the Lord brought her and Clay here for such a time as this. Their paths crossed for the Lord’s purpose. Charity smiled as she thought of the man she’d one day marry.
The largest of all the Christmas trees at Biltmore was placed in the living hall. While hanging Christmas ornaments just so on the monstrosity, Charity realized this evergreen stood at least twice as tall as any tree she’d ever seen and was possibly three times as wide. Excitement raced through her veins, as she’d been assigned the task of decorating this grand tree—at least, as high as she could reach. Considering the honor, Charity took great pains to place each ornament with care.
She chose a carved wooden red cardinal from the box packed with many Christmas treasures.
“She has no idea. None.”
Was that Mr. Courtland? A man’s voice similar to his sounded close, though she saw no one.
A high-pitched chuckle followed. “Well, won’t they both be surprised. My cousin shouldn’t play such naughty games. The poor little twit dreams of a simple man, not an aristocrat! His little servant friend’s heart shall break before hearrives. See to it.”
Charity tried not to listen, but their words floated in unencumbered. She didn’t want to overhear the conversation, which was obviously between Stanton Courtland and Elizabeth Claybrook.
That poor girl that they speak of. Lord, I pray You bring her through the heartbreak and humiliation.
Finally Clay was on his way back to Charity with his parents at his side. He’d telegraphed Elizabeth to plan a simple but elegant engagement party. Though she’d originally objected, she finally agreed and, in her last telegraph, seemed excited about the prospect.
Thank You, Lord, that it is all coming together. Thank You for working out the details, including my parents agreeing to come. Most of all, thank You for Charity. How he loved her.
He’d shipped a beautiful red velvet ball gown by Worth to Elizabeth, asking her to make certain the box and note were delivered to Charity on Christmas Eve morning. He also asked her to make certain Charity had that day off.
Yes, tomorrow he’d be betrothed. Tomorrow would be the most incredible day of his life to date. Tomorrow Charity would know his true identity, and they’d be free from all pretense.
He now regretted not telling her sooner. Not intentional, but the lack of information had grown into a lie. Conviction fell over him like the snow blanketing the ground outside the train window. I’m sorry, Lord. I wanted to get to know her and her, me, without restraints between us. Forgive me for lying. I have sinned against You and Charity.
Until now, he’d not thought of it that way, but deception was a lie. He’d led her to believe he was someone he wasn’t. As he talked it out with the Lord, he knew God forgave him. Now he must confess to Charity at the first opportunity. He hoped she was as forgiving as their heavenly Father.
On Christmas Eve morning before she left her room for breakfast, a large box was delivered to Charity. Was it from Clay? She lifted the lid. Recognizing Clay’s handwriting, she picked up a note off a satin-trimmed dress.
My dearest Charity,
I am requesting the honor of your presence at tonight’s Christmas Eve Ball. Enclosed you will find a gown chosen just for this occasion, along with a pair of shoes.
It will be a great honor for me to have you on my arm. Please meet me in the library at the Biltmore precisely at six in the evening.
Missing you terribly, Clay
She lifted the gown from the box, feeling overwhelmed. Never in her twenty years had she seen anything so beautiful. I’ve certainly never worn anything nearly this magnificent.
Holding the rich flowing red velvet against her, she spun around the small amount of open space in her room. What will Clay think when he sees me in this? I hope in his eyes, I shallbe the most beautiful woman at the party. Stopping in front of the mirror, she smiled at the glorious dress, a perfect color to accent her complexion and brighten her eyes. She’d be sure to give her cheeks extra pinches tonight.
Suddenly she stopped. Why is Clay attending a party honoring Malachi Claybrook? It made no sense. Servants did not receive such invitations. Certain Clay would solve the mystery this evening, she pushed the questions from her mind. Barely touching the stairs on her way to breakfast, Charity collided with Mr. Courtland. She would have fallen backward had he not steadied her.
“Charity! Where are you off to this fine morning?”
“Breakfast.” Now that she stood quite well on her own two feet, she wished he’d release her elbow. “I’m rather surprised to find you here in the servants’ stairwell.”
“I was actually coming for you.” His eyes danced.
Her stomach knotted, wondering what he might be up to now. She sucked in a sharp breath. “Me? Whatever for?” Did he know she’d overheard a private conversation between him and Miss Claybrook?
“I understand you are on the guest list for tonight’s ball.”
How could he possibly know that? She’d only just discovered it for herself.
“I thought you might want to come to the library early, say about five. I will go through a quick etiquette lesson with you, answer any questions you might have.”
Uncertainty fell on Charity like a ton of bricks. She had no business going to such an affair. What if she embarrassed Clay?
“I’m certain you’ll do well. I only hoped to put you at ease.”
His desire had the adverse effect.
“If you’d rather not …”
“No. I’m sorry and did not intend to be rude. Of course I’d most appreciate any assistance you might offer.”
Mr. Courtland removed his hand from her elbow. “The library at five then. Good day, my dear.” With that he descended the stairs.
Charity no longer floated. What had she gotten herself into?
Chapter 8
Feeling beautiful in the red gown, Charity glided down the stairs and into the library. Never had she felt more like a woman fit for a Mr. Darcy. And she, indeed, found her own Mr. Darcy in the form of Clay. How odd that she still did not know his last name. Every time she’d asked, they’d been interrupted in one way or another.
The library had been well decorated for the Christmas season, as had the entire main floor. Musicians played carols in the main hall, the music wrapping her with the joy of the season. The sights, sounds, and smells of Christmas touched her in a magical way.
She glanced up at the large c
lock upon entering the library. In one hour she’d meet Clay in this very room. Her heart pounded. Like an excited child waiting for that one special present, she anticipated Clay wrapping her in his well-muscled arms and whispering words she longed to hear.
Charity let her gaze roam around the room. Two new portraits had been added above the settee in the corner. Several early guests admired them, and a banner hung above them. Congratulations Malachi Claybrook and Eunice Hopewell.
Charity’s gaze roamed over the large hand-painted face of Eunice Hopewell. A large man in formal attire blocked her view of the groom.
“Hello, Miss Bradford. You are beyond beautiful.” Mr. Courtland’s voice came from just behind her, the tone suggestive, inappropriate.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Why thank you.” His black jacket enhanced his looks as well, but she chose not to express those thoughts. The man, quite cocky in his own right, needed no encouragement. “You were right when you spoke of Miss Hopewell’s loveliness. She is far prettier than I had imagined.”
“That she is.” His voice held an awe Charity had not heard before. His expression, one of longing. Poor man apparently loved a …
Charity’s air supply stuck in her throat. Her heart forgot to beat. Her mind froze as she stared into the painted black eyes of Malachi Claybrook. No wonder Clay always failed to mention his last name.
She willed herself to breathe. Raising her skirts, she ran from the room. Tears blocked her vision as she made her way for the front door. Be it ever so improper, she ignored Mr. Courtland’s calls.
Running into the cold night with no wrap or coat, she was too numb to feel. She moved toward the orphanage, ignoring the stares as she passed guests along the road. Her foot hit a patch of ice. She fell. An elderly gentleman and his wife stopped to help her. They asked no questions, other than where she was going in such haste. Helping her into the buggy, the kind graying woman covered her with a blanket. They drove her to the orphanage and helped her to the door.
Biltmore Christmas Page 5
