Miss Fitzwilliam's Christmas Redemption

by Lydia Pembroke

  Ten years prior, Marguerite had thought it wise to put an advertisement in several newspapers, asking for information on living members of the Southwell family— distant relatives who may not have made themselves known. Any relation, along the line of the family tree.

  Desperation had driven her hand, but it had turned up nothing but charlatans, tricksters, and trophy hunters. They had all landed at her door and she had been forced to turn each one away, after suffering the indignity of their supposed claim. Not a single one had sought anything but money, and not a single one had possessed even the faintest tie to her family.

  Since then, she had kept herself shut off from the rest of the world, preferring solitude to the whispers of the town.

  Now and again, another charlatan would arrive to try their luck, but she had long-since ceased to entertain an audience with anyone. She had become a living spectre in her own home; a ghost that people spoke of, but never saw.

  Every time she peered out of her window and looked down at the town below, she knew they were all waiting for her to die. She could sense them, clustering around the bottom of the hill like rabid wolves at her door, waiting for their opportunity to seize whatever they could.

  Well, they would just have to go on waiting, she thought.

  There was still breath in her lungs and life in her heart. A few creaks and groans weighed on her bones, but she was still sprightly for her age and had the tenacity and stubbornness of spirit to go on living for as long as humanly possible.

  Indeed, she planned to outlive every single money-grabber. Until her grandchildren could be laid to rest, she refused to leave them.

  The Dragon of Dunsmore would stay coiled around the past, until she could finally bring herself to reconcile with the present.

  If that day never came, then Death would be the only one who might tear her away.

  Chapter One

  Miss Alice Lambton embraced the Autumn cool as the carriage arrived in the small town of Lower Nettlefold. Drawing her shawl around her, she stepped awkwardly down onto the slick cobbles. It had recently rained, though she could not recall a downpour. She had slept most of the journey from the quaint hills and vales of Ambleside, her home village in the Lake District. In comparison to the place that she’d grown up, even a town of Lower Nettlefold’s size was something of a shock to the system.

  “Are you certain this is the correct house?” Alice asked the driver; a cheerful fellow named Abraham.

  It did not look like the sort of residence where a Baron might live. By the looks of it, it had once been a striking building with a noble façade, but it had fallen into a gloomy state of disrepair. It was an imposing three-storey structure which stood alone, along one side of a bleak town square, its third floor raising it head-and-shoulders above the neighbouring houses on the opposing edges. From the way it seemed to glower across the rest of the town, Alice supposed it might once have been some kind of official building, but had since been turned into a residential abode.

  One of the top windows had a large crack that splintered across the pane like a silvery web, while the sandstone walls had gathered a thick layer of greyish grime. Alice could see the hint of pale paint beneath, where small children had smeared their fingertips across the outer layer.

  “Clackford House, Miss?”

  Alice checked the note in her bag. “Yes, Clackford House.”

  “Then this is it, Miss.”

  “Thank you, Abraham,” she replied uncertainly.

  “Don’t mention it, Miss. I’ll see to it your luggage is brought inside.”

  Alice nodded and took to the front steps of the property. Tiny weeds sought their way up through the old marble, a few miniature blooms sprouting despite the Autumn chill. Eroded lions stood to either side of the top step, their faces barely discernible. It made for an eerie sight. Ignoring the creeping sensation that edged its way up her spine, she rang the bell and waited for someone to greet her. A moment later, the door creaked open, though only a voice eked out.

  “Hello?”

  “Ah… hello there. I am Miss Alice Lambton.”

  A pretty face with rosy cheeks peered around the edge of the doorframe, and a pair of wide blue eyes blinked anxiously in Alice’s direction.

  “The governess?”

  “Yes, that is correct.” Alice smiled through her nerves. “And you must be the housekeeper?”

  “No, Miss Lambton, you are mistaken.” Her voice was thin and frightened, as though the slightest sound might spook her into bolting. “I am the lady of the house— Lady Jane…. That is, I mean, Lady Waterford. My apologies, the name is still rather new to me.”

  Alice flushed with embarrassment.

  “Goodness me, you must forgive my impertinence Lady Waterford. I only thought—”

  “There is no need to apologise, Miss Lambton. You are not the first to find it peculiar that I should answer my own door. Only, I prefer to know who is being welcomed into the house, so I have taken it upon myself to do so,” she replied pleasantly. The young woman’s entire demeanour relaxed. “You are very welcome here, Miss Lambton.”

  Alice had answered several advertisements requesting governesses, and this had been the only household to respond favourably. She had spoken with a James Felling, the Baron of Waterford, who was to employ her to teach his three children. However, Jane did not look old enough to have birthed three children. Indeed, she barely looked to be more than a child herself. Eighteen, perhaps, but no older.

  “Might I offer my congratulations, My Lady. Lord Waterford did not inform me of your happy news,” Alice said, trying to recover some of her pride. Glancing down, she had noticed the tell-tale sign of a pregnancy beneath the flowing yellow silk of Jane’s gown.

  “Thank you, Miss Lambton, your congratulations are well met,” Jane replied quietly, her hands moving protectively towards her distended stomach.

  “Might I see the other children? There are three, are there not?”

  Jane nodded.

  “There are. Please, come in, and do accept my apologies— I have left you standing on the step for much too long. This child has made me a touch distracted.”

  “Do not concern yourself, My Lady.”

  The interior of the house was little better than the exterior, and a scent of must and mildew hung in the air. The elegant wallpaper and gilded lamp-fixtures had dulled and faded over time, and every floorboard creaked underfoot. It looked as though somebody had done a half-decent job of cleaning the surfaces, but the dust appeared to be perennial.

  “I hope it is not rude of me to ask, My Lady, but I was informed that the children were aged eight, six, and four. If you will forgive me, you do not seem old enough to have an eight-year-old infant under your care.” Alice tiptoed carefully around the subject, not wanting to cause offence. Her mother would have some choice words if she returned home without employment, barely two days after departing.

  Jane smiled weakly.

  “The children are not mine. They belong to my husband’s previous wife; she died a year-and-a-half ago.” She paused, as though she wasn’t sure how much more to reveal. “Although, I feel a certain maternal affection for them, as though they were my own, though they do not always reciprocate. I am sure you can understand such a thing, as I can. To lose one’s mother is no easy feat, and there can never be a replacement.”

  “No, I suppose you are quite right,” Alice replied, in a tone she hoped was reassuring. It looked as though the poor young woman was struggling with the situation that had befallen her. Indeed, in that moment, Alice decided that she would befriend Jane, regardless of their positions.

  “Is your own mother alive and well?”

  “She is, My Lady.”

  “Then you are lucky.”

  “Is your mother no longer with us?”

  Jane shook her head slowly.

  “No, though I very much wish she was. I know very little of pregnancy and giving birth. I imagine I would find the whole rigmarole far easier if I
had her wisdom to assist me.”

  “Would you like it if I wrote to my mother, and asked her to send any information you might find useful?”

  “You would do that?” Jane seemed surprised.

  “Of course, My Lady.”

  “Then, I should like that very much.”

  They had just reached the entrance to the drawing room when a figure stormed out of a room ahead. The door slammed behind him, sending a shudder through the ancient house.

  A similar tremor shivered through Alice’s body. This gentleman did not seem like the kind of fellow who ought to be crossed in any way. He stood at over six-feet, with broad shoulders and monstrous arms which caused the sleeves of his tailcoat to strain at the seams.

  Heavy-set features gave him a permanently grizzled expression, while ice-blue eyes cut through Alice like a blade.

  “This is Miss Alice Lambton,” Jane murmured, her face visibly blanching. “The governess.”

  “Ah, so she has finally decided to arrive, has she?” he remarked sternly.

  Alice gulped.

  “Your letter stated the sixth of November, Lord Waterford. It is the sixth, is it not?”

  “A jest, dear girl. Do not shake and quiver so, as though you are in the presence of an ogre.” He flashed a cold smile. “I do not bite, not unless I feel so inclined.” A glint of something wicked and licentious flickered behind the heat of his intense stare; a look that Alice could not ignore. It made her deeply uncomfortable, though she refused to show it.

  “I had hoped to be greeted by the children, My Lord.”

  James Felling shrugged.

  “Then you must find them yourself, Miss Lambton. That is why I have employed you, is it not?”

  “I… yes, My Lord.”

  “Good, then I should hope you do not linger too much longer in the hallway, taking up space,” he replied curtly. “I shall instruct the driver to deposit your luggage in your chambers. Meanwhile, I suggest you get better acquainted with your new home. Jane, you will see to it that she is given a full tour, will you not?”

  “Of course, my Lord,” Jane said with a meek nod.

  “Excellent.” He clapped his hands together so loudly that Alice nearly jumped out of her skin. “I will be in my study, and I do not expect anyone to disturb me. Is that clear, Jane?”

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  He turned, only to pause halfway up the corridor. Glancing back over his shoulder, he waved a vexed hand towards the ceiling. “Oh, and if you happen to see that layabout, Mr. Parch, tell him I’m getting rather impatient, where these papers are concerned. A week is much too long to be waiting for a simple document. I mean, really, how long does it take to prove that you’re a second cousin, once removed?”

  “I do not know, My Lord.”

  Jane looked as though she might crumble at any moment. Indeed, Alice was readying herself to catch the young woman in case she fainted.

  It was clear that she was terrified of her husband, and Alice could guess the reason why. Brutes were a bitter fact of life, and they infected every corner of the globe, taking what they pleased and not caring a jot for anyone but themselves. Lord Waterford was one such sore on the spectrum of society.

  Lord Waterford shot his wife a withering look. “No, of course you do not know. I would not expect you to. This is not simple fare for the mind of a woman.”

  Alice gripped the skirts of her gown into her fists and tried not to lose her temper. She could not abide this man speaking to Jane in such a way, even though the two women were more-or-less complete strangers. Yes, Jane was his wife, but that was no excuse for callousness.

  “My apologies,” Jane whimpered.

  “Are you still here?”

  Alice forced a smile onto her face. “I should very much like to see my chambers, my Lady, if you would oblige me? And, perhaps, you might help me find the children?”

  Jane cast her a relieved expression. “Certainly, Miss Lambton.”

  Without another word, the two of them mounted the mahogany staircase, their footfalls kicking dust up from the blood-red carpet that covered the bare wood. Only Alice dared to look back, though she wished she had not. Her eyes locked with those of Lord Waterford. He stared hungrily across the contours of her shrouded shape, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

  She turned away sharply, keeping her focus on the floor above. Her mother’s words came rushing back to her in a whirl: “If some fella gives you a look you don’t like, you keep your wits about you. Trust your gut, it’ll never let you down.” Right now, her stomach was churning in knots. A sure sign that she was going to need to keep her wits about her.

  Continued…

  Read the rest at

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07W3D915F/