Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1)

by Anna Campbell

  He came to kneel in front of her, placing the pendant in her lap. “I knew it was hers, Rosie—or yours, I should say. Our mother gave it to you, didn’t she?”

  With shaking hands, the duchess picked up the necklace, holding it in her palm. “The night of my turning twenty-one. This was the only thing of value left, but she wanted me to have it.”

  Lady Studborne sniffed. “Goodness! What must you think of me, Mrs. Mortmain. Truly, I’m a most sensible person, but it’s such a long time—” Finding her handkerchief, she blew her nose and started again. “You deserve to hear something of it, both of you, now that you’re to be part of the family Cornelia.”

  She looked reproachfully at Burnell. “I know you haven’t set a date yet, or made a formal announcement to the papers, but it’s plain to see you’re desperately in love.” She smiled weakly. “It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, there’s no hiding it—and I’m so very happy for you both.”

  Cornelia found her cheek growing hot but the warmth glowed in her chest, too. Despite all that had passed between them, Ethan hadn’t actually told her he loved her. In fact, they hadn’t discussed much at all. The past few hours had been spent in activities that didn’t require a great deal of conference.

  “Go on, Rosie. We’re all ears.” Burnell came to sit on the arm of Cornelia’s chair, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Cornelia is discreet. You can trust us.”

  The duchess squared her shoulders. “It’s far too long a story to tell everything right now, and Studborne knows more than I about that horrible place, but I was trapped down there for a while, years ago, when the old duke was still alive.”

  She bit her lip. “He was suffering from terrible grief over the death of his wife, and he wasn’t himself. In honour of that fact, and him being Benedict’s uncle, I won’t disparage him, but he was suffering under a delusion. It was a tragic time, with tragic consequences, and is best left in the past. It was I who asked Benedict to close up the entranceway to the crypt.”

  She looked to Cornelia. “Yours was the room I slept in when I first visited the abbey. I should have ordered that chamber locked up, too, and never allowed anyone to use it again—but it has such a pretty aspect, and I told myself it was unlikely anyone would find the passageway as I had.”

  “The necklace, Rosie.” Burnell leaned forward. “You know where we found it?”

  The duchess nodded. “I decided it should be left there. The old duke had some strange beliefs and thought the gemstone held symbolic power. He placed it around the neck of the last duchess upon the night of his own death.” She paled, and Cornelia noticed how she was trembling.

  She’d pulled the bell for tea some minutes ago. She hoped it wouldn’t be long in coming.

  “Benedict wanted to take the necklace from her but that didn’t feel right, and I knew I'd never want to wear it again, after all that happened…” Lady Studborne’s voice trailed off and she turned the ruby over, rubbing it between her fingers. “Mother would be happy, of course, that it was returned to me. I’ll keep it for Melinda. One day, she may like to place it around her own neck, and she needn’t know where you recovered it from.”

  “Of course.” Burnell spoke gravely. “I can see this pains you, Rosie, so I won’t push you to say more, but there is something else I want to ask—about the crypt itself.”

  The duchess shuddered. “You’ve heard about the friar who founded this place, Vasco de Benevente? Those peculiar snakes engraved everywhere are his work, I understand. He travelled to Mexico early in the sixteenth century and, though he was a Christian missionary, he took up with some strange ideas while he was there. The old duke made a study of it, you see.” She shivered again. “Awful things happened, Ethan. I know you’ll forgive me for not wanting to talk about it. Speak to Benedict if you like. I really don’t know much more, and I don’t wish to.” She made to rise from the chair but swayed on her feet and sank down again with a cry of dismay.

  “Rosie!” Burnell leapt up. “You’re not well. It was thoughtless of me to press you. Here, take my arm. You need to lie down.”

  Helped by Cornelia, one upon each side of the duchess, they guided her to the bed.

  “I’ll find Studborne and send him up. Meanwhile, you must close your eyes. Don’t worry about anything else. Binky may have had her babies today, but it’s not yet time for yours.”

  Lady Studborne laid back upon the pillow and squeezed her brother’s hand. “You’re going to be a marvellous husband, Ethan. Cornelia is very lucky.”

  “Will she be alright, do you think?” Cornelia spoke softly as they closed the door.

  Burnell rubbed at his eyes. “She’s stronger than she looks, but my brother-in-law needs to step in and make her rest. She’s far too good at pretending to have everything under control, but I’m afraid she’s been overdoing it and she’s emotionally overwrought.”

  He cursed quietly. “Part of it’s my fault, of course—not just this business of what we found last night but this whole carousel of Rosamund inviting a bunch of guests for my benefit.” He pulled Cornelia into his arms, resting his cheek against her head. “With any luck, we’ll get some sun to melt this snow, and Studborne can send them packing as soon as tomorrow is done with.”

  Cornelia winced. Christmas was a time of joyful celebration, and hope, and goodwill, but Ethan didn’t seem to be embracing any of those things. It hadn’t escaped her notice, either, that he hadn't told his sister he loved Cornelia. She didn’t expect effusions of adoration, but hearing him say the words would have been welcome.

  She pulled back, looking him in the eye. “You’re sounding rather Scrooge-like, Mr. Burnell.”

  “I used to look forward to it when I was very young, I guess; that changed after my father brought me back to Texas.” He shrugged. ”There’s more to be said but we can’t discuss that here.” He glanced down the passageway. “I need to hunt down Studborne and fill him in where Rosie’s concerned, then we need to talk properly, Nellie. Can you make it to your sitting room and I’ll join you there as soon as I can?”

  Cornelia held on to him for a moment.

  He needed to talk?

  Of course, they had plans to make. There would be a great deal to talk about, but the way he said it felt rather ominous. What hadn’t he told her?

  Her ankle was still sore, particularly from tackling the steps the night before, but she made herself answer as brightly as she could. “Yes. I’ll be fine. Find his Grace and make sure Lady Studborne stays in her room, at least for a few hours. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Burnell kissed her forehead. “That’s my girl. Sit tight and I won’t be long.”

  Chapter 18

  “Explain to me again.” Cornelia pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You want us to marry by special license, as soon as possible, but then you plan to board your passage to Cancun alone, returning to Palekmul to continue the second stage of excavations.”

  “We’ll write, Nellie, and I’ll see you when I’m next in London. We’ll be together, but not all the time.”

  Sitting beside her on the sofa, Burnell had the decency to look sheepish, but it didn’t stop Cornelia wanting to punch him on the nose. “What sort of marriage is that?”

  One in which you get to do whatever the damn you want to, while I sit at home pining for your next letter.

  “It’s not ideal, I know, but what choice do we have? My work is too dangerous, and you’re not used to living like that.”

  Burnell had already given her a host of reasons why the plan was sensible, but listening to him calmly explaining only made Cornelia angrier.

  “Don’t I get a say, and where does my happiness fit into this, Ethan?” Cornelia hated how shrill she sounded, like some nagging fishwife, but she couldn’t sit quietly and agree.

  “I’ve had enough of other people deciding what’s good for me—” Like my father marrying me off to Mortmain when it was clear that gentleman didn’t give two figs. “And enough of them leaving m
e behind to pursue their own happiness.”

  Like my Mother, who thought her indulgence of a reckless whim more important than safeguarding my well-being.

  Burnell took her hands in his. “You must believe me when I say I’ve thought it through, Nellie. You can keep working at the British Museum. I’ll tell them you’re to be put on the curating team for the Palekmul gallery. Anything I send back, you’ll have first eyes when they open the crates.”

  “Well that’s mighty decent of you.” Cornelia gritted her teeth. “I get to dust off your finds while you’re living a true adventure on the other side of the world.”

  “I can see you’re mad, Nellie, but when you’ve had a chance to think about this, you’ll see I’m right.” A crease appeared between Burnell’s brows. He was clearly uncomfortable with the way their little chat was going but Cornelia refused to let him off the hook.

  “I haven’t told you much about my mother, have I? When she bolted, I didn’t believe it at first. I was barely at the start of my first Season. I hadn’t a clue what was happening, nor what the consequences would be—although I soon found out.” Cornelia withdrew her hands from Burnell’s and crossed her arms.

  “She took with her every scrap of jewellery and several portable items of silverware, then disappeared with no more farewell-taking than the leaving of a note, explaining she’d never loved my father and was snatching this ‘one chance at happiness’.” Cornelia gave a hollow laugh.

  “Did you know, the man she pinned her hopes on had been employed to paint a trompe l'oeil in the music room of our townhouse—a charming scene of Lake Como, as viewed from a window of the Villa Balbianello. My father ordered it papered over, of course, and never again mentioned my mother’s name.”

  Cornelia was aware of the bitterness in her voice. She’d always considered herself resigned to the fact of her mother’s abandonment, and her death soon afterward. The lovers had headed to the Italian lakes in earnest, and met their end on Como itself, following the overturning of a hired pleasure boat. An ironic end to the debacle.

  Oh yes, she’d shed plenty of tears, and then stoically endured what came next—including that miserable marriage to Mortmain—but she’d never admitted aloud how humiliating the whole thing had been, nor how furious she was.

  With her mother, naturally, but with her father as well.

  If he’d shown more affection, shown her mother that he loved her, that he needed her, that he wanted to share his life with her, she wouldn’t have sought comfort elsewhere.

  But her father had placed the blame firmly on others. As for Cornelia, she’d had the sense that he couldn’t wait to get rid of her; as if having her under the same roof was distasteful to him.

  He’d deigned to have her back after Mortmain died, but he’d gone to great efforts to avoid spending time with her. Between his work and his club, he’d hardly been at home.

  Seeing how unhappy she was, drifting without purpose, he’d put her forward for volunteering at the museum, but she’d seen that for what it was.

  A sop to his conscience.

  All these years, she’d let other people dictate the sequence of her life, but no more!

  If Burnell truly cared for her, he ought to want her with him all the time, through whatever challenges came their way. She’d rather have a single year of being together like that than decades of a half-love brought out for high days and holidays.

  “Don’t you see, I’d rather live a wild, dangerous life with you than stay here, wrapped in cotton wool. What happened with my mother wasn’t just thoughtless or imprudent. She was unhappy because my father never let her into his heart. Their lives were too separate. I want us to hold on to each other, Ethan. Just hold on, and love one another, and do the best we can.”

  Suddenly, the anger ebbed away, replaced by a tide of sadness. She couldn’t bear any more wasted years.

  Throughout her story, he’d sat quietly, letting her speak. He didn’t appear shocked or disappointed but the face looking back at her seemed older, and so much wearier.

  “You’re preachin’ to the choir, Nellie.” He gave a half-hearted smile, but the quirk of his mouth held no mirth. “My Pa thought providing the material things fulfilled his end of the bargain just fine, and he was free to do whatever the hell he wanted on account of that. If my Ma dared to suggest different, the ball of his fists put her straight.”

  Ethan’s eyes were dead inside and the way he was speaking…she’d never heard him like this.

  “When she brought us to England, it wasn’t just to find a titled husband for Rosie, though that’s what she wanted us to believe. She was running away, Cornelia—and when my father put two and two together, he sent one of his men to fetch me back. Just me, mind you. Rosamund and my mother were left to fend for themselves.”

  He gave a doleful sigh. “Pa made a point of telling me all about that—how he’d never forgive them for plotting against him and that all women were scheming varmints. He left them without a cent, and I wasn’t even allowed to write, but Rosie got a letter to me by sending it to our cook. That’s how I learnt Ma had died and Rosie’d found Benedict to care for her.”

  The words were toneless, as if he were reciting a story about someone else, rather than himself.

  “When I finally worked up the guts to walk out and he had that seizure, I felt nothing.” Standing up, Burnell took the poker and stabbed at the fire. “Actually, that’s not true. I did feel something.” Another vicious jab sent sparks flying. “I was glad, Cornelia. Glad he was dead, and I hoped he suffered with every last breath.”

  Turning back to her, his expression had grown harder. “Funny thing was that, despite all the women he slept with and the children he fathered over the years, I was the only true heir to all that money he cared so much about—and the old bastard had no intention of marrying again to secure another legitimate son. So, in the end, I had my revenge.”

  Cornelia’s mouth was too dry to speak but it didn’t seem to matter. Burnell had plenty to say all on his own.

  “I vowed to see everything he worked for stripped to nothing. That’s why I sold it all—why every dirty, oil-soaked dollar has gone to Palekmul.”

  The soft lips that had kissed her so tenderly that morning were set in a thin line. “My father’s poison dies with me. I won’t let there be more sons to carry on his line. Even if I took you to Palekmul, that’s one thing that’s non-negotiable, Cornelia.”

  She wanted to shake him and hug him all at the same time. Couldn’t he see that he was only hurting himself, letting his hatred for his father control him.

  Her pulse was racing but this was too important to shy away from. “That’s an excuse, Burnell, and you know it! Maybe you’re afraid of being hurt, or trapped, or disappointed, I don’t know—but, all this time, you’ve been badgering me to ‘be brave’ when you’re a coward yourself.”

  Ethan regarded her coolly. “You’re right, Cornelia, and you deserve to be loved without limitation or rules, but I can’t make those promises.”

  A horrible, lurching pain rose from Cornelia's stomach. It wouldn’t matter what she said, or how she promised to love him if he wasn’t ready to let go of the past.

  From that first kiss, she’d let herself believe there was a true spark of connection between them but it had all been smoke and mirrors. He’d warned her from the beginning; she’d been a diversion only, to keep other women at bay. The love affair was fake, regardless of how her imagination had taken hold—a ridiculous scheme between the adventurous, free-spirited, handsome Ethan Burnell, respected in his field and…she might have called herself a mouse before, someone who was more comfortable hiding away than being the focus of attention, but she was just herself.

  She didn’t want to apologize for being ordinary.

  No one took particular notice of her nor sought her opinion, even when she had one to give, but it didn’t mean she was ‘less’ than she should be. Being herself was enough.

  A sudden vision came to
her of Lady Studborne bent over the basket of puppies, each small face pressed to their mother’s belly—and that cheeky little Jack Russell, Hercules, sitting proudly next to his brood.

  Cornelia would never have babies of her own—because the only man she could imagining sharing that love with was Ethan.

  But, if he couldn’t love her with his whole heart what choice did she have?

  Swallowing her tears, she made herself stand to face him. “If you can’t see beyond your obsession, there’s nothing real between us. I deserve better, and I’m going to find it. There are other men besides you, Ethan Burnell.”

  Her breath hitched. There would never be anyone else; not for her. But he didn’t need to know that.

  With as much dignity as she could muster, she turned her back and walked away.

  Chapter 19

  Ethan struck the cue ball, sending it ricocheting off the cushion, knocking the black violently into the top corner pocket.

  A hard ride on one of Studborne’s horses would have suited him better but he could hardly justify risking the legs of one the duke’s stallions just because he was in a foul mood.

  Studborne himself was busy with the rigging of curtains on the mock-theatre he’d erected for the children. As for the crypt, he’d promised to accompany Ethan down there in the new year, but not before. He reasoned it had sat shut away all these years; a few more days would hardly matter. Ethan was in no position to argue.

  Billiards would have to do, though he was tempted to pick up the nearest ball and lob it through the window.

  “Nicely played, Burnell.” Lord Fairlea updated the score. “That’s ten shillings I’m afraid, Colonel. Settle now or play on?”

  “I should know better than to cross cues with this young’un. He has the luck of the devil.” Colonel Faversham raised his hands in surrender. “Not so easy to play with the one eye, of course.”