A Winter's Vow (A Winter's Tale Series Book 3)

by Kristi Tailor

  “Anybody like who?” Patricia frowned. “We’re surrounded by strangers.”

  Charlotte cast her eyes around the intimate dining room, and then with a shrug of her shoulders, turned her attention back to her friend. “Force of habit, I guess. Nicholas thinks that I’m making too big a deal about letting people at the office find out about us, but I just don’t want to be ridiculed again. After what happened with Dean . . . I just don’t want to be publicly humiliated by rumors and gossip.”

  “Charlotte, you work with a bunch of cackling women who I’m sure have realized that they’ve reached their maximal level of potential at the company. There aren’t many opportunities for most of them beyond the minuscule positions that they have now. And then there’s you . . . this smart, vibrant woman who struts into a dying magazine company and seeks employment as a temp, but then works her way up to being Editor. It’s called jealously. They are jealous of you, and it doesn’t matter if you marry Nick, or if you stay single for the rest of your life . . . they are always going to be jealous of you because you’re a go- getter. Miserable people hate to see others achieve greatness.”

  “Thank you, Trish,” Charlotte smiled, reaching her hand across the table to embrace the other woman.

  “Where’s your ring?” Patricia asked, examining Charlotte’s bare hand. “Don’t tell me that you’re going as far as not wearing your engagement ring to appease those wenches because−”

  “No. No. I’m not hiding my ring . . . Nicholas hasn’t given me one yet.”

  “He proposed with no ring?” Patricia shook her head. “Wait until I talk to him.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “It could be a quartet, and it wouldn’t make a difference. The man needs to give you a ring.”

  Charlotte laughed. “I really do miss you, Trish.”

  “I know you do, but I’ll be back soon,” Patricia assured her as she signaled for a server to come to their table. “Do you know what you want to order?”

  “I think that I’m just going to get a serving of the Creamy Rose Panna Cotta and a brew of the Mint and Berry to go. I have to meet Penelope on the Upper East side in a little over an hour.”

  “Sorry for being late,” Patricia sighed. “Let me take care of the bill, it’s the least that I can do.”

  “It’s fine, don’t apologize. Seeing you has given me the energy I need to get through the painful next couple of hours. So, in retrospect I should be the one paying, since I’ve taken away more from this outing than you.”

  “Well when you put it like that . . .” Patricia laughed. “Please do pay, Mrs. Elliot.”

  “I’m not Mrs. Elliot yet,” Charlotte said, holding up her ring-less finger.

  “Knowing Nicholas, it’s only a matter of time.”

  ***

  Wearing her most practiced award- winning smile Charlotte walked into Blakesfield Bridal, a costly boutique in Upper East Manhattan. Carefully making her way through the narrow aisles, she roamed the dress shop, her brown gaze jumping from one dress to the next. Stopping in front of a fully veiled mannequin, Charlotte ran her manicured fingers along the floral design, fascinated by the tiny stitches and intricate beading pattern.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” came an unfamiliar voice.

  Charlotte turned to find a woman who looked to be in her early twenties smiling brightly at her. “Yes, it is,” she agreed. “It’s very beautiful.”

  “Are you only looking for a veil today, or could I help you with a dress fitting as well?”

  “Oh−uh neither. I’m actually here to meet with the boutique manager, but I’m waiting for my colleague to arrive . . . I’m with Gizzelle Bridal magazine.”

  “Gizzelle Bridal? Would the person you’re waiting for happen to be a thin red headed woman?” the sales girl asked. “Um, I believe her name was Penelope Lawson.”

  “That would be the one,” Charlotte frowned. “I didn’t see her come in . . . has she already gone back to meet with your manager?”

  “She came in early this morning, maybe around nine. She interviewed Janet, the boutique owner, and a few brides, and then she left.”

  “I must have gotten the time mixed up . . . I could have sworn the interview was scheduled for one o’ clock,” Charlotte said more to herself than to the young girl standing beside her.

  “Originally it was scheduled for this afternoon, but the time was changed during a courtesy conformation call I made earlier this week.”

  “I didn’t know anything about the call, or the time change.”

  “Sorry,” the girl smiled apologetically. “It’s probably just a misunderstanding. I’m sure your partner−”

  “She’s not my partner,” Charlotte said, her voice low. “Sorry for wasting your time.” Turning away from the young woman, Charlotte headed toward the exit, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the store. Dean, her subconscious wailed the warning, her peripheral vision catching sight of the familiar face in the crowd of strangers walking along the wide pathway in front of the bridal boutique. Blinking rapidly, Charlotte stared out onto the street as an unsettling feeling spread throughout her body. Her brown eyes wide with shock as she scanned the sidewalk in front of Blakesfield, her gaze jumping from one face to another in search for the man that had stolen her ability to breathe, but he was gone.

  “Are you alright?” the sales girl asked from behind her, causing Charlotte to visibly jump.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she answered. “I thought I saw someone I once knew, but it was probably just my imagination playing tricks on me,” she laughed uncomfortably, suddenly feeling embarrassed for her unwarranted fear. Even if it was him . . . what should I care? He’s a burden that I never have to deal with again.

  Chapter Seven

  MARCH 2009

  Nicholas sat silently at his desk as he scrolled through Gizzelle Bridal’s developing webpage, making a mental checklist of all the changes that needed to be made before the magazine’s web designers made their final edits. Leaning back in his large black chair he closed his eyes to the pictures rotating on the screen in front of him. Images of women in bridal attire and large colorful flower bouquets attacked his senses, causing his temples to throb. Taking over Leisure Me Ready had been a feat that he had enjoyed. Knowing that he’d succeeded in securing a magazine company renowned for its trademark of giving quality advice about finances and helpful tips on how to live a leisurely life after retirement had made him proud. Proud of what he was inheriting, and excited about what he would accomplish. Groaning aloud Nicholas opened his eyes once more when the sound of light tapping grabbed his attention. “Come in,” he said, his voice heavy.

  Rachel Clemons, the floor’s secretary peeked into Nicholas’ office. “Mr. Elliot, you have a call holding on line two.”

  “I told you to take messages, and not to pass anyone through.”

  “I tried, sir. I communicated to her that you were in a meeting, and that−”

  “Her? Her who?”

  “I don’t know, sir. When I asked for her name, she laughed, and said to tell you ‘that a family friend required a moment of your time.’”

  Nicholas frowned. “Fine.”

  “Sorry for disturbing you,” Rachel said before closing the door.

  Nicholas’ dark brows drew together as he stared down at his office phone. Family friend, he glowered at the thought of who it might be, any friend of his family was no acquaintance of his. Picking up the phone, he said, “Nicholas Elliot. Whom am I speaking with?” his tone formal.

  “Nicholas! It’s been years, how are you?”

  “I’m sorry, who is this?”

  “Oh dear, you have lost all recognition of my voice. Has it been that long? Oh, I suppose it has been an awfully long time since we’ve been in one another’s company. Too long, I’d say. I’m sure you’re as handsome now as you were as a child, even more so, I’m certain,” the woman rambled.

  Silence.

  “How’s Muffy?”

&n
bsp; “Alive I would assume.”

  “Oh, Nicholas!” she bellowed, laughing loudly into the phone. “You’re still a rascal.”

  Nicholas lifted the phone from his ear, and letting out a quiet breath he prayed for patience. His tolerance was at an all- time low. “I’m busy. Is there something I can help you with? Do you need my mother’s phone number?”

  “Oh Heavens no. I speak to darling Muffy a few times a week,” she sniggered.

  Nicholas grimaced. So why did you ask how she was doing? “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Sorry?” he asked, confused. “Then why are−”

  “There is nothing that you can do for me at this moment; however, there is something that I can do for you.”

  “Something you can do for me . . . I don’t accept offers from strangers,” Nicholas said, slowly growing interested in what the woman had to say. “Are you going to tell me who you are?”

  “It saddens me, that you don’t recognize my voice. You know I’ve always been told that I have an unique voice, not many women share my airy pitch.”

  Silence.

  “You really don’t remember me?” she begged.

  “If you’re a friend to my parents I made it an effort to forget you,” Nicholas said matter-of-factly.

  The woman laughed again at his words, “Oh Nicholas,” she cried. “You’re a rascal indeed. How fun to have spoken to you.”

  “You’re not going to tell me who you are?”

  “Not over the phone, no. But in an hour, there will be a black Escalade on the corner of 5th and Broadway. If you’re interested in who I am and what I have to say, you’ll make your way there.”

  Glancing down at his watch Nicholas leaned back in his chair, “What makes you think I’d get into a random truck to meet with some woman I don’t know,” he laughed softly, seemingly entertained by the stranger.

  “Do, or don’t . . . either way the chips are going to come crashing down all around them,” she said, unbothered by his hesitation.

  “Them? Them who?”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  Chapter Eight

  Nicholas walked down 4th street keeping a steady pace as he carefully studied the faces that passed him. The idea of leaving work in the middle of the day during the magazine’s peak season probably wasn’t the best decision for the editor-in-chief to make, still, he felt inclined at what the mystery woman had to offer him. What could you possibly do for me? He wondered, her words replaying in his mind, putting a fire in his head as he reached 5th and Broadway. As promised a black Escalade was parked on the street, though no one appeared to be inside. Narrowing his silver eyes in the bright afternoon sunlight he attempted to look into the large truck, but the tints were too dark. Standing on the edge of the sidewalk Nicholas waited for a break in traffic, and at the first sight of cars slowing down he ran across the street, stopping only when he reached the passenger side door. Now what? Do I just get inside? He thought, when the driver door opened.

  “Sir,” spoke a tall heavily built man with a thick mustache and black sunglasses that were too small for his face. “Let me get the door for you?” he said, quickly making his way around the car.

  Nicholas watched the man closely hoping to make a connection, but the effort was in vain; he had never seen the man before. Stepping up into the truck he had suddenly began to question his decision of walking four blocks− to get inside of an unidentified vehicle, with an unfamiliar person, for the sole purpose of meeting up with a nameless woman, who may, or may not have been an associate to his parents. Suddenly the notion seemed idiotic, and foolishly impulsive, almost to the point of being laughable. Nevertheless, the unknown woman had captured his attention, and curiosity had gotten the better of him.

  “Can you tell me where we’re going?” he asked when the driver got back into the car.

  “No, sir,” the man responded, his tone apologetic.

  “Can you tell me who sent you?”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Is that sorry you can’t? Or, sorry you won’t?” Nicholas asked.

  Pulling out into traffic, the driver answered, “Both.”

  “Okay then,” Nicholas said, leaning back onto the seat, visibly relaxing against the soft cushion. Staring quietly out of the window at the strangers that passed in cars beside them, and at the passer-byers quickly making their way down the crowded sidewalks, he wondered what the stranger would have to offer him. Closing his eyes, he let out a heavy breath− the sound embodying his exhaustion. Nicholas didn’t know who the mystery woman was, or what angle was hidden behind her intentions. Her pretenses were not lost on him, nor was her ability to mimic the doting family confidant. He wasn’t fooled in the least. Nicholas knew firsthand that nothing was given for free in his parents’ world; everything had a price. Opening his eyes once more, he stared blankly into space, his mind factoring through the possibilities of who the nameless woman could be. Whoever you are . . . you reached out to me for a reason, and I’m not leaving until I find out what that reason is, Nicholas thought, his mind already made up.

  ***

  “We’ve arrived,” the driver said as he pulled onto 781 5th avenue. “Please allow me to get your door.”

  Nicholas’ bright silver eyes widened and darkened with confusion. Waiting for the truck to come to a complete stop he quickly opened the door and without hesitation walked to the large red brick house with black shutters. His subconscious whispered of memories long forgotten, dinner parties, and soiree’s that he had been forced to attend all for his name’s sake. Standing in front of the tall red double doors, he paused. Closing his eyes, he fought to keep the past at bay, but the act was one made in vain. His thoughts were no longer his to control, but bounded to the shards of brokenness that had long ago became his reality.

  “Nicholas, I hear that you’ll be attending Manchester Preparatory with Caleb this Fall . . . good for you. Did your father tell you that I, too, was a Doberman?” Hayward Fissicle bragged. “That’s where your father and I met, Manchester, Freshman year. Good times. Several great men have gone on to graduate from Manchester and do great things with their lives.”

  Nicholas nodded his head in agreement to the older man’s words, but remained silent as he pushed the escargot around his plate with his salad fork, grateful that his mother hadn’t chastised him for not using the proper silverware.

  “How does Caleb like Manchester?” Hayward asked. The sound of his brother’s name grabbed Nicholas’ attention causing him to look up from his full plate. “Have you seen him much since he’s gone away to school?” the man inquired.

  “No,” Nicholas answered dryly.

  “Being away from home is new for him, exciting, you’ll see when you get there. There’s something about boarding school that helps a man to see the world in a new light. The freedom that it brings is astounding. You won’t want to come home either after you get to know the area and meet new friends,” Hayward laughed.

  “Oh, Hayward, would you let the poor boy’s mind rest. He’s probably out of his wits with grief at the thought of leaving home,” Catherine Fissicle pouted. “Muffy how will you survive with both of your sons gone?” the dark- haired woman asked.

  Meredith Elliot groaned aloud to the other woman’s question. Raising her long, thin fingers to her face she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Sighing dramatically, she said, “It’s a nightmare Catherine, an absolute nightmare. Caleb’s been gone for a year, and I can hardly stand it, and now my Nicholas is leaving me,” she whined.

  “At least you have Rebecca. She won’t be leaving for school for some time now?” Catherine consoled her.

  “Yes. Yes. I have a few years left with Rebecca, and thank God for that. I’m happy at least that Nicholas and Caleb will be together at Manchester. New Hampshire is such a long way for boys so young.”

  “How old are you now, Nicholas?” Hayward asked.

  “Thirteen.”

  “Oh, Ne
w Hampshire isn’t too far for a boy his age, and Caleb is a couple years older than he is, if I’m remembering correctly? I left my parents’ home for boarding school when I was ten. Best opportunity they could have given me during that time of my life. I learned a lot. Experienced a lot. Nicholas, life is all about experiences,” Hayward said raising his glass in the air.

  “Nicholas won’t be attending Manchester,” Spencer Elliot announced, breaking his silence.

  Nicholas turned to face his father, his expression a blank mask. If it’s one thing he learned over the years’, it was never to allow his emotions to show. “Sir?” he said, his voice low.

  “Manchester isn’t the right fit for you. You’ll be attending Wingate this Fall.”

  “Wingate,” Nicholas repeated. “Caleb didn’t mention anything about transferring to Wingate when I last spoke to him.”

  “Caleb isn’t transferring to Wingate.”

  “Spen−” Meredith began.

  Holding up his right hand in his wife’s direction he silenced her easily. “Caleb and Nicholas are two different men, with two different paths, and the less time they spend around one another the better they’ll be at understanding that concept. I’m growing tired of Nicholas’ piggybacking off Caleb’s fixation for disobedience,” he said, his voice raised. “It ends now.”

  Meredith shook her head dejectedly. “But separating them as teenagers isn’t the right thing to do. They’ll only see each other once or twice a year.”

  “They’re not children anymore . . . once or twice a year is more than enough,” Spencer snapped, no longer willing to discuss the matter.

  “Wingate is a great school,” Catherine spoke softly. “Nicholas I’m sure that you’ll do great there. You’re such a bright young man, you’ll do well where ever you are,” she smiled at him.

  Nicholas turned his attention to Catherine, his grey eyes strained. Though tears were just below the surface he refused to let them fall, he would never give his parents’ the satisfaction. Crying was not an option. Not in front of his father who would take pride in making him feel weak, and not in front of his mother who would make his sadness about her, using his grief as an excuse for her irrational behavior. Staring at Catherine, he saw empathy in her large blue eyes. Though her expression never changed he could feel her compassion in the way she had looked at him.