Lords, Snow and Mistletoe

by Bianca Blythe

  What had she accomplished? Putting Lady Theodosia in danger? Humiliating the man she adored?

  Her stomach tightened. She hadn’t thought he would propose.

  And like that—before so many people, on Christmas, her very favorite holiday in the world.

  It should have been perfect.

  Rain fell.

  The drops came slowly first, landing on Celia’s face, a slight irritation compared to the state of her heart, but the drops soon thickened. The rain pounded against the row of carriages, sweeping away any fluffy white snow that had settled there and replacing the snowflakes with slick water that dripped down the windows.

  “You horrible child,” Lady Fitzroy said. “Much like your mother.”

  Celia straightened. “I didn’t hear you come outside.”

  Lady Fitzroy’s smile tightened. “There are many things of which you seem unaware. I would have thought not pretending to be an aristocrat would have been chief among the things of which you are aware. You humiliated everyone. The poor duke. And poor me. How is Lady Theodosia supposed to find a husband if any suitors cannot be certain they’re speaking to her or to a maid? And what about dear Amaryllis? Where is Theodosia? Did you lock her in some closet while you galivanted in her finest attire?”

  “No,” Celia said.

  “Then where is she?” Lady Fitzroy’s eyes were cold. “Should I be worried? Perhaps I should notify the magistrate.” The words were uttered casually. They seemed more intended to incite fear in Celia than to be about genuine concern for Theodosia.

  “She’s gone,” Celia said.

  Lady Fitzroy blinked.

  “She eloped. With the vicomte.”

  “Heavens!” For the first time Lady Fitzroy did appear to show emotion. She moved her hand toward her throat, as if Celia might decide to go from giving bad news to stabbing major arteries.

  “To Gretna Green?”

  “Or France,” Celia said, uncertain.

  “When did they leave?”

  “Nearly a week ago. I-I’ve been here since then.”

  “You arrived here by yourself?”

  “The vicomte was waiting. He seemed to have read she was going to be here.”

  “That horrible magazine,” Lady Fitzroy said.

  “The vicomte loves her—”

  “Love?” Lady Fitzroy gave a bitter laugh. “He loves the fact she’s an heiress. She was not nearly as popular before my husband died.”

  “I wouldn’t say that—”

  “No, I will say that,” Lady Fitzroy said. “I am the countess. You are...nothing.”

  “I was only trying to help,” Celia said.

  “By leaving Theodosia vulnerable to harm? Let’s hope the vicomte really married her. To think about the match she could have made. She could have been a duchess.”

  “Perhaps he wouldn’t have proposed to her—”

  “You think this had anything to do with your personality?” Lady Fitzroy laughed. “The duke thought he was courting a daughter of an earl.” For a moment her smile wobbled, and she looked away. Likely she was remembering that Celia was the daughter of an earl. She just wasn’t legitimate. “He’s not out here now, begging you to stay, is he? He doesn’t love you. Not that it would matter if he did.”

  He doesn’t love me.

  The words were what Celia had thought, but they seemed new and unfamiliar.

  “You resemble your mother,” Lady Fitzroy sneered. “Hopelessly naive. Not fit to be anything except a servant. The earl spoiled you too much. He should never have permitted you to have lessons with my daughters. I told him you wouldn’t be able to cope with your station in life, and I was right. You cannot. You are your mother’s daughter.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Of course I did,” Lady Fitzroy snapped, before emitting a slightly more regal exhalation. “Not that I would converse with her.”

  “Unlike my father?”

  Lady Fitzroy’s face stiffened.

  Celia wondered if the countess would deny that Celia’s father had been Lady Fitzroy’s late husband. They’d never discussed it. The servants had given confirmation to Celia, but the fact was obvious to anyone who’d ever compared their likenesses. Her father hadn’t had a swarm of brothers. If a child resembled him, it was because the child was his.

  Finally Lady Fitzroy smiled. “He did not converse with your mother either. You’ll learn that men possess base desires. We women must be patient while they succumb to their animal instincts, the same ones that caused them to spend nearly the entirety of the past thirty years slaughtering one another, and the same ones...well,” she smiled again, “That might make them invite someone like you into their bed.”

  Celia stiffened and turned her face away, conscious of Lady Fitzroy’s stare on her.

  Lady Fitzroy mustn’t guess.

  She couldn’t be thought of as a fallen woman.

  “You troublesome servant. In all my years in London, in all my discussions with the very finest of society, I have never once heard of a servant who rivaled you in horribleness.” Lady Fitzroy laughed. Nothing about the sound was pleasant. “I will never forgive you. We’re leaving now.”

  “With you?” Celia blinked. “You’re not dismissing me?”

  Posing as the woman’s daughter must be at the very least a cause for dismissal.

  If not automatic entry into Bedlam.

  “I’m doing you an immense favor by taking you back. But you must promise to never do anything like this again.”

  She was silent.

  Theodosia promised she would hire Celia.

  She just needed to wait—

  “And if you have some idea you can work for Theodosia if she ever does set up a new household—something I’m suspicious of, you can be sure you will not be joining her.”

  Celia jerked her head in Lady Fitzroy’s direction.

  “If the vicomte expects me to give him any of Theodosia’s money, he will not hire you. Somehow I think he’ll be amenable.”

  Celia swallowed hard. “I see.”

  “Get changed now,” Lady Fitzroy said. “Pack the trunks and come straight here.”

  Celia nodded and rushed inside. Her tears blurred the sumptuous surroundings, and her hands shook as she undressed. She put on her plainest dress, put the clothes into the trunks, and carried them down the stairs.

  The snow continued to fall, and the carriage was cold, even after she’d wrapped a tartan blanket about her shoulders. She sobbed.

  “Do be quiet. The ride is dreadful enough without your chorus.”

  Celia strove to constrain her tears, and the coach swept away.

  Frederick hadn’t coming running for her.

  It was good, she reminded herself.

  Less conflict was better.

  But she missed him. Her heart ached. The snow had melted away, disappearing after the pummeling of rain. When she next gazed outside the carriage, only dark sky and hedges were visible.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Open this door at once. Perhaps you refuse to see any guests but I refuse you to avoid seeing your mother.”

  “I’d rather not,” Frederick said.

  “Now is not a good time.”

  Having a conversation with his mother about the vast pain in his chest, the vast emptiness in his soul, seemed somewhat...humiliating.

  “I’m sorry I invited Lady Theodosia here,” his mother said softly. “And I’m certainly sorry I invited Lady Fitzroy.”

  “You didn’t know a fraudulent woman would take Lady Theodosia’s place,” he grumbled.

  His mother was silent.

  It should have been a consolation.

  Frederick should have been happy to not have to think of responses to his mother, but the fact even she was speechless in the face of the maid’s gross indecencies seemed even more frustrating.

  “Perhaps I should ask the housekeeper to send you your meal up here,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”

&nb
sp; He opened the door to his room. “I think I should speak to Celia.”

  Her name felt uncomfortable on his tongue, but likely did not deserve the look of horror on his mother’s expression.

  “I need to offer her a chance to explain,” Frederick said.

  His mother’s expression did not change.

  If anything it seemed to get...worse.

  “You were fond of Celia.” Irritation coursed through him. “Yes, she betrayed us, but I’m sure she deserves to give us an explanation. Perhaps she was forced to do this.” The thought sounded absurd, and he frowned. “Besides this is the woman I love. Whom I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “Wanted to,” his mother said.

  He nodded. It was better if his mother said the words aloud. He couldn’t.

  He didn’t like to think of Celia as part of his past.

  Not when he’d spent time enjoying her presence and envisioning the future.

  “I’m afraid you cannot see her,” his mother said.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Are you keeping me from her?”

  “Naturally not.” His mother seemed affronted. “She’s gone.”

  “Into the snowstorm?” He shook his head.

  Celia wouldn’t do that.

  He remembered when she’d tried to do so before.

  He frowned.

  She’d tried to run away.

  She must have felt guilty.

  But she never confided in me.

  He had to remember that.

  “Are you holding her in some room somewhere?” he asked.

  “No, my dear. She went with Lady Fitzroy. Their carriage left some time ago. Forgive me—I didn’t think you would want to see her again.”

  “The woman who said such frightful things about her?” Frederick widened his eyes. “You should have heard what she said about Lady Worthing. You should have stopped her!”

  “Darling, she is Lady Fitzroy’s maid. It would not be proper to keep her. You didn’t seem inclined to stop her.”

  “I thought she was going to another part of the manor house!” Frederick stammered. “Such as her room. Which is nice, and does not suffer from bad weather or questionable employers. I suppose I’ll have to pay a visit to Lord and Lady Amberly.”

  “Lady Fitzroy mentioned returning to London,” his mother said.

  “Are you going to follow her?” his mother asked.

  “To London?” Frederick gave a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t matter. I think we can agree I’m not marrying someone who lied to me.”

  His mother nodded, but her eyes flickered to the side, as if she couldn’t decide whether to meet his.

  “Mother,” he said sternly. “You know something.”

  Her cheeks pinkened.

  “If it’s something about the woman whom I until this hour planned to make my wife...”

  “It’s probably nothing,” she said quickly. “And I’m not certain it even makes a difference, really.”

  “It’s making you uncomfortable. Whatever information you have can’t be utterly trivial.”

  “Well, there was an awful lot of talk in the ballroom. I cannot confirm it, but one of the guests said Celia was actually half-sister to Lady Theodosia. Which of course explains the resemblance.”

  “I see.”

  He hadn’t thought that, but it made sense they would be related.

  No one else at the ball had questioned her appearance. Even Miles had been fooled.

  “Which means of course...” His mother blushed again.

  “That Celia is actually the daughter of an aristocrat,” he finished.

  “Indeed.” Her mother nodded. “Apparently her father was fond enough of her to see that she was educated. Lady Theodosia is only a couple months apart from Celia in age.”

  At that moment Frederick despised the ton.

  It was a common emotion for him.

  But when he thought of how Celia’s father must have bedded the servant girl, intent on pursuing his own pleasure even if it meant the ruination of her life, he despised high society all over again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The coach trudged over muddy lanes. Celia perched awkwardly beside the driver on the small seat. The horses grunted and groaned, perhaps confused why anyone would want to travel in such horrid conditions.

  “We’ll be in London soon,” the driver said.

  “Splendid,” Celia said.

  She hoped it was splendid.

  Not being on this swaying seat must be an advantage.

  But once they arrived, Lady Fitzroy would put her to work. She’d promised the hours would be longer, the tasks more painful than anything Celia could imagine.

  Well. Celia had been doing nothing except imagining.

  Everyone continued to celebrate the Christmas season. There were twelve days of Christmas, and the patrons at inns seemed intent on celebrating each one with as much ale and gin as possible. Christmas garlands draped the doorways and the wooden beams in coaching inns, but now the dark green pine needles caused Celia’s heart to ache.

  Frederick.

  She attempted to banish his memory, but whenever she shut her eyes, it was his face she viewed.

  “We’re here,” the driver said.

  Celia scrambled from the coach, wiping her bleary eyes.

  “You’ve been sleeping,” the countess said.

  “I-—”

  “You never learn,” Lady Fitzroy said. “Well. You will get right back to work. You have a new position.”

  Celia stiffened. Surely Lady Fitzroy would not let her do housekeeper training after all?

  “Scullery maid,” Lady Fitzroy said. “It’s good if you start at the lowest rank. Hopefully you’ll be capable of filling those duties. Any broken dishes or missing pieces will be taken out of your salary, which naturally will be lower than before. Much lower.”

  Celia had only been paid a pittance before.

  “You should get comfortable,” Lady Fitzroy said. “You won’t be leaving the position. Ever.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Celia kept her head down.

  “Hmph.” The countess sniffed and soon conferred with the senior staff who had exited the townhouse to greet the carriage.

  Celia entered the house and made her way into the dimly lit kitchen. In the summer some light came through the thin, high placed windows, but such luxuries were an impossibility in the winter.

  Servants bustled about in the room. Some of them gave her curt nods, but most were silent, occupied with their own tasks.

  “Had a nice holiday?” Cook asked.

  “Yes,” Celia said.

  Cook sniffed. “You were gone long enough.”

  Celia forced herself to smile, “I’m back now.”

  Cook shrugged and handed Celia an apron. “Seems like you’ll be working with me now.”

  “Yes.” Celia tried to make her voice have a modicum of cheerfulness.

  “Reckon the mistress didn’t like your long holiday,” Cook said. “She complained about you mightily. It’s a wonder you still have a position at all.”

  Celia took the apron and tied it around herself quickly. The words lingered in her mind.

  “Polly is in housekeeping training,” Cook announced.

  Celia blinked.

  “That’s wonderful for her.”

  “Yes,” Cook agreed. “Always reckoned it would be you. Polly’s never shown much interest in anything that doesn’t involve men. Completely mad for them.”

  Celia pressed her lips together. She’d been the one who’d thrown away all chances of a good career for a man.

  She would never be a housekeeper now.

  She’d destroyed that chance.

  The numbers and calculations that coursed through her mind would never be assigned any usefulness.

  “You’re back!” Polly squealed and wrapped her in a hug. “I’m so glad. We thought some horrible disaster must have befallen you.”

  Such as my heart shattering?
/>   “I’m fine,” Celia said.

  “I was shocked to learn Lady Fitzroy wanted you to be the scullery maid,” Polly whispered. “It must be some mistake. If I ask the other servants to speak with her...”

  “Don’t do that,” Celia said. “Though it’s kind of you to suggest it. It won’t make things better. I’d rather not irritate her.”

  “That’s what happens when you make the mistress upset,” Cook said. “Actions have consequences.”

  “But Celia’s worked here for so long,” Polly said. “And she was the late earl’s—”

  Cook gave her a warning glance. Everyone noticed that Celia resembled Lady Theodosia and Lady Amaryllis. Everyone could tell she had the earl’s green eyes and nose. But that didn’t mean it was something anybody could discuss.

  One didn’t like musing over the earl’s past propensity to sire bastards, even if he was in the grave.

  “It’s fine,” Celia said hastily.

  She had memories of Frederick.

  They’d have to last her a lifetime.

  If only they were not tinged with guilt.

  And Lady Fitzroy had been correct: the duke might have proposed to the real Lady Theodosia. Perhaps she would have charmed him.

  “As you please,” Polly said. “Perhaps you can help me with understanding the budgets? They are frightfully complex. If the pay weren’t better, I would never have accepted the position.”

  “Of course I’ll help,” Celia said.

  After Polly left, Cook frowned. “We both know that should have been your position. I don’t know what you did to disappoint the lady of the house so much, but I want to be absolutely clear, I do not want any troubles in my kitchen.”

  “Of course not,” Celia said, surprised.

  She’d been worried about returning to her former position, but even that had changed.

  She grabbed a pot and scrubbed. Eventually it would shine. It just didn’t seem possible anytime soon. Her arms ached, and her apron was soon wet.

  She told herself she wished she’d never gone to Yorkshire.

  She’d never have met Frederick then.

  Her heart would not ache.

  She’d have received a promotion and would be happily working. Unlike Polly, she would not be complaining about it.