“And yet, here we are, two unmarried and unchaperoned people of the opposite sex… locked in a building alone,” he pointed out. “It’s hardly ideal for someone who wishes to reclaim respectability.”
Elizabeth’s expression became grim. “Yes, I know. It’s like so many things in my life. In an attempt to avoid one difficult situation, I’ve put myself in another that is infinitely worse. She will never forgive me.”
“There is another option.”
Elizabeth laughed, but it was a sound without humor, sounding bitter instead. “And what, pray tell, is that?”
“We could marry,” Oliver offered, his tone completely calm and his expression as blank as he could manage. It wasn’t that he questioned it. He didn’t. From the moment he’d first encountered her only the night before, he’d been aware that she was extraordinary. He’d also been quite aware that no other woman, in all his life, had ever affected him in the way that she had. He could, with complete and utter confidence, say that Elizabeth Burkhart had made him believe in love at first sight. Funny that he’d questioned the possibility more when drunk than when sober. And while he imagined there was some not quite divine intervention in bringing them together courtesy of their mysterious spirit, Burney, he’d take all the help he could get if it meant being with her forever.
“You can’t possibly be serious,” Elizabeth protested.
“There’s a reason we met. There’s a reason that a spirit only the two of us can see and hear has brought us together,” Oliver stated. “It was meant to be.”
“That is the sort of nonsense that comprises stories for children,” Elizabeth dismissed. “It isn’t real life.”
“Then who is Burney and why did he orchestrate our meeting?” Oliver demanded. “I need a wife, Elizabeth. Better to have the woman I want, the woman I admire, than a woman I must settle for.”
“You do need a wife! One young enough to give you an heir!”
He shrugged. “I do not share the same devotion to carrying on the aristocracy as some others do. I was born in America and lived there all my life, after all. I’m more Yank than Brit. If the lot of it goes back to the crown, so be it. What use have I for land and wealth when I’m dead? I came here because this inheritance found me at a time when my life was… empty. And for the months I’ve been here, I’ve realized that I’ve traded one empty life for another. It doesn’t feel empty now. Does it?”
No. No, it didn’t. She could deny the strange events that had brought them together. She could cast doubt upon her own sanity. But she couldn’t call into question that her heart raced and her pulse pounded in his presence. That when he was near, for the first time in a very long time, she felt like a girl again, giddy and hopeful.
“People will talk,” she warned.
“Let them,” he replied simply.
“You may regret it,” she objected.
“I may not… you may not either.”
And that effectively circumvented her next argument. “It’s very unorthodox. We have only just met.”
“We are not young and impetuous. We are, both of us, old enough to understand the costs and the benefits. So, why not?”
And she didn’t have an argument or an excuse for that. Why not, indeed? “There will still be a scandal.”
“Most assuredly. We’ll be married tomorrow. On Christmas Eve. Just before the service, so that it can be announced in church. Then all of London can talk about it as they gather,” he said.
“Are you certain you’re not related to the dowager duchess?” Elizabeth asked. That sounded exactly like something she would have said.
“You can examine the family tree at your leisure once your name is on it, as well.”
“I’ve always been very fond of genealogy.” And with that, Elizabeth was engaged.
He was serious.
Elizabeth’s breath caught. “You’ve no idea what you’re risking. You should marry someone who will elevate your standing. That’s what people in society do!”
Oliver cocked one eyebrow at her. “Is that what Viscount Seaburn did when he married your daughter?”
“Well, no, but Lillian, despite her social standing, was—” Actually, she couldn’t make that argument. As companion to the dowager duchess and the bastard daughter of a lord, Lillian had been scandalous. She simply hadn’t been ruined. “You should marry someone who hasn’t been ruined in so public a fashion.”
“Ah. A virgin,” he surmised. “Is that what you mean? Or at least a woman who has the luxury of pretending to be a virgin to the world at large?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “Exactly.”
“I imagine, given what I’ve heard of William Satterly and what I know of you, that for all intents and purposes, Elizabeth Burkhart, are practically virginal. The man’s brutality is whispered of frequently enough that even someone as rarely in society as me has heard of it,” Oliver informed her. “Was there anyone besides him? Anyone who showed you that it could be something beautiful?”
She turned away then. Not because she was embarrassed, though she certainly was. But because she couldn’t stand for him to see tears in her eyes. “No. I was never with anyone else.”
“Then it’s time, don’t you think? You’ve paid the price for being a woman who indulged in desire and yet you’ve never had an opportunity to experience it.”
“You are very confident in both your degree of attractiveness and your prowess,” Elizabeth remarked. He likely had reason for that confidence. Heaven knew she was beyond attracted to him and had been from the first moment their eyes had met.
Epilogue
The wedding breakfast had been thrown together in a hurry. It was fitting as the wedding had been a havey-cavey affair, as well. With a license, a troupe of befuddled and confounded witnesses who couldn’t fathom two people marrying just hours after meeting one another and a frazzled cleric who thought it was all some terrible jest until a hefty donation was made to the church. However, with the holiday upon them, the means to host a feast had been readily available and at least appeared to be somewhat more traditional than the nuptials had been.
Elizabeth stood beside her new husband in the drawing room of Number Ten South Audley Street, surrounded by her daughter, her son-in-law, the Dowager Duchess of Templeton, Lord Highcliff—who was apparently responsible for obtaining the special license which had allowed them to marry so hastily—and Miss Euphemia Darrow, the woman who had provided for Lillian all the things that Elizabeth herself had not been able to do.
But on that morning, the strange combination of gratitude and resentment that Elizabeth normally felt for Miss Darrow was not omnipresent. Instead, looking at the poor woman, Elizabeth felt a kind of sympathy for her. She recognized in Euphemia Darrow the very thing that had plagued her for so long. Loneliness. She could see it in Highcliff, as well. There was a history there between the two of them. It wasn’t revealed in the way they interacted with one another, but in the way they avoided one another. Cautious, no overt snubs, but there was an awareness in each of them of where the other was. It was as carefully choreographed as any dance, the way they stepped aside, excused themselves, and avoided any direct conversation with one another.
“You’re very deep in thought, my beautiful bride,” Oliver observed.
She felt a blush stealing over her cheeks. “I was only thinking what a terrible thing it is to be so mired in unhappiness that you’re unwilling to take a risk… to reach out and make your own happiness.”
“Not everyone has a guardian spirit to guide them to their fated love, Elizabeth,” Oliver reminded her. “We were especially blessed… perhaps because we were both alone for so very long.”
“You never told me about your unhappiness,” Elizabeth pointed out. He knew all the sordid details of her life and she knew nothing of his past, and yet, she still trusted him implicitly. As if she’d been guided to that.
He shrugged. “It’s a very old story. I thought I was in love. She professed to love me, bu
t when a man with greater wealth and prestige appeared on her horizon, I was forgotten quickly enough.”
“And now you’re a marquess,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure she has regrets.”
He smiled. “Then she can live with them. For I have none. Happy Christmas, Elizabeth.”
“Happy Christmas, Oliver,” Elizabeth said, ignoring the catch in her throat. “And to you, Burney, wherever you may be… Happy Christmas, indeed.”
Burney was leaning casually against a window, observing the happy gathering. He’d done it. It was Christmas Eve and they were far better than just engaged. They’d married! He’d succeeded in his assigned task.
“I’m ready,” he whispered. “I’m ready to show Thomas Danforth the error of his ways!” And exact a little vengeance for my sister. Wisely, Burney kept that bit to himself. While his ulterior motives were hardly a secret in the spirit world, especially among those very persnickety holiday spirits, shouting about them from the rooftops would hardly help his case.
And then he felt the call, that pull which was so similar to the feeling he’d had when given his first assignment to help Miss Burkhart. No, Elizabeth, Lady Whittendon, he corrected. He might not have had the purest motives, but he’d done good work. It was something, Burney reflected, that he should have done more of in life. If he had, he might not be having to make such restitution in the afterlife. With that final thought, Burney simply faded from the room, disappearing into nothingness.
Author’s Note
I hope you enjoyed this tale of Burney’s redemption and a happily ever after ending for Elizabeth Burkhart, Lillian’s mother in Barefoot in Hyde Park. She’d certainly had a very difficult life and deserved some happiness! Burney will be making another appearance later on in the Hellion Club Series as will his sister, Amelia. She might get a happy ending of her own, as well!
Merry Christmas to you all!
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Chasity Bowlin
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
Fall of the Lyon
The Hellion Club Series
A Rogue to Remember
Barefoot in Hyde Park
What Happens in Piccadilly
Sleepless in Southhampton
When an Earl Loves a Governess
The Duke’s Magnificent Obsession
The Governess Diaries
The Lost Lords Series
The Lost Lord of Castle Black
The Vanishing of Lord Vale
The Missing Marquess of Althorn
The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh
The Mystery of Miss Mason
The Awakening of Lord Ambrose
A Midnight Clear (A Novella)
Hyacinth
About the Author
Chasity Bowlin lives in central Kentucky with her husband and their menagerie of animals. She loves writing, loves traveling and enjoys incorporating tidbits of her actual vacations into her books. She is an avid Anglophile, loving all things British, but specifically all things Regency.
Growing up in Tennessee, spending as much time as possible with her doting grandparents, soap operas were a part of her daily existence, followed by back to back episodes of Scooby Doo. Her path to becoming a romance novelist was set when, rather than simply have her Barbie dolls cruise around in a pink convertible, they time traveled, hosted lavish dinner parties and one even had an evil twin locked in the attic.
Website: www.chasitybowlin.com
The Haunted Scot
Hildie McQueen
Chapter One
Naill Hay’s boots crunched on the frozen snow atop the wall as he walked to where a group of archers gathered around a blazing fire. Frigid air blew, penetrating his heavy cloak and chilling his skin, so he hurried closer to the fire.
Holding out his stiff hands to the flames, in an effort to warm them, he let out a visible breath that vanished only to be replaced by another.
Admittedly, there were many places he’d rather be at the moment than guarding the desolate northern border of Clan Ross’ lands. For a sparse second, he considered his home, but then realized he had little desire to be there. In the last months, he’d spent more time at Ross Keep than with his family, as his duties were many, and to be away often meant more to deal with upon returning.
“Naill, do ye know who will replace us?” a young archer named Bruce asked. “Tis almost Yule and I would like to spend it with my family.”
Naill shrugged. “Mayhap they will wait until after the celebrating to come, as they probably wish the same.”
“There is little need for us to guard the northern border,” Bruce complained, seeming to have appointed himself spokesman for the trio of men. “No one dares to travel and attempt to trespass in this weather. They would freeze to death without shelter.”
“Admit it, Bruce,” another of the trio said. “Ye are wanting more to be between a woman’s thighs than with yer family.”
“And what is wrong with that?” Bruce rebutted. “A warm bed, a willing woman and some good whisky are never a bad thing.”
“There are women who are more bitter than the first bite of a drink,” another said, to which they all laughed except for Naill. He knew firsthand what an unpleasant woman did to a man’s life.
He looked away and to the snow-covered forest. White as far as the eye could see, not one breathing creature in sight. Although Clan Ross was huge and powerful with many warriors, it did not mean they could relax and allow encroachment of their borders by renegade clans from the north. Not only did Scottish clans pose a threat, but the Norse were forever pushing the boundaries to see how far into Ross lands they could go.
In the distance, a rider appeared. Following him, another four came into view.
“Riders!” Naill called out to the others who hurried over, bows at the ready. It never ceased to surprise him how quickly men could go from a joking conversation to warriors with faces of stone.
“Wait to see if they identify themselves,” he instructed to the two who remained. Bruce had rushed down to warn the others of the riders’ approach.
The first rider motioned, waving both arms over his head and, as they watched, the other four joined him. Then they lifted a banner. On a green background were three red lions. The Ross insignia.
“Our relief is here,” one of the archers said laughing. “Looks like Bruce will get his wish as to where he will spend the Yuletide.”
The front gates to the small guard keep were opened and the warriors filed in, in flanks of two. All together there were forty.
Naill greeted the head archer that would take his place. The man towered over him. Often, he wondered why the man was an archer as he seemed better suited for hand-to-hand combat. He’d received the answer when competing against him and losing for the first time in his life to an opponent within the clan. The man had keen eyesight and a very steady hold on his bow.
“I bet ye are anxious to return home. I saw yer son, he is most excited to show ye how much he’s improved with the bow and arrow.”
It occurred to Naill that he wasn’t sure he liked someone knowing more about his son than he did. But he did his best not to allow it to show. “I was not aware he liked archery.”
“Aye, he spends a lot of time with Craig, who has been teaching him.”
“I will ensure he learns to do it properly then,” Naill joked, even as he wondered why Craig would be spending time with his family since the man lived at the keep.
“I will show ye what is where.” He motioned toward an interior doorway. The sooner the replacements were settled, the sooner he and his group could head home.
It would be a bitter two-day ride back to Ross Keep. But once they arrived, they would remain through the spring.
The second day on the trek back was always the longest. As they got closer to home, the road seemed to grow longer. Bruce came up alongside Naill. “If ye wish, ye can continue on home once we near the village. I can go to the laird and report for ye.”
&nb
sp; Naill considered it for a moment. “Thank ye, but it is best I do it. He will be expecting me. It should not take more than a few hours.”
The young man studied him for a long moment and then looked straight ahead.
“If ye have something to say, just do it.”
Bruce slid a look in his direction. “It is just that if I had a bonnie wife like yers and young ones, I would be anxious to return home. We have been gone for an entire season.”
“I am aware of how long we’ve been gone,” Naill snapped and rode away from the young man. He seethed at the daring, but decided it was not worth arguing with someone who knew little about his life.
Finally, the keep came into view and Naill let out a relieved breath. It felt as if he’d frozen through, the fur-lined cloak doing little against the constant exposure to the elements.
Although it wasn’t snowing in that moment, the cold air blew it from trees, sending clumps to land on their heads and shoulders.
They rode through the gates. The small party was welcomed by those in the courtyard. Only half of the archers remained, the other half, including Bruce, had decided to head home to the village. Naill arrived with only ten, who lived in the guard quarters there inside the walls.
“Welcome,” Malcolm Ross, the laird, said as he walked out from the keep. He met Naill’s gaze for a long moment. “Ye did not have to come. I know ye must be anxious to be home to see Bree and the young ones.”
“I take the responsibility of head archer seriously, Laird, so I come to tell ye of what happens at the border.”
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 12