by Geneva Lee
"I wanted to wear white," Edward said dryly, "but David insists that no one will buy it."
"What about a veil?" Clara teased.
"He said we could go in drag for our second wedding," Edward reassured her. Lounging back into the well-worn leather sofa, he crossed his arms behind his head. "David insisted we pack our tuxedos for New Year's Eve."
"That was forward thinking of him," Clara pointed out.
"Exactly." Edward nodded as if this had not escaped his attention either. "In truth, you can't tell that man he has to miss out on an opportunity to dress up, even if it's only a party of six."
"Six?" she repeated. He had really meant it when he said he wanted to keep it in the family.
"Well, I suppose Elizabeth counts as seven." Edward counted out loud on his fingers. "And then there's Mrs. Watson, so that’s eight with you and Alexander, and Smith and Belle."
Clara forced a smile onto her lips, hoping he couldn’t see the hint of the pain hearing her husband's name caused her. Thankfully, Edward was too wrapped up in the promise of marital bliss to notice.
Alexander had promised he'd find a way to her. She hadn't wanted to be the one to tell him that Edward was finally going to tie the knot. If Alexander had promised to be there on Christmas, she would plan on it. It would devastate her if he didn't show, but she would step in before she allowed him to miss his brother's wedding. But she wouldn’t call him until the absolute last minute. Part of her wanted him to feel as alone as he'd made her feel. Another part of her felt ashamed for that thought. Alexander had opened up to her, and when he had revealed the truth – that he had a brother neither of them knew about — she'd understood some of his hesitance to share. But this was about more than keeping one secret. It was about what was important to her. If their marriage was going to say strong, he needed to learn to compromise, especially when it came to what he chose to share with her.
"Earth to Clara," Edward called, waving his hand in the air until he got her attention. "You're sitting next to me but it seems like you're miles away."
"I just realized that I didn't get you a wedding present," she lied. This was why she couldn't continue to put up with Alexander's secrets. It meant constantly forcing her to keep secrets from the rest of the people in her life. Where did it end?
With her, she decided, and that was final.
"Don't worry about it." Edward dismissed her concern. "It's not as if we need anything, and I didn't exactly give you time to shop."
"You'll have to settle for the pleasure my company," she told him.
He dazzled her with a boyish grin. In that moment, the difference between him and his brother was clear. It was easy to see their age difference or Edward's curly hair compared to Alexander's black locks, but it was the quickness of his smile that set him apart from his older brother. Edward pushed up his horn rim spectacles. "That's all I ever want."
"Ever?" Belle cried out in mock sadness, interrupting the duo. Edward shot off the couch and ran to hug her. Clara felt a slight pang of jealousy in her chest as she watched the two of them. She had been the one to introduce them, and while she counted them both as her best friends, there was a little part of her that felt left out when she saw them together. Although she had to admit she had given them plenty of crises to bond over through the last couple of years. She shook the irrational reaction away. Between the Christmas season and her fight with Alexander, she was being silly. When the two broke apart, Belle grabbed Edward’s hands. "Tell me about the wedding."
He cast a mischievous glance over at Clara. "That seems to be everyone's favorite topic."
They spent the afternoon plotting and planning. They also took turns picking Elizabeth up off the floor after numerous tumbles.
"You've yet to get your sea legs," Edward told his niece, hugging her closely.
"Don't encourage her," Clara warned. "Once she really starts walking it's all over. We'll have to baby-proof everything, and I'll never be able to catch up with her."
"Don't you have a nanny?" He asked her pointedly, looking around the room as if one might suddenly appear. Apparently, Edward presumed the royal family had their very own Mary Poppins.
"We do," Clara said, "but I want to do most of it. I'm her mother, after all."
"She's making up for her own mother," Belle interjected, casting a knowing glance at Edward.
"I think it's nice," Edward said. "I wish I had known my mother."
The girls paused awkwardly and looked to one another.
"Don't be like that," Edward commanded. "You two aren't the only ones who get to be sentimental this time of year."
"Anything is better than my mother," Belle said.
"Mine?" Clara teased.
"I will trade Madeline Bishop for Mary Stuart any day of the week," Belle promised her.
"How is your mother?" Edward asked.
Over the last year, Belle’s relationship with her mother had gone from tense to unbearable almost overnight. That largely had to do with Belle’s decision to sell her interest in the family estate. The move left Mary without a home. It was merely a technicality, though. Belle had sold her interest to her half-brother, and despite the way his stepmother had treated him over the years, John Stuart had displayed an incredible benevolence by allowing Mary to stay in his home.
"She's spending Christmas with John," Belle informs them.
"Is that safe?" Clara asked. Having known Bill for years, she was well aware of the danger Mary Stuart posed to anyone in isolation.
"She mentioned going to the neighbor’s for Christmas morning." Belle shrugged. Whatever suited her mother was fine by her. "He's some politician, and my mother just loves him."
"And you don't?" Edward said.
Belle shook her head furiously. "There's something about him."
"Yes, the fact that he likes your mother," Clara said.
"That might be it," Belle admitted with a laugh.
Mrs. Watson bustled into the room, a flurry of skirts and aprons. She held out a slip of paper for inspection.
"I need one of you to review this, and I don't care which," she said in a thick Scottish brogue. Clara knew the woman less well than most of the others, and she was eager to impress her. Watson was one of the Cambridge men's maternal influences during their youth. Clara dutifully took the sheet and skimmed it.
"I know everyone is busy planning the wedding," Watson continued in a tizzy, "but I need to worry about Christmas supper. There will be far more people here for that."
There would, indeed. This year, the three of them had hatched a plan to revise the typical Balmoral family Christmas. While it had been tradition in Albert's time to extend an invitation to nearly all the branches of the family, Clara had expressed her desire to leave the royal brat pack out of her holiday festivities. Edward had wholeheartedly agreed. Alexander’s and Edward’s cousins weren't always on their best behavior, and they had never been anything but rude to Clara. Coupling that with the fact that Edward had stayed in the closet longer due to his fear of what they might do, it had been unanimously agreed that they would make their own family this year. It wouldn't be all smooth sailing, though.
After much discussion, it had been decided that all of the Bishops should be invited. Lola was well-loved by Belle and Edward, but David still felt a little annoyance over her misunderstanding with Edward. It had led to an unwanted kiss between the two. Still, she could be counted on to be on her best behavior. Madeline and Harold Bishop were another story. Clara's parents had been in couples counseling for the better part of the last year, and as far as she knew, her father had finally ended his affair with his younger business partner. She hadn't bothered to ask him herself, though. Undoubtedly, there would be tension.
Smith had no living family, and Belle was more than happy to leave her mother off the invite list. The only person representing the newly formed Stewart-Price clan would be Aunt Jane, who had an uncanny knack for knowing when to step in and went to stay out. Clara almost asked Edwar
d if he considered asking her to stay for the wedding, but she wanted to respect his wishes. If it had been up to her when she was planning her own wedding, it probably would have only been close friends, too. As it turned out, she'd gotten just that, but not because she wanted it. Her actual wedding vows had been said in a hospital room. She was determined that Edward's fairytale would be more romantic.
Edward peeked over Clara's shoulder. "This all looks grand to me." He stood and locked his arm to hers. "Now, if we could discuss the filling of the cake."
The old housekeeper might need to worry about Christmas dinner, but everyone else's minds were on the wedding.
13
It had come to this. He had opened his door to a wolf. Georgia looked out of place standing in his foyer. Then again in her leather pants and motorcycle jacket, she looked out of place most everywhere. She certainly didn't belong there. This was his present and his future. She was firmly in his past. She turned in a circle then shoved her hands into her leather jacket and whistled, "You really are a changed man, Price."
"Yes, I am," he assured her.
But just having her here suggested the contrary. This was the second time he had seen her in a month.
He'd taken a few days to consider the information she had given him and to see Belle safely off to Scotland. Knowing who was behind Hammond and the conspiracy that had nearly claimed his wife's life didn't mean he knew what to do about it. There had been a time when Smith Price wouldn't have thought twice. He would have acted on instinct. But, his instincts hadn't always proven wise. Instead, he had digested this news slowly and taken time to consider all of his options.
"I've been thinking about what you told me," he said to Georgia.
She held up a hand. "I have a feeling I need a drink for this. Or are you going to pretend to be sober again?"
His eyes narrowed, but he tipped his head toward the sitting room. Once they reached it, he pointed to the bar cart.
"Not joining me?" she asked.
If someone had told Smith that Georgia was the original serpent in the Garden of Eden, he would have believed it. How many times would he fall victim to her dangling forbidden fruit in front of him? He shook his head. What was the point of any of this if he didn't learn from his mistakes?
"Suit yourself," she shrugged as she uncapped a crystal decanter and poured herself a bourbon. She didn't bother to sit. Instead, she leaned against the wall, sipping slowly. She was here on business and they both knew that. "So, what do you want to know?"
"Has anything changed?" he asked. He doubted it, but it seemed a prudent place to start.
"Not really," she hedged. He sensed she was holding something back. Of course she would. That was how she operated.
"Has your team found anything new?" he pressed.
"No," she said finally, “because I told them to stop looking.”
Smith prided himself on his ability to bluff, but she'd caught him off guard. Surprise passed over his face before he could stop it. She had been so sure that Oliver Jacobson was the one behind the attacks. Had something changed? He cleared his throat. "Why?"
"You asked me the other day if it would be the Crown's justice or my own," she reminded him, and he nodded. "I don't think justice belongs to either of us."
"Who does it belong to?" he asked in a measured voice. This was why it was difficult to accept that Georgia was working for the Crown. She didn't play by their rules. She didn't play by anyone's rules but her own, and it was impossible for an outsider to understand the twisted logic she employed to guide her moral compass.
"It's yours," she told him with a note of finality.
"Mine?" he repeated.
Her lips thinned into a line and she gave him a scathing look of disapproval.
"I don't see how it's my justice," he continued before she cut him off.
"Why am I here, Smith? You called me this time, but I doubt it was for an update."
"I don't know," he said, but it was a bald-faced lie. She'd known him long enough to see right through him, but even if she'd been a complete stranger, his answer was as transparent as glass.
"You want to claim justice as your own," she answered for him when he could not. "No one could blame you for that. I couldn't blame you for that, because it isn't just about justice. It's about protecting her. You have to know that she's still in danger. You have to see that the clock is ticking on your reprieve. He knows her. He chose her. So long as he breaths, Belle will be a target to him."
"You don't know that," Smith growled. But he did. He had already reached the same conclusion. It was what had driven him to this low point. He'd needed Georgia's help to ensure his wife's safety. Now that he knew the truth, he also knew there were far too many variables for him to turn a blind eye. His stomach twisted under the pressure.
"What's stopping you?" she pressured him.
"The night that Hammond died," he looked up to her, "I went to kill him myself."
"I suspected as much," she confirmed.
So, she believed in his innocence. That meant something to him. Even those closest to him, even the people he trusted, had questioned it when he claimed his innocence. They'd let it go because if it had been Smith that had killed Hammond, no one could blame him.
Georgia knew better than anyone the reasons he had to end that man's life. She might have had even more herself, but she'd been strapped to a hospital bed, fighting for her life.
"I realized I had a choice," his voice was low as he spoke. But it no longer felt that way. Every time he took a fork in the road, it seemed to lead back to the other path. Was this his destiny all along? To be a killer? How had he ever been stupid enough to believe he could escape it?
"Hammond told me I was free. He acted as if he was giving me the option, but I knew in that moment it was my choice. It has always been my choice. I walked away. I didn't want to be him."
"And now?" she said softly, a tone that contradicted her usual demeanor. This was personal to her as well, and she could no longer pretend that it wasn't. Hammond had twisted both of their lives to suit his purposes. He had been responsible for the death of Smith's father and subsequently the slow death that claimed Smith's mother.
But Georgia had been another story. Hammond had groomed her. He had taught her about pain and he had taught her to want it. Smith couldn't imagine what it would take to break a woman like Georgia Kincaid. He didn't want to. It was enough to make him sick. The first time Hammond had ever put a whip in Smith's hands, introduced him to the seedy underbelly of London's bondage scene, he had also given him Georgia to dominate. It was a dynamic that neither of them appreciated or wanted. But, there had been little choice. Maybe that's why it felt like they were still in this together now, because it had been the two of them since the beginning.
"You still have a choice," Georgia told him. "I'm giving it to you now.
"What do you know about him?" Smith asked. He forced the part of himself that felt disgusted for taking part in this man's inevitable death deep inside himself. This was about Belle. His whole life was her now and he couldn't rest until he had ensured her safety.
"He's married," Georgia informed him. "Two kids that they shipped off to boarding school as soon as they were done teething. Everyone we've spoken to suggests his rise to power in Parliament is only just starting. He keeps his anti-Royal sentiments to a minimum, but our sources believe he's swaying more and more members to his side."
"Why doesn't Alexander just go about it like that?" Smith could curse the man despite his own connections with the royal family. Smith himself wasn't particularly fond of the royalty concept. It helped knowing that Alexander didn't exactly love to be King. Smith might not collect Royal memorabilia, but he didn't wish them harm. "And if Jacobson wants to dismantle the Royal Family, why wouldn’t he just proceed through legal avenues?"
"I wish I knew," she told him.
"What else?" Smith prompted. What she'd said so far wasn't enough to go on. He needed information, needed
facts. Where did Jacobson live when he was in town? Where was he now? Was he a paranoid man? Smith couldn't help but curse himself for not realizing the monster was within his grasp the day they had gone hunting. It would have been so easy, but harder to cover up. A planned attack meant he stood a chance of getting away with the murder. It was unlikely, but the odds were a little better than shooting a man in cold blood.
"Why don't you want to do it?" Smith asked.
Georgia paused as if considering this. Then she poured herself another bourbon. "I suppose in a way, Jacobson did me a favor," she admitted. "I would never have been free from Hammond, not until he was dead. That's why I didn't go after Jacobson myself."
"He was the one who ordered the hit on you," Smith pointed out.
At the time, he thought Hammond had been the one behind the attempt on Georgia's life, but the more he considered it, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. Hammond was obsessed with Georgia. He considered her his adoptive daughter, never mind that he'd been bedding her since she was a teenager. It was a perverse relationship to be sure, but one that Smith knew Hammond held dear. It had to have been Jacobson who ordered her death. It was the only thing that made sense.
"Jacobson tried to have me killed." Georgia shrugged, as if this revelation had rolled off her back like a light rain. "There are worse things than death, believe me." It was the closest she had ever come to opening up to Smith about the past she kept hidden. He didn't blame her for wanting Hammond dead. She'd played her part well, pretending to be the dutiful daughter. She'd accepted her role, and at times she had enjoyed it.
That was the difference in Smith's eyes. Whereas his wife had a natural submissive streak that turned on his dominant side, Georgia craved the pain for much less healthy reasons. She treated her body as a sacrifice, and Smith had always seen the reality behind the submission. The shame, and the guilt had driven her to moments far more depraved than even he could imagine.