She’d not risk her good standing again.
But there were moments––she touched her fingers to her lips.
Moments when she’d awaken from a dream and find herself aching. Moments she simply wished…
Her conscience chastised her for such an ungrateful thought.
Sitting here, in a room full of strangers, a heated blush worked its way up her neck and into her cheeks at the thought that anyone could read her thoughts or know the contents of those scandalous dreams.
One glance around emphasized all too well how ridiculous it was for her to blush.
No one ever even looked at her. They looked past her.
But they did not see Eliza Cline, the person.
Looking as she did, wearing her drab gown and a pair of spectacles perched atop her nose, she might as well have been invisible. And that was fine. It was just fine.
People saw her, of course they saw her. They saw her for what she could do for others, for her good deeds and the baskets of rations she delivered to those in need.
She removed her spectacles and wiped at the corner of one of her eyes.
The holidays loomed a week away and instead of feeling excitement for all of her blessings, she had fallen into a melancholy. Another year gone by.
Eliza stared down at her hands. She would never have a family. A husband. Someone who would hold her at night, who would be there when she awoke. Someone who would…
One of her eyelashes lay on the back of her hand. Feeling silly, she closed her eyes, made an impossible wish and then blew it off.
And then ruefully smiled at herself.
Interrupting her indulgent musings, an elegant coach pulled by four beautiful horses came to a stop just outside her window. The uniformed driver and outriders jumped down and hastily brushed snow off of their hats and coats before disappearing from her sight, presumably to assist the travelers out of the carriage. Eliza leaned forward but only got a glimpse of the passengers before the door to the inn burst open and a well-dressed young man entered along with a burst of flurries and cold air. Behind him scurried a dark-haired girl of perhaps five and ten and another mob-capped lady, presumably her companion or maid. Eliza donned her spectacles quickly, feeling self-conscious but also wanting to see who the newcomers might be.
The innkeeper scowled at first but upon seeing another older gentleman wearing a greatcoat with many layers follow the young people inside, he became all that was welcoming. The new arrivals were obviously quality.
The other patrons, who had been openly inspecting them, quickly lost interest and turned their attention back to one another and their pints without comment.
Nobody noticed Eliza, she remained invisible to those surrounding her. She’d been invisible for a very long time…
Since the newcomers all had their backs turned to her, she had no reason to feign disinterest. The two men were of similar height, but the taller man’s shoulders stretched slightly wider and he held himself with more…
She couldn’t decide. Arrogance? Confidence? No, something else—maturity, wisdom. He must be the elder of the two.
The younger removed his hat and, without thought to anyone around him, shook it so that the snow scattered. He then brushed at his shoulders with the same casual aplomb.
“Have a care, Bartholomew.” The younger girl stepped away from the brash young man. “My coat’s already wet enough.”
“Then a few more snowflakes shouldn’t bother you.” He must be her brother. Only siblings spoke so frankly to one another.
The well-dressed young woman scowled and lifted her chin. She glanced around and what she saw only deepened her frown. She was obviously of the opinion that she was far too good for her present surroundings.
It was easy to dismiss particular blessings at such a young age.
“You’re in luck, My Lord,” the innkeeper addressed the taller man, who’d also removed his hat. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to bring it under control. It was thick and black, sprinkled with just enough silver to be interesting. Eliza tugged her shawl more tightly around her shoulders as a sense of unease ran through her.
His air of authority lent himself to be either father or uncle to the other two… perhaps a much older brother. “We have one available room left to let. Filling up quick-like with the storm.”
“But we need two rooms, Papa!” The girl stepped up to the desk. Eliza studied her profile. Even from the distant vantage point, some ten feet away, she could make out the girl’s pouting lips.
Eliza glanced back out the window, ignoring the sensation that the hair on the back of her neck was standing on end. She was in a strange place, amongst strangers, of course she would feel a bit out of sorts—in foul weather, no less.
The yard was hardly visible now, the innocent-looking flakes having turned to a scurrying whirlwind of white. No one would last long outside in what was quickly transforming into a blizzard.
And just before Christmas. How appropriate, she thought cynically. The one and only time she’d ever been invited to a holiday celebration, snow had made such an inconvenient appearance.
Eliza ought to be cheered by it.
Olivia would likely have all of them building snowmen and having snow wars. Her dear friend had married well and was graciously hosting the Christmas party at her husband’s grand country estate.
At least, Eliza assumed it would be grand, as her newlywed friend’s husband was an earl.
“If you could be so kind as to check again, good sir. My daughter and her maid require private quarters.”
Eliza turned back to watch the scenario at the counter, a prickle of awareness spreading up her spine. There was something familiar about the man’s voice, but she could not put her finger on it.
The flustered innkeeper shuffled through some papers but continued to shake his head in a discouraging manner. “I’m quite certain… unless I were to put out one of the guests who’s already arrived...”
The girl nodded, but her father shook his head. “That will not be necessary. If there are some cots lying about somewhere…”
That prickle turned to a most unusual combination of excitement and mortification.
Add to that regret and terror. In fact, more terror than anything else.
It could not be.
Ah, yes, she had known the possibility existed that she’d see him again, although she’d considered the event highly unlikely. Part of her wanted to hide, and yet, she twisted her mouth into a grimace. He would not look at her.
Would he even remember?
“I’ve a small mudroom in back where we can set up two cots.” The innkeeper would not wish to lose these paying guests.
“Father!” The younger man was not at all agreeable with such a plan. “I’m not sleeping on a cot as though we’re common vagrants.”
“You’ll do as I say.” The older man’s voice cut him off in a cold manner she’d not heard from him before.
It was him. She was certain of it. These young people were his children.
“Charlotte and Mrs. Blake will take the available chamber, and you can either sleep on the cot or in the stables. It is up to you.”
Eliza wondered that the boy thought it fair to turn out another guest, one who’d arrived before himself, of the room they’d already let. She pinched her lips together.
They were a wealthy family, nobility even. He’d told her he was the second son of a baron. A long time ago.
All was not amiable amongst them, however: father, son, and daughter. A strained discontent was quite apparent to her in just the few minutes she’d observed.
“We’ll take the room. You do have private dining quarters, I assume?” he addressed the innkeeper once again.
“Of course, My Lord. Of course.” Ah, so he was no longer a mere second son but a lord himself.
And just then, the gentleman glanced over his shoulder. Eliza inhaled sharply.
The same ebony hair, but now with a hint of gray, hawki
sh features, emerald eyes, a firm chin slightly shadowed by a day’s growth of beard.
He was older but no less handsome than he’d been twelve years ago. His eyes no longer twinkled with laughter, though, and his mouth was set in a tight line.
But even if his appearance had changed drastically, she would know him.
Henry Fairchild.
Chapter Two
The Fairchilds
Keeping her dignity, but also experiencing outrage and a desire to make herself known, she pushed back her chair and crossed the room.
“Excuse me.” She cleared her throat when her voice came out sounding hoarse and dry.
When no one acknowledged her, some of her confidence fled, but she cleared her throat again. “I’d be more than happy to share my chamber with your daughter and her maid,” she volunteered. “So that you and your son may have a bed.” Her room was large, and it was the Christian thing to do. In addition to that, it was almost Christmas.
What was she doing?
She did not wish to remain invisible today.
The younger man turned with a smile. For a moment a single butterfly fluttered in her chest. He looked so very much like his father.
Perhaps she was a fool for drawing attention to herself. Even more so for giving up her privacy. She had no idea how long they would all be stuck here. For all she knew, the storm could go on for days, making travel impossible.
“Look here, Father.” The young man found her suggestion most convenient.
And at last, he turned to acknowledge Eliza. Her blood ran cold and hot at the same time beneath his gaze.
“Do I know you, Miss…?” He was scowling as he raised a monocle to one eye. The creases around his mouth showed the twelve years that had passed. He seemed the same but… different.
“Miss Cline. Miss Eliza Cline,” she prompted. “From Misty Brooke, the Dog and Pudding Pot.” She could tell he was searching his memory, and then… there it was.
The dawn of recollection.
She curtsied in her plain dress with her ugly brown shawl wrapped around her shoulders. As she lifted her head, she was forced to push the spectacles higher upon her nose. She hadn’t needed them until a few years ago. If she thought he looked older, what on earth must he think when he looked at her?
And then she’d gone and reminded him that she’d once been in service. She was not ashamed of it. She might be in an even worse position if not for her brother.
He made a quick bow but then glanced at his daughter when she tugged at his sleeve.
“I don’t want to share a room with a stranger, Papa.” Her eyes slid toward Eliza. “My gratitude, all the same.”
“You are Mr. Fairchild, are you not?” Eliza demanded his attention once again. But of course, he was no longer a mere mister. “We were acquainted some time ago—”
“I am aware.” He cut her off, staring at her with something of a pained expression.
For years, Eliza had wished for the opportunity to rail at him. She’d wanted to demand answers—demand an explanation that could somehow allow her to make sense of it all. With him standing before her now, though, she merely wished to be acknowledged.
“He is not Mr. Fairchild, madam. He is Lord Crestwood.” The young girl informed her as though offended.
“But we are the Fairchilds.” The young man scowled in his sister’s direction. “Father, Miss Cline’s offer provides the best solution,” he added cajolingly.
“Miss Cline.” Lord Crestwood cocked one eyebrow and then the left side of his mouth lifted as though he’d forgotten how to smile. “You may withdraw your kind offer, if you’d like. If you do not, I’m afraid I’m going to take you up on it, on behalf of my most ill-mannered offspring.”
Eliza swallowed hard. He’d smiled at her before, with both corners of his mouth. Oh, what that smile had done to her twelve years ago.
She ought to withdraw the offer. Have as little as possible to do with this man. But she shook her head. The large chamber she’d been given boasted a bed, easily large enough for two, and also a trundle for the maid. Sharing her room, she reminded herself again, was the Christian thing to do.
And Eliza always did the Christian thing, what with being a vicar’s sister, and all…
“I will not withdraw it.” She tightened her lips so as not to respond to his good looks and charm. Lord Crestwood was obviously married—with children—and then a horrific understanding slowly crept into her conscience—much as a snake might slither out from under a rock.
These two young people were his children and were far older than the age of two and ten.
Unease swirled around her brain as the magnitude of these circumstances hit her with more force than the wind and snow would have had she gone dashing outside.
His children who were almost grown, around the age of fifteen and older, she’d guess. Which meant he was married.
Which meant he had been married twelve years ago.
And that meant that not only had she fornicated outside the bonds of matrimony, but she had committed adultery.
She’d lain with a married man!
* * *
Henry Fairchild, Baron Crestwood, remembered her the moment she’d spoken her name. He’d truly looked at her then, and her eyes had jolted him into the past.
A past that tainted his honor. A bittersweet time that he’d both dreamt about but also suffered nightmares over. She’d been so young, and he’d been… He swallowed hard.
The self-loathing he felt was an old friend. He’d embraced it for so long it was now a part of him.
She’d barely been ten and eight and he’d easily charmed her. When he’d complimented her eyes, she’d insisted they were plain, as brown could often be. He’d found them sultry and inviting, like chocolate or coffee. They stood out to him even from behind the metal-rimmed spectacles she now wore. Thick lashes framed her eyes, contrasting starkly with her alabaster skin.
To the undiscerning observer, she was quite forgettable.
Years ago, he’d found Eliza Cline to be a beauty in hiding. Dragging his eyes up and down her drab clothing and unimaginative hairstyle, he suspected this was still the case.
“Papa,” Charlotte, his daughter of ten and six, wailed softly. “I don’t—”
“Charlotte, this is Miss Eliza Cline. Miss Cline, my daughter, Miss Charlotte Fairchild. Bartholomew, Miss Cline. Miss Cline, my son, Bartholomew Fairchild.”
The woman he’d never expected to see again, let alone introduce to his children, blinked a few times and then greeted his less than mannerly offspring. She then turned to acknowledge Charlotte’s maid, Mrs. Blake, with some reserve.
The woman who was his greatest regret, turned toward his daughter. “If you are ready now, I’ll show you to my chamber.”
Charlotte gave him one last pleading look but then dropped her lashes at his unrelenting stare.
Her surname had not changed. When he’d seen her last, she had been engaged to be married.
Henry clenched his jaw. The fiancé had broken it off then.
He’d wondered.
Miss Cline turned to lead his daughter and her maid upstairs, and he stopped her with his question. “You will join us for dinner? Of course?” It was the least he could do as she was giving up her privacy.
She glanced over her shoulder with narrowed eyes. If she harbored ill will, why had she offered to share her chamber?
But then her chin dipped in acquiescence.
Henry pinched his jaw. He’d bedded her twelve years ago and when she’d expected his protection, he’d had nothing to offer her. Less than nothing. A burning sensation had him rubbing his clenched fist over his chest.
They’d been caught in a most inappropriate situation, by her fiancé, and Henry had had the gall to become annoyed.
His actions had been appalling, unforgivable.
What a villain he’d been. A selfish, deplorable villain.
And yet, he’d not been himself. Even now, he remembered feel
ing as though he’d been watching somebody else in his place… Which was no excuse…
“The key, My Lord.” The innkeeper’s voice jolted him from such unsettling memories.
Henry turned, signed the register, and indicated for Bartholomew to follow him up the narrow staircase. He’d share a room with his son this night. Hopefully, the weather would clear, and they could make the remainder of their journey tomorrow morning.
He wasn’t sure quite what he would say to Miss Cline if he found himself alone with her. Likely, she’d have some angry words to hurl at his deserving head.
He’d ruined her.
Chapter Three
Remorse
Miss Charlotte Fairchild had yet to acknowledge or thank Eliza in any way. Shortly after they arrived at Eliza’s room, manservants appeared with the young woman’s trunk and smaller valise. The girl threw herself across the bed, facedown, while Mrs. Blake went to work unpacking a few lovely gowns and draping them over the only chair in the room.
This had been a mistake. Eliza berated herself for allowing her charitable inclinations to put her in this situation.
And yet, she could not any ill will toward his children. The thought shook her.
She didn’t know what to feel. How could any of this be real? Her emotions were so confused as to be almost numb. It was as though she’d stepped into a different world as the reality of her past shifted into something so… unthinkable.
Edging to the bed, Eliza lowered herself onto the corner of the mattress. “If it hadn’t made travel impossible, I’d be more than happy with snow over the holidays. Are you on your way to celebrate Christmas with family?” Eliza spoke to the back of the girl’s head.
“Arousrarty,” Miss Fairchild mumbled into the pillow.
“A house party?” Eliza hated sullenness, and yet she remembered the angst one experienced at such an age. “That sounds quite festive.” But she could not contain herself from asking, “Are you meeting your mother there?”
The Perfect Christmas: With Bonus Material Added Page 3