Christmas At Thorncliff Manor

by Sophie Barnes

  She let go of him faster than someone might drop a piece of hot coal. “Of course we should.”

  He wasn’t sure whether to be offended by her sudden dismissal or not. Hesitating only a moment, he chose not to dwell on it, asking her simply, “Are you going to be all right in here?”

  “I will be fine, Chadwick. Please light the way.”

  Ah, so they were back to the honorific.

  He already missed the closeness they’d shared moments earlier, however brief or one-sided it had been. But since he wasn’t willing to wallow in self-pity, he turned away and continued walking while floorboards creaked beneath his feet. Holding his hand out in front of his face, he brushed aside upcoming cobwebs and received no further complaints from Fiona, for which he was glad.

  “There’s a corner here,” he said when they reached a sharp turn. “Watch your step.” Rounding it, Edward held up the candle to illuminate the space ahead of them. “It looks like this might go on for a while.”

  “How can that be? Thorncliff has windows, and all of the rooms have doors. The passageways have to be broken up somehow, either by stairs or…or something else.”

  “You’re right.” He started forward once more, then stopped and dropped to a crouch.

  “What are you doing?”

  Lowering the candle, he illuminated the space between the floor and the wall. “There’s a slight decline. If I’m not mistaken, we’ve been walking downward all of this time, in which case we might soon be beneath Thorncliff altogether.”

  “Perhaps this leads to the villa, then, or connects to the other underground tunnels we know about?”

  “It’s a possibility.” He stood and continued walking. “It is also possible we’re headed in an entirely different direction, though I could be wrong.”

  “But if you’re right?”

  “After entering the passage, we walked parallel with the east wall of the Turkish salon, heading north. Did you count our paces?”

  “No. Did you?”

  He nodded. “We took thirty, which would have placed us well past the salon, perhaps somewhere beneath the hallway that leads toward the grand staircase.”

  “And then we made a turn,” Fiona said.

  “Yes. Straight west.” Resuming his pace, he spoke while he walked. “The underground villa and the tunnels that lead to the sea are in the opposite direction. Right now, I’d say we’re heading toward the foyer.”

  “Uncharted territory?” She couldn’t have sounded more thrilled.

  He smiled in response. “Quite so, my little adventuress.”

  She didn’t respond with the quick retort he’d expected. Instead, she kept quiet for several seconds before quietly saying, “You do realize I’m no longer a child, Chadwick?”

  “I…er… It’s sometimes difficult to remember,” he teased in an effort to hide how aware he’d become of her womanly charms.

  “You’re impossible,” she muttered.

  But he didn’t miss the hint of annoyance in her voice as she said it, so he came to a halt and turned to face her, expelling a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Fiona. I didn’t mean to upset you. Obviously you’ve…” He struggled against the dryness in his mouth while he stared down into her dimly lit eyes. “You’re quite grown up now, I see, but I do hope that won’t affect our friendship in any way.”

  “No.” She averted her gaze, hiding whatever expression might lurk there.

  He forced himself to continue – to say what was necessary. “I’ve always enjoyed our repartees, your wit, and your smart rejoinders. This,” he waved a hand to indicate their surroundings, “is one of the things I love about you.”

  Her eyes had snapped back to his. “One of the things you love about me?”

  Jesus Christ and all his apostles!

  Her astonishment was undeniable. She stared up at him with wide eyes that made him want to kick himself for revealing so much. “Of course,” he said, forcing a nonchalant tone. “You’re like family.”

  She nodded. “We’ve had some fun times together over the years,” she said, and he breathed a sigh of relief at her change in subject. “Do you remember when we climbed onto the stable roof at Oakland House a couple of years ago?”

  Grinning at the memory, he swung away from her and recommenced walking. “When you climbed onto the stable roof, you mean? The only reason I went up was because you got stuck and needed someone to save you.”

  “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell Spencer about it. Or anyone else for that matter.”

  “And get you into trouble? I couldn’t allow that after you’d covered for me with your cook.”

  “She was furious when she discovered the missing supplies in the pantry.”

  “As I recall, she needed those things for supper, though I didn’t realize it at the time.”

  Fiona laughed. “We had broth that day while you—”

  “Enjoyed a lovely picnic with Lady Jemima.” Damn! He bit his tongue, but the name was already out.

  “So that’s who you snuck off to see. Will you tell me what happened with her?”

  “Nothing.” He didn’t plan to elaborate.

  “Please?” When he said nothing further, she quietly asked, “Did she break your heart?”

  No. Only you are capable of doing so.

  He winced, hating the disgruntled mood he was suddenly in. “She was a sweet girl, but she and I weren’t meant to be.”

  “But you courted her? With the picnic and all?”

  “I was never alone with her if that’s what you think. She brought friends, and we had a pleasant enough afternoon. The next time I saw her, she was getting engaged to Baron Whitham.”

  “Oh.”

  That was all she said, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, that single syllable grated unlike anything else in the world. “She doesn’t matter,” he found himself saying.

  “Of course not,” she murmured in a way that suggested she did not believe him.

  Deciding to drop the subject since only one thing might convince her Lady Jemima held no sway over his feelings, he gave his attention to the place ahead where the passageway split in a T. “These are some pretty big stones.” He passed the light over the wall in the next passageway. “There’s been nothing but wood until now, but even the ground is different here. There are stone slabs instead of planking, so I’m guessing we’ve reached the cellar level.”

  “So then the foyer ought to be directly overhead?”

  “I think so.” He held the candle out in front of him. “This tunnel leads off in both directions.”

  “Do you want to continue exploring?”

  He considered the hopefulness with which she spoke. “One hundred paces in that direction,” he said, pointing toward the right. “If we don’t find another entry to Thorncliff by then, I think we ought to return the way we came. We can always come back later with the others and some proper lanterns.”

  “Agreed.”

  He began counting off his steps. One, two, three, four, five…

  “What made you decide to go this way?” Fiona asked.

  “If I’m right and we’re underneath the foyer walking south, then going the opposite way would have led us out of Thorncliff to only God knows where.” Six, seven, eight…

  “How clever of you.”

  Edward drew to a halt. “I’m good for more than a laugh, Fiona.”

  “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Her hand touched his arm, and he inwardly groaned at the pleasure of having her so near. “I think the world of you, Chadwick. You must know that?”

  “Of course I do.” It was just the pain of knowing she’d never be his that made him lash out. “But I’m also aware of what people say and of what they think.” He blew out a breath and then leaned against the wall. “It’s my own fault, I suppose, for always making fun in public – for always being ready with a joke and trying to make people laugh. Few people take me seriously.”

  “I do,” she said, her hand squee
zing against his arm while she spoke. “There’s no denying I’ve always been drawn to your mischievous nature and this propensity you have for silliness. Being around you is amusing, Chadwick, and the fact you gave your attention to me as a child when others your age ignored me is something I’ll always appreciate.”

  He grunted slightly on impulse. “You were quite precocious.”

  “The point is,” she continued without addressing his comment, “you’re so much more than what people think. Your success in business – the investments you’ve made in cotton mills, shipping, and the Mayfair Chronicle to name a few— is most impressive, not to mention the kindness with which you treat your tenants.”

  Speechless, he stared at her upturned face, while candlelight flickered across her brow and cheekbones. There was some sort of desperation in her eyes – a keenness to make him see himself as she did. The honesty of it practically slayed him.

  “How do you know all of this?” He’d never spoken of his responsibilities before or of how he made his money.

  Shrugging, she drew back and let his arm go. “Spencer mentioned it once. I was interested, so I kept pestering him about it until he eventually escaped to his bedchamber and closed the door in my face.”

  “You were interested?” It was all his mind could comprehend at the moment.

  “Well, yes. Knowing how money is made is a useful bit of information to have, I should think. Even if men have a tendency to keep such things from women. So once I’d gotten Spencer talking, I did what I could to gain as much knowledge as possible.”

  Of course, that had to be it. Because to think she might have had a more personal interest in him was obviously ludicrous. Still, he needed to take something with him – something more than the friendship she offered. So he reached up and placed the palm of his hand against her cheek, enjoying her startled expression and the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. It was so soft, he imagined stroking his fingers across it forever. Breathing was no longer as simple as it had been seconds before.

  If only…

  He retracted his hand before she might see how he felt. Dear God, please don’t let her see. “We should probably keep moving,” he heard himself say in a voice both distant and foreign. She didn’t reply, and he could practically hear the walls rising between them as he acknowledged the love he felt and that she’d never feel the same way. “Here. There’s an alcove.” He pushed the candle inside and looked around. “Stairs. Come along.”

  They started up the uneven stone steps that sagged in the middle. “Are you all right?” He wanted to hear her voice.

  “It’s a bit steep but I’m managing.”

  “Good.” No other words were spoken until they reached the top. Here, the floor was once again made of wooden planks. Edward moved along, Fiona close behind, until he spotted a crack in the wall running all the way to the ceiling. He pressed his hand carefully against it until it gave way with a creak. “It’s the green salon,” he said, and stepped out into the room where several curious faces were watching their unusual arrival.

  “I say,” Montsmouth remarked from his spot in an armchair. “Would it not have been simpler to come through the door?”

  “I didn’t realize there was a tunnel right there,” Emily added. “Fiona, you look a fright, all covered in dust and heavens knows what else. If I might offer a suggestion, you’d best go change.”

  “I plan on doing so right away,” Fiona said while Edward closed the wall paneling behind them.

  “You too, Chadwick,” Lady Duncaster said. “Come back when the cobwebs have been removed from your hair. You can tell us all about your little adventure, while enjoying a cup of mulled wine.”

  “Thank you, your ladyship.” Edward saw Fiona was already exiting the room.

  He started to follow, but was stopped by Lord Oakland’s broad figure as he stepped into his path. Dipping his head, the earl whispered in Edward’s ear, “We’ve always considered you family, Chadwick, but I think it’s important to remember that you’re not – not really. Going off on your own with Fiona might not be your best course of action. I hope there’s no cause for concern?”

  The warning could not have been clearer. “Of course not, my lord. It won’t happen again.” With this assurance, Edward left the room at a brisk pace and with the distinct feeling he’d landed in his own private hell.

  Chapter 15

  Seated at the head of the table, Emilia, the Dowager Countess of Duncaster, glanced over the rim of her wine glass and studied each of her guests in turn. She’d been right to gather them all here for the holidays, though doing so had had nothing to do with loneliness, as she’d stated in the invitations she’d sent them. Sipping her claret, she considered the newly formed couples and smiled. Everything was moving along precisely according to plan, though she couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else was aware of the fact.

  Amused, she set her glass down and dipped her spoon into the pudding Cook had prepared for desert. She’d always had a fondness for sweets, and her late husband, George, God bless him, had happily indulged her. She swallowed the painful reminder of her loss with a bit of custard, savoring the thick and creamy flavor of vanilla as it swirled around her mouth. Delicious.

  “Lady Duncaster. Will you partner with me for a game of whist later?” Lady Oakland asked.

  Setting her spoon down, Emilia answered the request with a smile. “Sounds delightful.” She considered those present. “Who are we playing against?”

  “Rachel and Belgrave,” came the reply.

  “Ho!” Leaning forward, Emilia speared the viscount with her eyes. “She’s a devil with numbers, that one.” She jutted her chin toward Rachel. “It’s a skill that favors her in card play, so I trust you’ll be able to keep up?”

  “She and I have every intention of obliterating the two of you.” Belgrave spoke with a kind voice that only accentuated his challenge.

  Emilia laughed. “I’m sure you do.” Picking her glass back up, she saluted him with a wink that made him chuckle. Oh yes, he’d do well with Rachel, Emilia decided. No doubt about that.

  But there was more to discuss than their entertainment for the evening. “I’ve decided to host a ball this coming Saturday. Invitations will go out tomorrow to all the gentry within a two-hour ride.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” Laura said, already smiling with expectation.

  “We’ll have to go to town,” Emily told her mother with a pointed look in Rachel’s direction.

  Rachel froze. “There’s really no—”

  “Of course we shall, dear,” Marie, the Countess of Oakland, replied before her daughter could finish her protest. “We’ll go tomorrow right after breakfast.”

  “Don’t you fear the roads will be difficult for people to travel?” Lord Oakland asked Emilia. “Hosting a ball this time of year doesn’t come without risk.”

  “Are you worried no one will come?” she asked. Of course, she shared the concern, but if that were indeed to happen, there would still be the eleven of them as initially planned. No harm done.

  “Not at all,” Lord Oakland told her. “What I worry about is your having to put up everyone who chooses to attend on account of the fact they might not be able to return home again.”

  Very well. She hadn’t considered that. But she did so now, her eyes squinting at the painting that hung on the far wall while she pondered her options. Eventually, she said, “There is room enough for all if that were to happen. And think of the fun we shall have then!”

  “I doubt the footmen who will have to chop firewood will agree with you on that point,” Lamont murmured.

  “They might grumble a little at first, but I do make sure to pay them well, and I’ll simply have to add a few more pounds, if need be, to sweeten the deal.” Waving her hand, she dismissed all concern while saying jovially, “But why worry about the worst outcome before the need to do so arises? For all we know, we might have cloudless skies that evening.”

  Agreeing with her po
int, her guests finished off their meal and their wine before filing out of the dining room and heading toward the library, where gaming tables had been set up. It had been agreed that the men would enjoy their after-dinner drinks while playing, in order for them to save time. Emilia ensured each received either brandy or port, depending on their preference, and that cheroots and cigars were made readily available as well.

  “I’ll have one myself,” she said, when the cheroots were passed around. She’d never taken issue with smoking in public, even though some sticklers did frown upon it. They could all go hang as far as she was concerned – stuck-up mood killers that they were.

  “Shall I deal?” Belgrave asked.

  “Go ahead,” Marie told him. She’d always been a gentle lady with the sort of innate elegance many women would give a fortune to acquire. Emilia liked her a great deal although their personalities were vastly different and their ages at least two decades apart. And as far as her children were concerned…Well, Emilia had always thought of herself as their great-aunt, and with no children of her own to care for, she’d enjoyed watching them grow.

  “You ought to try the sherry, Rachel,” she said as she gathered her cards up into her hand and proceeded to put them in order.

  “Thank you, but I think I’d prefer a tea.”

  Emilia chuckled. “Of course you would.” Emilia waited for Belgrave to play before adding her king of spades to the mix. Rachel took the trick with the ace. “I do believe I’m going to challenge your inner scientist, Rachel.” Emilia waved for a footman to approach the table. “Lady Rachel would like tea, please.” The footman disappeared, and the next card was put into play.

  “What do you mean about challenging me?” Rachel asked.

  “Simply that I would like you to sample my entire collection of liquor while you are still here. As an experiment.”

  Belgrave raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Marie did not follow suit. “Are you trying to get my daughter foxed?” She pinned Emilia with her dazzling green eyes while responding to a three of hearts with a nine.