Ghosts of Winters Past

by Parker, Christy Graham

  “Oh, Emma,” he whispered. “I won’t let you go.”

  “You won’t have a choice.”

  He kissed her tears away. “There’s always a choice.”

  ****

  The next day, Henry left the Blakemore townhouse in a worse mood than when he arrived. That, in and of itself, spoke a lot.

  Blakemore was insistent in his demand that Henry marry Elizabeth. No matter how many different ways Henry told him the girl had made advances to him and likely set the whole thing up, the old earl refused to give in.

  Henry felt his future, his happiness, and his life slipping away. Unlike before, this time there would be no returning.

  He stayed inside his townhouse for two days. He didn’t trust himself to go to White’s, and he refused to go to another ball where he would be expected to play nice with Elizabeth. The only place he wanted to go was to Emma’s, but he refrained, uncertain how a visit would look to others.

  For two days he plotted, and thought, and plotted again. Finally, on the third day, he sent a summons. Since he didn’t expect a reply for a day or so, he left to travel once more to the Blakemore’s townhouse.

  Lady Elizabeth was all fluttery eyelashes and sweet smiles when she heard he’d come to call.

  “Your grace. How unexpected.”

  “Don’t think for one moment I’ve changed my opinion on this matter.”

  There were too many people crowded in the drawing room to talk. He took her elbow and led her to a secluded corner, too far away to be heard, but close enough for anyone to see them the entire time.

  With a none-too-gentle push, he sat her down in a chair. “When will you cease this foolishness?”

  “Which foolishness would that be?”

  “You know very well which foolishness. This ridiculous plot of yours to get me to marry you.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. After you compromised me in the salon, we have no other recourse.”

  He mumbled assorted curses under his breath and was pleased she had the decency to blush.

  “The truth, Lady Elizabeth. That is the surest course there is.”

  Perhaps she had told herself so many lies, she now believed them to be true. It occurred to him that maybe she didn’t have all of her mental capacities. She wasn’t budging. Instead, she sat with her lips in a firm line.

  “I don’t love you,” he said.

  “I’m not worried. You’ll grow to love me.”

  “Is that so? You think I could ever love you after you tricked me into marriage? I love another. Will always love another. Will that be enough for you? Can you live the rest of your life knowing when I look at you, I picture someone else? Will my leftover affections keep you warm at night?”

  She threw her hands over her ears. “Stop. It won’t be that way.”

  With little care about the scene they were probably making, he took her hands in his and forced them away from her ears. “There is no other way for it to be. You may force my body, but you’ll never have my soul.”

  She shot up from her chair. “You may leave now, your grace. I have a headache.”

  “For shame, and right when I was starting to enjoy myself.” He bowed to her, turned to the ladies in the room who weren’t even pretending not to listen, and bowed again. “Ladies.”

  “Your grace,” they all replied.

  Before he left the room, he looked back to Elizabeth. “Think on what I said, my lady. I vow there is nothing you can do to make this work.”

  ****

  Lord Gallent arrived right on time the next day. In a manner echoing his reception days prior, Henry dismissed his butler and opened the door himself.

  “Lord Gallent. I do appreciate a punctual man.”

  The earl didn’t say anything. Henry led him down the hall into the study and motioned to him to have a seat.

  “I’ll stand.”

  It reminded Henry of a game of chess. Each man scoping out the other. Looking for the next move, trying to plan ahead. Measuring weakness. Assessing strength. Henry was almost positive the earl thought himself winning. He couldn’t be more wrong.

  “Suit yourself.” Henry sat in his chair, pulled out the bundle of letters, and threw them on the top of the desk in front of Lord Gallent. “Happy reading.”

  Lord Gallent picked up the first letter. “What is this?”

  Henry didn’t answer, but leaned back with his hands behind his head.

  Check.

  Lord Gallent shuffled through the letters. “I don’t know why you wish for me to read these.”

  But he kept reading and Henry knew exactly when the earl got to his wife’s name. The blood drained from his face, and he dropped heavily into the chair behind him.

  Checkmate.

  The earl’s fists clenched on top of the table, and Henry saw a blood vessel pound on the side of his neck.

  “He kept her letters,” Lord Gallent said.

  “He loved her.”

  “So did I.”

  “And you set her up so she had no choice but to marry you.”

  “I would do no less if I had it to do again.”

  “I don’t doubt it. You felt you had to do anything for the woman you loved.” Henry watched Lord Gallent closely. “I want — no need — you to understand I will do the same.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. I’ve been away from your daughter for five years, and I have no intention of being separated again.”

  “You are to marry Lady Elizabeth.”

  “I love your daughter.”

  “I despised your father.”

  Henry nodded. He had inferred as much from the letters. “Be that as it may, I am not my father. Whatever was between the two of you needs to die with him. I want what is best for Lady Emmaline. Maybe I’m full of myself, but I believe the best is me.”

  The shadows grew long in the room, but the silence seemed even deeper. Henry watched the warring expressions cross Lord Gallent’s face. Would he decide to do what was best for his daughter, or choose to live in the past?

  “What do you want?” Lord Gallent finally asked.

  “You were close to the salon that night. Did you hear anything that would help me get out of this marriage to Lady Elizabeth?”

  “I might be able to persuade Blakemore that his daughter’s best interests lie elsewhere.”

  “I would have you know, your daughter knows of the letters I wrote.”

  “Does she know…?”

  Henry shook his head. “No, she doesn’t know you kept them from her, but she’s smart. She’ll figure it out. I won’t keep the truth from her.”

  Lord Gallent seemed to think Henry’s words over. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Three days later, Henry’s answer came by post.

  When the letter came, he crumpled it before dropping it into the fireplace.

  Chapter Seven

  Emma ran her fingers over the engraved invitation to the Kringles’ Christmas Eve Ball and looked up to her parents. “I cannot fathom why you insist I go.”

  Her mother wrung her hands. “It’s been so good to see you out again. I just hate to think of you stuck inside the house once more.”

  “You need to go,” her father said.

  She didn’t have it in her to go against her parents, but she dreaded thoughts of the ball. She knew Henry would be there with Elizabeth. How could she bear to go and observe all that had almost been hers?

  They would dance and she would force herself to watch. In fact, seeing them together would probably be a good thing. It would impress upon her the realities of what had transpired. All that had taken Henry out of her hands as easily as a gardener pruned a rosebush.

  “Very well. I’ll go.”

  ****

  Christmas Eve came with a new layer of snow that coated the ground in pristine white. Emma spent the morning at the orphanage. She baked sweets with the older girls, watched the boys build a sn
ow fort, and rocked an infant who had been recently abandoned. And with every breath, she stared at the tree, remembering the day Henry cut it down.

  All around her people celebrated the season, and she felt herself sink deeper and deeper into a spiraling sadness.

  If I can just make it through tonight.

  If she made it through the night, she could make it through anything.

  She put on a happy face for the children, but while it might have fooled them, Bess and Laura knew the truth. Friends that they were, they didn’t say anything. They simply held her while she sobbed uncontrollably after one of the boys asked her if the prince would be coming.

  While getting ready for the ball, she forced herself to conjure up the iron will that had sustained her over the last five years. You’ve had your crying fit. Now is the time to show everyone what you’re made of.

  Though her parents were with her, she felt completely alone entering the crowded ballroom. She gazed over the people and felt both relieved and saddened all at once. With so many in attendance, it might be impossible to locate Henry.

  Greenery lined the banisters and had been twisted along the staircase. Around her, conversations buzzed like the simple hum of bees. Happy voices. Cheerful. She straightened her back. I can do this.

  Would it be possible to not only see Henry, but talk to him as well? How would she be able to speak easily with the man who should have been hers? For though he had said he would work everything out, as the days came and went with no word, she had accepted the truth. Lady Elizabeth would be the Duchess of Salle. Henry would be Lady Elizabeth’s.

  Emma would fade away to become nothing but a memory of someone who once was. If she were lucky, he would smile when he thought of her. Maybe one day she would think of him and smile instead of tearing up.

  Was it her imagination or were people staring at her? She glanced to her left to where a group of debutants stood. They quickly looked away from her. No. It wasn’t her imagination.

  She’d thought to be over caring about the whispers and curious glances of the ton. Apparently, she wasn’t. Still, it wasn’t possible to be angry with Henry. It really wasn’t his fault. That honor belonged to Lady Elizabeth.

  Who didn’t appear to have arrived yet.

  All at once the noise level dropped. And surely it couldn’t be her imagination that everyone in the ballroom looked from her to the entranceway and back again. Her cheeks heated and she told herself not look to see who it was that had just arrived.

  But she hadn’t seen him in days and of course it would be he, wouldn’t it?

  She turned, bracing herself to see him again, steeling herself in case it was Elizabeth, and telling herself it didn’t matter one way or another.

  Please let it be he, her heart whispered.

  Their eyes met and she smiled.

  Henry.

  Emma took in the sight of him piece by piece. He looked so handsome. His eyes sparkled and danced in the muted light. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile.

  He was alone and looked far too happy for a man tricked into marriage.

  The crowd silently parted as he entered.

  As he passed them and walked toward her, they began whispering again.

  She fluttered her fan. It was much too warm for December.

  Twenty more seconds and he stood before her, bowing.

  “Lady Emmaline.”

  She curtsied. “Your grace.”

  His face lit in amusement, almost as if he teased her. But how could that be when he was engaged to another?

  “I feared you wouldn’t come,” he said.

  “I decided I rather enjoyed being around people again,” she said. “And decided not to hide in my house like I did last time.”

  “I’m proud of you. Such tenacity will serve you well.”

  “As a spinster?”

  “As a duchess.”

  She had to have heard him wrong. It had to be her imagination.

  “Where is Lady Elizabeth?”

  “I care not.”

  “Henry, you must know there’s nothing to be done. I understand. Truly. You must do what is right.”

  “I did.”

  “Then I wish you every happiness.”

  “There is no happiness apart from you.”

  She smiled. The words were good to hear. Perhaps they would bring her joy in the years to come.

  “You’re a dear, truly, and I have no doubt you will make a good husband.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Every wife should think that of her husband.”

  “I fear I will never be a wife.” She didn’t want to be one, not apart from Henry.

  “You will. And you will make a fine duchess.”

  Insipid man! She put her hands on her hips. “And just whose duchess will I be?”

  “Mine.”

  “Have you lost your senses?”

  “No. I have, however, lost a fiancée.”

  She blinked. Opened her mouth, but found no sound came out.

  Henry chuckled and took her hand. “Let’s go outside.”

  She allowed herself to be led outside. Once there, she found her ability to speak had returned. “Would you mind explaining?”

  “Lady Elizabeth was convinced, by your father I might add, that it would be in her best interest to break off her engagement with me.”

  The smallest flicker of hope sprang to life inside her chest. “He did? And she agreed?”

  “I have it on good authority that she and Paul are on their way to Gretna Green as we speak.”

  “Poor Paul.”

  “I think they’re rather evenly matched.”

  “And a Christmas elopement, how romantic.”

  “I can think of one thing more so.”

  “Indeed? What would that be?”

  He took her fan, set it aside, then gathered her hands in his, and bent to one knee. “Marry me, Emma. Be my wife, my duchess.”

  He looked all blurry through the tears in her eyes. “Oh, Henry.”

  “I’ve waited for you, I’ve fought for you, I’ve lost you, and I’ve kept my feelings for you hidden. But no more. From now on, the world will know. You’re mine and I’ll do anything to keep you.”

  “Why, your grace, you’ve got it all wrong. You’re mine. Not the other way around. I’ve told you that before.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes, Henry, I will marry you,” she said, recalling his request from before.

  He stood up, not releasing her hands. His expression was complete happiness and bliss. “I’m glad you remembered. But I told you what I would do when you called me ‘your grace’ and, with all the people watching from the ballroom, you’re about to be thoroughly compromised.”

  His arms came around her, his lips claimed hers, and somehow she knew the ghosts of their winters were gone and only spring awaited them.

  About the Author

  Christina lives in Southeastern North Carolina with her husband and two kids. She works in the pharmaceutical industry during the day and writes at night. You can also find her working as a Research Advocate for the Parkinson’s Disease Foundation, teaching Sunday School, or reading a good book. She has two dogs, a cat, and serious affection for dark chocolate.

  Also by Christina Graham Parker:

  Chapter One

  Dallas, Texas

  Present Day

  Lexy Newberry knew the castle’s inhabitants never suffered delusions of grandeur. Its humble form inspired no poet to greatness or tourist to ask for souvenir postcards. No love-struck princess would degrade herself to seek refuge in the stocky towers, and no noble prince would see the point in storming the tattered gates. In fact, the only claim to fame the castle held was the speed with which one forgot its very existence.

  Yet she had the craziest déjà vu feeling she’d forgotten not only the castle, but something much more important. Something she had no business forgetting.

  “Lexy?” Her concentration shattered at the so
und of Cara North’s voice. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “That,” Lexy pointed to her friend, “is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  An odd look of pride settled over Cara’s features. “Yes. It is, isn’t it?”

  “You meant for it to look that way?”

  Cara chuckled. “I don’t think it’s possible to create the world’s ugliest castle by accident.”

  “I’ll never understand you business-types,” Lexy said. The feeling slipped away. Whatever memory it held bothered her no more.

  Cara pulled her back a few steps. “I did it to create a mood.” She spread her arms wide. “Welcome to the lost island of Dresdonia.”

  “It’s not lost,” she told Cara. “It’s abandoned. Everyone moved to Florida. They wanted a real castle.”

  Cara stared at her in mock horror. “Tell me you didn’t just say that.”

  Other theme parks were evil in Cara’s opinion. The Lost Islands, the new theme park owned by Cara’s family, would open in two weeks. Lexy had been invited to a VIP preview, a last hurrah before she moved cross-country the next day.

  Lexy shrugged. “Sue me.”

  “And they didn’t move,” Cara said. “In 1555, Dresdonia was invaded by Anders Severon. The royal Delamere family–”

  “I know. I know,” Lexy said. “You’ve told me. I came to ride today, not to learn.”

  “Okay, fine. But when you enter the castle, you’ll be asked to help find the missing princess.” Cara crossed her arms in mock disgust. “Don’t blame me when you fail completely.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Lexy said. “Besides, I already told you—she moved to Florida.”

  Cara punched her arm. “Stop.”

  A carload of screaming guests passed over the castle’s stubby towers. Whoever heard of a castle housing a roller coaster? The dilapidated building should have been a haunted house.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow.” Cara changed the subject.

  Lexy blew an errant piece of hair out of her eye, then gave up and released the tangled mess from its clasp. “Please. You’ll be so busy, you won’t even notice.” She shoved the barrette into her pocket. Cara had a new park to run, family nearby, and a steady stream of men begging for the opportunity to buy her dinner. Lexy had…well, she had the promise of a thirty-five-hour car ride to a new city filled with complete strangers and a depressing number of boxes to unpack.