by Darcy Burke
Frightened for whoever was making the noise, Felicity opened the door and went inside. She quickly deposited the parchment on the long, wooden bench that ran along the right side of the entry hall and hurried toward the sound. A moment later, she walked into the dining hall, where a boy was spitting on the floor and dancing around intermittently yelping. He had been the one screaming?
She started forward to ask if he was all right, but then noticed that the other children were not alarmed. In fact, they were…amused. Why were they laughing at him? And why did the one girl look as if she’d just won a very important contest?
Then Felicity noticed the most astonishing thing of all: Calder stood in the corner, his arms crossed, his face alight with mirth. Mirth? She blinked, certain she was imagining his expression. But no, she wasn’t. He was amused.
Instead of disrupting whatever was going on, she skirted the perimeter of the hall until she reached Calder. “What happened?”
“Freddie’s had his comeuppance,” he said through a smile.
Felicity regarded the scenario. The boy—Freddie, presumably—had stopped moving. His face was pale as he glared at the girl, who still appeared quite pleased with everything.
“What on earth is going on in here?” Mrs. Armstrong entered, trailed by several women, and Felicity wondered how it had taken them so long to arrive. “We go outside for one minute to take a brisk walk around the house, and this is what happens?” She looked at Freddie and the girl. “What did happen?” Her eyes narrowed. “Freddie, did you take someone’s biscuits again?”
“In fact, he did,” Calder answered mildly. “However, I daresay he won’t be doing so again. Isn’t that right, Freddie?” He looked at the boy with a placid smile that should have scared the impudence right out of him. And maybe it did. Freddie looked as if he were horrified to have a duke, or maybe just a man, since there weren’t any in residence, speaking to him. It occurred to Felicity that they could benefit from some male guidance. Perhaps she could convince—
Goodness, what was she thinking? She’d already pushed Calder well past his limits.
Mrs. Armstrong exhaled, and another woman came forward. She looked quite angry, her dark eyes fixed on Freddie. “I told you if you committed any other infractions, you would miss the St. Stephen’s Day party.”
Freddie blanched, then hung his head.
“Apologize to Alice,” a woman, likely his mother, said, arriving at his side.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his gaze still pinned to the floor.
His mother tapped her foot. “Look at her when you say so.”
Freddie lifted his head and regarded the defiant Alice. “I’m sorry I took your biscuits. I won’t ever do it again.”
“Good. You know what will happen if you do,” she warned.
Another woman, this one fair-haired and almost certainly Alice’s mother, came from behind Mrs. Armstrong. “Now, Alice, vengeance is not ladylike.”
Alice sent Calder a smirk then nodded at the woman. “Yes, Mama.”
“I think it’s time everyone returned to their rooms for quiet time,” Mrs. Armstrong said.
The children broke apart, many of them talking and laughing as they departed. Alice went to Calder and hugged him.
Felicity stared in shock as he hugged her in return and whispered something in her ear. She grinned and nodded, then skipped back to her mother, who looked at Calder in bemusement.
A glance toward Mrs. Armstrong revealed she was staring at him in the same fashion. It seemed every adult in the room was as baffled by Calder’s behavior as Felicity was. And why wouldn’t they be? Until…today, apparently, he had not been a supporter of Hartwell House. To see that he’d somehow befriended one of the residents and had perhaps played a role in a revenge scheme was utterly amazing.
Felicity might not have believed it if she hadn’t seen it.
Except she would have. She knew the real Calder was in there, the one she loved. And yes, she still loved him after all this time. This was simply the proof of what she’d already known to be true. She was particularly glad that others could see it too.
When the room was empty save for Calder, Felicity, and Mrs. Armstrong, the latter frowned before addressing Calder. “Your Grace, I am pleased to see you here. However, I must ask that you not encourage disruptions among the children.”
“I doubt he was doing that,” Felicity said, feeling the need to come to his defense. She moved to his side. “I’ve been telling him about all the things you need, and I believe he stopped by to see for himself.”
“Yes,” Calder said. “I would be pleased if you would accept my support to repair Hartwell House.”
Mrs. Armstrong’s jaw dropped, but she quickly clamped it shut. Nodding, she seemed at a total loss for words.
Felicity jumped in to fill the silence. “Could you also provide a list of furnishings you need? I know you are short beds, and as it happens, we could have a few delivered tomorrow, perhaps.”
“On Christmas Eve?” Mrs. Armstrong asked.
Right, maybe not on Christmas Eve. Or Christmas Day. Or St. Stephen’s Day. Goodness, this was a busy time.
“I can think of no better time to do so,” Calder said. “There are four beds which I will have delivered tomorrow and set up wherever you need them.”
Mrs. Armstrong blinked at him. “I— Thank you, Your Grace. I am overcome by your generosity.”
“I apologize it has taken me so long to determine how I might continue the support my father offered.”
Felicity heard the faint note of distaste when he said “my father,” but doubted Mrs. Armstrong would have heard it. It took everything Felicity had not to take his hand and give him a reassuring squeeze.
“I am exceedingly grateful, Your Grace. May I offer you refreshment? Or a tour?”
“I must be on my way, but if you could provide a list of things you require, I will see about fulfilling it. I would also like an itemization of the repairs you are aware of and will provide it to the architectural firm I hire in London next month.”
“You’re going to hire a firm?” Mrs. Armstrong looked as if she needed to sit down.
“Of course. I am not an expert on such matters.”
That would be very expensive. Clearly, money had never been the issue when it came to Calder’s miserliness. Felicity’s heart ached to hear it, but she knew he was making changes for the better, that he was finding his way back.
Mrs. Armstrong shook her head. “Thank you. Lord Darlington will be so thrilled. I imagine he already knows, since he’s your brother-in-law.” She smiled. “And now I’m just blathering.”
“Mrs. Armstrong?”
The call came from the kitchen, prompting Mrs. Armstrong to look in that direction. “If you’ll excuse me.” She gave Calder a final broad grin. “Thank you so much.”
When she was gone, Felicity turned to him. “I want to say I’m surprised, but this is precisely what the Calder I know would do. I’m so glad you found him.”
His features darkened for a moment. “I had to get you to stop bothering me.”
“Oh, is that it?” Felicity put a hand on her hip. “Perhaps you’d like to explain why Alice hugged you? That is the part that has me surprised. No, it has me incredulous.”
He waved his hand. “I provided her with a little direction, nothing more.”
“Regarding how to exact revenge on Freddie?”
Calder exhaled with exasperation, his gaze at last meeting Felicity’s. “He kept stealing her biscuits and pulling her hair.”
Felicity smothered a grin. “And how were you even aware of his shenanigans?”
“I came yesterday to see things for myself. Because someone”—he glowered at her—“kept pestering me. I met Alice, and she required my assistance.”
“How did you do it?” Felicity edged closer to him, looking up at him with rapt interest.
“My cook prepared biscuits that were intended to be stolen. They were, ah, infested with som
e sort of vermin.”
That explained Freddie’s screaming and spitting while hopping around. “I want to feel bad for him,” Felicity said, smiling in spite of herself, “but I suppose no harm was done.”
“None at all, and it was an important lesson—mostly the humiliation in front of his peers. He won’t bother Alice again.”
Felicity had a horrid thought. Had Calder’s father done this to him? “Please tell me you don’t know this from experience.”
“No. I would have preferred humiliation in front of my peers to what was—” He clenched his jaw. “Never mind.”
She took his hand then and gave him the squeeze she’d been longing to give. “I’m so sorry, Calder. All that is behind you now.”
His eyes were sad, desperate almost, and her heart bled. “I want it to be, but sometimes I just don’t know.” He pulled his hand away. “I need to go.”
She wanted him to stay, but to what end? So she could hold him and soothe him? This was neither the place nor the time. “Are the beds you’re delivering from my father’s house?”
Calder nodded. “Unless you mind?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. I suggested it, after all. I’m delighted you’re giving them to Hartwell House. You’ve a good heart, despite your best efforts to the contrary.” She said this with dry humor, but he didn’t smile. Those were still few and far between where he was concerned. Perhaps Felicity would ask Alice for her secret in eliciting smiles, laughter, and hugs from the Duke of Hartwell.
“Felicity, you would do well to remember that I don’t try to have a black heart—that’s simply the way it is. The sooner you realize that, the better off you will be. And maybe then you’ll stop bothering me.”
He strode from the room, leaving her to stare after him in sad confusion. She’d been certain he was making progress.
Perhaps he was referring to them. Just because he was hosting St. Stephen’s Day and supporting Hartwell House didn’t mean he was ready to open himself up to personal relationships—to love. To heartache.
Because Felicity knew that with love came heartache. For her, she would gladly risk the latter to have the former. She just wasn’t sure Calder would ever be able to share that sentiment.
Chapter 8
A light dusting of snow covered the ground on Christmas Eve morning when Calder set out with his sisters and brothers-in-law to find the Yule log. They were all on horseback, while a groom drove a wagon that would convey the tree back to the house. Isis ran alongside Calder.
The sensation of being with his sisters and their husbands was odd, probably because it was the first time. He’d only been back at Hartwell since last spring, and it had been years before that. He felt as though he barely knew them.
“This is a nice copse of trees,” Poppy said. “Let’s look here.”
Her husband quickly dismounted and hurried to help her. He lifted her from the horse very carefully and set her gently on the ground.
Calder didn’t particularly care about the Yule log. Before he’d agreed to allow his sisters to come, he hadn’t even planned on finding one. The only reason he’d joined them today was to get out with Isis, who loved the snow. He climbed down from his horse, and Isis ran to his side.
“Did we get a Yule log from this copse once?” Bianca asked.
“You’ve a good memory,” Poppy said. “You couldn’t have been more than five or so.”
That would have made Calder thirteen. He’d been home from Eton, though he would have preferred to remain at school.
They walked as a group toward the trees, surveying them as they went. Everyone but Calder. They could find an old, rotting log on the ground, and that would be fine with him.
“Thank you for inviting us to Hartwell,” Buckleigh said. “I’m glad to put the past behind us. Hopefully you are too.”
“Ash,” Bianca hissed before nudging her husband in the ribs. “Not now.”
“Sorry,” Buckleigh murmured.
“Now is fine,” Calder said, exhaling. “I plan to give Bianca her settlement.”
Poppy stepped toward him and touched his arm, smiling. “Thank you.”
If he’d been uncomfortable in the face of Mrs. Armstrong’s gratitude, this was ten times worse. He felt as if he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He pointed at a tree. “How about that one?”
“Too skinny,” Bianca said.
She was right, but then Calder hadn’t really looked at it. He’d just been trying to divert the conversation.
Bianca moved toward the one beside it. “This one. It’s perfect.”
“It is,” Poppy agreed. They both looked to Calder, who shrugged. “Gabriel?” Poppy asked.
“Whatever my love desires.” Darlington gazed at her with warmth and love, and though Calder tried to remain immune, his insides twisted with envy.
“I’ll fetch the axe,” Buckleigh said, going back to the wagon.
Bianca walked over to Calder. “This is really starting to feel like Christmas. I’m so glad we’re all here together.” Her bright blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight filtering through the clouds.
Poppy stepped beside her and linked her arm through Bianca’s. “Yes, and just think, next year, there will be little footprints in the snow.”
Bianca laughed. “Unless your child learns to walk at an alarmingly young age, I should think not.”
Poppy giggled, and now Calder understood why Darlington had handled her with such care.
Again, he felt a pang of envy. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Poppy said. “I know you aren’t aware, and why should you be, but I’d believed I couldn’t have children. Gabriel and I have been married nearly three years and… Well, we are very happy.”
A warm sensation sprouted in Calder’s chest, then spread outward. Happiness—not for him, but for his sister, who was the kindest soul he’d ever known. If anyone deserved the joy of a child, it was her. “I’m glad for you,” he said quietly.
Poppy turned her head and wiped a finger over her eye. “I wish Papa was here to share in our happiness.”
And just like that, the faint flame inside Calder sputtered and died. “I don’t.” The words fell from his mouth unbidden, and he immediately wished he could take them back.
Of course, Bianca asked, “Why didn’t you like him? He was so distraught that you never came to visit, especially at the end.”
Calder couldn’t tell them. They ought to go their entire lives without knowing how cruel he’d been.
He focused on Buckleigh, who’d returned with the axe. He and Darlington were discussing how to take down the tree. The footman stood nearby, ready to offer assistance. Calder would help too. He’d rip the damn thing from the ground in order to avoid this conversation with his sisters.
But before he could walk away, Bianca said, “Do you remember the Yule log that nearly set the house on fire?”
Poppy’s eyes widened. “Yes! That was almost a disaster.” She looked over at Calder. “Were you there that year?”
Calder had missed a few Christmases due to accepting invitations from friends at school. He didn’t recall the fire. “I don’t think so.”
“My favorite part of finding the Yule log was Papa singing,” Bianca said, smiling. “He had such a nice voice—which you inherited,” she said to Poppy. “I could carry that tree better than I could a tune.”
They both laughed, and suddenly, Calder couldn’t stand listening to their fond memories of “Papa” a moment longer. Something inside him splintered and blew apart, like artillery that had jammed instead of firing cleanly as it was intended to. Calder was supposed to suffer his father in silence. But then that was what the man had wanted, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t Calder want to do the opposite, as he’d done with everything else?
He stared at them. “Here’s a memory that neither of you likely remember. In fact, I believe Bianca was just a baby. Yes, that’s right, because the year after Mama died was the very worst. And Poppy, you too wo
uld have been at home with the nurse.”
Both his sisters looked at him, their gazes a combination of wariness and keen interest.
“We went on the Yule log hunt as always, except it wasn’t the same without Mama. She’s the one who sang, and she brought biscuits and a jug of wassail. I’d finally been allowed to drink it the last year she came with us.” He couldn’t help but look at Bianca, who’d never known the beautiful, vibrant woman who’d been their mother. When he thought of all the pain he’d endured, he knew hers was probably far greater. And yet, he wondered if it was better to have not known her at all than to miss what you could never have again. He’d thought the same thing about Felicity—that he would have been better off if he’d never known her.
“I don’t really remember her,” Poppy said softly. “I recall her smell—honeysuckle. But everything else, I knew from you.” She looked at Calder. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for keeping her memory alive for me.”
Calder was nearly undone. Because he hadn’t done it for her. He’d done it for himself. He was as selfish as one could be, just as his father had said.
“Calder, you were going to tell us about a Yule log hunt,” Bianca prompted.
He would have abandoned it after what Poppy had said. But Bianca would press… And the story wanted to be told after all this time. “I chose a tree, but he said it wasn’t right. It was too… I don’t even remember.” Calder stared past them into the distance, that day as clear in his mind as the landscape before him. “I really wanted that tree. It reminded me of the one Mama had chosen the year before. I just knew it was the one she would have wanted. But he wouldn’t allow it, and because I argued, he left me there.”
“Where?” Poppy whispered, her eyes wide with alarm.
Calder shrugged. “Far from the house. It took me hours to find my way home. And it had started snowing. I was near freezing, and when I got there, all he could do was tell me not to drip on the carpet.”
“Oh my God,” Bianca breathed, moving close to his side while Poppy came up on the other.
“Did he do other things like that?” Poppy asked, her voice barely more than a croak.