He could easily find conversation in the taproom. But…
How long had it been since she’d had an edifying conversation with anyone? Since she’d been able to discuss literature, or science, or art?
She smiled in some relief. “But let’s not discuss the Brother’s Grimm. I don’t relish any nightmares tonight.”
He lifted his hand off her leg and held it out to her. “Nothing to inspire nightmares. You will keep me company for a while? Do we have a deal then?”
What was she doing? She barely knew this man.
She allowed his hand to clasp hers firmly. “It’s a deal, Mr. Fairchild.”
He squeezed gently. “Henry.” The depths of his eyes seemed almost unfathomable. “Please, call me Henry.”
Three nights later, and Eliza sat eagerly anticipating his arrival. Each night upon completing her tasks, she’d sat outside quite innocently until Henry came around for a late-night chat. He’d not promised her that he would come, and she’d not promised him that she would be here, but he had not checked out of the inn yet. He would tell her when he would leave. They had become friends.
She’d learned that he’d just traveled from London. He was the second son of a Baron and was slowly making his way home. He’d not been surprised, he said, to learn that she was the daughter of a vicar. She had an angelic glow.
She’d laughed at that.
Aside from a few flirtatious exchanges, their meetings were harmless.
She persistently reminded herself of this. He wouldn’t be staying much longer, she’d reasoned. And afterward, they’d likely never see one another again.
Each night she’d invited Matthew to come outside to sit with her and he’d always refused. He was tired, he told her. But when she slipped back inside to go to her own chamber the night before, she’d caught a glimpse of him sitting in the tap room, conversing with some of their lodgers and drinking a mug of ale.
It was good for him to mingle with the guests. They would appreciate being entertained by the owner’s son.
“No fairy godmother has rescued you yet?” He persisted in appearing out of the darkness, almost as though he’d been lying in wait for her. She dismissed the thought as foolishness. “Aschenputtel must toil another day.”
Eliza scooted to her edge of the bench. “Cendrillon,” she corrected him.
He did not drop down beside her tonight, however, as he had on the previous evenings. Instead he extended a hand. “Come walk with me tonight.”
She’d felt safe sitting on the bench, sitting outside the back of the inn’s kitchen. Not that she feared Henry in any way, but she feared being seen by any gossips. Walking alone with him would have an appearance of impropriety.
She stared at his hand but only paused for a moment.
Ignoring the small voice of warning in the back of her mind, she reached out and allowed him to clasp her hand in his. It did not feel improper, or dangerous when she walked beside him. He was her friend. He was older and wiser and stronger. How could anything bad happen if he was there to protect her?
They walked across the lawn together silently, their footsteps silenced by the grass. And even after they entered the dark forest, he didn’t release her. She should not be going with him. She should make an excuse. She wouldn’t even require an excuse. This was most unacceptable.
“I want to show you something.” He seemed to have a specific destination in mind as he weaved her along a haphazard path. “This way.” He held a finger up to his lips and then ducked in-between some thick brush. Not knowing where he was leading them, or what she would find there, she tiptoed quietly behind.
Moonlight slanted in between the branches above, shining on the trunk of a tree about eight feet away from her. Chiseled into the trunk, someone had created a large cavity. She peered closer and smiled. Nestled there was a cluster of leaves and twigs that cradled three tiny birds and two shiny eggs. One of the eggs was cracked, with obvious activity occurring inside. A larger bird—she must be the mother—stood guard, perched on the very edge of the nest.
Eliza glanced over at Henry and lifted her brows. “Shouldn’t they have hatched by now?” Already it was late summer. Eggs hatched in the early spring.
Henry merely shrugged but then lifted a finger to his lips. “Mama sees you,” he whispered, drawing her backward.
“Can we watch? I don’t want to scare her.”
His hand squeezed hers reassuringly. “We won’t if we keep our distance. Its why I brought you here.”
After a quick glance around them, Henry surprised her by dropping to one knee. “Your chair, my lady.” He indicated the bench of his leg. “This might take a while.” When she hesitated, he added, “It’s just that I know you’ve spent all day on your feet. Would you rather return to the inn?”
She did not want to return to the inn. Eliza shook her head and then putting one hand on his shoulder, dropped onto his leg.
His scent, his warmth, washed over her. She’d not been this close to him before and her thoughts seemed to tumble and swirl. Eliza turned her gaze to where she could just see the egg that was breaking apart, but it was hard to focus on anything but the man beside her—beneath her—all around her.
“I came across it while I was out earlier this evening. I’m glad they haven’t all hatched yet.” Eliza felt the whisper of his breath along her cheek sending a tremble through her.
“Are you cold?”
She was not. It was late summer.
“Yes,” she answered, suddenly feeling vulnerable. How did a person’s skin ache to be touched? How had she lost control of the butterflies jumping in her belly?
His response was to pull her closer to his chest, which did nothing to reestablish her equilibrium.
“They are woodpeckers,” he whispered again.
Eliza nodded as she watched a tiny beak push away another small piece of shell. It had been sweet of Henry to think of her—to bring her to witness something so special.
He’d been nothing but kind since arriving in Misty Brooke. As she stared at the nest, she suddenly felt like crying. When had Matthew stopped treating her with kindness? Why did she no longer ache to be held by him?
“Eliza?” Henry dipped his head so that he could look at her. “Are you all right? You are crying?” The concern on his face was nearly her undoing.
She closed her eyes and the tear she’d been holding back slid down her cheek. “I am scared,” she whispered. She hadn’t even realized the truth until she spoke the words aloud.
“What are you afraid of?” Tenderness had crept into his voice.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t say anything. I’m simply being weepy.”
Henry sat silent for a moment. And then. “We are friends. Are we not? You can talk to me. Perhaps if you speak your fears aloud, you’ll understand them better.”
And somehow, she found her face buried in his chest. “I know it’s probably nothing but I—I have cold feet. I think. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m doing the right thing. But it is too late. My parents would be devastated, and my brother would be humiliated. I’m likely just being silly.”
Henry’s hand was on her hair. His throat moved when he swallowed hard. “Eliza,” he spoke her name. “You are not being silly. If I was that fiancé of yours, I’d not allow you to sit outside with another man. I’d not spend my evenings playing cards in the tap room if you were nearby. Good God, I’d never leave you alone on a warm summer night.”
“What would you do?” She should not have asked such a question. And yet, she lifted her head so that she could see his eyes when he answered it.
“Every moment is a gift. Do you know that? Everything can be taken away in the blink of an eye.” He stared back at her. “If I were your fiancé…,” his voice broke.
Eliza parted her lips, her entire body on the verge of trembling. She reached a hand up to his jaw and settled it there. The moonlight softened his hawk-like features so that she nearly lost herself in
his eyes. She barely knew this man. Why had he come into her life? For what purpose? She slid her hand up and back and threaded his silky black hair through her fingers.
“If I was your fiancé, I would do this.” Henry leaned forward and placed his mouth upon hers. So softly at first, and then more demanding. When his tongue slid past her lips, something ignited inside of her. It was as though she’d been asleep for a very long time and was finally being awoken. Both of her hands clutched at his hair now, delighting in the springy thickness.
A low groan emerged from him and thrummed into her mouth, down to her chest.
Who was Henry Fairchild? Eliza felt as though she’d been waiting for him her entire life. His tongue swept around the crevasses of her mouth, causing her to squeeze her thighs together.
She wanted him.
She wanted Henry Fairchild.
When he ended the kiss, the trembling she’d been holding back took hold of her. His breathing labored the same as hers.
He tucked her head beneath his chin. “Eliza.” His voice sounded pained.
The fear she’d experienced a moment before had grown and exploded into a thousand little pieces. She wasn’t quite sure what had replaced it. And she wasn’t quite sure if she ought to be more afraid now than ever before.
Chapter One
Twelve years later
“Now remember, Thomas, Mrs. Pope will be coming by to cook your dinner each night. She said she’d bake bread when you run out and I’ve made it quite clear to her that you prefer stews over soups. And if you’ve need of anything before church services, Beatrice Long promised she would make herself available.” Eliza stifled the urge to bite her nails as she contemplated anything that she might have forgotten. “Are you certain you can wash your own shirts? Perhaps I oughtn’t go after—”
“I’m a grown man, not a child, Eliza. I can take care of myself.” Thomas, her dear brother, shook his head as he assisted her into the coach that waited to drive her to the Christmas House Party to which she’d been invited. It was a long day’s drive away and she wouldn’t be returning to the vicarage for nearly a fortnight.
His words were meant to reassure her. No, he was not a child, nor was she. But as an aging spinster, she had no business attending parties and dances. She’d changed her mind a dozen times before responding to the letter that had come along with Olivia’s invitation, and then she’d changed it a dozen more after she’d responded with her acceptance.
“I shouldn’t go. Perhaps I will stay—”
“You are going, Eliza. You’ve done nothing but take care of me, the vicarage and this parish for too long. You deserve some time to yourself. Besides, John here has driven all the way from Sky Manor to collect you. It would be inconsiderate of you to change your mind now.”
“You’re right. Of course, you are right.” She turned and embraced her brother one last time before climbing into the private carriage sent by the Earl and Countess of Kingsley. Her brother was dearer to her than she could ever say. When even her own parents had shunned her, he’d taken her in. “I will miss you though.” She leaned out the door. “Happy Christmas Thomas!”
“You’ll be home soon enough, and you will tell me all about this grand house party. We will laugh that you ever thought to remain at home.”
He closed the door firmly behind her, waving as she blew him a kiss. He did not seem overly sad at her departure. Perhaps he looked forward to having the vicarage to himself. No one to interrupt his reading, no one to remind him to wear his scarf when he walked to the church in the cold.
Eliza sat back and closed her eyes. She had not traveled more than ten miles from the vicarage in over a decade. And she was to be gone for nearly a fortnight! Over the holidays no less!
She bit her lip and watched outside the window as they left the familiar village of Misty Brooke behind. This wasn’t really all that great of an adventure. It wasn’t as though she was boarding a ship to the America’s for heaven’s sake. By the time the driver stopped to change out the horses, she was berating herself for being such a ninny. Seeing new faces for the first time in ages made her think that perhaps she’d waited too long to spread her wings. She was almost thirty. Yes, she was firmly on the shelf but that didn’t mean she must stop seeking out new experiences.
Visiting Olivia Fellowes was the perfect opportunity to remind herself that a world existed outside of Misty Brooke. She could have friends outside of the vicarage—people to whom she could write letters, people who traveled and did not think of her only as the vicar’s sister. The thought ought to have cheered her, but pessimism set in quickly. If anyone learned of her past… She shuddered.
The other guests at the party would be people of quality and Eliza just barely laid claim to gentility. Her father was the son of a vicar and her mother had boasted of having a second cousin who was a baronet.
Snowflakes began drifting from the sky and in no time the flurries were rushing all around them. A strong gust of wind pushed against the carriage and Eliza grasped the strap hanging from the ceiling. Just as she thought to pound on the wall and suggest they turn around, Coachman John slid open the window that opened to the driver’s box. Flakes of snow whipped their way inside through the small opening causing Eliza to huddle deeper in her coat.
“We shouldn’t travel in this, but not to worry, Miss Cline. There’s an inn right ahead. Best to stop and wait out the storm rather than risk sliding off the road.”
“Yes.” She shouted back in agreement, picturing them careening down a hill, or into a ravine. “I think that would be best.”
She should have remained at the vicarage. Eliza clutched the strap hanging from the ceiling and braced herself for certain death.
The Hen and Hog Inn had but a few rooms left. After paying the inn keeper and carrying her small valise up the narrow stairs, she found herself pleasantly surprised when she unlocked the door and pushed it open. The space was rather large, as was the bed. She washed her hands and face and then drifted around, examining the small desk, the wardrobe, and she even discovered a trundle stored beneath the tall bed. This required all of seventeen minutes.
She stared at the clock on the mantle and frowned. It was barely past noon. She had a long day ahead of her and she had not thought to bring along a book to read.
Foolish.
She could not sit inside doing nothing for the remainder of the day, she would drive herself mad. Gathering her shawl and her reticule, she stopped to check herself in the mirror. Her tight chignon remained intact, just a few brownish wisps of hairs had escaped, and her dress, although slightly wrinkled, still appeared somewhat fresh. And then she grimaced at herself. Her appearance did not really matter so long as she was clean and proper.
The tap room was not crowded so she easily located a table and chair by the window. At least she could watch the storm from here, or any new guests who checked in. She slowly slid her gaze around the room until it landed on some men sitting at a long table. The oldest of the group looked as though he’d had a hard life, his skin ruddy and thick. The three younger men with him might be related. They conversed quietly as they drank their ale.
A family occupied the other long table farther away. The children seemed to be well behaved as they tore off pieces of bread and sipped what looked to be cups of chocolate. They did not appear to be poor but neither did they seem to be well off.
They laughed and smiled with one another. The husband occasionally placed a hand around his wife’s not–so–slim waist.
They looked happy.
Eliza had once thought she’d have a family.
A maid appeared and Eliza waved to get her attention in order to ask for some hot tea. As the woman approached, Eliza wondered if the maid was also required to clean the rooms.
She shuddered.
She hadn’t set foot inside of an inn since that last horrid, horrid day at the Dog and Pudding Pot. “Does the inn fill up often?” Eliza asked the maid, feeling an odd connection with her.
<
br /> “Almost every night in the warmer months, and in springtime. But the winters are normally slow.” And then she winked. “A good storm like this one helps though. Are you sure you don’t want something to eat with your tea?”
Eliza shook her head.
Sitting in such surroundings unearthed a flood of unwanted memories. Had Eliza made different choices; her life would be so very different. As it was, another woman toiled at the Dog and Pudding alongside Matthew’s mother. Mr. Wilson had passed a few years back.
Last she heard the couple had been blessed with six healthy children. It wasn’t as though Eliza could avoid them. They attended church regularly but on the few occasions Eliza had caught the young Mrs. Wilson staring at her, the woman had quickly averted her gaze. Matthew, nor his wife, nor his mother ever acknowledged her. They never spoke to her. They were, however, cordial to Thomas. After all, he was the vicar. They hardly had a choice. It had taken a few years before anyone in the parish had warmed to Eliza.
Her shame had been a very public matter.
After consuming two cups of the strong hot brew, Eliza sighed and slumped so that her forehead rested against the cold glass. Time was sure to pass slowly. A woman traveling alone could not simply start up a conversation with a stranger and so she had only herself for company.
She ought to be excited to attend Olivia’s party but for all the upheaval, she simply felt deflated, tired.
Old.
A fire burned in the corner of the taproom, and tonight she would sleep in a warm and clean bed.
She ought to be content. She ought to be grateful for all that she had.
Living and working with her brother Thomas at the vicarage provided her with all the fulfillment she ought to have ever sought. She helped feed the poor and care for the sick. She heard all the latest gossip…
But something was missing. At the age of nine and twenty, Eliza admitted to herself that she wanted…
More.
And sitting here with nothing to do but worry, she had nothing else to do but examine this discontent. She’d had her chance long ago. She’d risked everything thinking she’d found that ‘more’ she now dreamed of and look how that turned out.
The Perfect Christmas: With Added Bonus Material (The Not So Saintly Sisters Book 3) Page 2