Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 81
She couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with him, for she’d slipped back downstairs not long after he’d deposited her in their chambers.
Her guilt must have been clear for all to see, including Mrs. Dutton, for the woman put down the book she’d been wrapping and stood. “I will go see if’n da cook has readied da menu yet.” She curtsied to Lord Haversham on her way out, issuing a quick, “M’lord.”
Grabbing Abby’s discarded doll, Vi busied herself to avoid looking at her husband—and seeing the scathing glare she knew was present on his handsome face.
“Viola…” his voice was deep with displeasure.
“Yes, my dearest, most kind, heroic, strong husband?” Vi brought her gaze to his, batting her eyes for good measure. “It is lovely to see you.”
“Poppet,” he said in warning. “Do not toy with me.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean.”
She was toying with him, but she had little choice if she wanted to cool his anger—and keep herself out of bed long enough to finish all the Christmastide preparations.
“Brock, I promise I am feeling well, best I have in my life.” They both knew things couldn’t be further from the truth. “Truly.”
“We swore never to lie to one another.”
She’d never expected to host a Christmas celebration so close to giving birth…her promise given then could not be held against her now.
“My love. I want all to be perfect!”
“I understand, but no one will enjoy all you’ve done if you stumble into poor health.”
“It annoys me so when you speak so rationally.” A piece of her slipped back in time to when she’d been a spoiled debutante, used to getting everything her heart desired. Vi hoped it wasn’t a tendency she’d fight the rest of her days—and Lord help her and Brock if their child was anything like her. “But I really have much to do.”
“How about I offer a compromise.” He sat next to her, his tall, masculine frame nearly swallowing the lounge. “How about I recruit Harold, Ruby, Mrs. Dutton, and a few other maids to wrap gifts, and you and I go and read the children a Christmas story before supper.”
Her stomach let out a groan of protest at the mention of supper.
“Or we can eat now…”
Viola set her hand upon her belly and smiled. “No, I can make it an hour’s time until supper. I would much enjoy a Christmas story.” She and Brock had visited several booksellers before leaving London and had gathered many Christmas books they knew the children would enjoy. So far, she’d been so busy, she’d completely forgotten about them, nestled in her chambers above.
He placed a quick, chaste kiss to her cheek and stood. “Allow me to retrieve them.”
As he left the room, her fingers touched the warm spot his lips had left; how she’d ever thought she could live without this kind of love in her life, she would never know. Her smile did not only show on her face, but throughout her entire being—and that love would soon produce a child, a child they’d cherish and adore forever more.
She’d been dismayed and puzzled at Brock’s insistence to take her to wife; even with their sordid past—and the tragedy that had come from losing his brothers at her very hands—but the Lord above had given her a special way to make amends. It was she who would play a part in continuing the Haversham line, no matter if this child were a girl, they would surely try for another—and another.
One thing she’d learned from having all the children around was that there could never be enough innocent laughter, childish bickering, or hugs. She’d been an only child, and with her mother’s death came a life of quiet ease and structure, just Viola and her father.
Yes, she loved the old man dearly, but there was a part of her a parent’s affection—or even Brock’s never ending love—could not fill. Bringing the children to Foldger’s Hall had been a start. Removing them from London to a safer home, it had allowed her heart to open, and she treasured their unconditional love. One day they would come to know the horrible things in her past, and she prayed they would forgive her; and most importantly, learn from her mistakes and be cautious of their actions.
This holiday, as much as she wanted it to be perfect for her husband, and Ruby and Harold—and most assuredly William, Meredith, Alex, and Ellington—she needed this moment of immense joy, too.
For after her child’s birth, Vi had vowed to put the transgressions of her past behind her. No longer would she agonize over the petty, selfish actions of her youth. No longer would her days—and nights—be plagued with thoughts of those who’d lost their lives due to her childishness.
She had to move past it—to allow herself to love her child with all her heart. Her heart needed to be in the present and whole, not in the past and broken.
It had been a wonder that Brock didn’t notice her restless slumber or nights spent awake, unable to find the oblivion of sleep. Her exhaustion had been such a commonplace sensation for her, Vi hadn’t taken into consideration the added stress of carrying a child.
Viola had more to think about than her own regrets; she was now, and forever would be, charged with creating a perfect life—full of love and happiness—for her child.
Gently, she rubbed her stomach and was rewarded with a healthy, strong kick.
There was no other option but to make this celebration a success, for it would, in a way, foreshadow the years to come.
If she could not make these two days special for all involved, then how did she ever expect to accomplish a lifetime of happy moments for her child?
Tears trickled down her cheeks—likely a result of her advanced pregnancy, she told herself—and she brushed them away quickly when steps thundered down the hall toward her. They could belong to only one man—her strong, compassionate, forgiving husband.
Patting her cheeks once more for good measure, Vi pushed to her feet, ready to greet the man who’d done all in his power to vanquish her sorrows.
Her only hope was that he didn’t discover how truly deep they lie.
Chapter 5
“Are you trying to occupy my mind, good husband?” Ruby asked, barely able to form words with the cold, unforgiving wall at her back and nothing but burning heat at her front.
“If not your mind, then certainly your body,” he teased as he nipped her neck, trailing kisses from her collarbone, up her neck, and along her jaw. Ruby wanted to beg him to never stop, always keep her body close—and her mind duly occupied. “If I’d only thought this out a bit better, we would not be trapped in this linen closet.”
Ruby moaned as his hands traced up and down her sides, sending shivers of want through her body. “We are not trapped,” she sighed through her pleasure.
“For certain we are.” His voice not much above a whisper, he continued, “It would be highly inappropriate for us to open the door and stumble into the hall in a more than scandalous embrace.”
“Then maybe you should unhand me,” she retorted.
“Not a chance, you vixen.” He slipped the shoulder of her gown down to reveal the mound of her breast. “It was you who lured me to this wanton behavior with your mistletoe above every door—you were begging to be ravished.”
“Kind, sir.” Ruby pulled away slightly. “I am but a proper young lady—your impure thoughts are all your own.”
Harold reached behind him and grasped the doorknob. “Then I shall leave you as I found you, chaste and untouched.”
“You would not dare.” The dim interior covered her longing look. Ruby slipped her hands up his neck and through his soft, brown hair, her body melting into his. She pulled his mouth to hers, the doorknob quickly forgotten.
She kissed him like it was their first time—and possibly the last—putting all her joy, need, lust, and, lastly, her fear into the moment. And he took it all, accepted her every emotion and gave back the unconditional love of a man besotted with his new wife.
Not a part of her doubted he’d always protect her, cherish her, and give her all she wanted—even if that included a less than agreeable younger sibling whose only goal in life was to madden her older sister.
Yes, come hell or high water, Harold would make sure Ellington was present for the holidays, Ruby needn’t fear.
She deepened their kiss, taking control, her tongue lightly pushing past his lips; not to possess him but to explore. He’d been away from her for several days to collect William—and how she’d missed him; even with Brock, Viola, and the children for company, she’d longed for Harold.
Through her haze of need, she heard a pounding, at first quiet. But as the moments passed—and Harold slid her gown ever lower—the banging increased in frequency and urgency.
“Coming!” Smith bellowed with a tinge of irritation. “Do stop that incessant pounding.” The man’s light footsteps could be heard passing where she and Harold hid. “Who would be at the doorstep at this hour?” Smith could be heard mumbling.
Who indeed?
Ruby need only think for a moment before pushing Harold from her, a bit too forcefully. He stumbled against the closed door behind him.
“Ouch!” Even in the near darkness, she could see him rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the door. “What are you doing?”
Ruby tugged her gown back into place, clasping the top button before running her hands down the front to smooth any wrinkles. “The door!”
“What about the damned door?” There was more irritation in his voice now than in the butler’s earlier.
“Someone is knocking.” She tamped down her exasperation at his continued questioning.
“Why do I care if someone is knocking?” He shook his head as if to clear his scandalous thoughts—and the image of Ruby’s naked breast—before running his hand through his hair in frustration.
“It could be them.” Her anxiousness from the last few days drained from her. “Ellie and Alex must have arrived.”
“That cannot be.”
“Whyever not?” She set her hands on her hips and glared, but it wasn’t very likely that he saw in the dark confines. “Let us see for ourselves.”
“After you, my wife.” Harold pushed the door wide and stepped to the side, allowing her to depart first.
The bright candles lining the hall blinded her for a moment. Ruby blinked rapidly and focused on the direction the butler had traveled, down the long hall and into the foyer. All she saw was the man talking to someone as a footman accepted a large trunk. Setting it at the foot of the staircase, he went back for another—and another—until the foyer was filled.
Her shoulders slumped. It was not Ellington—nor Alex—who’d arrived, but some sort of delivery. She wasn’t expecting anything, for she and Vi had spent days shopping for everyone before traveling to Foldger’s Hall.
Arriving in the foyer as the butler closed the door, he turned to her with a large smile. “Mrs. Jakeston, where shall I have the footman put all these?”
Why in heavens would he ask her? He should be sending word to Vi, for certainly she knew about all this.
When she didn’t answer, Harold stepped in. “Did a note arrive with all this?”
“Yes, sir.” She hadn’t noticed the envelope in Smith’s hand until he held it out to her. “It is addressed to Mrs. Harold Jakeston, ma’am.”
She reached for the letter, having no idea whom it could be from. The lettering on the envelope was a woman’s beautiful script, with long, swirling letters.
“There is nothing inside that will bite,” Harold whispered teasingly into her ear. Looking to him, he seemed as puzzled about the letter and boxes as she, but not tentative or leery. “Go on.”
Her hand shook as she broke the unfamiliar wax seal and retrieved the note inside.
* * *
Dear Mrs. Jakeston,
It was lovely to see you and Mr. Jakeston a few weeks past. I have sent all the things I promised; surely enough pink dresses, dolls, combs, and other baubles to make Christmas special for each of the young ladies under Lady Haversham’s care. Oh, and never fear, I have not forgotten the little men, for you shall find plenty for them, as well. Do say they are from Father Christmas himself.
* * *
With my highest regard,
Lady Aloria Wolfeton
* * *
How had Ruby forgotten Lady Aloria’s—now Lady Wolfeton—grand promise to send some of her childhood things for the children? But this must be more than the few things promised.
“Do not leave me in such suspense?” Harold called, taking the note she held out to him. “Well, isn’t this a surprise, and right in time for Christmas. I am sure the children will be overjoyed, though I’m unsure whether you and Lady Haversham have the time—or the strength—to wrap any more presents.”
“There are still kind people in the world,” Ruby mumbled.
“Of course, there are…look at me for example.” She swatted at him. “What? I am a pristine example of kind, am I not?”
Ruby had lived many years, unaware of the transgressions of others before her world had been shattered, learning the shame that was her entire existence. She’d been lied to by her mother, the man she thought to be her father, and then Ellington had seen fit to hide her true father’s frail state—in the end never giving Ruby the opportunity to speak with him, denying her closure. Besides Vi and Harold, there were not many people she trusted.
“And he learned all from me,” Brock stepped from his study, looking about the cluttered foyer. “Bloody hell, what is all this?”
“It appears they are gifts for the children,” Harold said as he finished reading the note and refolded it. “From Lady Aloria Wolfeton.”
Brock and Harold opened trunk after trunk, their expressions growing ever more bewildered.
“They are all wrapped,” Brock said with relief. “Each one is filled to the brim with delicately wrapped presents, a bow on each one. Vi is going to be thrilled at the lady’s kindness. I do not believe I have met Lady Wolfeton.” He pondered the name for a moment. “Have I?”
“Oh, you may not have met her, but you have certainly heard of her.” Ruby was not one to gossip so she searched her brain for a connection not linked to Aloria’s many failed betrothals. “Her father, he has a fleet of ships. He assisted William and Harold earlier in the year.”
“Lord Garland?” Brock questioned. “Wasn’t his daughter—“
“A kind, compassionate soul?” Harold jumped in, knowing Ruby’s affection for the girl, even hoping that she and Ellie would find a friendship one day. “Yes, she is.”
“That wasn’t what I was—“
“I am sure it was exactly what you were going to say.” Harold clapped his best friend on the shoulder. “Now, I have been home for over an hour and have yet to enjoy a glass of your superb sherry.”
Brock shook his head in protest. “You will not insinuate that I stock my home with anything less than the best scotch and brandy a man can import.”
“Come now, you can admit your fondness for sherry,” Harold prodded and Ruby laughed. “You are amongst friends.” He winked at her, but Ruby knew better than to get in the middle of one of their word wars.
“Gentlemen, I will leave you to your sherry while I check to make sure Sarah and Mrs. Dutton don’t need help with supper preparations.”
“I will be having scotch,” Brock called to her retreating form.
“Like hell,” Harold corrected.
She smiled. The pair bickered like an old married couple—and Ruby didn’t mind in the slightest. The mettle of a man was shown by three things: the way they loved their mother, the lengths they went to support a friend, and the time they spent lavishing love upon their chosen mate.
Harold—while distant from Mrs. Jakeston due to his father’s abusive ways—did cherish his mother; sending her cloth for dresses, books for reading, and pretty baubles he saw about London. It was Meredith’s decision to use the bolts of fabric to outfit the local children—and her choice to loan the books to everyone on the Haversham estate, but Ruby suspected she kept a secret stash of hair combs and fans.
And he’d surely proven how much he loved her by risking himself and his reputation to aid her in her search for her real father. It only naturally followed that he had a close bond with his friend, as well, which worked in her favor. Ruby had been fearful and concerned when Vi had met and subsequently wed Brock.
Foldger’s Hall had been all either of them had known for many, many years. What was to happen to her when Vi went to live with her new husband? Ruby’s fears of being forgotten had been for naught in the end, for Vi, much like Harold and Lord Haversham, was fiercely loyal to her dearest friend.
Traveling the large corridor leading to the main dining hall, Ruby heard laughter; some childish giggles and still more of a more mature sound.
Stepping into the cavernous room, a large table set for over thirty people greeted her. The children were tying red, green, and silver bows on each of the chairs as Mrs. Dutton and Sarah arranged fine dishes and cutlery. This room was mostly unused, as Vi had moved to Brock’s home and her father rarely traveled to the country since Lady Darlingiver favored city life. Mrs. Dutton and the children had a smaller dining room closer to the children’s quarters.
“This looks like a true wonderland!” Everyone turned to her in greeting. “Whatever did you use to make it appear as if the table is dusted with snow?”
“We tore up paper, ma’am,” Daphne and Cassandra called in unison, clapping their hands with glee. “Do ye love it?” Cassandra asked.
“Of course—“
“Do ye think m’lady will, too?” Daphne continued.
“I haven’t a doubt she will be greatly pleased with all you’ve accomplished in her absence.” Their mission to make every square inch of Foldger’s Hall festive was succeeding far beyond their hopes. The children took great joy and satisfaction in helping. Mrs. Dutton, while very accomplished at her chosen life as headmistress of Vi’s orphanage, hadn’t previously had the funds to celebrate the holiday with anything more than buying the children necessities; such as shoes and new clothing.
