Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 83
Ruby didn’t seem to be empathetic to her plight.
“I promise I will be down for breakfast first thing in the morning,” Ellie continued, grabbing Ruby’s hand for good measure.
Ruby glanced over her shoulder where Alex was still greeting the rambunctious children, hopping about like rabbits. The sight of them and their boisterous nature was enough to have Ellie claiming a headache—and if she remained much longer, it would not be a lie.
A loud gong echoed through the foyer, startling more than just Ellie, for William nearly leapt out of his seat.
The room went quiet as everyone held their breath.
“Last meal is served,” a booming male voice broke the still air.
And just as quickly as the silence had set, activity resumed. The children shouted their joy at being included in dinner with the adults instead of retiring to their quarters.
A little boy stepped up beside Ellie and held his elbow out for her to slip her hand through. “My lady,” he said in a manner much too advanced for his tender age—she suspected him not much older than five.
His deep auburn eyes made it impossible for her to turn away, though she glanced at the stairs in vain; even if she were to run, it was likely there was no place to hide with so many people about.
Resigned to her fate—for at least this evening—Ellie set her fingers lightly on the boy’s arm, allowing him to escort her to the dining hall.
Chapter 7
Vi winked at Brock as the footmen went down the long table, removing the mostly empty dinner plates—they both knew what surprises lay ahead. Their meal had been an enjoyable, lively one with the children singing in between courses, and the adults talking quietly amongst themselves. Now, everyone leaned slightly back in their chairs; stomachs full of beef and vegetable soup, hearty sourdough bread, and pheasant.
Hers was the only plate not licked clean. It was very unlikely there was any room left in her body with her young so close to coming. It was all she could do to finish a simple piece of toasted bread and jam; her tight clothes—more restricting by the hour—didn’t help.
“What about the pears and sweet biscuits?” Abby whispered, in the hopes that someone would hear and call for the dessert. “Did we not see Cook making them?”
“That is for our feast on Christmas day,” Ruby said with a smile.
The child’s grin quickly vanished and her lower lip pouted.
It was certainly hard dashing the hopes of children, but Vi was confident that something better awaited them—for she’d planned it all with only a little help from Brock.
“Can you read us another story, my lady?” Tyler called from the far end of the table next to Mrs. Jakeston. “I missed some of it before.”
“If ye hadn’t been hiding from m’lord—“
“I was not hiding from Lord Haversham!” Tyler protested, shooting Daphne a scathing look and turning a sheepish grin on Ruby. “I was helping Miss Ruby is all.”
“Children, enough!” Mrs. Dutton commanded sternly. “If’n ye keep this bickerin’ up, da lot of ye won’t be at da Christmas feast, ye hear?”
It was surprising how quickly the children heeded Mrs. Dutton’s word; and Vi knew it was out of respect not any type of fear.
“Yes, ma’am,” the children said in unison.
Vi made a mental note to ask Ruby if Tyler had been hiding from Brock or truly helping the women with their work.
Even with their added company, the table more than fit everyone. The grownups were sporadically placed down the length of the table with the children mixed in, allowing them all assistance if they needed it. Mrs. Jakeston had cut the meat up on one child’s plate, while Harold had reached the water goblet for another.
It was only Ellie who seemed out of place in the jovial gathering—and Vi still couldn’t figure the girl out.
“Lady Ellington,” Vi called in an attempt to draw the girl out of her awkward silence. “How does our country fare compare to your normal sustenance in London?” Unless one kept their own garden, households seldom had things such as fresh vegetables. It was even rarer to enjoy meats that weren’t heavily salted to keep their freshness. “Foldger’s Hall has a very adequate gaming stock, and the garden Ruby and I tended for many years is flourishing, even in this harshly cold weather.”
“It was very pleasing, my lady.”
It was almost impossible to pull more than a few words from the girl. Vi hadn’t any idea why Ruby thought bringing her here would change anything, but Vi had agreed to give it her best try.
Smiling, she tried again, “Your sister is very gifted in respects to growing things from the earth. Do you enjoy an aptitude for gardening, as well?”
“I cannot say I would know.”
“Why ever not?” Vi took her eyes from Ellington for only a moment to notice the whole table focused on their conversation.
“I am not one for servant’s work,” she said unapologetically to the long table, no embarrassed look or regretful apologies as she continued, “I was brought up a lady, after all.”
Now she was only speaking to shock the table at large, for Viola had heard the firsthand accounts of Ruby catching Ellie pickpocketing lords and ladies on Bond Street—in broad daylight.
“Ahem,” Mrs. Dutton cleared her throat, scooting her chair back. “Children, be readied!”
The children scrambled from their seats and stood at the foot of the table, behind Harold’s chair. He pushed his chair to the side, giving the youngest children adequate room—for what, Vi could only guess.
The girls brushed the wrinkles from the front of their pinafores and straightened their hair ribbons, while the boys dug their hands deep into their pockets embarrassed at the attention bestowed on them from everyone gathered in the room. Even the butler, Cook, and Sarah had joined the party.
“My, what have you all planned?” A quick glance around the room confirmed that she was not alone in her befuddlement.
Vi sat up as straight as her belly allowed, a deep pain crossing her back, knowing whatever came next was very well thought out and planned by the children. The girls smiled proudly, occasionally looking to Mrs. Dutton for their lead—the boys had taken to staring at their toes.
Mrs. Dutton cleared her throat once more then addressed the crowd, “M’lady and m’lord, guests,” she waved her arm wide to encompass everyone. “Da wee ones be hav’n a song or two for ye ta enjoy. I suppose ta be play’n da piano for ye, but me fingers are right sore, ‘cause a da cold air--”
“I haven’t played in years, but Ellie has exquisite skills on the pianoforte.” Ruby nodded to her sister, who busied herself folding her napkin across her lap, avoiding eye contact with all at the table. “Do you not, dear sister?”
Vi watched the exchange with baited breath, fearing Ellie would tell her sister straight out to go to the devil, but shockingly, the girl nodded, and a footman stepped forward to pull out her chair.
“Thank you,” she muttered as she stood, smoothing her black gown. Vi couldn’t help but notice the dour cloud that followed Ellie wherever she went—maybe once her period of mourning ended, her appearance would brighten. Black was too severe a color to wear with any joy breaking through the solid hue. “I am not accomplished, but I am adequate at the keys.”
Ellie took the piano bench in the far corner of the dining hall—Vi couldn’t remember a time the thing had been used, except the occasional banging from the children.
“Thank ye, m’lady.” Mrs. Dutton beamed. “I feared da young’ns were ta sing without no tune.” The older woman leaned in close to Ellie’s ear and whispered. From the girl’s slight smile and nod, she knew the song—and immediately struck the beginning chord, the tune growing more confident as her fingers moved across the keys, not a single bad note being played.
The children launched into a lively rendition of Joy to the World, their angelic voices blending in perfect harmony. Even the older boys—Irvin and Stewart—lent their deeper tones to the chorus, while the girls focused on the verses.
Tears sprung, Vi was so overwhelmed.
Brock’s hand landed on hers, squeezing gently.
These unruly, boisterous children—the good Lord bless them all—did as much to bring them joy as what Vi and Brock could offer in return.
After so many years of heartache and vengeance, Brock was always his most relaxed and comfortable when the children were near. He said it had to do with growing up in a noisy household, he never did well with quiet, for it caused him unease.
She returned his hesitant smile with one that reached not only her face, but all the way to her healing heart.
The last threads of the song receded—but the children’s voices did not still, they next harmonized for a much slower, more reserved melody, While Shepherds Watched. The children started the first line tentatively, the words and melody much more complex than their first song, but before long, they all settled in and sang with clear, tranquil voices.
It was hard to imagine that these were the same children, only moments before, arguing back and forth.
Too fast, the song ended and the children were greeted with much clapping and even some whistling from Harold and William. They all beamed with pride.
“Very well done.” Vi stood, raising her hands high as she continued to applaud. Her back and legs protested the sudden movement, and she winced. “Bravo!”
“Is something amiss?” Brock also stood, noticing her discomfort.
“Oh, no, it was only the abrupt standing.” At least, she hoped it was only that. She’d been having bursts of pain sporadically since she’d taken the stairs down by herself when William and Mrs. Jakeston had arrived. “It will pass, I promise.” Increasing her clapping, Vi turned away from Brock’s concerned look and focused once more on the children.
“They practiced for nay on a fortnight prepare’n.” Mrs. Dutton announced. “Now, take ye seats—“
“Actually,” Vi said, lifting her hands and motioning for everyone to stand. “We have a surprise.” The task of keeping it secret had been harder than she’d thought—for Ruby and Mrs. Dutton had been very attentive to Vi in the last day or so. She’d had to give them menial tasks, such as tying ribbons on the chandeliers and hanging holly on the stairs—and, of course, the mistletoe at every doorway to keep them occupied. “This way, everyone!”
A footman stepped forward, removing V’s chair to free up room for her increasing size to move from the table. Brock was at her side before she took a single step, supporting her sagging shoulders.
“We can wait until morning if you wish,” her husband whispered. “I am sure no one would fault you for being overly tired.”
“I am perfectly fine,” she snapped, harsher than she’d intended. They led the group from the dining hall, each person falling into a loosely grouped line—the lot of them laughing and singing behind them. All was how she’d pictured it; everyone was happy and smiling. And Vi was responsible for bringing such joy to everybody in attendance. “I have it all planned. Everything must be perfect.”
Yes, perfect. The far-reaching opposite of her life thus far; but she was determined to change that. Maybe—just maybe—if she altered how she looked at life and her past, creating only perfect moments and memories from this day on, she would dispel the oppressive weight that shrouded her.
Could it be that simple? Be rid of the darkness and live only in the light…Vi was solely responsible for how others viewed her.
Though almost two dozen people followed her and Brock through the corridors of Foldger’s Hall, Vi only heard the voice in her head—screaming it was not, could not, be that simple. She had so much to be remorseful for that changing her perception was almost a betrayal to Brock. She deserved to live the rest of her life with the weight of her misdeeds on her shoulders—she already had far more than she deserved with Brock’s love.
He may be able to forgive her—and look to their shared future—but Vi hadn’t earned that luxury. His many years of hurt, and subsequent need for vengeance, was all her doing. So many years he’d wasted focused on destroying her—and he’d forgotten to live himself.
She hadn’t suffered enough.
Yes, she’d spent years working hard, away from society.
And now, as Brock’s wife, she’d been accepted with open arms—taken back by the people who’d perpetuated the cycle of scandal for her. How could they have forgiven and forgotten so easily?
“Would you like me to open the door?” Brock asked, startling her from her thoughts as they stood motionless before the grand ballroom doors. The room had been deserted since before her mother had passed, Lord Oberbrook was never one to entertain, especially at his country estate. She’d taken it upon herself to have all the old, dusty furniture removed or cleaned, the walls decorated anew, and candles put in every holder.
Shaking her head to dissuade him, Vi stood a bit taller, releasing Brock’s arm, confident that everyone would enjoy her hard work. The ballroom was located deep on the ground floor of the house, away from the hustle and bustle of daily life at Foldger’s Hall—and she was sure no one suspected what she’d been up to.
“Everyone,” she called, turning to face her guests. The adults looked on in silence and the children squirmed with renewed energy after their meal—with the anxiousness of their performance behind them. “We have all been working quite hard to prepare for Christmas day,”
Heads nodded in agreement.
“Open the door, my love,” Brock prodded—and the children shouted their glee at the suspense. “Lady Haversham…”
“As you all know, you hold very special places in our hearts.” Maybe it was her pregnancy causing her overemotional response to every little thing in relation to this holiday, but she was unable to stop the tears from falling. “I am ever so happy to have all of you. I never expected to have anyone, besides Mrs. Jakeston and my father.” She was sharing overly much—the children looked confused, and everyone else looked a might bit uncomfortable at the turn in conversation. “What I mean to say—“
“Lady Haversham and I,” Brock cut her off, knowing she’d likely be unable to get through another sentence without giving in to her emotions. “—would like to welcome you all to an evening of games and gifts!”
As if on cue, the double doors swung open behind them, the action causing her skirts to swirl about her ankles from the gust.
Everyone gasped.
Vi continued to face away from the open room behind her, preferring to take in the joy and wonderment on their faces. She knew exactly how the room looked behind her—a large tree waiting to be decorated, mounds of perfectly wrapped gifts waiting to be opened, and games lining the walls ready to be played.
Much as the rest of the house, this room too was bedecked with all things Christmas; from red and green ribbons, lamps surrounded by holly branches, and a yuletide log burning in the hearth, casting shadows about the room as the wood popped and sizzled.
“What are all those socks be doing?” Gavin pointed, stepping between Vi and Brock, the first to enter the room. Above the crackling blaze, a stocking hung for each child, waiting for Father Christmas to leave them fruit and tiny toys. “They will surely start a fire.”
“No, you dolt.” Abby moved into the room next, one of the lucky children to have lived a privileged life before her injuries had her family turning their backs on her. “Those will be filled come Christmas morn.”
“Filled with what?” Tyler asked, puzzled.
“With coal, of course!” Harold laughed.
“No!” several of the younger children cried in unison.
“Only if you were rotten this year,” Brock said, eyeing each of the children before turning to Mrs. Dutton. “Do make Father Christmas a list of all the naughty boys and girls.”
The older woman pasted a very serious look on her face before answering, “I already be do’n jus’ tha’.”
They all turned to Mrs. Dutton as if she’d give away who she’d listed as disobedient.
But with all eyes on her, the older woman wasn’t able to keep a straight face and she chuckled with merriment.
Confident once more, the children all rushed into the room, searching the wall for any indication which long sock belonged to them, leaving the adults to enter the room at a slower pace.
“It was very kind of your mother and Lady Darlingiver to sew all these stockings.” Viola clasped Ruby’s arm, and they walked to the lounge, clutching each other like school girls sharing the latest gossip—and Vi was happy for the assistance. The room was dreadfully stuffy and overheated, and sweat beaded across her forehead. “I could not imagine gathering them all myself.” Her words came through clenched teeth as a pain shot through her lower stomach into her back—it was everything she could do not to scream out in agony.
“Vi, are you unwell?” Ruby called with alarm.
Decidedly late, Vi realized she’d gripped Ruby’s arms with a fierce hold, stopping them several feet before the lounge.
Breathing deeply, Vi tried to stand straight, lift her chin, and let her dearest friend know she was indeed well, but her body wouldn’t adhere to her demands as another bout of pain overtook her.
“My lord!” Ruby shouted for Brock. He was by her side in a moment, but the rest of Ruby’s words were lost in a haze that had settled over Viola, pushing the hurt away, but also pulling her down.
Her only thought was that, once again, she had been the one to destroy everything—and who would forgive her for ruining Christmas?
Chapter 8
Ruby was pushed back, her helplessness the only thing she recognized as Lord Haversham and Harold rushed to Vi’s side.
Something was wrong—they’d been arm in arm walking toward the lounge when Vi had stopped, clutching Ruby’s arm in a grip sure to bruise by morning as she doubled over in pain. A faraway looked had settled in her eyes, and then she’d started to crumble. It’d taken all of Ruby’s strength to keep Vi from the floor until Brock rushed to them.
