Christmas at Ravencrest: A Dark Hero Christmas Short (Reluctant Heroes) (2 page)

“Christmas.”
Grandfather’s cold hand squeezed hers. “My bones tell me it’s June instead of December. I can’t say I’m displeased. This balmy tropical climate is most forgiving with old bones.”

“I brought
the book you asked for.”  She handed him
Gulliver’s Travels
by Jonathan Swift.

When she chose it from her husband’s
library, Donovan commented on the strong political themes in the novel. He questioned whether it were suitable reading for Lord Wentworth, as Elizabeth’s grandfather was a Member of Parliament and the parody of unfair political rule was written by an Irishman wishing to show the glaring inequalities of British ruled Ireland. Elizabeth shrugged at her husband’s caution and said, “
Then it is the perfect book for his lordship. It might enlighten him.”
Donovan had laughed with her on that point.

“Thank you.” Grandfather’s thin fingers grazed over the hand tooled letters with relish. “A book is always the perfect
companion.” He turned the spine and read the title.

“Yes, i
t is.” In that one opinion she and her grandfather could agree, although they tended to disagree on everything else.

When she was a
little girl, she remembered spending happy hours in Grandfather Wentworth’s library in at Greystowe Hall. Her mother took them to Kent during the summer months to escape London’s heat. Grandfather’s love of reading and his willingness to share his library with Elizabeth, a mere girl, had nurtured her love for novels. It was a rare thing to find she had something in common with her prim and stolid English grandfather.

Elizabeth
chose the library as her personal parlor because she didn’t wish to intrude upon the fussy pink and white sitting room that had belonged to Donovan’s mother. It was too feminine for her liking, and as her mother-in-law made annual visits, Elizabeth felt she should keep the parlor as it was in deference to Mrs. Gaston Beaumont, the count’s mother.

After some
idle chit-chat with grandfather, Elizabeth rose to take her leave. She had dutifully delivered the book.  It should occupy him for a few hours. “I’ve much to attend to, Grandfather. We’re having an old fashioned celebration tomorrow night for Christmas Eve. I hope you’ll join us. We are hosting a party to honor the servants.”

Grandfather’s wistful
smile faded. His gaze lifted from the book he had been admiring as he regarded her with severity.
This
was the Grandfather everyone feared, the high and mighty earl. “It is improper to give a party when the household is in mourning.”

Oh the nerve of the man
. Wasn’t it just like him to insert the rules of decorum into every conversation and question everyone’s adherence to his expectations? Elizabeth bit her lip, determined not to let her O’Flaherty temper rise. “We are not in mourning, Grandfather.”

“Michael’s fath
er,
your
stepfather, I remind you, is dead. It is bad form to hold a celebration days after his burial, no matter the circumstances of his demise.”

Elizabeth
held her tongue. Her jaw became rigid as she struggled to remain calm at her grandfather’s rebuke. She wanted to shout at him and cry at the same time. She preferred to think of the man who stole into their home last week with designs on murdering everyone she loved as a
stranger
, no longer a relative, no matter how slight an affiliation a stepfather might have. He was a criminal. Her husband brought him here as an indenture to work the cane fields. She preferred to think of Captain Fletcher as a stranger instead of the devil she knew well. Fletcher did everything in his power to try to destroy her family and he succeeded in part. He murdered her parents and sold her elder brother to white slavers when Kieran was just a child.

No. I will even pretend not mourn the loss of such a wicked soul.

Her eyes blurred and her throat burned as she struggled to contain the burgeoning rush of pain the mere thought of her stepfather brought to her heart.

“No
, Grandfather.” Elizabeth willed herself not give in to the tears stinging behind her eyes. Grandfather’s rebuke hurt as much as if he’d reached out to slap her across her cheek. “It is not improper to celebrate our good fortune in escaping that dreadful man.” 

“Regardless of the true circumstances, society demands we observe the proprieties.” Grandfather asserted. “The scandal sheets will be rife with criticisms of the family name if we do not adhere to the rudiments of civilized behavior and at least pretend to be in mourning--“

“
There are no scandal sheets here. We’re on a secluded island, far from London.”

“News will get out.
Servants do gossip. We are supposed to be in mourning--“

“
No one is mourning the passing of a brutal fiend who attempted to kill all of us and nearly succeeded. We are celebrating Christmas. We are
Celebrating!
” Her words were harsh and cold as she pushed them past her tight lips. “We are celebrating a loved one being restored to us after that wretched man sold him to strangers as a boy and allowed us all to believe was dead. Have you forgotten, grandfather? Have you forgotten all the suffering we’ve been through because of that
bastard
?”

Grandfather’s face
reddened and he raised a finger, threatening her with further reproof.

“
No--no--do not chide me for my language.” She held up her hand in protest as raw emotions nearly overcame her. Captain Fletcher’s crimes will haunt this family forever. He deserves no memorial, not even the pretense of sorrow at his passing. We are celebrating my marriage to a wonderful man.
And
we are celebrating the blessed event that will occur next autumn. I will have none of your bitter persimmons dumped in my tea.”

“You are with child?” Gran
dfather’s face changed from censure to awe and then pleasure.

“Y
-yes.” She stammered. She did not mean to blurt the news out in a rush of fury. And she had not informed Donovan of the happy occurrence yet.

Elizabeth remained silent before him, stunned and shamed by her own foolishness.
Why, oh why did she tell Grandfather? Why did she let her roiling emotions get the better of her so? “I haven’t told his lordship.” She whispered, “Please do not repeat this, Grandfather. Please?”

“Of course
not, my dear child.” He held out a hand to her, a concession granted as he gazed at her with watery eyes. “You must tell him right away. A man should be given that news first.”

“
I meant to inform him tomorrow, at the Christmas party.”

The thin lips pressed together at the mention of the Christmas party. Clearly, the earl did not like celebrating. Well, no matter. They would celebrate the season and the blessings of family.

Elizabeth left her grandfather’s bedchamber. She was afraid if she did not, she might say things to him she would regret later. She hurried down the corridor to the stairs. Her elder brother emerged from his guest room and advanced with a discerning look.

“
You are upset.” His hand touched her arm. At his touch, she felt waves of radiating calm flow over her. Kieran O’Flaherty was seer, mystic with the gift of healing. He could sense things about people and his intuitive powers were further heightened by touch. 

“How does one remain serene
living in the same house as the Earl of Greystowe?” She asked as they descended the main staircase together. “He lives to rankle us, I vow.”

“G
ood point.” Kieran returned. “I suppose at his great age, the man does need something to look forward to each day.” They parted ways as she entered the sunny yellow parlor.

She laug
hed, relieved by Kieran’s soothing presence after her disagreement with their grandfather. Yes, they had much to celebrate this Christmas. Let Grandfather sulk. They were not mourning the death of their oppressor; they were celebrating new life, new love and the restoration of a lost brother to the family fold.

Elizabeth’s companion,
Miss Ramirez, and two maids were working at a table in the salon. They were shuffling through the pile of greenery that was to be finished and put up for the party.

“
My lady, where do you wish these to be hung?” Miss Ramirez held up swag of greenery for Elizabeth’s inspection. All three women looked at her, waiting for Elizabeth’s direction as the mistress of the household.

Elizabeth turned away from them for a moment. She
looked about the salon with wonder. Just days ago it had been the scene of bloodshed. The shattered panel of the doorway was now replaced. The wood had that distinctive scent of being freshly cut from the mill. Elizabeth touched the smooth, sanded wood of the replacement door, pleased with the exact match created by the carpenter’s skill. It still needed to be painted. Her throat stung for a few seconds as she reflected on what might have been if her stepfather’s assault upon her family had succeeded.

She would
be widow today. The bullet that was fired through that panel had been meant for her husband’s heart. Instead, it just grazed Donovan’s arm. Elizabeth crossed the room and went to the spot where her stepfather had been laid low, near the open window. She gazed at the parquet tile flooring. There was not the slightest taint of crimson to remind her of the violence that occurred here last week.  

This was the first time El
izabeth set foot in the salon since the horrible incident.

Sunshine was str
eaming through the open windows. A freshening breeze from the gardens brought the exotic scents of the Caribbean into the room. Elizabeth could smell Frangipani, orchids and hibiscus flowers. Tropical birds serenaded them from the nearby bushes.

“My lady?”  Miss Ramirez came to her side. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth w
hirled about to meet her companion with a forced smile. “I’m fine.” The tremor in her voice said otherwise, but Miss Ramirez did not remark upon it before the others.

“The maids
have worked hard to move all traces of the tragedy. May I ask your advice, Lady Beaumont?” Chloe asked in her sing-song Caribbean voice.

Elizabeth nodded.

“We wanted to finish setting up the decorations, but we weren’t certain which room you wished to use, considering what happened here. Do you want to use the billiard room instead, or the library?”

“Thank you.”
Elizabeth gifted Chloe with a grateful smile. “I’d forgotten about the decorations.”  With her family members in various stages of recovery from
the incident
, Elizabeth had had little time to concern herself with the garlands she and Miss Ramirez had been making. She gazed about the room, pleased by the tidiness surrounding her. “We will hold the festivities here. Leave the greens for now. I want the family to decorate the hall together. We will employ the men in that task tomorrow. The kissing ball you made can go up there.” She pointed to the open doorway. “You may regret putting so many berries on it.”

“I will not.” Chloe grinned. “I’m hoping to benefit from the abundance.”

“Chloe, dearest, you must kiss any man who catches you under the mistletoe, not just the man you’re setting the trap for.” 

The maids behind them giggled at Elizabeth’s
caution. Chloe shrugged off her words. “We shall see, Madame. There will be many women here, hoping to be noticed beneath the kissing ball. Sally, for one, has set her hope upon Mr. O’Reilly.”

“
Shhh!” Sally, the downstairs maid, hissed behind them as her cheeks flooded with color.

“Well, good hunting
to you.” Elizabeth said brightly. “I’m counting on you, bold Sally, to give our Miss Ramirez some competition tomorrow night. She thinks she’ll get all the kisses.”

“I do not!” Chloe returned, but with a teasing lilt to her voice. “I thought only of my grandmother’s words when trying to capture the chicken, ‘do not be stingy with the seed or the chicken will find another yard to roost in
, and you will go hungry for the night’.”

“
And we want the cock to roost with us, now don’t we!” Sally said as both maids began laughing at Chloe’s expense.

“I do not know what is so funny.” Ch
loe muttered, glancing at Elizabeth with uncertainty. Her soft brown eyes were round with surprise. Chloe was of Spanish and African descent. She often repeated the odd proverbs her African grandmother told her, but the English translation of said proverbs often lead to misinterpretation by the hearers.

“Sally, Maria.” Elizabeth said sternly. “Miss Ramirez did not imply anything scandalous. It is you who have twisted her meaning into something vulgar. Do not mock her again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”
Sally curbed her giggles and looked down at the green palm in her hand.

“I beg your pardon, my lady.” Maria, the
least boisterous of the pair, made a small curtsy to Elizabeth. “I meant no offense to you, Miss Ramirez.” Maria was a sweet girl, but tended to follow Sally’s lead when they were together.