Unholy Nights: A Twisted Christmas Anthology (46 page)

She tugged at Sebastian’s sleeve and they snuck back out of the garden. When they finally emerged from the hedges Elizabeth stopped and exhaled. She hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath. “I hope she found what she was looking for.”

Sebastian pulled her into his arms. “It was good of you to try to help her.”

Elizabeth nuzzled her face into his warm chest. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“We should go now or we’ll be missed.”

She pursed her lips. “Must we?”

Shots rang out from afar. Sebastian looked back toward the direction of the crowd. “I think we must my love or they’ll be on to the next.”

She took his arm and they hurried down the road. True to Edward’s account, sheep filled the road and surround, seemingly unbothered by the rowdy crowd, banging pots and pans, singing and dancing through the trees. Elizabeth could not help but smile at the spectacle of it all. They soon found Edward and Mariah partaking in some Wassail on the side of the road.

“I thought you two might have gotten lost,” Edward raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching as he attempted not to smile.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Lady Elizabeth forgot her gloves so we had to go back.”

“Of course,” he didn’t sound one bit convinced but smiled and held out his jug. “Cider?”

“Thanks brother, I should like that very much.” Elizabeth took a long swig and passed the jug to Sebastian. The warm liquid burned as it slid down her throat. “This is wonderful.”

“You missed the big event.” Edward gestured over to one of the larger trees which was still surrounded by unruly townsfolk. 

Elizabeth smiled as she watched them dance around the tree, some still shooting at the branches. It was definitely an odd tradition, but she was enjoying every moment. Her eyes scanned the unfamiliar faces finally resting on two she knew. Elizabeth had never felt that Anne’s affection for the Captain ran very deep, but the look on her face now was confirmation enough. It was not the look of a girl with a broken heart. Any tinge of guilt she had felt vanished. 

Sebastian followed her gaze. Anne held tightly to Mr. Oxley’s pudgy arm as she strutted through the crowd. “A match perhaps?”

“Can it be?” she looked over at them in disbelief.

“In my experience,” he answered with authority, “when a woman with the disposition of Miss Easterly decides she is ready to be betrothed, any man in her path is at risk.”

Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow. Wasn’t this the man who only yesterday pretended to be so unaware of Anne’s affection for himself? “And is it a personal experience to which you refer?”

“Must you challenge everything I say?” He leaned in and continued in a whisper, “my love.”

His breath felt warm on her face and she shivered with excitement. “Would you like me to stop?”

“Never.” He smiled and kissed her hand. “Now let us toast to the Twelfth Night.”

CHAPTER 15

Elizabeth gave the somber stone façade of the grand manor one last look. She had come here to escape her family, to find some independence, but she never expected to find anything more. She looked over at Sebastian as he checked over the carriage. It was still difficult to believe that he loved her—that she could have a second chance for happiness.

She turned to Lady Allen and grasped her hands. “Thank you for all your hospitality. I had a wonderful time visiting.”

Lady Allen smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling. “It was our pleasure my dear. I do hope you will visit us again.”

“You can depend upon it.” Elizabeth did not know how to put her full appreciation into words, but she had an idea that Lady Allen had some awareness of her joy.  She just wished she had one last chance to thank Mary as well, but the maid was nowhere to be seen at breakfast. “Lady Allen, I meant to mention. If your maid Mary ever chooses to leave Scarsbury and needs a post in town, I should like to offer her a position.”

Lady Allen pulled together her eyebrows with confusion. “Mary? Why you must mean Maryanne. Have you decided to stay in London?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I am sure I mean Mary—and yes, I am decided.  I shall resume my household in town without delay.”

“I am happy to hear it my dear.  You do not belong under the thumb of anyone—even family. John would not have wished it.” Lady Allen’s expression became somber. “There was a maid called Mary years ago, but it was a sad business. She threw herself from the tower on the east wing when her young man was killed in a fire. Pale gold hair and eyes blue as ice she had. It was so very tragic. No, you must mean our Maryanne. I will relay your message, but to be honest I am a little surprised. She is not the most competent member of the staff, but she is very nice.”

Elizabeth’s breath escaped her. She wanted to protest, but something kept her silent. As soon as Lady Allen had spoken, Elizabeth knew the truth—it all suddenly made sense. Every interaction, every conversation replayed in her mind. The way she just seemed to appear in a room. The coolness of her touch and the old fashioned clothes—could it be? Mary never said when she lost her Tom. Elizabeth had just assumed it was recent. All those nights searching for a ghost? Her eye’s connected with Sebastian’s and he slowly shrugged his shoulders, a smile spreading across his face. She knew he was grappling with the same realization.

“I must—I must be mistaken,” she stammered, the image of Mary meeting her Tom under the tree flashed before her eyes. This Christmas was unlike any other. “Thank you Lady Allen. I promise to write as soon as we arrive in London.”

Lady Allen squeezed her hands and stepped back. “Safe travels to you both.” 

Sebastian held out his hand and helped her up to the carriage. “London? Can it be true?” he whispered.

“Yes, I am to be a Londoner full time. I shall need someone to help show me around town. I’ve spent so little time there. Are you up for the challenge, Captain Wolfe?” She did not know exactly what the future would bring, but she was going to make it her own.

~

A
Note from the Author

To keep in touch with Cherie Chulick, visit her blog at
http://cheriechulick.com
, or join her on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/cheriechulick

About The Author

Cherie Chulick will not be spending her Christmas holiday at a haunted manor, but she does keep an eye out for the occasional ghost. Fortunately the glow of her Kindle seems to keep them at bay.

––––––––

O
ne

I didn't think it was normal for a person to have a twenty minute debate with herself over whether or not to buy a silk blouse. I'd been waffling back and forth over the pros and cons of purchasing said blouse instead of stewing over the tardiness of my work obsessed spouse because it's a hell of a lot easier than recognizing the failure of my marriage.

Somehow even thinking of divorce during Christmas felt blasphemous.

So I did what every red blooded American woman did when she didn't want to face something: I shopped.

I wasn't even supposed to be looking for more clothes that I wouldn't wear, but the longer I waited in the stuffy, smelly hallway for my husband Spencer to show up, the more the flashing neon signs in the window called to me. As one who has been afforded many luxuries in life, it wasn't in my nature to deny myself the luxuries I wanted.

As I was picking my way through the variety of colors in the tempting blouse, my phone vibrated. Speak of the devil.

"I'm so sorry," he said the moment I answered. Paltry words.

"That's one I haven't heard before," I replied dryly.

"Terry lined up more appointments than I was aware of and John's been out sick with the flu. His kids keep passing it back and forth between him and his wife. Terry asked me to help out and I couldn't say no. It's time and a half and he's been hinting at the promotion again. He put me on the spot."

"It's always something, isn't it Spence? He's been hinting at the promotion for six months now." I sighed, tapping my tennis shoe against the glossy floor. "I don't know why you don't take the position at Daddy's firm. It'd be a great opportunity and he told me that it's open if you ever want it."

"Don't start on about that," he warned. "I don't need your father's handouts to provide for my family. I will get this promotion and we will be fine. That's what we decided when we got married."

I winced. "Like I could forget. Speaking of work, I've applied for a few more positions, but I haven't heard anything back yet. It seems most of the companies in my field require an actual degree to qualify." I couldn't disguise the derision that always seemed to bleed through when I brought up the disruption in my education, even if it resulted in the wonder that was our son.

"Something will turn up." But I didn't believe him no matter how many times he said it. "It has to."

Instead of focusing on the anxiety that threatened to make my stomach churn, I contemplated the silk shirt in royal blue. It would complement my complexion and inky black hair. Ignorance, as they say, was bliss. One could always use a new shirt, I reasoned.

"It took me six months to find that job as a teacher's aide, Spence. Even then they were cutting positions left and right. I doubt I'll find anything anytime soon. Not with the way the economy's been." Not to mention my parents were still holding my decision to marry before graduation against me. They were perfectly willing to help Spencer, but I'd made my bed marrying someone who didn't come from our world, and they were more than willing to have me lie in it.

"Something will turn up," he repeated, ever the optimist. "Next year you'll have finished your degree and they won't be able to tell you no."

"We'll see," I said as I held the shirt up to my chest and viewed my reflection in the mirror. It was probably more than I could afford, something I was
not
used to, and definitely not what I came here for, but I would look absolutely stunning in it. "How much longer until you get here? It's an absolute mad house. I hope you'll be able to find parking."

"I'm leaving the garage now. I didn't even get the chance to change out of my work clothes, so I'm sorry in advance if I look like a bum."

There'd once been a time when I loved the way that Spencer looked after he came home from work covered in grease and sweat. I'd first met him when I'd gotten a flat on my brand new BMW. He'd been the only mechanic who'd drive twenty miles out of town to help me out. It was lust at first sight.

Now it served as a constant reminder of the job that was driving a wedge in my marriage and that love wasn't the only thing you had to have to be happy.

"It's fine. We aren't going to be here long, right?" I said.

"Yeah, I just need to grab a last minute present for Micah. The last one was recalled. Do you have any presents to get while we're here?"

I did, but I wasn't going to admit it to him. "No," I lied. "I'm just going to browse while you do what you have to do."

"You're not blowing money, are you?" he accused. "You know we can't afford any more impulsive shopping sprees."

"No," I lied as I handed the cashier the offending shirt. "I'm just looking."

"Good." I dutifully ignored the sound of relief in his voice. "Because you know we can't really afford much more than basic things as it is. I'd love to be able to give you everything you wanted, but until I get the promotion we're strapped. Especially with the holidays."

"I know," I replied. The excitement from the purchase far outweighed the guilt. I popped a couple antacids just in case. "Stop harassing me, I'm the one who has been waiting for you. Again."

"I'll be there in five," he said.

I hung up without saying good bye.

*

T
wenty five minutes later found me amidst the throngs of pre-Christmas shoppers, fuming. Navigating the food court was even worse than waging war with stay at home moms over marked up gift baskets. Snotty children, harassed spouses and harried housewives elbowed me on every side as I made my way through the mob to an empty booth.

I plopped down in the seat and threw my purse, with the purchase stuffed inside, on the seat next to me. There were no new messages on my phone from Spencer and I'd been checking every five minutes to make sure.

It was humiliating, throwing your future away for the person that you loved only to have them put their work in front of you. My parents loved to rub it in my face that Spencer was more interested in cars than his wife.

I huddled over my cappuccino with a scowl, a drab contrast I made against the holiday cheer. Cacophonous holiday music was piped over the loudspeakers and the jarring sound of jingle bells did little to improve my dour mood. The rush from my earlier purchase had long since faded and I stared longingly at the inviting window displays of the department story across the food court. I wondered if I'd have enough time to duck in before Spencer finally showed up.

"There you are," said a voice to my side. Spencer. Well, so much for that.

"Here I am," I replied tonelessly. I took a sip of my cappuccino. I felt listless and dull in comparison to the celebration that was going on around me. Black and white in a world of Technicolor.

Spencer slid onto the seat across from me and into my view. Dual responses battled within me at the sight of him.

He was so handsome it made my heart hurt. Striking, pale green eyes underneath a heavy brow. Dark brown hair that was always messily styled. Once upon a time it would have been because I couldn't resist running my hands through it at every opportunity. His clothes were indeed stained with grease and god knows what else, but it worked for him. Though I'd never admit it. Even now three happy little desperate housewives in the vicinity were giving him the eye.

I ignored them and studied my drink instead.

"Don't be mad." He placed his warm hand on my arm.

"What do you expect me to be, Spencer? The whole reason we sent Micah to your moms was for us to have some time together. How are we supposed to do that when you're not even here? If you're just going to be at work the entire holiday, I might as well call her back and bring Micah home. There's no sense in me being alone during Christmas."