My Christmas Knight (The Fairplace Family #1)

Chapter Four

B lanche had sobbed for the past half hour, great heaving wracks that left her face and clothing drenched. Toby was gone, and she didn’t know how she’d get away from her uncle’s punishment this time.

“Oh!” Marcher had her ear pressed to the door. “I hear something.”

Blanche froze, mind racing with possibilities.

“Yes, there’s definitely a man speaking with the bishop.” Marcher nodded, her cap flopping around her ears.

“But…” Blanche furrowed her brow. Could Toby have changed his mind? Could he be coming to rescue her? For a heartbeat, her soul lifted, and she imagined all the pain of today washing away. But she remembered the expression on the rake’s face. He was not coming back for her. Surely. Her heart twisted painfully.

Marcher backed away from the door. “They’re coming,” she hissed. “You behave yourself. Obey the bishop for once.”

Blanche buried her face in her legs, forehead against her knees. She didn’t want to marry Toby anymore. Even if he did return to apologize. He always wanted to kiss more than talk. And he never seemed to care about my troubles.

She ignored her uncle when the door opened. She ignored the other man who might be Toby. Until voice rose and she could no longer pretend she wasn’t there, so lifted her head.

Blanche looked into the face of a handsome stranger. “Uncle!” she gasped. The man was of average height, of slender build but with broad shoulders. He carried himself like a soldier, and his brown eyes scanned the room like he expected an attack. He was clean-shaven, unlike Toby, and she liked the set of his jaw. Strong, but not hard, and balanced by a Grecian nose. He looked a little younger than Toby, perhaps five and twenty, but his eyes seemed far older and wearier. A thick scab covered his wide, swollen lower lip, and his knuckles were bruised. She stilled at the signs of violence. But she did like the simple black necktie, lying flat against his shirt without fuss. As if that matters.

Uncle Alan clapped his hands again. “You shall wed now. Blanche, stand up like a good girl.”

Dread and terror spun through her body, making her dizzy. “Uncle,” she tried again, licking her dry lips. “This…this isn’t him.”

The stranger recoiled as he understood what was happening around him. “I beg your pardon,” he said in firm, unyielding tones. “I am not marrying your niece.”

For a moment Blanche’s heart soared. Perhaps her uncle would relent. Perhaps he would realize the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

Uncle Alan’s smile grew brittle. “Oh, yes I think you will. You defiled her. You wed her.”

Disgust and horror filled the stranger’s face. “I most certainly did not. I have never ruined a young woman in my life. I’ve never seen her before!” His black frock coat was fine but serviceable, not so tight he couldn’t raise his arms above his head if needed, unlike Toby. His dark green plaid trousers matched his plaid waistcoat.

“Uncle, this isn’t the man! This isn’t him. I’ve never seen him in my life. I swear to you.”

The bishop sneered. “It’s a pity you couldn’t remember the first man’s name, then. This is your bridegroom. Him or the next man I find.” He looked the strange man up and down. “He seems quite attractive to a young woman. I suggest you convince him to marry you, Blanche, because the next man won’t be to your fancy.”

Blanche stared in shock. She knew there was no point in begging her uncle. He reveled when someone begged because it gave his denial more weight and power. She cast her gaze on the stranger. “Please, sir. Please stop this.” She heard a faint bit of Geordie leak into her voice. Her accent always changed from prim and proper in times of great emotion, even though her uncle thought it base and common.

Sympathy mixed with confusion rippled across the man’s face. “I apologize, miss.” He looked to her uncle. “Sir, this is no way to treat your niece. And it is no way to treat me.” His voice rang out level, serious, and dangerous.

Blanche’s skin prickled at his tone.

“Now that you’ve had your fun, let me pass.” He stared at Uncle Alan for a long moment.

Uncle Alan smiled, and Blanche lost all hope. “No.” He stepped backward through the doorway, and the two servants let him slip between them. “I’ll just have to keep you in there until you agree, Mr. Fairplace.” His voice sharpened. “Marcher, leave them.”

Marcher hesitated, hands wringing her apron. “Sir? We cannot leave the young lady alone with the gentleman. She’ll be ruined.”

“She’s already soiled. You can’t make a dirty sow any dirtier after they’ve rolled in mud. Get out.”

Blanche's face burned and she stared at the seams of the bedspread. She couldn’t bear to look anywhere else.

Marcher left without a word, sidling out the door.

The stranger turned, but her uncle’s valet shut the door and locked it at lightning speed.

This can’t be happening. Blanche closed her eyes. To think that this morning she’d woken believing she’d marry the man of her dreams.

The silence in the compartment lay heavy and thick. Blanche swayed on the bed as the train rumbled over the tracks. The man cleared his throat, and her eyes flew open.

She would not wilt and weep and wring her hands like a child. She gathered her anger and bolstered herself with it. Clenching her hands at her sides, she lifted her head and left the bed, standing as far away from the man as she could. “Who are you, sir?” Her voice cut like a knife.

The man shook his head, disbelief evident in every line of his body. “My name is Dennis Fairplace. Who are you?”

“Blanche Badnarrow,” she admitted. “What are you doing here?”

He half turned toward the door, mouth opening. His shoulders drooped and he turned back to her. “Two men were following me. I couldn’t fight two in a public place like a train car, so I tried to slip away.”

Blanche scoffed, the sound hard in the back of her throat. “Oh, and you merely stumbled into our car?”

He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Yes! Is that so hard to believe?”

Blanche groaned and put a hand to her face. “Forgive us. He shouldn’t have pulled you into this tangled mess.”

Mr. Fairplace stayed silent for a moment. “I refuse to be forced into a marriage with a stranger,” he finally said. “I didn’t survive the entire war in Crimea or the winter hurricane only to come home and be stuck with someone I never wanted.”

Blanche flinched.

He frowned as if realizing what he’d said. “I should have chosen my words with more care. Forgive me.”

Blanche nodded. His words still stung, though she knew he didn’t mean them personally.

“I also think you have no wish to enter into forced marriage, either. Is that the case?” He took one small step toward her.

Blanche eyed his approach. They were trapped in the room together. She had nowhere to flee.

Perhaps understanding her sudden dismay, Mr. Fairplace halted. He stretched out one hand, palm up. “Will you please take down your hair?”

Blanche blinked and drew herself up in indignation. “Pardon me, sir. I am no easy hussy, despite what my uncle may have told you.”

His lips trembled as if holding back a smile, and he quirked one eyebrow. “I need a hairpin,” Mr. Fairplace said quietly and distinctly. “That’s all.”

Blanche sagged as she realized she’d taken offense at nothing. “Oh.” She blushed. “Yes, of course.” She glanced behind Mr. Fairplace at the door. “But I do not think you’ll go far, even if you get the door unlocked.”

He shrugged. “I must try.”

Yes, yes he must. She understood that. Blanche reached up into her hair and began working at it. She winced as the bulky bun hung against her neck. She located one pin and tugged. She flashed an embarrassed smile at Mr. Fairplace as it stuck in her hair. “It’s a bit trickier than it looks.”

He nodded politely, gazing away from her. “I’m sure.”

The train swayed beneath her, and she widened her stance to keep her balance. It took several tugs and half-removals, but finally one pin came out. “Aha!” She brandished it like a sword before her.

Mr. Fairplace grinned, his split lip spreading wider, and plucked it from her hand. “My thanks.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight. He had one dimple, tucked into the right corner of his mouth, and his eyes sparkled. Toffee, she realized. His eyes reminded her of warm toffee, though she hadn’t had any in years. And his gaze made her just as warm and gooey as fresh toffee. He was terribly handsome.

Mr. Fairplace cleared his throat and pointed vaguely at her head. “Your, um, your hair.”

“Hmm?” Blanche blinked, breaking the spell he’d unknowingly cast. A thick weight fell and draped over her shoulder. “Oh, drat.” One heavy section of her hair had fallen. She glanced down to see it slide across her bell-shaped skirt and end at her knees.

Mr. Fairplace blinked and stared at her hair. “That’s, um,” he cut off.

What had he been about to say? Her hair was unusually, unfashionably long. When she brushed it out, it reached below the backs of her knees. At first, she’d despised her hair because the headmistress of Miss Meriweather’s School for Demure and Gentle Young Ladies hadn’t allowed girls to cut their hair. But now she liked it. Most of the time. Men, she’d learned, had strong opinions about women’s hair. She wasn’t supposed to know that, but she’d overheard enough conversations to know men like women’s hair to be long but not too long.

Mr. Fairplace’s mouth had closed up, clearly not going to share anything else. Sighing, Blanche took her loose hair and began rolling it back up to rejoin the rest of the mass. With both hands over her head, she tried to pay care to the shifting movement of the car.

Suddenly the car jolted hard, thumping and lurching to the side.

Blanche lost her footing and careened toward the trunks stacked to her right. She gritted her teeth for impact and pulled her arms down to catch herself. The sharp edges of the trunks never came.

Hard hands clamped down on her elbows, steadying her.

“Hold on,” Mr. Fairplace murmured with wry amusement, his grip so hard it almost hurt. Almost.

Blanche’s eyes flew to his face, which hovered suddenly much, much closer than it had been. “Oh.”

The train gave another rumble, and the car swung back into balance. The lamp rattled on the dressing table, its chains tamping it down and keeping the flame far from anything it could catch. The polished mirror attached to the table wobbled. Blanche would’ve sprawled across the bed, save for Mr. Fairplace’s grip. She clung to him, gripping the lapels of his frock coat. After a heartbeat, the car settled. But for another heartbeat, he held her. She breathed the scent of clean wool and his masculine scent, her face turned toward the crook of his neck and shoulder. He was so warm and solid. It was different than when Toby held her—though she wasn’t sure why.

Blanche blushed at the comparison and released her hold, stepping back. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Mr. Fairplace dropped her elbows as if burnt. “Think nothing of it,” he said gruffly and backed away.

Blanche touched the back of her head and gave a self-conscious laugh. “Oh, dear. The whole thing has fallen now.” Her hair still twisted in loops, but all hairpins had been yanked free, and the whole, heavy thing had fallen. She tried to put them up, but the hairstyles Marcher chose were so tight she couldn’t do them on her own. “It’s hopeless.”

Mr. Fairplace turned and walked to the door. “Leave it down then.”

Blanche flushed. “I couldn’t. It’s improper for a woman to be seen by anyone except her family with her hair down.” She was blushing a lot today, she realized.

Mr. Fairplace shrugged and knelt in front of the door.

“Can you truly pick locks?” Blanche sat at the foot of the bed to watch his progress. She gathered her hair and began to plait it loosely. If she left it unfettered, it would tangle immediately.

“Mmm, some,” Mr. Fairplace said distractedly. He pulled back from the lock with a grunt of frustration and took off his frock coat.

Blanche’s eyes widened. How terribly casual to go without a coat. Men only did that in their own homes. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, exposing his forearms. Her breath caught in her throat.

He resumed his position at the lock and bent his head to the task.

Blanche couldn’t help but notice his strong, thick arms as he wrestled with the hairpin and the lock, nor his broad shoulders. Whatever he’d done in the army had treated him quite well.

“So why am I here?” His voice broke into her thoughts.

“What do you mean, Mr. Fairplace?”

He turned his head to the side to better speak to her. “I mean, why does your uncle think I need to be forced to marry you?”

Blanche bit her lip, face going hot again. “This is a terrible business, and you should never have fallen into it.”

“We’re going to be here a while,” he told her. “My skills with locks are amateur, and this is an…unorthodox situation. Call me Dennis. And please explain.”

She sighed. “Very well. You deserve that at least.” She paused, trying to think of where to start. “I fell in love.”

Mr. Fairplace—Dennis—grunted encouragingly.

It was easier to tell the story to his back. She cast her mind back a whole month ago.

“I was raised in a very strict, religious manner,” she said. “If you hadn’t guessed already.”

Dennis snorted.

“Anyway, I turned twenty several months ago. I believe my uncle decided that it was time to find me a husband, so he could finally be free of his duty.”

“He’s supposed to be your guardian until you reach your majority at twenty-one,” Dennis informed her.

“I know. Twenty-one or married, whichever comes first. My parents died seven years ago. They were in India, and I was at a school for young ladies in Bath. Young ladies are discouraged from reading newspapers, so I had no idea there was unrest in the Punjab region. It was something about the East India Company wanting to expand its influence into the Sikh Empire, I think. The Sikhs lost, but my parents were killed at some point. I wasn’t aware until both my uncles showed up at the school to tell me.

“My older uncle, the baronet, has four daughters of his own and didn’t want the responsibility of another. So Uncle Alan became my guardian. He’s ready for that to end, so we left Newcastle before winter had set in and went to London for the little Season. We attended a few balls. Most of them were hosted by my old school friends’ families.”

Blanche finished her braid and searched for a scrap of cloth to tie it off. “About a month ago I met a very charming gentleman at one of these smaller balls.” Her stomach churned at the memory. Once so sweet, now so bitter. “He was very kind to me. I didn’t dance much and wasn’t sociable. And not nearly as pretty as the other girls in the ballroom.”

Dennis muttered something under his breath.

“Pardon?” She strained her ears. He didn’t repeat himself, so she kept talking. “He said he was the second son of a country squire. He said he belonged with this crowd as little as I did. We danced.” She burned now, not with embarrassment, but anger. “He convinced me to let him kiss me only three days after we met.” Tears swam in her vision, but she blinked them away. She’d finished crying today. “I knew my uncle wouldn’t approve. He wanted someone better connected socially for me. So I kept it a secret.” She found a cloth and tied it on the tail of her hair.

Dennis tilted his head, sighing at the stubborn lock.

“He courted me so tenderly I couldn’t help but fall in love. And…well…” she winced, stumbling over sharing the words with a stranger, “when he asked for more liberties with my person, I let him.” Because I wanted it, too . “Because I thought marriage was a foregone conclusion.”

Dennis paused and turned to study her from his place on the ground. “He ruined you,” he said flatly.

Blanche plucked at her skirts. “It’s such a terrible word, ruined.” She set her jaw and looked him in the eye. “Yes, he seduced me. I gave him my virtue.” She waited for his condemnation, his disgust. She had failed in the most basic, most sacred duty a young woman had.

“It’s strange,” he commented. “When we say a woman is ruined, we mean her virginity is gone and she has no worth in Society anymore. When we say a man is ruined, we mean he’s bankrupt. He has no value to Society anymore. My father lost everything once when I was very young. I remember how distraught he was, how the knowledge that he’d failed at what made him a man brought him to the brink of a nervous breakdown. As if what made him worth knowing and loving had been stripped from him. But I loved him yet. He was still the wonderful papa I adored.”

Blanche stared, mesmerized by his story.

“I find that idea preposterous. We are more than this singular value Society demands us to uphold. So you are ruined.” He shrugged. “Society has decreed you’re a fallen woman, someone to shun because of one failure. But I think they’re wrong. Ruination has not stripped you of your soul, nor what makes you worth knowing and loving.”

Tears, once again, blurred her vision. Oh, blast. “That’s the kindest thing anyone has ever told me,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

His eyes widened and he leaned backward. “ That’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to you? Truly?”

Blanche wanted to bite her lip, but that was unladylike. Then again, this whole situation was something no lady would ever allow herself to be in. Was she even a lady anymore? “Yes.”

Dennis turned back to the lock, shoulders tensed. Had she made him uncomfortable? “Continue,” he told her.

She cast her mind on the last month’s events, sifting through memories until she found the thread she wanted to share. “He told me he adored me, and I foolishly thought that meant love.” Perhaps because she was so desperate to get away from her life. “We made plans to go to Gretna Green, where we could marry despite my age. Uncle and I were returning to Newcastle today, and it is only a few hours’ train journey to Gretna Green. He planned to travel with us on the same train secretly. But my uncle found a note to me after the Christmas Eve service.” She flushed. She’d never even know what Toby had written, for her uncle had stuffed it in his pocket while screaming at her.

“I take it he was not pleased,” Dennis remarked.

Blanche remembered the shouting and wild gesturing, the pile of books knocked over, and the dent in the plaster behind her head from a silver candlestick. She shuddered. “No.”

“I saw him on the platform earlier,” Dennis mentioned.

Blanche jerked upright. “You did?”

“Handsome fellow. I see why you loved him.”

“He broke it off.” The words burned her tongue. “He came to bid me farewell.”

Dennis heaved a long sigh. “What a cad.”

No one had taken Blanche’s side before. She huffed a laugh. “I think so, too, now. I don’t understand why he changed his mind about me.”

Dennis pulled the hairpin from the lock and stood, turning to face her. “So that’s why your uncle said he was expecting someone.”

Blanche gave a helpless shrug. “That’s why you’re trapped with me.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Let’s escape.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. “You unlocked it?”

Dennis nodded. “Let me go first.”