Once Upon A Christmas Past

14. Chapter 14

Chapter fourteen

T he cellar door gave a groan as the boy squeezed his frame through the narrow crack and into the dismal light of the space only slightly less miserable than the air, cold as bones. Not to mention the dead silence. The boy had prepared for the consequence that the miserly old bloke would tire of his services and had created a nest of blankets, stashed a few stubs of candles, and a box of Christmas biscuits that had been delivered and discarded by Mr. Scrooge—just as he himself.

Raven watched her family, all gathered around the long dining table, working with the efficiency of an assembly line as they rolled dough, cut out festive shapes, decorated the baked cookies, and packed the cooled pastries between sheets of waxed paper in massive boxes. The entire staff were part of the production, even old Trotty.

“When did all of this start?” Brit squeezed a pastry bag full of blue-tinted icing as he decorated a gingerbread octopus with the neat, steady lines of a painter.

Somehow, Raven had known he had an artist inside him, despite his size and fierceness of manner. But when he’d begun cutting dough into the shapes of crabs, whales, and sharks, Raven had been equal parts amused and impressed. His creations were an obvious reference to the creatures lurking in the depths of high society—the very ones he’d beseeched her help to navigate.

Raven’s determination to resist Brit had lasted about as long as it took her to observe the shifting awe on his face as he beheld each of her family’s tree designs. The way he’d embraced their admittedly unconventional traditions and fit in so seamlessly with their playful dynamic had won her over like nothing else could have. And she had decided, for once in her life, to live in the moment.

She finished adding details to a turtle shell before replying to his question. “If you mean delivering cookies to the poor, we’ve been doing that since before we had the money to make more than a few dozen extra.”

Brit’s soul-shaking gaze captured hers and she forgot to breathe as he asked, “What do you mean, before you had the money?”

With effort, Raven broke away from his stare and replied, “We haven’t always been wealthy. In fact, we were quite poor for most of my childhood.” She selected another cookie and began to decorate it. “Tim was extremely ill, and we could not afford proper medical care. We almost lost him.”

Brit’s gaze jumped to Tim who placed finished cookies into a box while belting a rousing rendition of “Ding Dong, Merrily on High”. “…in heav’n the bells are ringing…Ding dong!”

“He seems healthy enough now.” Brit smiled so fondly at her brother that Raven’s chest warmed, her throat flooding with emotion.

She had to swallow before she replied softly, “Yes, by the grace of God, we were able to afford treatment for him just in time.”

Brit glanced back to her, a wave of dark hair falling into his eyes, the boyish look reminding her that despite the hardness she often glimpsed in him, they were nearly the same age. He swiped the lock back, and asked, “How did that come about?”

“My father worked for a miserly man who paid him little, until one Christmas, the old man showed up at our door a changed soul. He brought food and toys and made my father his equal business partner, which turned all our lives around, most of all Tiny Tim’s…that’s what we used to call him.” Raven sighed.

“Ahh,” Brit replied, understanding dawning upon his face. “So that explains all the fuss about keeping Christmas in your hearts.”

“That’s a big part of it, yes. Our celebrations are how we honor our heavenly savior as well as the man who turned our lives around. Joy is the highest form of gratitude, don’t you think?”

Brit was quiet for a moment and then said thoughtfully, “Yes, I’ve witnessed this at the orphanage. Children who arrive gaunt and haunted, transform with love into flourishing, joyful rascals.” He smiled, his eyes glowing from within. “I suppose it’s their way of showing gratitude they don’t know how to express with words.”

“Exactly.” Cookies forgotten, everyone in the room faded into the background as Raven asked softly, “Were you one of those orphans?”

Brit held her gaze, seeming to weigh how much of his truth he could entrust to her. “I was,” he finally said. “I made a home on the streets with a ragtag gang of boys. If we wanted to eat, we stole. If we wanted to stay warm in the winter, we robbed those who had more. That’s how I met Chip…and Archie.”

Archie. Why had she forgotten to mention the spirits haunting both of their lives and the anomaly that they could each see the other’s deceased loved one? Raven had noticed that lately her mind had a hard time focusing on Bel unless she was present. Wondering if Brit had the same experience, she opened her mouth to pose the question when her father’s voice cut through the room, “This is the last box! Finish your cookies now, and present for judging.”

“We’re competing as a team,” Brit declared as he took her turtle and laid it on a plate beside a remarkable likeness of an orca whale. His grin turned boyish, and she noticed hints of faded freckles across his nose. She could almost picture him as a young boy, so cute that people gladly turned their money over to him. Her chest ached at the thought.

After Raven and Brit had handily won the cookie decorating contest, Brit accompanied them to deliver cookies, wool socks, warm coats, and knit hats, along with wrapped toys to workhouses, hospitals, and orphanages across the city. Raven watched Brit kneel in front of countless children, speaking words of encouragement as he handed them a brightly wrapped parcel.

One particular boy of around four, clutched his new stuffed bear to his chest as tears tracked through the filth on his cheeks. His matted hair was surely infested with lice, yet Brit, stooped to his level, draped a coat around his narrow shoulders, and gently hugged the child close.

Raven’s chest expanded and then tightened as she held back her tears at the precious sight of the strong lord, humbling himself to comfort a lost child. The image felt burned into her brain as they returned home.

Outside their townhome, the Cratchits all filed inside for a quiet family dinner. But despite her father’s invitation to join them, Brit lingered outside, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Thank you for today, but I must be going,” he said with an inexplicably blank expression. “I plan to speak to the MacCarrons about taking in Joey.”

“Is Joey the boy from the workhouse?” Raven asked, already knowing.

“Yes. Hill Orphanage is at capacity, but I believe they’ll make room for one more.”

Warmth pulsed in her chest. She’d always known he was different than the gentlemen of her previous acquaintance, but he continued to prove himself a rare and honorable soul.

“Perhaps you could go after dinner?” Raven suggested hopefully.

“I would not wish to overstay my welcome.”

“You heard Father. He does not extend empty invitations, unlike some of the ton.” She smiled up at his handsome face and felt something inside her shift; nearly imperceptibly, yet as clear and strong as the ringing of a bell. She wanted this man in her life. Needed his smile and his laughter, his generous nature. Not for an afternoon or even as her brother-in-law. But by her side always, to talk to and live with and touch whenever she wished. She wanted this man as her own.

The change must have shown on her face because he turned fully toward her and took both her hands in his. “Raven,” his voice broke on her name as his fathomless eyes searched hers. Then ever so slowly, his stare slid down to her lips.

Mouth tingling as if he’d touched it, Raven’s gaze slid to his full, perfectly chiseled mouth and she stepped closer until she could feel the heat of his body, and his scent of clean pine filled her senses like a drug. His eyes darkened, his mouth set with determination and…desire. She swayed on her feet. But instead of lowering his head and taking her lips, he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his strong arms around her.

Raven sighed as her eyes fluttered closed and she nestled her cheek against the powerful curve of his chest. Perfect. They fit together as if they’d been born to hold one another. If she could just stay there, she would never desire another thing as long as she lived.

Snow began to fall in large, drifting flakes, melting against their heated skin.

Still, they didn’t move and did not speak. The silence said it all.

They… this was impossible.

She had promised her life to his brother and that commitment had been blessed by her father and the church, the announcement heralded throughout London. Breaking the betrothal would not only ruin her but her entire family. Not to mention destroy Brit’s chances of acceptance into society as the new earl.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered roughly against her hair as he released her. “I shouldn’t have…” his voice trailed off and with a final searing stare, he turned and walked out of the gate.

Pain exploded in Raven’s chest and tears sprung to her eyes as she watched his broad back, the tails of his greatcoat flapping behind him as he strode away, disappearing into the falling snow.

She stumbled forward to follow him, opened her mouth to shout for him to stop, to take her with him wherever he was going.

“Lucy Anne,” her mother called sharply. “Come inside.”

Raven stopped before she reached the gate, nails digging into clenched palms as she blinked back the tears. Slowly, she turned and made her way up the stairs and then inside where her mother waited, arms crossed in front of her plump frame. “What do you think you are doing?”

Raven glanced down the corridor, wishing she could escape. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, I think you do,” her mother’s gaze narrowed. “He is your betrothed’s brother. The consequences could be—"

“Catastrophic. I know, Mother.” Tears clogged her throat, her voice breaking as she said, “You needn’t…worry.”

Her mother’s countenance softened. “Raven…” She reached out, but Raven whirled away and raced up the stairs to grieve in private.