Page 104 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Cornelius’s leg bounced beneath the table—up, down, up, down—a relentless rhythm he couldn’t stop.

Around him, the murmur of voices floated in the air, his family gathered around the breakfast room.

His gaze fell to the empty chair across from him as he waited for Imogen to join them.

His mother had insisted on meeting their mysterious guest and saving the chair opposite Cornelius for her.

The continued bounces of his leg, the constant glances at the door, and the insistent beat of his heart were proof that he was eager to see Imogen again.

He’d never bothered with matters of the heart.

Desire, yes. He was no saint, but nothing beyond physical attraction ever called to him.

He’d never wanted more until last night when he’d seen her sitting on the bridge like a dream.

Every single thing about Imogen called to him in a way that made Cornelius wish that there was no curse, that he had something to offer. But he did not. Hearing her so matter-of-factly announce that she was leaving in six short days felt like a sword to his chest, sharp and cold.

Not that he had any inclination to begin a relationship with Miss St. Croix or anyone, but any man with blood pumping in his veins could see how tempting she was.

However, she was leaving, and he still had the Latchwood curse attached to him.

Cornelius was not a selfish man, but regret swirled in his abdomen, and for a brief moment, he wished she would stay with him.

He dragged his gaze away from the empty chair, trying not to appear too eager for his guest to arrive. Flashes of his dream the previous night played repeatedly in his mind. Sleep had done nothing to soothe him. If anything, it had left him unsettled.

The dream, hallucination, madness, or whatever he experienced the previous night had settled in his bones.

The despair, confusion, and feel of the wind on his skin all seemed as real to him as his own heartbeat.

Her eerie words as she stood, proud and solemn in front of him, announcing that he’d never been born.

A world without him, no curse, no pain, as if he was a whisper on the wind.

Perhaps the plunge into the Serpentine had addled his mind or the pressure and weight of the curse were more than he could bear.

The gentle caress of the wind, Giles’s calm voice as he told his mother she was penniless, the complete despair of seeing his father’s burial, it was all fresh in his memory.

“Grandmother, must you leave so soon?” Rosalind asked from his mother’s side.

The girls surrounded their grandmother, happily nibbling on toast and poached eggs. Woodbury sat stolidly beside Cornelius, accustomed to his station when his wife was surrounded by her grandchildren.

“We will return after Christmas.” Lady Woodbury leaned over and combed her fingers through Rosalind’s hair. “And I am hoping your uncle will bring you all to spend a few months with Woodbury and I in Surrey—”

“Surrey!” the chorus of voices shrilled in delight.

“Oh, please, Uncle!” Clara leapt out of her chair, a blur of blue muslin and thick curls. She was all speed and reckless energy bundled in ribbons. As a babe, she’d crawled with urgency as if she was in a race of her own making.

“We must go, Uncle. We must!” Penny leaned forward, showing more excitement in that second then she had all year.

Warmth spread in Cornelius’s chest. Rarely did they forget the dark curse shadowing the family. In that moment though, they were just children, unguarded, joyous. For them he would endure anything, even staying in Surrey.

“I don’t know where you are going,” came a voice soft and pure. “But I must agree, if it makes them this happy, surely you can’t disappoint them.”

Every muscle in Cornelus’s body went taut.

Imogen stood in the doorway, haloed by the sunlight filtering through the tall windows. A hush fell around the once-busy room, all eyes staring at their immaculate visitor.

“You’re still here!” Emmy shrieked, leaping from her chair in wild abandon.

In one fluid motion, Imogen knelt, arms opened wide, laughter on her lips as Emmy crashed into her. That simple act, her embracing his niece, sliced through the ice surrounding his heart and soul.

“I am still here,” she murmured, rising with grace and poise while holding Emmy, who clung to her like ivy. Her tiny head was tucked into Imogen’s slender shoulder.

The entire scene warmed him immensely, causing his heart to do a strange skip in his chest. Imogen’s beauty shined brighter than a falling star. Her hair was loose again, a tumble of curls framing her face. The simple green day dress drew the eye to every dip and curve meant for a man’s hands.

Remembering himself, Cornelius shot to his feet, compelled by civility. “Miss St. Croix, “he said, his voice rougher than he intended it to be, “allow me to introduce my mother, Lady Woodbury, and her husband, the Viscount Woodbury.”

“My dear,” his mother said, rising from her chair with grace and ease.

Cornelius stepped forward and took Emmy from Imogen. Their fingers brushed, and he could hear her sharp inhale. Awareness spread through his body hard and insistent.

“What an ordeal you must’ve had?” his mother continued, sliding toward them with a soft velvety smile.

“Lady Woodbury,” Imogen replied, her face radiant, tone bright, as she dipped into a clumsy curtsy. “How wonderful it is to finally meet you. I admire your beauty and poise.”

His mother—never one to be silent—stood speechless, her mouth agape, eyes wide in wonder.

If Cornelius himself wasn’t so enamored with the ethereal stranger, he would think his mother’s behavior comical, however he understood the effect that Miss St. Croix had on a person.

Woodbury cleared his throat. “Cornelius here told us of your traumatic evening,” he said, standing by his wife’s side.

“We were so concerned when we heard of your fall,” his mother said, finally finding her voice.

Miss St. Croix shook her head, as if plunging into a cold lake in the middle of the night was nothing but a leisurely stroll in the park.

“It was nothing I could not endure, Lady Woodbury.” Her gaze shifted to Cornelius, causing a ripple of desire to pass through him, quick and merciless.

“I am only here due to your son’s kindness. ”

Kindness. God help him. If only that were all he wanted to give her.

“Angel, sit next to me and Dolly!” Emmy demanded from the chair that Cornelius had set her down in.

“Angel?” Woodbury asked, looking from Emmy to Miss St. Croix. “You did not tell us you were rescuing angels, Cornelius.”

The gazes of his family members made Cornelius’s neck heat under the constraints of his cravat. “I confess I did not know until I laid eyes upon her.” The weight of her presence beside him was overwhelming, and he wanted to do nothing but reach for her, propriety be damned.

“Emmaline, Miss St. Croix, is your uncle’s guest, not an angel, and you do not shout at a guests,” his mother reminded his niece.

“It is quite alright,” Miss St. Croix said, walking to the empty chair next to Emmy. “I’d be delighted to sit next to you Miss Emmy.”

“Yay!” Emmy shouted, bouncing up and down in her chair. “Thank you, Angel!”

Miss St. Croix leaned over, tapping Emmy’s nose affectionately. “You’re most welcome, but please call me Miss St. Croix…” she trailed off before whispering something into his niece’s ear.

Emmy giggled, nodding her head emphatically. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re an angel.”

“Miss St. Croix, will you come to Surrey with us?” Penny asked, leaning over the table, her face beaming.

It was hard for Cornelius to remember the last time his nieces were so comfortable around a stranger.

“You must join us, I insist.” His mother took her seat, her gaze shifting from Cornelius to Imogen. “You will be my personal guest.”

“As the new governess, of course she will join us,” Rosalind said in a serious tone that brooked no argument. It always surprised Cornelius how mature she was at such a young age.

“New governess?” Woodbury questioned as Cornelius finally found his chair again.

“Why do you think Miss St. Croix is the new governess?” Cornelius asked Rosalind, trying to ignore the sight of Miss St. Croix happily piling her plate with food.

She had two of everything like she hadn’t eaten in days.

“Why else would a woman be here?” Rosalind questioned with child-like innocence. “Everyone knows you don’t want to marry.” She shrugged her shoulder, reminding him of his vow to never marry.

There was no point, not with the curse on his family, but sitting there at the table with Miss St. Croix surrounded by his mother and his nieces, he couldn’t help but wish he was free to marry.

“She’s here because I want her here, nothing more.” He took a sip of his cold tea, ignoring the knowing look his mother gave him.

“It’s been a hundred years since I’ve had anything to eat,” Miss. St. Croix said in awe, before taking a bite of a scone smothered with jam.

“No, it hasn’t.” Clara laughed hysterically followed by Emmy and Penny.

“I’m sure it must feel like it, my dear.” His mother wiped her mouth daintily as Woodbury stood from the table.

“We must be off if we’re to reach Essex before the snow worsens.” Woodbury offered his hand to Cornelius’s mother.

“We will return in a fortnight, and I expect you all to accompany us to Surrey.” His mother took her husband’s offered hand, standing smoothly. “We can all return to town together for the beginning of the season.”

“Very well,” Cornelius relented. “We will all accompany you to Surrey when you return from Essex, but I’m afraid Miss St. Croix will not be able to join us.”

“Angel, you can’t leave us!” Emmy said, leaning her small body toward Miss St. Croix’s chair.

“What a shame, I was hoping to get to know you better,” his mother said, looking forlorn. No doubt she was disappointed that she would not be able to play matchmaker.

Walking to his mother, Miss St. Croix wrapped her arms around her. They stood silent for a moment, embracing like mother and daughter and not complete strangers who had only met an hour earlier. It was a private moment between the two of them, but somehow Cornelia knew it was just what they needed.

“I will think of you all often, but I must return,” she said sadly as she stepped away from his mother. “Now who would like to help me bake a birthday cake.”

“Me!” all the girls cried at once. Even Rosalind, who was trying to appear more grown up than usual, was excited about the prospect of baking.

“Very well. Say goodbye to your grandmother and Woodbury, then you all may join Miss St. Croix in the kitchens.” Cornelius couldn’t contain his sadness at seeing the girls say goodbye to his mother, but they would see her again in a fortnight.

He just hoped the curse stayed at bay in that short amount of time.