Page 109 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Cornelius jolted suddenly awake and found himself in a strange place.

A washhouse? Around him, the air was stifling and thick, sour with lye and human soil.

Steam coiled in the cramped space, turning faces pale.

Rows of women bent over copper tubs, their arms soaked to their elbows, hands wringing soaked linen.

The stench of soap, sweat, and filth clung to every breath as smoke drifted from the iron stove.

Another strange dream. Why did it feel so real to him?

A familiar sweet voice caught his attention. Cornelius spun, heart hammering against his chest. Down the long aisle of washers, Imogen stood, her back to him, speaking to an angelic-looking man with dark skin and long coarse hair.

“I have it under control, Clarence. He does not need another vision,” she said, her voice filled with desperation.

“I fear that you are wrong. Your time with the earl is coming to an end sooner than expected.” He waved a hand at Cornelius. “I suggest you say your goodbyes.”

Before Cornelius could demand the man to reveal his identity, he disappeared. The other occupants of the washhouse did not notice, nor did they look as if anything was amiss.

He strolled toward Imogen, wanting to reach her. The remnants of their lovemaking clung to his body, the memory fresh in his mind.

She turned, eyes wide with fear. “C-Cornelius, I’m sorry.” The panic in her voice set him on edge, breaking his heart in two.

“There is nothing to apologize for. It is just a dream.” Reaching her, he cupped her cheek. “Who was that man—”

His words were interrupted by the loud chatter of two washer women beside him.

“I hear she was a lady once,” a small woman whispered, scrubbing harder.

“I can’t believe it. An actual lady?” her companion snorted. “Quick, pass me a crown. I’m a lady, too?” She laughed, framing her face with her wet hands.

“They say a curse took her husband and three sons.” The first woman tilted her chin toward a figure hunched over a tub, dress torn, face hollowed and vacant.

“Mother?” His cry broke free as he lunged forward. “W-why is she here? Why am I here, Imogen?” he demanded, his voice splintering on the words.

The pain in his chest was raw, real. So real, he nearly fell to his knees and sobbed.

Imogen’s steps echoed through the crowded workhouse. “I’m sorry, Cornelius, you have to see what life would be like if you were never born,” she said gently. “This is what would happen to your mother if you weren’t alive to save her. To save them all.”

He stumbled backwards, boots slipping on the damp floor. Pain seized his chest as he sucked in a breath

“I don’t want to see this!” he shouted, grabbing his head. “My mother married Woodbury and found a great love. She’s safe and cared for.” He ran his hand through his short hair, wishing he could wake himself.

Imogen moved toward him, untouched by the filth and sweat that clung in the air. Her green gaze was fixed on him, calm and full of regret.

“If you were never born. She would never marry Woodbury. After your brother Bernard died, your mother would be forced to vacate Latchwood Manor with nothing.”

“But I was born, and she did marry Woodbury.” Panic seized him at the thought of his mother suffering. “I’m here, Mother!” he shouted, jabbing himself in the chest.

He was alive and real. His mother was married and cared for, not working in a wash house. The girls were asleep at Lindhurst House.

“Not here you weren’t.” Imogen’s voice was grave. “In this world, your mother is penniless, with no one to protect her.”

Cornelius stood beside his mother, needing to drag her away from this horrid place. “Mother, I will always protect you and the girls.”

“Don’t you see, you’re the reason why your family survived. It was you who saved them, Cornelius. You saved all of them.”

“Where are the girls, Imogen?” he demanded. It did not matter if it was a dream or not, he needed to see his nieces to ensure that they were alive and provided for.

“It’s time to go,” she whispered.

“Where are they!” he shouted, taking a step toward her.

The stench of the workhouse vanished, and suddenly he was back at Latchwood Manor standing in the study.

His mother sat in one of the leather chairs, wearing her customary mourning dress. Her once, lovely face was graced with age lines and tears. Beside her, Bernard gripped her trembling hand. Howard occupied the distinguished leather chair behind the desk, his face grim, his body rigid.

It was a solemn setting, heavy with grief. Yet Cornelius could not recall it at all.

Beyond the tall bay windows, winter raged, the wind howling as if it was in mourning.

“Now that Marcus is gone…” Howard’s voice faltered. He sat rigidly—barely a man himself—the large black leather chair nearly too large for him.

Gone?

Cornelius stared, his breath quickening. “I don’t want to see anymore. Wake me up, Imogen.” His voice was grave.

All he wanted was to wake up with her in his arms and not see a life where he wasn’t alive. He understood now, he made a difference, so why couldn’t he wake up!

His mother let out a broken wail and pressed the black handkerchief to her mouth. “Why was he on that hill alone? One of you should’ve been with him!” She sobbed openly, her body wracked with the weight of her grief.

Cornelius stumbled forward, crashing to his knees. “Mother—Mother!” His hands grasped at her skirts, frantic, but she did not acknowledge him.

Bernard cleared his throat. “Marcus loved sliding down the hill to the lake. No one heard him calling for help. He…he drowned.”

No.

That was impossible. Cornelius had saved him. He remembered every detail—each second was sketched in his memory. He was eleven. Marcus had been twelve. They had spent the entire morning sledding, their cheeks raw from the bitter cold.

Sledding was a daily activity during the winter months in Derbyshire. They would often spend the entire day outside.

That day, Marcus had flung an insult over his shoulder at Cornelius before speeding down the hill, a chorus of delightful screams on his lips. His sled skimmed the glassy ice, sliding far onto the lake’s frozen surface.

Crack.

The ice split, the sound as loud as cannon fire. Marcus’s laughter became a muffled scream as the black water swallowed him. Cornelius had dragged him out of the cold depths. They’d both been abed for weeks after, but Marcus had lived.

Cornelius lifted his tortured gaze to Imogen’s. She stood behind Howard, the color drained from her smooth skin.

“You weren’t there to save Marcus—”

“I was there!” His voice was raw as he surged to his feet. “I saved him! He lived. He married Sophia, the love of his life. He fathered Emmy. He lived!” His body sagged, tears clouding his vision.

He stepped toward Imogen, then halted at her words.

“Don’t you see. You really have a wonderful life. It would be a shame to throw it away,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

Shaking his head, he tried to decipher the difference between this Imogen and the one who fell asleep in his arms, mere hours ago. “Why are you doing this to me? You said you loved me?”

“I do love you, Cornelius,” she whispered, the pain in her voice nearly breaking him into a million little pieces. “But I have an assignment to complete, and you have a life that is worth living—”

“What life can I have with the curse hovering over me like a dark cloud?” He walked to her. The truth of his words searing his soul and stealing all his hopes of happiness.

Around them, his family kept speaking, but he no longer cared. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

Fisting his hands, he pressed his nails into his palms, willing himself to wake up from this nightmare.

She closed the space between them. “You cannot allow the curse to rule your life. You have to want to live for your mother, the girls…for yourself.” She folded her arms, her calm voice slicing through him.

The girls. If this was what life for his family would be like if he’d never been born, where were his nieces?

“Where are the girls, Imogen?” he asked, desperately needing to know the truth. “If this is the world my family would live in, where are they? What happens to them without me?”

Her tears were like a thousand knives to his heart as her gaze locked with his.

“They don’t exist without you, Cornelius.

” She shook her head, her arms wrapped around her middle.

“Your brothers Howard and Bernard do not meet their wives. They do not father children. Rosalind, Penny, Clara, they don’t exist in this version of life.

” She lowered her head. “Emmy doesn’t exist.”

“What are you? What is really happening to me?” he asked, suddenly feeling the truth of everything.

He didn’t know how it was possible, but he knew he wasn’t dreaming.

Cornelius pressed his fingers to his eyes, and suddenly a crackling roar filled the silence. He woke to heat, a searing blaze that licked at the edges of Imogen’s bed chamber.

Beside him, Imogen sat up, her eyes wide. “Cornelius—”

“Is this real?” he asked, putting on his discarded breeches.

One look at her pretty face, drained of all color, and he knew the answer.

“It’s real.” She picked up the day dress that lay on the chaise lounge and put it on swiftly. “The girls, Cornelius!”

“Quickly! Come, we have to get them and the servants out!” He took her by the hand, leading her down the long hall.

Smoke burned his throat as they stumbled down the hall toward the nursery door. His heart pounded in his chest as flames devoured the walls and ceilings. He burst through the doors of the nursery, finding the girls all sitting up in their beds, wide-eyed and afraid.

“Uncle! Miss St. Croix!” The girls all screamed running to him and Imogen.

She took Emmy in her arms, Dolly clutched to her chest. The sight of Imogen caring for his family moved him. There was no time to think about their night or the strange dreams that he’d experienced. All that mattered was that the girls were safe.