Page 110 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

He lifted a crying Clara. “Girls, quickly. We must get out of the house.”

Penny ran to his side, taking his hand in hers, lips trembling, eyes wide with fear. He lifted her to his other side, carrying both her and her sister.

“Come, Rosalind,” Imogen held her hand out to Rosalind, who was plastered to the wall.

“I’m scared!” she cried, shaking her head side to side.

“I know you are, but we must leave right now,” Imogen reassured her, walking to take her hand.

“It’s going to be fine, Rosalind. We’re all going to walk out of the townhouse together,” Cornelius said, adjusting the two girls in his arms. “Ready?” he asked Imogen, who had Rosalind pinned to her side and Emmy clutched around her neck.

He opened the door, noticing the fire had spread in the short amount of time they had been inside the nursery.

Dear God.

The flames licked up the walls, an inferno of heat surrounding them as he led his small family through the burning townhouse.

The curse. There was no other explanation for it. It had finally come for him, but he wouldn’t allow it to claim the girls’ and Imogen’s lives. Nor would he allow the servants to suffer because of the Latchwood curse.

They ran down the stairs, reaching the grand hall that was now unrecognizable due to the destruction surrounding them.

Smoke rose toward the ceiling, tattered drapes were engulfed by flames, and the great chandelier sagged as its chains melted away.

They staggered through the suffocating chaos to the front door.

Imogen ripped open the door, and sweet, crisp night air greeted them. Taking them as far away from the townhouse as possible, he sat Penny and Clara down. Relief filled him. His family was safe.

“I have to go back for the servants—”

“Cornelius, no!” Imogen shouted, taking him by the arm. “The curse, I can feel it.”

“I won’t leave them in there to die, Imogen.” He placed a quick kiss to her soft lips. “I love you, take care of the girls.”

As he turned to run back into the inferno of the burning townhouse, Mrs. Martin and Jenny came running out, coughing as they fell to the ground, their faces covered in smoke.

“F-Finch, he’s still in there,” Mrs. Martin rasped out, tears streaking her face.

Without a thought for his own safety, Cornelius ran back into the townhouse toward the servant’s quarters. “Finch!” he called as he ran down the long hallway. The house answered with a thunderous crash.

Burning beams split from the ceiling, crashing to the floor and blocking his escape.

A smaller beam fell on top of him, rendering him breathless.

He tried to push the thick wood off his legs, but it would not budge, the pain numbing him completely.

The heat surrounding him seared his clothing.

His chest heaved, lungs screaming for fresh air as the fire blazed around him.

This was it.

“I want to live,” he rasped out, everything clear to him. “Please God, I want to live. I want to see my nieces grow, and I want a life with the woman I love.”

He called to the heavens as the flames curled closer and he knew that the Latchwood curse was finally there to claim him.

Imogen stood surrounded by the girls, Jenny, and Mrs. Martin, her eyes fixed on the burning townhouse.

Every passing second without Cornelius tore at her chest. Dread pooled in her abdomen, heavy and suffocating.

The whisper of the curse curled around her like smoke, patient, inevitable.

The longer it took for Cornelius to return, the more she was aware that something was wrong.

“Finch!” Jenny cried, relief and panic mingling in her voice as the older man stumbled into view, face blackened with soot, clothes singed.

“Where is Uncle?” Rosalind voice wavered, her eyes filling with tears.

Finch’s silence was their answer.

“Stay with Mrs. Martin,” Imogen commanded, her voice stronger than she felt. Without waiting, she dashed into the abyss.

She didn’t care if she was breaking the rules. She wouldn’t let the curse claim him. He deserved to live.

The heat seared her skin as she crossed the threshold, smoke clawing at her throat. But she didn’t hesitate. Cornelius could not die like this, not as the curse demanded. His nieces needed him, his mother needed him. And God help her, she needed him to live.

It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t live to have a life with Cornelius. All that mattered to Imogen was that he survived.

If saving him meant breaking every heavenly rule, then so be it.

She sprinted down the collapsing townhouse, the soles of her slippers scorching against the blistering floor. The thick smoke stole her breath away, but she pressed on, carefully maneuvering so that her skirts wouldn’t catch fire.

When she reached the long hallway that led toward the servant’s stairs, she saw him. Cornelius lay half-pinned beneath a fallen beam, flames dancing hungrily around him.

“Cornelius!” she shouted, dropping to her knees. Her palms stung as she tried to free him from the blistering wood.

He coughed, his breath jagged. “Imogen, no. You have to leave. The roof is caving in. Save yourself,” he demanded in a raw voice.

She shook her head and wiped at the steady stream of tears that fell from her face. “I won’t leave you here!” Her voice broke as the smoke clawed down her throat. Her human lungs burned, each breath an agony of pain. “Clarence! Please help us!”

“What are you saying? Clarence?” Cornelius asked, recognition glowing in his dark eyes even through the haze of smoke. “The dream? It was real—but how?”

She ignored him and pressed her palms against the beam, ignoring the pain searing through her hands. She had to get him out of Lindhurst House.

“Clarence, please! I’ll do anything! You must save him!” Her strength faltered. Her body was too weak. Even in her immortal form, she had little power without wings, an angel’s greatest strength and magic.

“Imogen.” The familiar voice cut through the chaos, calm and grave. Relief filled her as Clarence stood before them, untouched by the flames, his presence stilling everything around them.

“Save him, please,” she begged.

Turning back to Cornelius, she wiped at his soot-streaked face. She loved him with every part of her heart and soul. And he would live, no matter what she had to sacrifice.

Cornelius’s gaze darted between her and Clarence. Raising a shaking hand, he pointed toward Clarence. “You. You were in the dream.”

There was no sound but the fire around them. Guilt swirled inside of her, shame that she’d never revealed what she truly was to him.

Clarence’s expression softened. “Imogen is your guardian angel, Cornelius.” He said the words so calmly as if they were not in a burning townhouse.

“She was sent to keep you from surrendering to darkness, to show you that your life is worth living.” His serene smile took away all of Imogen’s worries and fears in one simple gesture.

Through her fears, she smiled at Clarence. He had a way of making her feel at peace.

Strangely, the smoke and the fire stilled in the hall. A small victory, considering the fire had been close to consuming them before his arrival.

“Save him, Clarence. I’ll do anything—” Imogen’s voice broke as she begged. She would do anything for him. Cornelius was the only man she’d ever loved—the one she’d love for eternity.

“No, Imogen,” Cornelius gritted out, pushing at the beam across his legs. “It is my fate to be the last of the Latchwood earls. Please see that my girls are with Mother and cared for.”

Her heart shattered at his words, splintering under the weight of his resignation.

“It was your fate to be the last Latchwood earl,” Clarence corrected him, stepping closer, his dark eyes penetrating. “Until she came.”

Tears falling freely, Imogen’s hand cupped Cornelius’s cheek. She’d remember him and the girls for the rest of her existence. For one blessed, fleeting moment, they were family.

She lifted her chin, meeting Clarence’s gaze. “I’ll give up my wings,” she said, grave and certain, not recognizing her own voice. “Take them. Save his life, Clarence. Please.”

Her wings?

For a hundred years, she had longed for them, dreamed of their glory. But what use was an angel’s highest honor if it meant Cornelius would perish? If it meant four little girls would lose the one person who loved them unconditionally?

Clarence tilted his head, causing one of his long braids to hang freely. “You would sacrifice your wings for a mortal man?”

“No, Imogen.” Cornelius took her by the hand and squeezed it. “I won’t allow you to sacrifice your wings for me. Loving you has been one of the greatest honors of my life. If I die now, at least I’ll die loving you.”

“It is not a sacrifice.” She ran her fingers down his cheeks, memorizing every part of his handsome face. “It’s love, Cornelius, and you deserve to live.”

Behind Clarence, the roof caved in, debris falling everywhere, but none touched the small hallway they were huddled in. Their own little bubble in the middle of the burning townhouse.

“The curse,” Clarence began, fingers interlaced, his voice carrying through the empty hall, “was born of a long-forgotten magic, laid upon the second earl of Latchwood by Elizabeth Talbert, a scorned lover whose family was ruined. But you, Cornelius…” His gaze softened.

“You have loved and cared for your family beyond your means. You even sacrificed yourself for a servant.” He exhaled; the burning townhouse stilled around them.

Above, the collapsed ceiling revealed the night sky twinkling with stars.

A flicker of hope flared in her chest. “What does that mean, Clarence?” Imogen stood, not daring to breathe.

“It means,” Clarence said, lifting his hands and brushing the shoulders of his dark coat, “that his sacrifice and the love he has for you has broken the Latchwood curse.”

She gasped. Overwhelming joy and happiness filled her. He was going to live, and the girls would have their uncle, their protector, for the rest of their lives.

But even as happiness took root, grief tainted it. She would not be there to love him or to see the girls grow into strong young women. Loving him meant letting him go.

But he would live and that was all that mattered.

Imogen stared down at the man she loved, a soft, sad smile on her lips. “I’m ready,” she whispered, her heart cracking with the weight of her words.

“Yes,” Clarence said gravely. “But there is one problem, Imogen.”

Her head snapped up.

“The love the two of you have, your willingness to sacrifice your wings—the one thing you’ve waited for over a hundred years.

” He smiled at her like a proud parent. “It all has set you free, Imogen. I’ll see you in about sixty years,” he said, before disappearing, leaving them alone in the burning townhouse.

Shocked, Imogen did not know what to do or think.

The heavy beam that was pinning Cornelius down, dissolved into ash. He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could feel his trembling heart against her own.

“Imogen,” he breathed, raw and desperate. “What just happened?”

In that moment, there was nothing but the two of them in the world. She pressed her lips to his, pouring all the love she felt for him in that one single act. The world titled, the fire melting into a sudden rush of cold wind that swirled around them.

They were outside, the burning house now in front of them.

“Have a wonderful life, you two,” Clarence’s voice whispered in the moonlight.

“Uncle!” Rosalind’s cry pierced the night as she ran forward, her small arms around both Imogen and Cornelius in a desperate embrace.

“Miss St. Croix,” Clara’s voice wavered as she flung herself into them, nearly toppling them all into the snow.

“You’re alive!” Penny gasped, her dark curls tumbling free as she pressed herself against them, eyes wide and wet with relief.

Emmy was the last to join them, scrambling into Imogen’s arms, clutching her ever-present doll. Imogen held her close, happiness swelling in her heart and consuming her.

“You’re not an angel anymore,” Emmy whispered simply, as if the truth needed to be spoken out loud.

Imogen’s throat tightened, but before she could say a single word, Cornelius pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. “No,” he murmured, voice roughened by smoke, “she’s not. She’s real. And she’s ours. Forever.”

The girls pressed closer, their tears mingling with the falling snow. Wrapped in their embrace, Cornelius’s arm firmly around her waist, Imogen allowed herself to sink into the warmth of them all.

In front of them, the townhouse lay in ruins, its blackened stones smoldering against the moonlight—but there in the circle of the ones she loved, she finally was home.

For the first time in a hundred years, she wasn’t lost. She was a woman, loved, needed, and cherished, a part of a family for the first time in a century.

She closed her eyes as tears slipped down her cheeks.

Yes, she would have a wonderful life.