Page 78 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

William Marley leaned his shovel against the grey stone wall of the gamekeeper’s cottage, pulled off one glove, then reached in his pocket to retrieve the key. The metal was cold against his fingertips, and he fumbled the key before fitting it into the lock.

The door opened with a creak. The cottage was dim and cold in the early afternoon light, and he set about opening the curtains and laying a fire in the grate. Soon, a half-dozen bricks of peat were crackling away.

William quickly stowed the provisions he had purchased in the village in the corner of the cottage that served as a kitchen. It should be enough to last him through Christmas.

He glanced around. With the fire in the hearth, the cottage was a snug, cheerful prospect. His new accommodations were in every way satisfactory.

Still, he couldn’t summon much enthusiasm about the prospect of spending another Christmas alone.

And yet, what choice did he have? He could never go back to Oxford. He understood that now. Nor could he expect a warm welcome should he return to London.

He could still hear the whispers, whispers that had followed him wherever he went. Murderer. Murderer.

He couldn’t even go home, not that Halberton Hall had ever felt like his home.

Thinking back on everything that had happened, about what Daphne had tried to do to him, he couldn’t help but feel the anger flare inside him once more. She had thought she could take advantage of him, but she had learned the hard way that he would not stand for it.

No one would say that he had acted wrongly, that she had not received precisely what she deserved.

No man, anyway. And yet, sometimes, when he lay in his bed at night, he wondered if he had been overly harsh.

If he, perhaps, should have opted for mercy instead of justice.

He could not deny that, in this case, justice had been cruel.

Ah, well. There was no sense dwelling on it. It was too late for Daphne.

Far too late.

Will glanced around the empty cottage. Although the room was starting to warm, it seemed a much less cheerful prospect than it had just moments before.

It seemed it was too late for him, as well. He would be spending another Christmas all alone.

But perhaps it wasn’t merely his fate. Perhaps, it was what he deserved.

With that cheerless thought, he went to the stove to prepare his supper.