Page 97 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Cornelius laced the back of the dress with deft fingers, tying the perfect bow just like the girls demanded of him.

Her giggles lit up the nursery as he fussed over the hem of the dress. Forcing a smile to his lips, he pretended it was just another day and not the eve of his doom.

“Which ribbon, Uncle?” Penny asked him, holding up a white and a blue ribbon, a very serious expression on her face.

Crouching down, he peered at the ribbons, taking an exceedingly long time to inspect each one. “Hmmm,” he mused, stroking his chin. “The blue one will bring out your eyes.”

Penny gave him a wide smile. “Thank you, Uncle!” She placed a kiss on his cheek before bouncing off to where Rosalind stood.

Despite the constant fighting, the girls did love each other. When they weren’t threatening to maim each other over a doll, they were fiercely loyal to each other. Their affection for each other was chaotic, loud, and sometime hostile, but always faithful.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Mrs. Martin,” Jenny, the housemaid, came bustling into the nursery, cheeks flushed, apron awry. “Cook needed me to run to the market. I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, turning to Cornelius.

Shaking his head, he dismissed her apology. “No need. I’m sure Cook needed your help.”

The entire household was stretched thin. They all had fled to town after the roof caved in at the ancestral home, Latchwood Manor. It was unusual for such a grand house to function with only a housekeeper, butler, one maid, and a cook, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Struggling to pay his small staff, he had secretly rejoiced when the governess had given notice. Her departure allowed him to provide the girls a proper Christmas. Full stockings, a feast, and joy—an abundance of joy.

A small gift before he was gone, like every other male in his family.

Now all that was left for Cornelius was to live out his final days devoted to his nieces and mother.

The Latchwood curse was inevitable, whispered about in corners of drawing rooms and balls. It was fodder for the ton. Society delighted in tales of tragedy, and his family was a calamity.

But it was his life, his nieces’ lives.

Before his eldest brother died, Cornelius dreamed of traveling the world and exploring, to finally escape England’s gray skies and his family’s shadow. However, Howard’s death came suddenly and without mercy, changing Cornelius’s life forever.

The estate was in dire need, and the family needed him. Out of the four brothers, Cornelius was the only who had taken an interest in estate management. As the fourth son, he was never meant to inherit. He had prepared himself for a life in the shadows, yet fate had other plans for him.

“Your mother and Lord Woodbury have arrived,” his butler, Finch, announced from the door of the nursery.

Cornelius turned, giving the old butler a sad smile. “Thank you, Finch.”

Finch had been employed with the family since he was a boy.

His hair had long gone white, his back bent with age.

The old butler deserved a quiet retirement in the countryside surrounded by grandchildren; instead, he chose to spend the remainder of his days working.

Cornelius wasn’t sure if it was pity or loyalty, but he could not help but respect Finch for all he’d done for the family.

“Grandmother!” Clara squealed, jumping up and down in pure glee.

“She’s here!” Emmy cried with joy before running out of the nursery, a blur of curls and skirts.

“Wait for me!” Rosalind called, nearly tripping as she chased after her younger cousin.

Penny and Clara followed in equal excitement.

Cornelius shook his head.

So much for showing his mother that he had everything under control.

It had taken considerable effort to convince her to remarry. Viscount Woodbury was a kind man who’d known his mother since they were children. Separated by circumstance and marriage, they found each other again. A true love match the second time around.

Laughing, Cornelius followed after the girls, careful to avoid the tear in the carpet directly outside of the nursery door. Sighing, he made a mental note to patch it before someone actually harmed themselves.

Striding through the draughty house, he prayed his mother didn’t notice the chill. Coal had become a luxury that he could not afford in abundance.

The girls’ laughter echoed down the long hall, bright and full of life, followed by his mother’s joy.

Reaching the drawing room, he took in the sight of the girls surrounding their grandmother with hugs and kisses.

Such a show of emotion would be frowned upon by society, but he delighted in the obvious display of affection.

His mother’s smooth dark skin shined in the glow of the hearth in the room. She was still handsome, even at the age of fifty. Her dark hair had little streaks of gray, her skin wrinkle free, unlike other women of society. Josephine Grant was still a beauty, and her happiness lit up his bleak soul.

Ignoring the faint smell of soot and lavender, he stepped deeper into the room. It was threadbare and in desperate need of new furnishings and a fresh coat of paint, but none of it mattered. All that he cared about was seeing the joy in his family’s eyes.

“Oh, my darlings!” his mother cried, kissing the top of Rosalind’s head. “How I’ve missed you so.”

Clara hung to her side. Emmy’s head was propped against her bosom. Penny was at her back, clinging to her neck, while Rosalind was at her other side.

The sight before him was so glorious Cornelius had to blink several times to prevent himself from crying. They were all the family he had left in the world. His mother was well situated as Woodbury’s new viscountess; all that remained was securing the girls’ future.

It had been six months since they’d all been together. His mother and Woodbury had went on an extended honeymoon trip to the Continent, something they had always spoken about when they were younger.

“Cornelius!” Woodbury rose to his feet and walked toward him. “There you are my good man!”

Nearly taller than Cornelius, Woodbury still had the physique and stature of a young man.

With his brown hair, streaked gray, and crisp blue eyes, he did not look his sixty-five years.

His jolly disposition was always one of comfort.

It pleased Cornelius to know that his mother would be loved when he was no longer of this world.

“Woodbury.” He grasped the older man’s hand. “I trust you had a pleasant journey from Surrey?”

Woodbury’s ancestral home was only a day’s ride from town. A blessing for Cornelius and the girls who could see their grandmother often.

“Indeed, but none of this Woodbury nonsense. We’re family.” He slapped Cornelius’s back several times. “You must call me, Theodore.”

Cornelius laughed. Woodbury had always been an exceptionally good-natured fellow, offering the occasional fatherly wisdom.

Henry, the sixth Earl of Latchwood, had died when Cornelius was not even a year old. From all the accounts he’d heard about his father, Henry Harcourt had not been an agreeable man.

Nodding in agreement, Cornelius said, “Theodore it is.”

Woodbury gave him a satisfied smile. “Good.” He bounced on his heels. “We will only burden you a night, before we are off to visit William and our new grandson in Essex.”

“It is no burden.”

Cornelius forced a smile on his lips, Woodbury’s words stinging slightly. He would never be able to provide his mother with more grandchildren. It was a blessing that she had found a love match and a new family that was not burdened by financial ruin and a curse.

“Good.” Woodbury looked around at the drab drawing room. “You’re welcome to move yourself and the girls to Woodbury House. It will need to be prepared for guests as we haven’t lived there since the Season.”

“I assure you we are fine here. Lindhurst House is sturdier than it looks,” he said, not wanting to abandon the only home he had.

After the roof had caved in at Latchwood Manor, Cornelius had had no choice but to return to London. Lindhurst might be falling apart, but it was his.

“New dolls!” Clara screeched.

“They’re so beautiful,” Penny added in awe.

Cornelius peered over Woodbury’s shoulder to find each of his nieces gripping hand-crafted dolls, each one with beautiful black skin and dark hair, wearing a fine gown, a pelisse, and a bonnet.

“I shall name her Marrianne, after mother,” Rosalind said, a wide smile on her round face.

His mother glanced at him, a sad look on her handsome face. Cornelius decided to pen a letter to Marrianne that she should pay Rosalind a visit soon. It was another task that he’d have to see done before it was all over.

“Let’s have a tea party with the new dolls!” Emmy shouted, jumping up and down in excitement.

“Race you there!” Clara called out before sprinting out of the drawing room.

“Girls! No running,” Cornelius said, but his words were lost to the wind as his four nieces raced through the house and up the long staircase.

Woodbury chuckled good-heartedly. “I see they liked the new dolls,” he told his wife as she stood peering at her only living son.

“From their feral reaction, I would say so,” Cornelius teased.

“Feral?” his mother questioned him. “They’re spirited, and they are happy…because of you.”

“They have made me happy as well, Mother,” he admitted with a smile. There was never a dull day with his four nieces, and he wouldn’t change that for anything in the world.

“Cornelius,” she said, patting his cheek affectionately. “You look tired. Have you been eating?”

For a moment he could not say a single word, so caught up was he in her brown eyes. She was the only parent he had ever known, and he loved her greatly. His one regret was that they would not have more time together.

“Mother.” He bent down and kissed her soft cheek. “And yes, I have been eating. You look well. Marriage agrees with you.”

“I’m sure it would agree with you as well.” She stepped back and patted his cheek affectionately.

He laughed, loud and hearty. “I’m sure it would not.” His face became somber. “Especially not with the curse—”

“There is no curse,” his mother said fiercely.

Taking her by the hand, he led her over to the worn, faded settee.

“We both know there is.” He released a breath, his impending dread looming over him like a storm cloud.

“Thirty-five. First father, then Howard, then Bernard.” He swallowed down his grief.

“And then Marcus.” Closing his eyes, he fought back the tears that pressed against his eyelids.

“They all died at thirty-five, and tomorrow is my thirty-fifth birthday.”

She stood and walked over to the hearth, her back to him, head shacking back and forth in denial. “I won’t listen to this sort of talk, Cornelius.”

“Perhaps your mother is right. We do not know for certain,” Woodbury said softly, ever the voice of reason. He walked over to his wife and placed a hand on her shoulder.

Cornelius turned away from the sight, not wanting to impinge on the tender moment.

“We do know for certain,” he whispered. “I need your word, Woodbury, that you will not allow anyone to separate the girls when I’m gone.”

“Cornelius!” His mother shouted as she turned to face him.

The tears streaking down her smooth skin broke his heart, but they needed to have that conversation. He would not rest until the girls were cared for.

“Mother, I understand you don’t want to believe in this curse, but I know it’s coming for me, and I need to know that those girls will be cared for.

” He pointed to the open door. “I am comforted to know that you have Woodbury. But I need to make sure the girls stay together and aren’t used horribly.

I am going to see Giles after tea to make sure everything is in place. ”

“Oh Cornelius!” his mother sobbed before she ran out of the room.

Hanging his head, he felt ashamed for causing her such distress.

“You have my word, Cornelius. We will care for the girls as long as we live, and I will make provisions for them,” Woodbury said.

Nodding, Cornelius pressed his fingers to his eyes. Wetness coated his fingertips, but he ignored it. “I’ve invested the last of my funds into government bonds. They will provide an annuity to the girls and a small amount to be distributed to the servants.”

He had done what he could, but would it be enough to see that his family was well provided for?

Sitting down, he rested his head against the settee. If only he’d never been born, then everyone he loved would be safe and better not having known him.

“Very well. It seems you have made all the arrangements, but think no more of it, man, please,” Woodbury pleaded.

Mrs. Martin bustled in carrying an elaborate tea set. It was his grandmother’s best, at least they were still able to preserve something. Perhaps one day, one of the girls would inherit it and remember him.

“Uncle, it’s time for tea,” Rosalind said, reentering the room, followed by the other girls and his mother.

Emmy crawled into his lap; Penny curled up by his side. Clara and Rosalind stood toe to toe arguing over who would pour the tea. Across from him his mother sat, her eyes red and puffy. Woodbury joined her, a soft smile on his face.

For one stolen moment, there was no debt, no dilapidated manor, no draughty townhouse, and there definitely was no curse.