Page 99 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

After spending the remainder of the afternoon drinking tea and hearing tales of his mother and Woodbury’s honeymoon trip, all Cornelius wished was to finalize the annuity.

In a few short hours, he would be thirty-five. It was a dreadful year for the Earls of Latchwood, always living in constant fear that you could perish at any moment. How long would it take for the curse to finally claim him, as it had done every other male in his family?

“Is all prepared?” He took a seat in one of the empty chairs.

Giles sighed, his face lined with worry. “Yes, but in order for the girls to receive the annuity, I had to add an amendment to the bond.”

“What sort of amendment?” Cornelius asked, sitting forward.

It didn’t matter what Giles had to do to see that the girls would be cared for, as long as they would be.

“The annuity is modest, but secure. The girls will receive five hundred pounds each, annually…” Giles swallowed and handed Cornelius a document. “Upon your death,” he whispered, avoiding looking Cornelius in the eye.

Cold dread slipped up Cornelius’s spine.

“Upon my death?” he asked, standing and walking to the sideboard to pour himself a drink.

“Yes, you’re worth more dead than alive,” Giles chuckled as Cornelius took a hearty gulp of the brandy.

Worth more dead than alive.

Cornelius poured himself another drink, reassured that at least his nieces would be provided for once he was gone. The heavy weight of relief never came, even as the last drop of his second glass burned down his throat.

“I know it’s not ideal,” Giles said from behind him. “But if there is indeed a curse—”

“There is,” Cornelius snapped through clenched teeth, his fingernails biting the flesh of his palm. “The Latchwood curse is real. Surely, you’ve seen it at work firsthand.”

The solicitor placed a hand on his shoulder. “Be sensible. There is no such thing as a curse. Your father knew that, and so did Howard.”

Cornelius stiffened, staring at a painting of the Prince Regent that sat proudly on the wall.

He had never met his father. Death had claimed him before Cornelius’s first birthday.

Like their father, Howard died young, leaving his wife and daughter with nothing.

It didn’t matter whether they believed in the curse or not.

Cornelius wasn’t going to take a chance with the girls’ lives. He would see them cared for, in a loving home, with a future.

“They were wrong.” His voice dropped to a grave whisper that carried through the study. “There is a Latchwood curse…and it ends with me.”

Inhaling deeply, Cornelius poured himself another drink and stared into the amber liquid, searching for answers. Exhaling, he gulped down its contents, savoring the burn.

The warm liquid spread throughout his body, warming him for the first time since he’d stepped in from the cold.

His body became weightless the more he drank, his mind suddenly calm.

A smile crept up the side of his lips as the weight on his chest loosened its death-like grip.

For one glorious second, he didn’t feel the complete panic of the curse weighing him down.

“Perhaps, you’ve had enough,” Giles said gently, standing beside him. “I suggest you go home, sleep, and forget all thought of the Latchwood curse.”

If only Cornelius could forget the curse, but there was no escaping it and his ultimate demise. It was coming for him one way or the other, and he would no longer wait for it to claim him.

He would take things into his own hands and end the curse once and for all.

Staggering slightly, he took the discarded document from Giles’s desk. “I presume this is my copy?” he asked, holding up the parchment.

“Yes.” Giles stood gravely in front of the sideboard. “Allow my carriage to take you home—”

“No.” He shook his head and marched to the door. “The fresh air will do me good.”

Cornelius walked out of the study without saying another word. His mind was muddled as he donned his great coat and hat from the aging butler. Once outside, he welcomed the bitter December cold. The copy of the annuity was gripped in his hand as he detoured toward Hyde Park.

The girls were safe with his mother and Woodbury. They would see to them.

Cornelius was tired of waiting for the curse to claim him. The fear of it clawed at his insides like a voracious beast.

No more.

It was his life, and he would no longer be controlled by an ancient curse.

Fresh snow began to fall, and he couldn’t help but tip his head back. He was free. Walking toward the newly built Serpentine Bridge, he did not allow himself to think or question his decision.

He was worth more dead than alive.

He stopped. Opening the wrinkled parchment in his hands, Cornelius peered down at the words. Five hundred pounds a year each wasn’t a fortune, but it would provide for them when he was gone.

Resolved, Cornelius took long strides toward the Serpentine, ignoring the wind as it whispered around him. The biting cold did nothing to sober him up as he stumbled over his own two feet.

Reaching the bridge, he closed his eyes, the parchment gripped in his hands.

For a moment, he recalled each of his nieces’ faces perfectly.

He could see the way Rosalind thought about every decision, taking her time, her lips pursed, hazel eyes staring off into space.

Penny was next, with her smooth dark skin, quiet determination twinkling in her eyes.

Clara was fierce and full of life. It was as if she were standing right in front of him, smiling at nothing and ready to take on everything.

Finally, Emmy, sweet, kind Emmy. Her smile lit up the dark spaces of his soul, her green eyes bright and full of joy.

They all would be fine without him, but inside, his heart was breaking, for Cornelius knew he was nothing without them.

Opening his eyes, he froze at the sight of a woman sitting on the Serpentine Bridge.

She wasn’t there before.

Her light brown skin gleamed angelically as long brown curls blew in the wind. She was a vision, with full lips and round eyes.

She smiled at him, simple, sweet. “Cornelius,” she whispered before she leapt into the Serpentine.