Knight of Christmas Page 9

  He held up the papers for her to see. “I also drew up provisions of a yearly income for you, and for Peter’s education at Eton and Oxford, the education that an earl deserves. I also set up a trust fund for Peter along with a substantial amount to begin the repairs at the Oakby estate. It will take some years to restore Oakby to its former glory. By then, Peter will be of age and ready to take his place as earl. I will be hiring a competent steward to see that Oakby becomes a viable concern once again. The tenants surrounding Oakby are in want and need immediate assistance. I am willing to give it.”

  Chapter 12

  This proposal was the answer to all of Angeline’s prayers. But not once in Bran’s long narrative did he discuss where he would fit into their lives.

  “I do not know what to say—”

  “Say yes. Do it for the lad if not yourself.” He thrust the papers into her shaking hands.

  Unfolding the bundle, she tried to read it, but the words blurred on the page. The fact he would generously give her all that she wanted—and more—touched her deeply. It would be easy to take what was offered, and hide the rest of her days.

  Angeline stood, walked to the fireplace, and threw them into the hearth. The decision was made. No more hiding of being afraid of anything. The flames swiftly turned the documents to ash. She waited for Bran to jump to his feet and protest, but he did not. In fact, he gave her an admiring look.

  “Very bold, angel, but they were merely copies. The solicitor has the originals.”

  She crossed her arms. “Where are you while we live in this seaside cottage?”

  Bran leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. “My shipping concern is located on the east coast of Canada, in the province of Nova Scotia. My home and offices are in the port city of Halifax. It is the most logical place for me to go.”

  Angeline’s heart sank. Dear God, is that what he truly wanted? After last night she thought—she hoped—but perhaps he did not feel the same.

  “Bran, is this plan your most fervent wish? For I will tell you, it is no longer mine.”

  Bran was about to speak when Peter burst into the parlor and ran straight for his arms.

  “Happy Christmas, Uncle Bran. Can we see what Father Christmas brought us?”

  Bran lifted Peter in his arms and her heart tightened in her chest. No, she no longer wanted to cloister herself and her son away at a lonely and remote cottage. Angeline wanted to—live. And love.

  Bran placed Peter on the carpet in front of the gifts, and joined him. Angeline sat in the nearby wing chair. She pointed to the red foiled-wrapped box.

  “Peter, hand that gift to Uncle Bran.”

  Bran’s handsome face was alight with joy, and how adorable he looked in his rumpled clothes. He eagerly tore at the paper, opened the box, and lifted out the crystal-and-wood inkwell set.

  “It’s from the both of us. Happy Christmas, Bran.”

  “Thank you both very much. I shall certainly make use of it.”

  Peter brought out another gift from under the tree and thrust it into Bran’s hands. “I picked this out. It’s from me.”

  Bran set aside the inkwell set and opened the package. Bran smiled as his fingers traced across the etchings on the leather-and-cloth edition of Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea by Jules Verne.

  “I’ve never read this. Thank you, Peter. I shall always treasure this book.”

  The next hour passed quickly, and with all the gifts opened, Peter seemed the most engrossed with the set of soldiers Bran had given him and the train set from Father Christmas.

  When Anna arrived, Angeline instructed that she and William escort Peter and his new toys to the nursery. Her conversation with Bran had not been completed to her satisfaction. When they were at last alone, Bran poured another brandy. He offered her one, but she declined.

  “Whatever happened to that vile valet, Sampson?” he asked.

  Angeline gazed at him in puzzlement. “Whatever made you think of him?”

  “Banishing the past, angel, nothing more.”

  “A few years ago, Sampson cashed in the Oakby jewels at Nigel’s behest. I heard that he’d kept a tidy sum for himself. Crossley was about to inform the police when Sampson disappeared to the Americas.”

  “Good riddance to him.” Bran snorted.

  “Speaking of banishing the past, I finished reading the letters between Oakby and Crossley.”

  Bran’s expression darkened. “I don’t care to hear about it, Angeline. Let us bury the past for good and all, right here and now and never speak of it again.”

  “I agree, but I must tell you that I can begin to forget what happened, though I will never forgive Oakby and Crossley. Regardless, I wish them well on their final journey together. You see, I contacted the asylum in Brighton three days past. Crossley died one day before Oakby. As distasteful as the situation was, they did love each other in their own way. It was a sad situation, right until the end.”

  Angeline sighed deeply. “I suppose I feel pity for their tragic affair. For years, I believed Oakby evil to the core. The letters proved that he had a heart once, though by the time we married, it was already blackened and damaged. He followed Crossley down the road to ruin, all because he loved him and couldn’t live without him. That love poisoned him—destroyed him. Yes, I pity them a little, Oakby for his ill-fated devotion, and Crossley for not being capable of returning that love. I wish them Godspeed.”

  “The devil you say! Why would you think such a thing? Wish them well and Godspeed?”

  “Crossley was Nigel’s true love. I will not deny them in death what they could not find in life.” She cupped his cheek and smiled sadly. “I am beginning to heal, reading the letters helped. But nothing and no one more than you. It’s Christmas, Bran, a perfect time to banish the past as you said, and for forgiveness on all matters—and on all fronts.”

  * * *

  Bran could not believe this. He was shocked and slightly irritated, but most of all he was proud of his angel. She was infinitely more merciful than he. Personally he wished them both to roast in hell for eternity. The damage they wrought and left in their wake had been abominable. Placing their selfish needs above all else.

  But he would not gainsay her, not while she looked so brave and resolute. God, he loved her. Setting down his snifter, he took her hand and kissed it.

  “Very well, Angeline. Whatever you wish. Let us throw the past into this fire and allow it turn to ash. We will speak of it no more. I want to move forward, and I want us to move ahead—together.”

  Her eyes moistened. “Together, Bran—truly?”

  Bran kissed her hand once again. “I have another plan if you will indulge me.”

  Angeline nodded, her look expectant.

  “I thought that the three of us would travel to Canada to live for a couple of years. We would be away from prying eyes, and the strictures of London society with regard to your widowhood. In Halifax, we can be married right away. I own a house about this size in the south end of the city.”

  He let the words hang in the air for a moment before he continued. “I love you, Angeline. I always have and I always will. I want no other woman to share my life with. I swear to you I will be the best father to Peter. Everything in the agreement will be part of the marriage settlement. I will see Peter educated, and Oakby estate restored to him as it should be. We will return here in two or three years. Peter will be old enough to go to Eton. I will need a couple of years anyway to transfer my business holdings here—”

  Angeline gently placed a couple of fingers against his lips to silence him. “You love me and you want us to be married?”

  With a tender kiss of the fingers, he then kissed her hand for good measure. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a blue velvet box. Bran snapped it open and showed her the emerald engagement ring.

  “It is my most ardent wish. It was my Christmas wish if the truth be known. Peter’s as well. He wants us
all to be together, forever and ever. As do I. Say yes, my angel, and make me the happiest of men.”

  Bran lifted the ring out of the box and slipped it on her finger.

  “However did you manage this from your sick bed, including your official papers?”

  “Quinn followed my directions to the letter.”

  Angeline threw her arms around his neck and embraced him tightly. “Yes, to everything. Oh, Bran. I love you. When can we leave?”

  With a laugh he replied, “As soon as we can pack, right after the new year. I can have Sir Alastair see to the selling of this wretched town house and its contents while we are gone. Quinn already agreed to travel to Canada with us. I can offer the rest of the staff an invitation to come with us as well. If not, we will find them other employment. One thing—” He cupped her cheeks and looked at her intently. “I want us to start a family, Angeline. A large, loud, and happy family. I know I do not have a title and entailed estates, but whatever I have is yours. You already have my heart and soul.”

  Angeline kissed him quite passionately. “You have my heart and soul as well, and you always will. I will give up being called Lady Oakby in a trice. The title means nothing, but you mean everything. I have something for you as well.” Angeline felt between the settee cushions and pulled out a small wooden box. “I was going to give this to you last night but things took a turn.”

  Bran opened it. An elegant watch with a matching chain lay nestled in the velvet. The gold watch was not overly ornate, just as he liked.

  “Open it. I had it engraved,” she whispered.

  Inside the words one heart, one love, forever and ever were etched. Those words were now impressed in his heart.

  Angeline smiled. “Happy Christmas, my darling.”

  “Happy Christmas, indeed.” He kissed her deeply. Bran could do this all day and night and for the rest of his life.

  Angeline stroked his cheek affectionately while love shone in her beautiful eyes. “My knight. You rescued me after all.”

  No more than she and Peter had rescued him. Bran had found peace and contentment at last.

  More Books by Karyn Gerrard

  ~Historical~

  The Spinster and Mr. Glover (Book #1 Blind Cupid Series)

  The Governess and the Beast (Book #2 Blind Cupid Series)

  The Copper and the Madam (Book #3 Blind Cupid Series)

  The Baron and the Mistress

  Bold Seduction (Book #1 Hornsby Brothers Series)

  The Vicar’s Frozen Heart (Book #2 Hornsby Brothers Series)

  The Marquess of Secrets (Book #3 Hornsby Brothers) Coming soon

  Beloved Monster (Book #1 The Ravenswood Chronicles)

  Beloved Beast (Book #2 The Ravenswood Chronicles)

  Marriage with a Proper Stranger (Book #1 Men of Wollstonecraft Hall Series)

  Scandal with a Sinful Scot (Book #2 Men of Wollstonecraft Hall Series)

  Love with a Notorious Rake (Book #3 Men of Wollstonecraft Hall Series)

  ~Contemporary~

  My Highlander Cover Model

  Timeless Heart

  That Christmas Feeling

  Wild Pitch

  Author Biography

  Karyn Gerrard, born and raised in the Maritime Provinces of Eastern Canada, now makes her home in a small town in Northwestern Ontario. When she’s not cheering on the Red Sox or travelling in the summer with her teacher husband, she writes, reads romance, and drinks copious amounts of Earl Grey tea.

  A multi-published author, she loves to write contemporaries and historicals. Tortured heroes are an absolute must.

  As long as she can avoid being hit by a runaway moose in her wilderness paradise she assumes everything is golden. Karyn’s been happily married for a long time to her own hero. His encouragement and loving support keeps her moving forward.

  To learn more about Karyn and her books: Visit: http://www.karyngerrard.com/

  Also visit her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, and Bookbub.

  Sign up for her newsletter HERE

  Sneak Peek of The Baron and the Mistress

  by Karyn Gerrard

  Chapter 1

  London, early October 1881

  Chastity Armitage’s given name could be construed as ironic considering she was looking for a quick shilling tup in Shag Alley. She gripped the nearby lamppost to steady her shaky legs. In truth, she wasn’t a prostitute in the strictest sense of the word—just a very desperate young woman. Or so she told herself when the nightmares haunted her troubled dreams.

  Thick fog rolled down the lane, covering its broken cobbles with ugly swirls of sickly color. The pungent aroma of unburned streetlamp gas mixed with the odor of raw sewage, blending with the sound of rutting sex from the alleyway. Chastity gagged and brought her tattered sleeve to her nose for relief.

  Losing her virginity two months ago to a rough laborer in this notorious alley had been an absolute necessity. The act, done against the brick wall and mercifully swift, resulted in a few coins thrown at her feet. The money had kept her younger brother and sister from starving, and from all of them being evicted from the dosshouse where they currently resided. The money, however, was almost gone. Hence the reason she stood here. What would she do once winter came? Thankfully, it had been warmer than usual for early autumn.

  How had everything gone so terribly wrong? A trail of unfortunate events led her to this place and time. Where to begin her wretched tale? Her father’s death and her mother’s rapid—and it had turned out, necessary—remarriage. Her mother’s sudden illness and passing. Then—the escape.

  A carriage rattled by, splashing mud on her already dirty wool skirt. Two men staggered toward her and made lewd comments as they passed a whisky bottle back and forth between them. Chastity looked away and exhaled in utter weariness. Blocking out the foul sights and odors swirling all around her, she focused instead on her current predicament.

  Close to two years ago, Chastity, along with her siblings, Jon and Hannah, fled their home in the dead of night. Chastity had agonized many times since wondering if she’d made the correct decision. Their mother died ten months before, and everything had changed. The sudden departure was due to the fact they had been left in the care of their miserable stepfather, Sir Nigel Barrington, who made no secret of his deviant plans for them.

  Chastity pulled her tattered shawl around her shoulders and shuddered, touching the bare spot at her throat as a few hot tears clustered on her eyelashes. Blinking them away, she frowned. Protecting then eleven-year-old Jon and eight-year-old Hannah became Chastity’s main focus.

  Especially Jon.

  She’d seen the lustful looks that had been cast Jon’s way. Memories of the night Barrington skulked into her brother’s bedroom flooded her mind. Thank God she had beaten the man off with a copper warming pan. They had escaped that night with not much more than the clothes on their backs, and sadly, they had no family or close friends to turn to. Luckily the valuable gold cross hanging about her neck was bartered for much needed coin.

  Her parents had given her the cross with the small diamond chip for her twelfth birthday, and how she’d hated to part with it. But the money from the sale had kept them fed and housed for many weeks.

  Since then, Jon made a few farthings doing odd jobs about the streets, and Hannah sporadically worked for a ragpicker. These low-paying positions weren’t enough to keep the wolf from the door. The workhouse beckoned. Sniffling, Chastity wiped away a wayward tear. They would have been separated at the workhouse and the sole reason she hadn’t taken them there in the first place. The looming specter of Barrington finding them also fueled her decision. It would be the first logical place to search.

  However, the evil man almost certainly didn’t care where they were or what became of them. While their mother was alive, the rank indifference that he’d showed spoke of the depth of his disdain. However, when her mother passed, that last barrier crashed down. The change
in the man had not been subtle.

  At first, he plied them with kindness and extra sweets. He started touching them, little caresses of affection that were not the least bit innocent. Then Barrington cast his fevered and lascivious gaze toward Jon, who was considered the best looking of the siblings. Jon, a pretty lad, would grow into a handsome man; all the signs were plain to see. Every chance he could, Barrington would stroke Jon’s cheek whispering how beautiful he was. It’d been enough to turn her bile.

  One night Barrington pulled Jon into his lap. The special attention that he paid her brother made her skin crawl. Chastity, not very experienced in the ways of men, instinctively understood the leering, salacious look Sir Nigel gave Jon. He stroked Jon’s back with his claw-like hand, a strange and disturbing light gleaming in his eye. When Jon had told her later that night he’d felt something growing hard in their stepfather’s lap, she began to make plans for their hasty departure.

  A girl at school had told her once of a man’s thing, and how a man could stick it in you and make a baby. She later surmised the “thing” could be shoved into any opening—boy or girl. No one would harm her siblings if Chastity had anything to say about it. Since then, she had learned the crass words used for that part of a man: Cock. Prick. Willy. Tackle. Whore-pipe.

  Straightening her shoulders, she glanced about the dingy street. Her resolve quickened and hardened into sword steel. Money was needed to ward off that slimy toad of a landlord at the dosshouse. He had leeringly suggested that she work off the rent. Chastity preferred a swift rut in Shag Alley before allowing that horrid man, with rotten teeth and who smelled of dead fish, lay a hand on her. Once she succumbed to his demands he would never leave her alone. Virtue and pride be damned, protecting her siblings overrode everything.