Chapter Three

December 15, 1818

Harding House

Manchester Square, Mayfair

London

Cornelius came into his house just as the longcase clock on the second floor chimed the noon time hour. His mood was elevated because his mother and aunt weren’t underfoot, and he’d concluded a meeting with his man-of-affairs that had proved quite lucrative due to investments in coal and steel as well as buying into a company that dealt with insuring area townhomes.

As he made his way upstairs to the drawing room, he couldn’t forget about the woman who’d come collecting yesterday for her charity. It had been too difficult to tell if she’d been telling the truth; Christmastide brought out the greed in everyone as well as the selfishness, but there had been pain and shadows in the blue pools of her eyes that had given him pause. There was also a darker blue ring around those irises that had completely fascinated him.

Why? He did not need a woman in his life in any capacity. Already, his mother and aunt were slowly driving him mad.

No sooner had he gone over to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy than a sound echoed through the room that thoroughly chilled his blood.

Pop! Pop!

Even though it was the logs in the fire snapping and cracking, sweat broke out on his upper lip and brow, but since it caught him by surprise, Cornelius couldn’t properly guard his mind from it. Far too quickly, the day terror swallowed him up into its vortex, and the cut crystal glass slipped from his hand to shatter at his feet, splattering his boots with the liquor.

Spring 1808

Peninsular War

Somewhere in Spain

Cornelius’ pulse pounded hard in his chest and temples as he lay in the dun-colored dirt. They had been part of a reconnoiter party with the large remainder of their troops a few miles away. There was no question that the French troops outnumbered them two to one, and even with the Spanish platoon that fought with the English, it was nearly impossible that any of them would leave the high plain alive.

Still, they couldn’t give up, and every man determined to stop the advance of Napoleon’s troops dug deep to confront fear because the madman dictator couldn’t be allowed to rule the world.

On his right, Major Harry Briggs peered through a brass spy glass. From their position on a slight hill, they were able to see what was happening with the French troops. “Looks like the regiment is splitting up.”

“To do what?” Risking it, Cornelius lifted his head and squinted against the setting sun. The damned French would use the cover of darkness to affect an attack, for most men were rubbish fighting in the dark.

“It’s hard to say, but I’ll wager part of them is going to make camp while they still have the light.” The captain frowned. “The others? Probably a patrol. We need to fall back.”

“To where? The plains are barren. There is literally nowhere to go.” The only thing anywhere close was a small mission school run by monks, and they refused to get involved in the war in any capacity. For their own survival. Not that he could blame them.

“We’ll have to use this bluff, and I have to believe that we have the better sharp shooters.” The captain pocketed his spyglass. “Especially if we pick them off from this position.”

He brought forth his rifle. “Best get started.”

Major Briggs gestured with a gloved hand and indicated the hill where they lay. How he managed to communicate their intent without words, Cornelius didn’t know, but at least five Spaniards belly-crawled over to their position. In a low voice, the captain explained what the plan was.

Then, seconds later, everyone settled their rifles, and one by one, they each targeted a French solider and fired.

Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop!

When the captain consulted his spyglass again, he nodded. “Excellent work, fellows, but now the remaining four will retaliate. Heads up.”

Cornelius drew his pistol, as did the men around him. Seconds later, the French patrol ran up the small hill where he and the others were hiding. Gunfire was exchanged. Pain went through his upper arm as a ball penetrated the sleeve of his uniform, but it didn’t seem to be all that deep, and his attacker continued to come at him, this time using a bayonet, for his pistol required reloading.

He fought him off as best he could, and finally shot the man in the chest. Warm blood splattered over his own face and chest, but the French solider toppled and remained motionless in the dirt. The attack had taken less than ten minutes, but it was over as quickly as it had started, and his small contingent was still safe.

“Damn.” Toppling onto his back, he stared at the rapidly darkening skies and tried to regulate his breathing. “I despise this war.”

The major nodded. “As do we all, but we simply cannot let madness win, so we will continue to fight.”

But at what cost?

“Cornelius?” Someone jostled his arm. “Cornelius? Can you hear me?” Tapping commenced on his cheeks. “It’s me, Annabelle. You’re safe and at home. Nothing will hurt you, but you must come back.”

The sweet voice of his sister acted like a rope, a chain, and in his mind, he grasped hold of that lifeline, pulling and tugging until he reached her. Only then did he dare to open his eyes and stare at her from where he’d apparently curled into a fetal position on one of the low sofas in the drawing room. Every muscle in his body ached, even his jaws, as if he’d been clenching his teeth.

“Annabelle?” What the devil was she doing here? He blinked in an effort to see her clearly, for he hadn’t expected her in his house.

“I’m here.” She sat beside him on the sofa as he slowly put himself into an upright position. “When I came in, I saw the broken glass on the floor and you were on the sofa, moaning, but when I shook you, you didn’t seem to see me.”

“Oh. I need to have a maid in here to sweep up the glass.”

“All in good time. Are you well?”

“I…” Though he had hoped to keep this part of himself from his sister, clearly that hope was dashed since she’d witnessed it in person. “I, uh…” He forced a swallow into his suddenly tight throat. “I have been suffering day terrors for the past few years. They go hand in hand with the ongoing nightmares regarding the war, except with the day terrors, I’m literally trapped in a memory and can’t free myself easily.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Annabelle laid a hand on his arm. Compassion swam in her blue eyes. “Out of everyone, I would have understood. Living with Hugh has opened my eyes to what many of you former military men struggle with.”

Made even worse by the fact that the very country, the government, they’d fought for had turned their backs on the veterans who’d returned from the war. That was a slap in the face, and every time he thought about it, anger welled, but his sister required an answer.

“I didn’t want to appear weak in front of you, and it’s something I need to battle, not you.” Though he had been home from the war for nearly four and a half years, he still didn’t have the strength to beat back the nightmares.

Perhaps he never would. The thought was far too depressing.

“You should have told me. Hugh suffers too, every so often.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean you should worry over me too.”

“I do because you are my brother, regardless of where your mind is.”

“You are a dear.” He nodded, for Annabelle had married within the past year, to one of Cornelius’ friends and fellow Rogue’s Arcade club members. Yes, the earl probably suffered nightmares, but he had been dealt a critical blow when he’d been attacked by robbers—employed by the detestable Lady Stover— and was struck down with amnesia. The man couldn’t remember anything about his past, and truth to tell, he probably never would.

She patted his arm. “Do you want laudanum? I can go fetch it.”

“No. That only makes me sleep and my mind fuzzy. And I’m afraid I will become too reliant on the drug.” It was far too easy to depend on the opiate, and if he did that, he might lose himself to a different demon than the nightmares. “With how things are right now and with the threats that are coming against members of the Rogue’s Arcade, I can’t afford not to be alert.”

“Then it’s true? Things in that quarter are as serious as the rumors I’m hearing being whispered through the wives of the rogues?” Annabelle’s voice was hushed. “I’d hoped it was just nonsense.”

“I’m afraid it’s true. I’ve fought enough battles with my friends recently against Lady Stover and her minions to know that something horrible is most likely coming, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“It is much like waiting for a final blow, isn’t it?” She frowned. “At least you men are a strong defense. That makes me feel a bit better.”

“I’ve met many of the rogue’s wives. You ladies aren’t ineffectual, you know.” When they shared a laugh, it helped to regulate his breathing and calm his frantic heartbeat. “By the by, why are you here instead of with your husband? I would have thought that honeymoon period would still be going strong, especially during this time of the year.”

A faint blush stained her cheeks. “Hugh has been struggling. So much that it’s effecting his performance in the boxing ring.” She shrugged. “It’s worse because he doesn’t remember the war that he fought in, so those nightmares are far too vivid, and he can’t understand why he’d having those dreams. No doubt worry about his club members are dredging up some of that.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought preparing for the holiday might help distract him.”

“Good idea, and if I know you, you will be certain to help with those distractions.” For one thing was certain, his sister was madly in love with her husband.

“There is that.” If possible, her blush intensified. “May I tell you a secret?” Excitement danced in her eyes, and it made him grin.

“Of course.”

She lowered her voice. “In May of next year, if all goes well, you will be an uncle.”

“What?” He gawked at her. “Are you…?”

“Yes.” Annabelle nodded with a wide grin. “Just over four months along and only starting to show.” She grasped his hand and squeezed his fingers. “It’s a tiny, secret hope, of course, but the midwife said I’m past the dangerous phase. But I’m still cautious.”

“That is wonderful news.” He hugged his sister. “You and Hugh are going to make lovely parents. I imagine he’s thrilled?”

“He can hardly believe it, but he’s wildly happy.”

A stab of something he rather hoped wasn’t envy went through Cornelius’ chest. Of course he’d thought about having the same for his own life, but those dreams ended four years ago, as did his faith in romance or even Christmas magic. Swallowing down his disappointment, he nodded. “I’ll tell Hugh congratulations the next time I see him.” Knowing that his sister was increasing brought home just how vulnerable all the rogues and their loved ones were.

I have to protect them the best that I can.

“He would enjoy that, and you should come to visit more often.”

“Why? Because you need Mama’s attention on someone else besides you?”

“There is that.” She chuckled. “But because Hugh would like the company. Ever since he lost his memory, he’s been a bit… introspective, I think. Though he doesn’t remember his past, it weighs on him that there is a history there he’s no longer a part of.”

“I’m sorry.” Cornelius squeezed her hand. “That must be difficult for you.”

“It is.” She nodded. “But we’re making the best of it.”

“And you are here why? You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Right.” She snickered, and he couldn’t help but smile, for he missed that sound. “I wanted some of my clothing that is still here. Oh, and one of the special Christmas baubles that used to belong to Papa. I would like to put it in my own house. Mama said it was in the boxes of decorations here.”

“And Aunt Beatrice has already ordered them down, because she apparently thinks it her duty to put Christmas cheer into my house, you came over.”

“Yes.” Then she winked. “Of course, it’s always lovely to see you.”

He briefly rolled his eyes to the ceiling before resting them on her again. “Well, I don’t know where Aunt Beatrice put the boxes of decorations, so you should probably ask the butler.”

“Cornelius!”

Both he and Annabelle glanced at the doorway where Aunt Beatrice sailed in as if she’d been summoned there because they were talking about her.

“Auntie? What’s wrong?” After looking into her face and seeing the anguish there, he frowned. “What has occurred to see you in such a pelter?”

“My bracelet!”

“What?” His mind was bit muzzy from the day terror, so he didn’t really know what she was talking about. “I thought you liked your bracelet.”

“I do, of course. It’s lovely.” His aunt shook her head as she came further into the room without much more than a cursory glance at Annabelle. “It’s missing!”

“I beg your pardon. What is missing?”

Annabelle snorted. She playfully smacked him on the arm. “Her bracelet, obviously.”

“You lost your bracelet, Auntie?”

“No!” The older lady shook her head. “It’s missing ! I couldn’t find it this morning when I dressed for the day, and I searched everywhere at home.”

“When was the last time you saw it?”

“Shortly before that young lady came calling for the charity. I don’t remember if I had it on for dinner last night.”

“Damn it all.” As a wall of hot rage smacked into his chest, Cornelius pushed to his feet. “That woman stole it. That Miss Marchington. I’ll wager money on it.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so.” Aunt Beatrice shook her head. Doubt was written all over her fact. “Don’t be so hasty. Perhaps it’s merely lost or fell off due to a faulty clasp.”

“None of the servants brought it to my attention or that of the butler, and I trust everyone who works here.” He had to, for being a member of the Rogue’s Arcade had given him a healthy dose of paranoia.

“Well, then, perhaps Auntie took it off and laid it somewhere last night before she life,” Annabelle said with a quick look around the room.

“I would have remembered that, dear,” his aunt said with a frown.

“The only strange occurrence was the addition of the charity collector,” Cornelius said as he shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Let’s all thank the heavens she wasn’t given the run of the house while she was here.” He shook his head. “I’m going to pay her a call.”

“Conelius, no.” Annabelle shook her head as she crossed the Aubusson carpet to clutch his arm. “Don’t go in anger. We don’t know the facts.”

He blew out a breath. “We will soon enough.” How dare that woman come into his house and steal a valuable bracelet he’d given his aunt as a gift.

Annabelle frowned. “Where will you find her?”

“Yes, dear,” his aunt added. “Did she say where she lived with her father? I don’t remember her telling me that.”

“Lucky for me, she did mention it.” Anger still battered him. If he wasn’t careful, he would have another episode. “She said Portman Square.”

“Ah. No doubt she enjoys taking daily walks with her father in the square or the gardens.” Aunt Beatrice smiled. “Would you like for me to accompany you? I did promise Miss Marchington that I would call on her father. And it would ensure you won’t lose your temper with her.”

“That is not necessary.” After a few deep breaths, he felt much more calm. “I won’t dress her down, but I will demand that she return the jewelry.” What kind of a person called on a home on the pretense of collecting for a charity and then stole from the people there? For that matter, was she truly taking donations or did she keep the coin for herself? Well, he would discover the truth regarding that as well.

“Do have a care, Cornelius,” Aunt Beatrice cautioned. “It is the Christmastide season, and there are many people who are facing extenuating circumstances.”

He huffed. “That doesn’t give them leave to take what isn’t theirs.” As he bounced his gaze between his aunt and sister, he sighed. “Fear not, though. I will have my manners about me. Aunt Beatrice, Annabelle requires your assistance in any event. I’ll try to return in a timely manner.”

Then he ran out of the drawing room and along the corridor toward the stairs. This was just another reason why he despised Christmas. Everyone lied and everyone had an angle to separate a man from his coin. And another reason to remind himself that he didn’t need a woman in his life, no matter how compelling her eyes had been, or how winsome the faint vanilla and floral scent of her.

Christmastide, bah.

There was no such thing as Christmas magic anymore, not since that day four years ago, and neither was there the belief in romance. That was what foolish women believed because they read too many fairy stories or men who hadn’t any grasp at reality.

Thank goodness he was well beyond all of that.