Christmas at Ravencrest: A Dark Hero Christmas Short (Reluctant Heroes) Read online

  Christmas at Ravencrest,

  A Reluctant Heroes Short Story

  By Lily Silver

  Christmas at Ravencrest

  A Reluctant Heroes

  Christmas Short

  By Lily Silver

  ***********

  Copyright Lily Silver 2012

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  Chapter One

  December 23, 1798, Ravencrest Estates in the West Indies,

  “I want Christmas Pudding.” Michael Fletcher insisted as he eased up on one elbow in the bed and adjusted his position. He grimaced as the pain got the better of him. “Everything is different this year. Everything! Is it so much to ask to have a proper Christmas pudding? ”

  Elizabeth gazed at her fifteen year old brother with sympathy. He was being irritable and demanding, and it was not his usual temperament. Michael had recently arrived from England to live with them in the West Indies as her husband was to be his legal guardian.

  And young Michael had been accidently shot. He was shot in the derriere.

  It started when a convict escaped the indenture compound. He came to the plantation house seeking revenge upon the man who owned his indenture, Elizabeth’s husband, Count Rochembeau. The madman took Michael hostage. During the rescue efforts by the count’s men Michael was hit by the bullet meant for his captor. Fortunately, he was hit in a place that had a great deal of flesh and would heal in a matter of weeks.

  Elizabeth moved closer to the bed and took her little brother’s hand. “I’ll do what I can, dearest. I’m going to speak with the cook shortly.”

  Michael nodded, but the severity of his features did not ease.

  Her heart ached to see him in such pain. Elizabeth reached up to caress his ebony hair. She kissed the top of his head. Michael was her darling. It was her responsibility to look after him after mama died. In truth, she had always looked after Michael. She worried over him and protected him even as a girl. On the nightstand was a slim bottle of pain medicine. She measured out a dose of Laudanum in the small glass and handed it to her brother.

  He took it gratefully, handed her the vial and then sank back onto the pillows. His face was glum. “It doesn’t feel like Christmas. It’s so bloody hot here all the time.” He waved irritably toward the open window. “How can it be Christmas without snow? Everything is different here.”

  Elizabeth adjusted the sheet about him and patted his arm. She understood her brother’s bewilderment. They endured too many changes in recent years. And few were for the better.

  Michael’s father had been a drunkard and a hardened gambler. When their mother died, Captain Fletcher’s debts quickly caught up with him. It was feared the family would be taking up residence in Newgate Prison. Fletcher fled London to avoid arrest, taking Elizabeth and Michael with him. The siblings survived by learning to live from hand to mouth. It was a difficult existence after the sheltered life they knew when their mother had been charge of the family purse strings. Mama had been an heiress, a cast off heiress who married beneath her. Their grandfather, the Earl of Greystowe, had given financial support to their mama when she was alive, but after her death they had been left to the care of Michael’s dissolute father, and hence their dire poverty.

  Their fortunes changed this autumn when a mysterious stranger came to their rundown cottage. After a whirlwind courtship, Elizabeth married Donovan R. Beaumont and became the Countess du Rochembeau. The count owned a sugar plantation in the West Indies. Elizabeth was now the mistress of her own domain, a large plantation house that she had worked hard to restore to its former elegance after years of neglect. This was to be her first Christmas as married lady.

  It was a situation every young girl dreamed about. It was a measure of success, a signpost of having arrived in society--being a married lady. It meant having the freedom to plan your own parties, soirees and Christmas holidays with friends and family in attendance.

  As a dream, it was a pleasant vocation. The reality of planning her first social event was daunting. A young, inexperienced bride might encounter difficulties with the execution of a Traditional Christmas dinner with her entire family in attendance.

  Elizabeth had plenty of difficulties laid at her door. She had trouble in spades this year.

  Her younger brother’s expectations were not the only ones she had to deal with.

  Elizabeth’s grandfather came to visit her from England for the holiday. And the Earl of Greystowe was very stiff in his starches. Elizabeth’s elder brother, Mr. Kieran O’Flaherty, was also visiting her for the holiday. And if the task of providing a proper Christmas for her own family weren’t enough, she had the added strain of dealing with her husband’s family as well on this first Christmas as Mrs. Donovan Beaumont. His maternal uncle was in residence, and they were also expecting the count’s mother for the holidays, a woman Elizabeth had not met but who was reputed to be vastly intimidating.

  She wanted this year’s celebration to be exceptional. It was a year of many firsts; her first as Donovan’s wife, her first in the West Indies, and the first Christmas she would spend with both her brothers and her grandfather gathered together under one roof. It was also the first Christmas that Ravencrest Plantation would celebrate in many years, so it had to be memorable.

  Perhaps memorable was not the best word to describe her efforts for the holiday so far.

  There would not be the traditional English Christmas pudding everyone expected at their table. They were in a foreign land and the ingredients necessary for the pudding were not available at the local market. Furthermore, the dish was prepared weeks ahead and must be allowed to ferment properly. Elizabeth had not thought of making the dish ahead, nor had she instructed their cook to do so. She didn’t have the heart to tell Michael his favorite dish would be missing from the seasonal celebration due to her negligence.

  “There will be plenty of good things to eat, Michael, dearest. Fritz has been laboring in the kitchens for days. You’ll be well fed, I promise.”

  “But will there be Christmas pudding?” He insisted irritably.

  “I’m going to talk with Fritz shortly about the menu.” She said, hoping that by some miracle the chef would have come up with something suitable as a substitution as she asked.

  Elizabeth left her younger brother’s room and moved to the next sickroom under her roof. Her grandfather, as it turned out, had a weak heart and had suffered a dangerous episode during his visit. He, too, was confined to bed rest. As she turned the knob to enter Grandfather Wentworth’s guest room, she hesitated upon hearing voices within. Grandfather was speaking to her husband. They must be discussing her younger brother.

  She opened the door just enough to hear the conversation.

  “You must not be too hard on him. Michael is young. He will learn to behave like a gentleman, in time.” Donovan said soothing tone she’d come to adore. Her husband could argue with the devil and win; he was that good at persuading people with his cool headed logic.

  “In my day, a youth was expected to mirror the correct behavior of his betters or he was reminded of his failing with a firm hand. You cannot allow him to run wild. His father has already ruined him through his neglect. A caning will bring him to heel, mark me.”

  Elizabeth barely squelched her outrage at Grandfather’s remark. No one would be laying a hand on Michael, and that was that.

  “A man who raises a hand toward those he’s sworn to protect is a coward or a bully.” Donovan’s patient tone showed signs of being stretched.

  That was the effect Grandfather had on everyone. Even so, Eliza
beth was surprised to hear that slight tinkling crack in her Dark Hero’s armor. Donovan was not pleased by the sudden influx of guests in their home. He disliked being surrounded by people, and yet his house full up to the rafters with his wife’s relatives, none of them invited and all of them injured in the wake of the violence visited upon them just days earlier.

  Elizabeth hurried in, hoping to break the tension brewing. “Good morning, Grandfather. How are you feeling today? I brought you a book from the library.”

  Donovan’s smile as he turned to gaze at her was magical. Elizabeth loved him beyond words. Donovan crossed the room and placed his arm about her, drawing her close.

  Elizabeth grinned up at him and received his warm kiss on the cheek. She shot a quick glance at the man on the bed and was delighted by his scowl of disapproval. Yes, Grandfather was very strict, the typical English Earl. In contrast, Elizabeth’s husband was an American but had inherited his title from his French ancestors. Donovan was an original. He tended to be eccentric in his behavior and didn’t give two shillings what others thought about him. And he did seem to take wicked delight in deliberately provoking Elizabeth’s very proper English grandparent.

  As she met her husband’s gaze the mischief in Donovan’s pale blue eyes was sufficient to raise Elizabeth’s spirits and her heartbeat. She leaned into him, hoping for a kiss. Donovan’s mind was keen to surmise her wish and he did not disappoint her.

  Grandfather’s awkward throat clearing didn’t make Donovan retreat. He kissed Elizabeth for a few seconds more, just to assert himself in the earl’s presence. Elizabeth was the one to pull back from their embrace, more from an urge to giggle than any shame her grandparent might wish to imply. She tried to contain that giggle, but failed as it danced and glided about the room.

  Donovan’s grin widened. His deep chuckle chased after her light giggle, and they shared an intimate second of amusement before he addressed the earl. “Something you needed, James?”

  “No.” Grandfather’s dour look in their direction brought more giggles from Elizabeth. She couldn’t help it. She sounded like a silly girl and yet, Donovan’s subtlety and the naughtiness of their kissing openly were too much to endure in silence.

  “Meet me in my laboratory.” Donovan whispered low with promise lighting his eyes.

  Elizabeth didn’t miss the sensual suggestion in his voice. She shivered with delight.

  “And do not keep me waiting, my lady.” He murmured in a more commanding tone, his deep, lyrical voice raising gooseflesh as he whispered against her nape. “I’m in sore need of your attentions.”

  “Patience, my lord.” Elizabeth chastened, giving him a pleased grin. “We have family obligations we cannot ignore.”

  “Saucy wench.” He pinched her backside, making Elizabeth cry out with surprise. “I’ll be in hiding. When you run out of family to hover over, come to me.” With that, he was gone.

  Elizabeth glanced at her stern grandfather and blushed as she smoothed her skirt with her palm. She shouldn’t need to explain herself to her elder. She and Donovan were married four months past and had spent much of that time estranged. She almost left Donovan a month ago.

  Almost, but Elizabeth loved him so she couldn’t bring herself to go through with her plan.

  What a tragedy that would have been. She could not imagine living without Donovan. Just hearing his name made her insides twist about and her heart do a strange little dance step.

  And yet, he was not always the charming prince. He was a scientist and a recluse, a fact he conveniently forgot to mention when he was courting her. Donovan disliked being around people. And having her relatives, all of them, suddenly descend upon his isolated island estate was trying for him. He lived here alone for years, with only his uncle--a man who was equal to him in age and a handful of servants. The house was kept shuttered and the rooms dark. There had not been a true Christmas celebration at Ravencrest Estates for many decades.

  Christmas was coming to Ravencrest this year. Elizabeth was determined to make it a joyful celebration of new love and of rekindled affections between relatives long estranged or forgotten.

  “Elizabeth.” Grandfather’s voice softened as he gestured for her to come near the bed. “Come, child, sit with me for a time. Your husband insists I must stay abed. I’ll humor him for now. What news do you bring of our lads?”

  “They are in pain, but Donovan has given them medicine to ease their discomfort.” She reported. Both her brothers, Kieran and Michael, had been shot by the intruder two days ago. Kieran had been shot in the shoulder. “Can you believe it, Grandfather?” Elizabeth sat in the chair beside his bed and took his thin hand. The skin beneath her palm was fragile, papery, giving evidence of his advanced years. “We thought Kieran was dead for so many years! It’s a miracle, a Christmas miracle.”

  Kieran O’Flaherty disappeared before Elizabeth was born. She grew up believing he was dead. In truth, he’d been sold as a child, transported to the West Indies as an indentured servant. When Elizabeth’s husband sent an announcement to the newspaper in Basseterre regarding his recent marriage, Kieran noted the bride’s parents names were the same as his own and contacted the newlyweds. Elizabeth wished to mark his return with the celebration of the season.

  “Christmas.” Grandfather’s cold hand squeezed hers. “My bones tell me it’s June instead of December. I can’t say I’m displeased. This balmy tropical climate is most forgiving with old bones.”

  “I brought the book you asked for.” She handed him Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift.

  When she chose it from her husband’s library, Donovan commented on the strong political themes in the novel. He questioned whether it were suitable reading for Lord Wentworth, as Elizabeth’s grandfather was a Member of Parliament and the parody of unfair political rule was written by an Irishman wishing to show the glaring inequalities of British ruled Ireland. Elizabeth shrugged at her husband’s caution and said, “Then it is the perfect book for his lordship. It might enlighten him.” Donovan had laughed with her on that point.

  “Thank you.” Grandfather’s thin fingers grazed over the hand tooled letters with relish. “A book is always the perfect companion.” He turned the spine and read the title.

  “Yes, it is.” In that one opinion she and her grandfather could agree, although they tended to disagree on everything else.

  When she was a little girl, she remembered spending happy hours in Grandfather Wentworth’s library in at Greystowe Hall. Her mother took them to Kent during the summer months to escape London’s heat. Grandfather’s love of reading and his willingness to share his library with Elizabeth, a mere girl, had nurtured her love for novels. It was a rare thing to find she had something in common with her prim and stolid English grandfather.

  Elizabeth chose the library as her personal parlor because she didn’t wish to intrude upon the fussy pink and white sitting room that had belonged to Donovan’s mother. It was too feminine for her liking, and as her mother-in-law made annual visits, Elizabeth felt she should keep the parlor as it was in deference to Mrs. Gaston Beaumont, the count’s mother.

  After some idle chit-chat with grandfather, Elizabeth rose to take her leave. She had dutifully delivered the book. It should occupy him for a few hours. “I’ve much to attend to, Grandfather. We’re having an old fashioned celebration tomorrow night for Christmas Eve. I hope you’ll join us. We are hosting a party to honor the servants.”

  Grandfather’s wistful smile faded. His gaze lifted from the book he had been admiring as he regarded her with severity. This was the Grandfather everyone feared, the high and mighty earl. “It is improper to give a party when the household is in mourning.”

  Oh the nerve of the man. Wasn’t it just like him to insert the rules of decorum into every conversation and question everyone’s adherence to his expectations? Elizabeth bit her lip, determined not to let her O’Flaherty temper rise. “We are not in mourning, Grandfather.”

  “Michael’s father, y
our stepfather, I remind you, is dead. It is bad form to hold a celebration days after his burial, no matter the circumstances of his demise.”

  Elizabeth held her tongue. Her jaw became rigid as she struggled to remain calm at her grandfather’s rebuke. She wanted to shout at him and cry at the same time. She preferred to think of the man who stole into their home last week with designs on murdering everyone she loved as a stranger, no longer a relative, no matter how slight an affiliation a stepfather might have. He was a criminal. Her husband brought him here as an indenture to work the cane fields. She preferred to think of Captain Fletcher as a stranger instead of the devil she knew well. Fletcher did everything in his power to try to destroy her family and he succeeded in part. He murdered her parents and sold her elder brother to white slavers when Kieran was just a child.

  No. I will even pretend not mourn the loss of such a wicked soul.

  Her eyes blurred and her throat burned as she struggled to contain the burgeoning rush of pain the mere thought of her stepfather brought to her heart.

  “No, Grandfather.” Elizabeth willed herself not give in to the tears stinging behind her eyes. Grandfather’s rebuke hurt as much as if he’d reached out to slap her across her cheek. “It is not improper to celebrate our good fortune in escaping that dreadful man.”

  “Regardless of the true circumstances, society demands we observe the proprieties.” Grandfather asserted. “The scandal sheets will be rife with criticisms of the family name if we do not adhere to the rudiments of civilized behavior and at least pretend to be in mourning--“

  “There are no scandal sheets here. We’re on a secluded island, far from London.”

  “News will get out. Servants do gossip. We are supposed to be in mourning--“

  “No one is mourning the passing of a brutal fiend who attempted to kill all of us and nearly succeeded. We are celebrating Christmas. We are Celebrating!” Her words were harsh and cold as she pushed them past her tight lips. “We are celebrating a loved one being restored to us after that wretched man sold him to strangers as a boy and allowed us all to believe was dead. Have you forgotten, grandfather? Have you forgotten all the suffering we’ve been through because of that bastard?”