7.
Christmas Morning
Silas bolted upright, breathless. Memories of those solitary graves still clung to his mind with cruel tenacity. He tore away the blanket’s smothering weight, heart drumming, pulse wild.
Is it too late?
He needed to know. Leaping from the bed, he stumbled to the window, shoving the drapes aside, allowing the day’s first light to slash through the dimness. His hands trembled against the icy pane, hope building within him as the realization that it was Christmas morning dawned.
His father and the three ghosts wouldn’t have come to him if there wasn’t still a chance for him to do right by the family he hadn’t even known he had. Why show him what they had if there was no way to change it?
He jerked away from the window, his breaths ragged and sharp. He had to move. Had to do something, anything. His mind was churning with all he’d seen during the night. The light. The spirits. Those final, dreadful graves.
No. I won’t accept that outcome.
He had been given time. A luxury. A miracle. What would he do with it? The morning light bathed him, and he stood there, letting a strange feeling—hope?—settle over him.
Warmth kindled and spread through him, easing the tightness in his chest. And then... he smiled. The fragile thread of hope twisted itself into something solid, something real.
The darkness receded with each breath, with each beat of his heart. The room, once oppressive in its silence, now hummed with the raw, fierce possibility of change.
Is it too late?
No.His spirit soared with the knowledge, new and exhilarating.No. I can change this. I can change all of it.
He rushed to his dressing room, where his valet stood silent and ready.
“Merry Christmas, Harris,” he said, startling the man, who wasn’t used to Silas saying anything to him other than terse instructions. “Find me something warm, for I am going out this morning.”
“Merry Christmas to you as well, my lord,” Harris said with a tentative smile. “Will you be celebrating with your nephew?”
Silas almost said no, but then he thought about Benedict standing by that cold, lonely grave, the only one who’d given a damn about him, and changed his mind. He needed to do better by Grace and Emmaline, it was true, but he also needed to do better by the man who had never given up on him, even when he’d given up on himself. “Yes, I believe I will, but I’ll also be going to the East End, so set out an older pair of my boots.”
“Right away, my lord,” Harris replied, his smile growing.
“Will you send one of the maids to tell everyone to gather at the foot of the stairs? I need help with a few things.”
“Right away, my lord.”
Ten minutes later, he was warmly dressed in a tailored coat of deep emerald and a red scarf to honor the spirit of the day. He headed downstairs, each stride fueled by his new purpose. His eyes missed nothing: the neglected portraits of ancestors watching him with empty stares, the cold fireplaces mantled indust, the austere furnishings stark against the wooden floors. How had he endured such loneliness, year upon year? How had he allowed himself to become as hollow and devoid of warmth as these rooms?
The servants were gathered near the stairs as he descended among them, their eyes wide with confusion and fear that he’d summoned them.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” he told them all, looking each of them in the eyes, knowing it had probably been years since he’d done so. “This morning, I have a few tasks I’d like your assistance with accomplishing.”
The staff exchanged hesitant glances. The master they knew was a shadow of the man who stood before them now. They obviously didn’t know what to make of this new version of him.
He turned his gaze to the footmen. “Ready the carriage. Gather hot bricks, blankets, and gloves for several people. I’ll also need a few outriders.”
They nodded without comment and hurried away.
“I’ll also need a bottle of my finest wine brought up from the cellar and a basket of cakes and biscuitspacked into the carriage,” he told the butler, Curruthers, who could barely contain his smile as he rushed off to do Silas’s bidding.
“I’ll also need the countess’s rooms aired out and made ready, along with the nicest guest room. It will be for a child, a girl of ten, so bring down a few dolls and toys from the old nursery,” he told the housekeeper, whose eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Also, try to make this place a little merry. Do we have anything that might be used as Christmas decorations? I know it’s short notice but do the best you can. Anything is better than nothing.”
Finally, he turned to Cook. “Can you arrange a Christmas dinner? The best you can manage with what we have on hand. And when it’s done, I want all of you to feast. Make merrytonight after your work is done. Bring your families, if you like. And on the morrow, I will give you all Christmas bonuses for your hard work.”
They looked at Silas as if he’d gone mad, but they smiled tentatively, and he realized he’d failed not only his family but also the people who depended upon him for their livelihoods.
