Their father had never done that. Not ever. Eliza could count on one hand the number of times their father had even been present in the house when the children had decorated the tree in honour of their mother. The last time he’d taken an interest had been Ethan’s birth. He’d returned from London with a blue-tinged bauble to celebrate another boy to carry the Penfold name. Eliza thought perhaps he’d purchased the trinket to raise their mother’s spirits. But weeks later, she had breathed her last. It was the last time he’d shown an interest in anything other than liquor and gambling.
It was the last time she remembered anything remotely close to happiness. Each day since then had been only about survival. Weathering their father’s drunkenness. Enduring the violent tirades meant to belittle and wound the soul. Protecting the younger children. Protect, protect, protect.
She supposed that was what Darius did with her. By distracting her and keeping her at the house, he’d taken the reins from her hands, taken control. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked it though. The feeling was so brand new, so different, so terrifying. She still barely knew him.
“Eliza?” Ethan called in a sing-song voice as though he’d been working hard at attracting her wandering attention. “It’s time to hang your bubble.”
Each member of the Penfold family had their own unique painted glass bubble. They were delicate and shiny and personal. Every year now the ritual started with their mother’s bauble, the first one her father had collected, and then they would each hang their own and make a Yuletide wish. Eliza had hung their father’s every year with the wish that he would come back to them.
This year, her wish would be that he was roasting in hell. It was most uncharitable. She nearly poked her tongue out as well.
Eliza waited as Gabriella held her bubble in her hands and closed her eyes. She hoped her sister wished for happiness or for peace.
Before she knew it, it was her turn. The glass was cold at first but soon warmed to her touch. She almost got lost in the swirling pinks and purples but then she closed her eyes and held her breath. Rather than thinking about her father, she wished for a new dawn. A new day. A new life. For her. For Nathanial. For Grace. For Gabriella. For Ethan. She repeated their names over and over in her mind until she could no longer hold her breath.
The scent of the pine tickled her nose when she inhaled. The freshness of the melting snow still dripping from the branches reached out to her and if she could have, she would have hugged that sensation to her chest and held on tight. But every moment had to end and this one was no different.
Reaching out to tie the ribbons to a branch not too high, hope swelled within her. Here, in this house, they were surrounded by men who only wanted to see them comfortable. She had a husband who seemed to want to take care of them all, not just his new bride.
As Eliza stepped back to admire the tree, only Nathanial’s bubble missing, the sailors murmured their astonishment, this being the first tree any of them had ever seen decorated like this. She smiled and hugged Ethan to her side when he tugged at her skirts.
“It’s really very beautiful,” he whispered with awe.
“You did a splendid job,” she told him after taking a steadying breath. Turning away from the tree to resume her worrying over Nathanial and his digging up their father’s corpse, she heard the faint shattering of glass.
She knew what it was immediately. Grace and Gabriella cried out at the same time. She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to see the jagged, colourful shards to know it was ruined. The sound was enough.
The sound of her wishes smashing to dust on the expensive carpets.
Always in the deepest, darkest corner of her heart, she’d known wishes were out of her reach.
Chapter Sixteen
Harold’s nose and cheeks were ice cold and his arse felt as though it would break as he reined in his mount. Damn his father for his stubbornness. Damn Darius and the bloody Penfold chit for banding together against them. If only the duke would pay his debt, then Wickham could pay some of their creditors off and buy them some time to make good on the other notes. But the world wasn’t built on if onlys.
As he tied his horse to a tree far off the main drive but not too far from the house, he smelled sharp, strong wood smoke mingled with the sweetness of pine sap. He also heard voices. Crouching low, he crept towards the noises and stopped at the edge of a clearing where the allure and crackle of a hot fire reached out to him.
“Build it up, men,” he heard called out.
“Bit hard with all this wet wood,” was called back in annoyance.
As the wind changed direction, Harold saw what Darius and his men were doing through the smoke. About forty feet from the fire they were building, a boy—the Penfold lad by the looks—was digging about in a small graveyard. Darius walked between, like a peacock strutting and shouting orders. How was it that his bastard brother, older by only a few months, could command such respect?
Perhaps Harold could attempt to fall in with his good graces? He almost snorted. Join sides with a bastard? He did snort. Someday Harold would be an earl. If he survived the coming storms.
He didn’t stand shoulder to shoulder with bastards.
Darius moved closer to the Penfold lad as he lay his shovel down in the dirt, dropping to his knees and retching loudly. He needed
