Chapter One
Christmas time had once been a time of joy and merriment for the Greenfield family; the manor decked with boughs of holly, a Christmas tree decorated with ornaments collected over generations, new ones added yearly, and some made by the household’s children. Guests came from far and wide to share in the merriment, and some might even say that the Greenfields’ Christmas festivities were legendary. But legend so often turned to myth and myth to forgot memory.
Sabine remembered Christmases at Greenfield Manor well. She remembered the stockings she and her mother had made for everyone, hers and her mother’s red, while they had made green ones for her brother and father. And she remembered the gingerbread cookies that old Mrs Booker, their cook, had allowed her to ice. And she remembered the eggnog her parents had allowed her to try when she had got older and the days down by the lake, roasting chestnuts on campfires, and even ice skating whenever the weather was cold enough to freeze over.
There was quite simply one word for Greenfield Christmases: magical.
At least, that was how Sabine remembered them from before she left the nest, from before she had gone to live with family in Bath.
The journey from Bath to Kent was not one that Sabine enjoyed. She made the trip as infrequently as possible, but with the Christmas season looming and her father’s pleading letters, she had finally given in.
The tension from her brother who had arrived only that morning to escort her to their family home told Sabine that he felt much the same as she did. And it did not bode well for the end of their year. As a boy, Merrick had been bold and full of life, but now, as the Earl of Folkestone, he was quite stone-faced.
“Perhaps I should have taken our lady aunt’s offer to escort me,” Sabine suggested with a deep sigh. “You do not appear too enthused at going home.”
She adjusted the ruffles on her pale brown silken skirts to avoid her brother’s eye. She felt Merrick turn to look at her and heard his deep sigh.
“You have been in Bath a while,” he told her, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. “You have not heard all of the rumours.”
Sabine bit back laughter. She had indeed heard the rumours, not that she had needed to. She had known her father well enough from their living together up until their mother’s death. Things had only got worse since then, and she couldn’t imagine that they would ever get better, not until her father finally passed, and as his letters had suggested, she did not believe that would be very far away. That was if it was not simply a ploy to get the family back together in some selfish attempt to repair his reputation before things went too far.
“I do not need to hear rumours to imagine what father has been up to these last three years,” she said grimly. Finally, she did look at her brother, and they shared a saddened gaze.
“He has assured me he shall be on his best behaviour,” Merrick insisted, but the expression on his face told Sabine that he did not believe it any more than she did.
“I shall believe that when I see it,” she stated, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her seat.
The closer they drew to Kent, the more uncomfortable she became. Over and over, she thought of tapping the top of the carriage and asking the driver to turn them back around. She would much prefer to spend the festive season with her mother’s sister and the rest of their family on that side. It was preferred to dealing with her narcissistic drunkard of a father who had never really been much of one at all to her.
Even the weather seemed saddened for their return. The closer they drew to Greenfield Manor, the grayer the sky became. Thick black clouds blowing in on a heavy wind threatened to cast a heavy downpour upon them.
Though she had been preparing for nearly a week, she was still not ready to face her childhood home. With the bad memories practically seeping out of the manor’s woodwork, she was certain that this year would not be one she wished to remember when it was all said and done.
A small girlish part of her remained hopeful. Perhaps returning home after all these years might be a good thing. Her father might finally have come to his senses, and they could share a proper Greenfield Christmas once more, pulling out all the old decorations and sharing in traditions they hadn’t witnessed since her mother’s passing. Maybe the sight of friendly faces, of friends she had once shared all her time with, might make things just as magical as they had once been.
Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine that the carriage was carrying them not to the manor but instead to the lake where they would pop on their ice skates, and her brother would guide her out onto the frozen water, and they would skate around and dance and make merry. It was a dream she’d had every Christmas since her mother’s death, one in which she was in the company of all her old friends, Merrick, Ashley, the Coalville twins, even Alaric Bedivere and his little sister Charlotte, who had only been five years old when last she had seen her.
Their presence in her dreams had warmed her late at night when she had been missing home during the holidays.
But even as they turned off the main dirt lane and onto the driveway of the manor, she remembered all the cruel things her father had done over the years, often angry and drunk and violent. And how it had only got worse five years earlier when her mother had passed suddenly and without warning. It was as though the lady of the house had been the one thing staunching their father’s poor behaviour, and without her presence, the dam had been broken beyond repair.
Sabine had been most surprised when she had received her father’s letter practically pleading her to return home, suggesting that this might be his last Christmas. Though she thought it some excuse or other for some ulterior motive, the smallest part of her that was still a good daughter would not allow her to deny her father what might be his final request.
“Merrick, do you truly think that …” Sabine began to ask, cutting off when the lump in her throat grew. Though she and her father had been estranged for over three years, she could not stomach the idea of his leaving this earth.
Her brother looked to Ashley, Sabine’s lady’s maid, as though he hoped the woman might know better how to answer. But loyal and trusted as she was, the girl seemed just as unsure as he did.
“In truth, I hope this is just one of father’s bids for attention,” Merrick admitted, laying a hand upon Sabine’s lap in a brotherly, comforting gesture. He squeezed gently as he added, “But I have to admit that though I have seen him infrequently, I have noticed a decided deterioration in his health.”
That was not the answer Sabine had been hoping for. She had wanted her brother to laugh it off and insist that all was well, that their father was just playing his games and that all would be well if they just helped each other through the festive season. Then they could all go right back to their lives and act like nothing had gone amiss.
Instead, his answer only made her more anxious. She turned to Ashley across the carriage, hoping for some reassurance on her part, but the maid looked just as concerned as she felt.
Their father had spent the last five years driving everybody away, from business acquaintances to friends and family. Not a single person appeared to have stuck around, and Sabine often felt saddened to think of Greenfield Manor practically empty when it had once been filled with such happiness and laughter when she and Merrick were left alone with their mother while their father was away on business.
Those were the happiest of memories, running through the halls with Merrick and several of their friends, playing on the lawn or even in the meadows beyond the manor. One could almost forget the melancholy that had often plagued their mother, especially when she was having one of her good days and was able to pretend that she was some magical creature lurking about the manor in search of her children, playing games and making them howl with laughter.
Looking back on it now, Sabine could see it for what it was, or rather what everyone else liked to call it: madness. And sometimes, she believed she might have a little of it herself. What else could she be when her father had insisted she liked to use her own voice far too much? She was too intelligent and determined, willful and creative, always with her nose in a book or an idea on her tongue.
He had never liked that. Always telling her she was much too much like her mother, and just looking at the portraits in the gallery, she had seen it too. They were practically the image of each other: wavy red hair that streaked gold in the sunshine, almond-shaped forest green eyes, and a smatter of pale freckles upon her otherwise porcelain skin.
“Cheer up, sister,” Merrick urged her, though his voice was far less than cheery as he squeezed her leg again. “We are almost there.”
And sure enough, they were. Sabine glanced out the carriage window to see the manor looming before them. The moment she saw it, she wished she had listened to her gut and had the driver turn the carriage right back around to return to Bath.
Though the structure itself was just as it had been when she was a child, a grand manor house of sandstone with pillars and a grand porch with a double staircase leading up to it, there was a bleakness to the place. And Sabine suspected it was not merely the impending storm being carried in on the wind.
A heavy darkness hung over the manor that chilled her to the bone. And when she glanced at her brother, she saw his face had paled. Clearly, he did not relish the idea of going home either.
With a deep sigh, Sabine gripped her brother’s hand and squeezed. When he glanced at her, their eyes connected, and she said firmly, “We shall get through this, whatever this is.”
Merrick did not speak. He merely gave a curt nod as the carriage drew to a halt. The next moment, the footman had jumped down from the back of the vehicle and was pulling open the door, leaving them no opportunity to procrastinate or even think of leaving. It was too late to turn back. Sabine knew that well enough, but it did not stop her from wishing it were possible.
There was no grand greeting at the door, no line of servants awaiting them on the driveway as one might have greeted guests in the past. There was not even a smile from the old butler who offered to take their coats as though he were simply going about the motions before he explained, “Your father is still abed, My Lord, My Lady.”
Sabine and Merrick darted a concerned glance at each other.
“Still abed? At this late hour?” Merrick demanded as they were shown into the manor, their coats taken from them. Sabine glanced at the grandfather clock across the hall. She had hoped that she had been wrong, that time had not passed as quickly as she had thought, but her brother was right. It was indeed late. In fact, it was almost supper time.
“He has not left it for several days, My Lord,” the butler announced, and Sabine’s concern only grew.
From the looks of the hallway, she guessed it was far longer than a few days since her father had been out of bed. And if that were not the case, then his temper had certainly waned of late. A thick layer of dust was upon everything as far as the eye could see. The paint and wallpaper were cracking and peeling, and several paintings on the wall were askew.
The smell of rotting flowers and stale food permeated the air, and discreetly, Sabine pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and covered her nose.
“Mr Reynolds, where are the other servants?” she asked, glancing down the hall, hoping that her question might encourage them forth. Her instincts told her that it would do no good. The looks of the manor told her everything she needed to know. It wasn’t only family and friends that her father had chased off.
Mr Reynolds shook his head, a saddened expression on his face. Sabine’s stomach twisted with shame and grief. Mr Reynolds had been a constant presence at the manor since she was born. He was loyal to a fault, and Sabine knew her father most definitely didn’t deserve him, but he was still here. The other servants, however, appeared to be gone.
“Mrs Reynolds and I are the only staff left,” Mr Reynolds explained, and Sabine saw the way his Adam’s apple wiggled as though he was swallowing hard. “Our daughter comes a few times a week to help where she can, but she has her own work.”
Mr Reynolds’ cheeks reddened with embarrassment, and he dipped his head low. Sabine was about to speak when her brother stopped her.
“This is shameful. A man cannot live like this.”
“Merrick!” Sabine exclaimed, astonished that her brother would have such an outburst before a man who was clearly trying his best to keep the ship above water. She turned to the butler and said, “Thank you, Mr Reynolds, for doing all you can. I know my father is not the easiest of men.”
“No, My Lady, he is not.” Mr Reynolds sighed. She did not miss how he glanced at Merrick out of the corner of his eye as though fearful to speak the truth. “He has grown worse in his illness.”
Bile bit the back of Sabine’s throat. “Is he truly so ill?”
Mr Reynolds looked again at her brother, an uncomfortable expression mixed with curiosity. When Merrick said nothing, he turned back to her and responded, “He … he is, My Lady.”
“Then we shall go to him, shan’t we, Merrick?” Sabine asked, turning to her brother hopefully.
His face had only grown paler.
“Perhaps you ought to rest first, My Lady?” Ashley suggested from where she had been standing back, waiting to help Mr Reynolds with their coats.
Though a part of Sabine suspected her maid might be right, she could not help shaking her head. She wanted nothing more than to see her father, to get that first meeting over with so that she could rest properly in the knowledge that it was over.
Sabine reached out for her brother and gripped his forearm. Merrick flinched as though she had surprised him before meeting her eyes. The moment he did, he smiled and placed his hand upon hers.
“Yes, we shall go to him,” Merrick said, though Sabine thought that his face only grew paler.
“As you wish, My Lord, My Lady,” Mr Reynolds said, dipping his head. “Please, follow me.”
“No! There is no need, Reynolds. See to your work. We know our own way to our father’s chambers,” Sabine suggested with a gentle smile. “I am certain that Ashley can see to anything else we might have need of, can’t you, Ashley?
The maid curtseyed her acknowledgement and said, “I can, My Lady. I remember the manor well.”
Sabine cringed at that. She suspected the maid remembered all the same things that she did, the pain she had felt at her master’s hand whenever his anger was upon him, how he had raged and reeled at the servants whenever something went wrong as though it were anyone’s fault but his own.
“Come then,” Sabine instructed, gripping her brother’s forearm just a little tighter. “Brother, won’t you escort me to see our father?”
For a second, Merrick appeared frozen. He ran his fingers through his dark blond hair, much like their father’s had been before he’d begun to go gray, and cleared his throat. “I umm … yes, of course, dear sister.”
Together, they trudged up the stairs. The layer of dust upon each step, disturbed by their feet, clouded up around them until Sabine felt itchy and her throat tickled with the urge to cough.
“I had no idea things had got so bad,” Merrick muttered under his breath, and when Sabine glanced at him, meeting his gaze, he averted his eyes just as quickly.
“When did you last visit?” she asked as they reached the top of the stairs, and she saw that the landing was in a similar disarray.
Merrick’s arms tensed beneath her hand, and she saw shame grip his face. He shook his head and admitted, “I have not been by in several months.”
Even as disappointment gripped Sabine, she could not truly say anything. She had not visited at all in three years. She was as much to blame for the state of Greenfield Manor as her brother. And yet, could either of them truly be blamed when it was their father who had seen them both off along with everybody else?
Their pace slowed the closer they drew to the master bedroom, and soon they wandered to a halt. With the door left ajar, Sabine heard the pitiful coughing from within, and the sour stench of illness filled the air around them.
Again, she raised her handkerchief to her nose, holding it there as she looked to her brother for reassurance.
Instead, he gripped hold of her fingers and pried them from his forearm. “Forgive me, sister, but I have just remembered …”
“Remembered what?” Sabine asked, shocked as her brother took several steps away. The horror on his face was clear, and nausea bit her stomach as he half-turned away.
“I have somewhere I am required to be this evening,” Merrick stated. He dipped his head in a gesture of farewell and turned to Ashley. “Do see that my sister has everything she needs. I shall return when I am able.”
“Merrick! Do not leave. Papa needs us!” Sabine yelled after her brother as he hurried off down the landing. She was utterly astonished to see how her brother hurried off like a frightened child. Never before had she seen him in such a light.
She turned to Ashley to see that the maid had a similar expression of shock and confusion.
Sabine hitched up her skirts, prepared to run after her brother and bring him back by the ear if required. But before she could do so, she heard a voice croak from inside the bedroom, “Sabbie, is that you?”
Sabine’s stomach clenched. She had not heard her father call her by her childhood pet name since she had been a child. It both warmed her heart and grated upon her in equal measure. To know that he would call her such now that he needed her, yet he had failed to do so when she needed him most when her mother had died, and she had felt all alone in the world, when he had practically chased her from her childhood home with all his narcissism and violence. It was almost too much to bear.
“My Lady?” Ashley’s tone was filled with concern, and Sabine didn’t dare to look back over her shoulder at the maid for fear she might give in to her urge to run. “Shall I go after him?”
Sabine scoffed and shook her head. “It would do no good if you did.”
Though she had been the one to run away to Bath, it was her brother who had always run off and hidden whenever they were children. She wasn’t at all sure why she had thought it would be any different now.
“Shall I join you then?” Ashley asked, and out of the corner of her eye, Sabine saw her gesture towards the bedroom.
“Sabbie, please, come!” Her father’s croaking call made her cringe all over again, and this time, she turned to look at her maid.
“No, please, stay here,” she instructed carefully, wondering for a moment whether she was making the right decision. “I shall call if I require anything.”
“Of course, My Lady,” Ashley said, curtseying low.
She had taken up a straight-backed stance outside the bedroom door even before Sabine had managed to slip into the room. As she did, her heart sank. The way her father lay in the bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows, made him look small and insignificant, weak and fragile, all things he had avoided like the plague for most of his adult life. In fact, Sabine couldn’t remember ever having seen him look like any one of them. Not even when her mother had died had she seen him break down or even shed a single tear.
He had always been made of iron. That was how she had seen him for her entire childhood.
But now he was deathly pale and almost coughing up a lung. The black circles under his eyes were made worse by how his skin had sunken and sagged. The scowl wrinkles he’d had for years looked worse than ever, and his jowls were hanging just as terribly.
Just to look upon him made Sabine feel sick, and for a few moments, she stood at the bottom of the bed, her heart wrenching with grief at the thought of losing her father.
Then he spoke again, and the bitterness and anger in his tone was enough to bite into Sabine’s flesh as though he had reached out and struck her.
“What took you so long? Where is that damn brother of yours?” the marquess demanded, shoving himself further up into a seated position. He stopped only to cough before he added, “Even on my sickbed, the two of you refuse to follow instructions!”
Sabine bit back the urge to point out that she and her brother had always followed instructions where their father was concerned. The problem was that no matter what they did or how they did it, it was never quite good enough for him. There was always improvement to be made somewhere along the line. And somewhere, she and Merrick had given up trying.
“I came as quickly as I was able, Papa,” Sabine said, dipping her head, unable to look him in the eye for fear of meeting with his disapproval once more. Though she was a woman grown now, she would never forget how it felt to see the disappointment and frustration in his eyes when he looked down his nose at her. “There were things I had to tend to in Bath before leaving. My aunt was adamant we said a proper goodbye.”
“Ha! Bath! Your aunt, my …” her father yelled back at her. Sabine braced herself for his cursing, but before he could do so, another coughing bout wracked his entire body.
He lay back afterward, looking entirely exhausted, and it took him several moments to catch his breath. When he could finally breathe again, he snapped, “What are you just standing there for? Pour me water!”
The spittle that erupted from between his rancid, gray lips made Sabine cringe, but she did as she always did when her father was reeling at her. She did as she was instructed.
She hurried across the room and poured water from the jug into a small tumbler glass. Holding it out to help him drink from the glass, she was stunned when he yanked it from her hand.
Even on your sickbed, you are as mean as you ever were, Sabine thought grimly, fighting still the urge to turn and run. She would not give him the satisfaction of chasing her away. She would not allow him to frighten her off. Had he not looked quite so ill, she might have done so, but just hearing the rattling of his chest and the dryness of his cough, she could not in good conscience leave.
When she closed her eyes, she could see her mother, how Lady Mansfield had nursed her and her brother when they were sick, how she had cared for them every day of their lives even when she was suffering one of her delusional episodes.
Her mother would have cared for all and sundry if she could, and though her husband had not always been kind to her, she would have sat at his bedside every single day, reading and talking and maybe even singing until he was back on his feet again.
It was for her mother’s sake that although she desperately wanted to, she could not bring herself to leave. Nor could she rid herself of the feeling that if she were to do so, she might never see her father again. Though he had grown steadily more angry and violent towards her over the years, he was still her father, and he was the only one she had ever known.
Her sense of duty kept her there even when her brother ran away so often. One of them had to be there for him, even if only to save face in front of the ton, who would likely be watching the house all too closely if news of the marquess’ illness had spread.
They would all be watching, waiting, to see who came to the lord’s aid and who only arrived to pick over the carcass after he was gone. She would not have it said that she had not done her duty as a daughter, even if he had always been unkind to her. She was not a selfish woman, nor had she ever had it in her to be unkind to anybody.
A part of her even wondered whether perhaps her father might be frightened. He was, after all, on his sickbed, and at his age, it might very well become his deathbed.
The mere thought made a lump form in her throat. As she watched her father chug water from the smeared glass she had given him, she became determined and willful. That was another thing her father would suggest she had inherited from her mother, though it was likely just as much his influence in her.
“I suppose you have come merely to revel in my suffering,” her father snapped at her once he had shoved the glass back into her hand. “Or do you come here expecting something more from me? Well, I tell you now, I have nothing to give!”
Sabine’s insides twisted. There was only one thing she wanted from her father: an apology. And though she desperately prayed for it, she would never likely get it.
Calmly, she took the glass from her father’s hand and laid it on the bedside table. With a shake of her head, she perched on the chair that had been pulled up near the side of the bed and said, “I came merely to see you, Papa, to help where I might be able.”
Her father scoffed at that, but she was surprised when he made no further argument to the fact he believed she was there for no good reason.
Sucking in a deep breath of determination, Sabine reached out for the book on the bedside table next to the water jug. “Shall I read?”
“Go on then,” the marquess said with a disdainful sniff. “Make yourself useful.
Biting the inside of her lip to stop herself from saying something she might come to regret, Sabine opened the book to the marker that he or one of his servants had left, and she began to read. And though she said each word with practiced ease, Sabine barely saw what she was saying or even took in the words that left her lips.
She simply went about the motions, talking into the silence of the room until she finally heard her father’s croaking snoring and knew that, in his sick and exhausted state, he had fallen to sleep.
And as the candles flickered down to nubs, Sabine watched him quietly. She thought of how peaceful he looked, how sickly and feeble, and how unlike himself. For a second, she allowed herself to imagine that he was not the violent narcissist he had been her entire life but that he was simply her father, and, remembering his pleading letter in which he had confessed this festive season might well be his last, she made herself a vow. No matter what happened, she would do all she could to ensure that this would be the greatest festive season Greenfield Manor had ever seen.
She didn’t just owe it to herself; she also owed it to her mother and brother. If her father came along for the ride, then so be it. And if he did indeed pass, as he had told her he suspected, she could at least say they’d had the time to make amends. Whether he would allow such a thing, she was unsure, but she had to at least try.
And so, when she was certain he was down for the count, she jumped to her feet and started to clean.
Removing the old water jug and glass from the bedside table, she left the room and stopped just outside to hand them to Ashley.
“My Lady,” Ashley said as soon as she appeared, curtseying with respect. “I do not understand how you do it.”
Sabine knew well what her maid meant but did not deem the words worthy of a response. She was a good daughter and would remain that way no matter what.
“Please see that these are cleaned and fresh water brought up,” she instructed her maid. “Then we have some serious work to get on with. We have to get this place ready for the season. Please tell Mr and Mrs Reynolds that we shall require their help getting the decorations out of storage.”
“My Lady, are you sure that is a—” Ashley began, looking terrified, but Sabine quickly cut her off with a raised hand.
“My father is too sick to leave his bed,” she pointed out. “He shall most certainly be too ill to try and prevent me from turning this place into a festive wonderland just as my mother might have done were she still here.”
Again, Sabine’s heart ached. The manor had not been decorated for Christmas and New Year since her mother’s passing. In fact, her father had deliberately dismissed such ideas, insisting it was all a useless farce and a waste of time and money.
Well, if he was determined to have her home for the holiday season, then she was determined to have the place ready for it, whether he liked it or not.
As though she had the same feeling, Ashley reached out with her free hand and scraped her index finger along the surface of the nearest piece of furniture. “My Lady, I do believe we have our work cut out for us.”
“Well, we have a few weeks until the festive season really kicks in,” Sabine pointed out, relieved she had not left it any later to arrive. “We shall have to make sure that every moment counts!”
And maybe then my father will finally be proud of something we have accomplished for a change, she thought as she shooed Ashley off down the hall, though she did not hold her breath.
Either way, this wasn’t just for him but for her. If she were to remain for the holidays, she had to at least bring the manor back up to its previous standards for her own sake. Whatever would she say if someone came to visit? Surely by now, someone had heard of her return to Tunbridge Wells. For all she knew, the clock was already ticking on the arrival of their first guest. And heavens knew what they might think were they to see the state of the place.
Cleaning and decorating would be a welcome distraction. And Sabine was more than happy to throw herself into it. Maybe she might finally make some fond memories of home.
“A Viscount’s Mistletoe Encounter” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!
Lady Sabine Greenfield, the enchanting daughter of the stern Lord Mansfield, holds Christmas close to her heart, even though it reflects both love and loss for her. Sabine’s world suddenly unravels as she learns of her brother’s secret debts and a dubious arrangement with the persistent potential suitor, Henry Burke. Amidst this emotional turmoil, she reunites with Alaric, an old childhood friend, who seems to be the key to saving Christmas, as he is determined to protect the family estate.
Sabine, torn between duty and the gentle pull of affection, stands at the crossroads of her destiny…
Alaric Bedivere, the charming yet enigmatic childhood friend of Sabine, returns to the Mansfield estate with a mission of love and redemption. A man with a troubled past, Alaric conceals his own struggles as he endeavors to win Sabine’s heart. Despite the weight of secrets, his devotion to both Sabine and the imperiled family estate drives him forward.
Can Alaric’s love for Sabine triumph over his hidden past, shining a light upon their common future?
Beneath the mistletoe in the Mansfield estate, Sabine and Alaric’s hearts intertwine during this magical Christmas Eve. In the soft glow of candlelight, their struggles fade, replaced by the promise of a new beginning. Will the enchantment of the season mend what time and circumstance have torn apart, or will the joy of the holidays slip away, leaving behind a bittersweet symphony of lost opportunities?
“A Viscount’s Mistletoe Encounter” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.
Hello my dears, I hope you enjoyed the preview! I will be waiting for your comments here. Thank you 🙂