It Starts With a Kiss: A Very Merry

Fairbanks Christmas (Those Very Bad

Fairbanks, Book 9) Alyssa Clarke
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IT STARTS WITH A KISS
A VERY MERRY FAIRBANKS CHRISTMAS

THOSE VERY BAD FAIRBANKS

BOOK NINE
ALYSSA CLARKE
 It Starts with a Kiss: A Very Merry Fairbanks Christmas is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the
names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
articles or reviews—without written permission.

For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher: Darkanpress@gmail.com

First Edition January 2024

Edited by AuthorsDesigns
Proof Read by Jeanne Olynick

Cover design and formatting by AuthorsDesigns.

Copyright © 2024 by Alyssa Clarke
 Thank you for your patience, my wonderful readers and lovers of the Fairbanks series. I faced several health challenges
this year, and this book was removed from pre-order a few times. I received many encouraging emails, and they helped me
immensely. Thank you for your unwavering support and love for the Fairbanks series.
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16

Alyssa’s Other Books

About Alyssa Clarke
 CHAPTER 1

M rs. Margaret Fairbanks, affectionately called Maggie by her friends, gazed out of the carriage window, her breath
forming delicate mist patterns on the glass as she watched the snowflakes drift lazily in the air. With only thirteen days
remaining until Christmas, the festive spirit seemed thick in the air, but an undeniable sense of loneliness tugged at her heart.
She was the only person from her large, rambunctious, but loving family who had not yet arrived in Penporth, Cornwall, to
celebrate the holidays. All her children and a few grandbabies have been in Penporth since St. Nicholas Day.
Maggie had remained in London, accompanying the Dowager Countess of Celdon for a few more weeks since Lady Celdon
refused to return with the family to their respective country manor. When Maggie told Lady Celdon that all her children had
promised to meet in Penporth this year for Christmas, she also refused that invitation, complaining that her old bones dreaded
the winter journey.
Recalling Lady Celdon’s pursed lips and aggrieved expression, Maggie smiled. What would it be like to see Penporth
again? Ever since her eldest son, Colin Fairbanks, had assumed the title of the Earl of Celdon just a bit over three years ago,
their family dynamics had shifted. The weight of responsibility in helping him to assume his new role had kept her away from
the town and the beloved family home where she had raised her children.
In truth, no one in their family had visited their childhood home since the turn in their fortunes with the exception of James,
Maggie’s second eldest son, who had heeded Colin’s request to divide his time between London and their family manor.
James had devoted several months in Penporth, working closely with architects to plan and oversee various additions and
renovations to the family home. His dedication to fixing their home felt heartening and bittersweet. Maggie could not imagine
what those changes were, and wondered how different that manor would now feel. Had the once faded and peeling wallpaper
been replaced with resplendent, glinting moldings that exuded opulence and sophistication?
Her thoughts drifted to the chandeliers that had graced their parlor and dining room for over a decade. A humble purchase
back then, she had been proud that her house boasted chandeliers. Maggie wondered if they had been replaced with magnificent
fixtures befitting the grandeur of an earl’s abode, sparkling with a dazzling brilliance that matched the newfound prestige of
their situation.
Maggie sighed. When Colin had inquired about any alterations she wished for, she had assured him that she would place
her trust in his guidance. However, at this moment, a sense of yearning welled up within Maggie for the aspects of the manor
she had called home for over two decades.
The carriage rattled over a few bumps in the rutted country road, jolting Margaret from her reverie. Seeing the familiar
snow-covered path leading from the main country road to the town, Maggie wrinkled her nose. Knowing she would soon
discover the changes to the manor made her eager to reunite with her family and rediscover the place that held so many
memories.
She frowned, for the carriage considerably slowed. Maggie gasped, realizing that if they turned off on the snow-covered
path to the left, they would pass her coachman’s home. She knocked on the roof of the equipage and he slowed. Opening the
small window, she pushed her head outside. “Robert,” she called.
“Yes, Mrs. Fairbanks,” came his muffled reply.
“Are we not very close to your home?”
“Yes, madam. I was only hoping for a glimpse, Mrs. Fairbanks.”
 “Do take us there first, Robert.”
“Yes, Mrs. Fairbanks,” he said, pleasure and relief rich in his tone.
The carriage moved faster now that he would see his family soon. Maggie laughed, then sighed. Robert had followed their
family to London, proud to now be the coachman of an earl and not just a country gentleman. He attended his post diligently but
did not see his family much. He was allowed twelve days off for the year, but how could that be enough for the family he must
dreadfully long for? Especially when those days were not consecutively granted, which would allow him to journey down to
spend time with his wife and children.
Robert had never complained and resisted several months ago when Colin granted him a month of paid leave. The
coachman had worried he was being fired, but Maggie had assured him they merely wanted him to spend time with his family.
It was unusual for any aristocratic family to grant such consideration to their workers, but Colin had traveled to London with a
few loyal servants who had never been away from Penporth their whole lives. They deserved his thoughtful efforts. The ease
of having familiar workers about as he assumed the mantle of earl had been a blessing. Servants were notorious gossips in the
ton, but those who worked for the Fairbanks were loyal and never whispered about their mishaps as they adjusted to life
amongst the affluent.
The carriage stopped. Maggie shoved the carriage door open, and the young tiger who assisted Robert hastened to knock
down the steps.
“Thank you, Jacob,” she said to the young lad, who was only fifteen years old.
He grinned, his cheeks reddened from the cold. “Thank ye, Mrs. Fairbanks. I’ve not seen mum in a while. I’ll just run ova
to see me family.”
She nodded and smiled when he darted through the snow-covered copse of trees, making a beeline for his family’s home.
Robert took off his cap and dusted off the snowflakes, appearing nervous.
“Mrs. Fairbanks, ma’am I am grateful—”
“There is no need for thanks, Robert,” she said, “and you do no need to rush your visit. Please untether my horse, and I will
ride the rest of the way home.”
His jaw slackened, and he vigorously shook his head. Maggie laughed and waved her hand in dismissal of his concern. “I
have been cooped up in this carriage for six days as we traveled down from London. The only time I could stretch my legs was
to leave the carriage to trek inside an inn to sleep. I miss Penporth and will happily ride my horse for the rest of the journey.”
“It is very cold, Mrs. Fairbanks.”
She had on half-boots and was warmly wrapped in her winter redingote. “I am adequately prepared. I am used to Penporth
winters.”
“This year, it feels different,” he muttered, peering at the cold, gray sky.
“I will not consider any of your objections, Robert. Now go and greet your wife and children.”
He smiled, the motion deepening the grooves in the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Thank ye, Mrs. Fairbanks.”
“Before you go,” she said, returning to pluck several parcels wrapped in brown paper from inside the carriage. “These are
for your wife and daughters. Do not let them open them up until Christmas day. I hear that custom is all the rage, and I am
determined to follow it.”
He chuckled, his eyes growing suspiciously misty. “Thank ye, Mrs. Fairbanks.”
“Now, Robert, do spend the time with your family. All my luggage was already sent ahead with Colin, and the valise I have
with me can be dropped off at any time. You do not need to hasten to the manor until we are ready to leave for town in the new
year.”
He bobbed his head, hastened to unhitch her mare, Lady, from the carriage, and fitted her with a sidesaddle. Robert assisted
Maggie to mount, and she took the reins and urged Lady forward. Maggie was only perhaps an hour or so ride away from their
manor. She inhaled the crisp air into her lungs and smiled. The air in the countryside felt different from that in London.
“Oh, I have missed Penporth.”
The horse cantered with ease, and she surmised she should arrive at their manor soon. Maggie’s chest squeezed. Since
leaving Penporth, this was the first time she had returned. She thought of all the friendships she had left behind to begin a new
chapter in the glittering and judgmental world of the ton.
Maggie sighed, recalling the shock and panic that had clutched at her chest when they received the news that Colin had
inherited an earldom. The entire family had been in an uproar for weeks. Though her father was the third son of a baron,
Maggie had not grown up with those airs of elegance and arrogance. Her father had been a simple man with simple pleasures,
earning his living as a vicar.
Maggie’s husband, John Fairbanks, had been a country gentleman of modest means and had even been simpler despite a
distant relation to the aristocracy. They laughed and loved each other fiercely and had twelve beautiful children they were
proud of and adored. It was only when Maggie started to mingle within the ton that it was insinuated that having twelve
children was crass and implied she had an ungovernable appetite seen in those of the lower class.
She closed her eyes, blotting out those remembered whispers. Maggie cut across the thick snow-laden path, urging Lady
onward for several minutes. She came upon a house, and she tugged the reins, coming to a stop, swift emotions clogging her
throat. Amid the picturesque winter scene, three lively children, their ages spanning from sixteen to three and twenty, filled the
air with joyful laughter and shrieks as they engaged in a spirited snowball fight with their father.
Maggie peered up at the modest but beautifully tended manor through a film of tears. This house belonged to Mr. Hugh
Gilchrist and Mrs. Ruth Gilchrist—a couple who had once been cherished friends of Maggie and her husband. The memories
of shared laughter, dinners, and the warmth of companionship flooded back, and she couldn’t help but let out a soft, wistful
sigh.
Oh, John.
The man she had loved with her entire heart had died. Maggie grieved his death years ago, yet for the last couple of years,
she found herself struggling with a surge of emotions that had become increasingly difficult to contain. Lately, she had been
feeling unusually morose, grappling with a sense of loneliness that seemed to cleave through her heart like a relentless blade. It
astonished her, for she was surrounded by her children and a few lovely grandchildren with more surely to come.
As she watched the spirited romping before her, Maggie couldn’t help but yearn for the days when John’s laughter had
joined the chorus of shrieks from their children as they played on the lawns or in the snow. Then, their love had warmed the
halls of their home, and the ache of loneliness had been a distant stranger. Despite the painful loss of John, the agony had
gradually eased, and there was contentment in Maggie’s heart. But now, it was as though a shadow had fallen over that
happiness, casting a pall of longing and melancholy.
She briefly closed her eyes, alarmed to feel a trail of tears on her cheeks. “Oh, this is silly,” Maggie muttered, hastening to
wipe it away. She wheeled her horse around and started to ride away.
“Maggie?” a voice called. “Margaret Fairbanks, is that you?”
 CHAPTER 2

M aggie froze at Ruth’s strident call.

Drat. Maggie held herself still atop Lady, taking several deep breaths to steady herself against the emotions tearing through
her. The snow crunched as footfall sounded, each step drifting closer. The sound of playing had stopped, and the excited yips of
a puppy sounded.
“Ruth, do not run lest you slide,” Hugh called out.
Maggie’s heart squeezed.
“Were you really going to leave without saying hullo, Maggie?”
She wheeled the horse around to find Ruth’s hand was firmly planted on her ample hip, a stance that was unmistakable to
Maggie. Her friend had not aged. In truth, they were both fifty years old, yet Ruth appeared years younger. Her cheeks bore a
healthy flush, and her light green eyes sparkled with genuine happiness.
“Margaret Elizabeth Fairbanks, were you going to leave without saying hullo or coming inside?”
Maggie smiled. “Whenever you say my full name, that was a signal your temper was brewing.”
With practiced ease, Maggie gracefully dismounted from Lady and deftly hitched the reins on a nearby post. The sun peeked
from behind bloated gray clouds, casting a warm golden glow on the snow-covered ground. As Maggie drew closer to Ruth’s
welcoming presence, the two friends couldn’t contain their excitement any longer. They rushed forward to meet each other,
arms opening wide as they embraced.
Their laughter filled the crisp winter air. “Oh, Ruthie,” Maggie said, “I’ve missed you dearly. Fortunately, it seems you
haven’t aged a day, so perhaps I haven’t missed too much.”
Her friend eased herself from their fierce embrace, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “Well, Maggie, I may not have aged a
day, but I dare say you’ve grown younger. I would trade in an instant.”
“Welcome back to Penporth, Margaret,” Hugh said, smiling as he strolled over with their children. “Have you forgotten our
hellions: Matthew, Hyacinth, and Bridget?”
His children cried their protests at being called hellions. She laughed and greeted them, but guilt pricked at Maggie’s heart.
Ruth stared at her, seeming to read the feelings Maggie tried to hide. The children hugged her before returning to their spirited
play with their father and small puppy.
“Come inside, my dear friend, and let’s catch up properly.”
Maggie followed Ruth into the inviting warmth of the manor. They went to the cozy parlor adorned with pinecones and
holly. The room was bathed in sunlight, and a crackling fire danced in the hearth. Maggie sat on the sofa closest to the windows
and smiled as she took in the familiar surroundings.
“Would you like some mulled wine?”
“Thank you, Ruthie.”
Her friend smiled, and guilt once again pinched Maggie’s heart when she saw the sheen of tears in Ruth’s eyes. How long
had it been since they last exchanged letters? Almost a year. And it was she who had not responded to the last couple of letters
from Ruth.
“I gather life in London moves much faster than here in the countryside,” her friend said softly, handing her a cup with the
mulled wine.
 She took a sip, the warmth settling in her body and flushing her cheeks. “You are too gracious to me, Aggie.”
Ruth laughed and made a face. “You truly recall that terrible pet name?”
“Hmm, I was Maggie and you were Aggie, a fine pair we were. You insisted that Ruthie was a proper moniker, not Aggie.”
Ruth sat on the sofa opposite her.
“I am sorry,” Maggie said softly. “I have not responded to your last three letters. I have been terribly busy, but that is no
excuse.”
Ruth’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “We do get the news here in Penporth, even if it is weeks late. I know you are busy. So
many wonderful matches for your children. I cannot believe that hellion Elizabeth is a duchess.”
Maggie laughed. “I still pinch myself some days.”
“Does she … does she have any children?”
She told Ruthie about her children’s matches and their children. Colin and Hermina had a son, George. Lizzy and her duke
had twin daughters—Hannah and Rebecca, and Lizzy announced a few months ago she was once again with child. Fanny and
Simon had a daughter, Lily, and a son, Jacob. Nicholas and Cressida also had a son, Oscar. Eleanor and Lucien had a daughter,
Bridget. Ester and Edmond had a son, Stephen.
“Never say Fanny’s beau came back alive from the war? Good heavens, I thought it was all nonsensical gossip.”
Maggie caught Ruth up on all the happenings in her family, regaling her with tales of their scandals and courtship, knowing
her friend would never gossip about them. Ruth shared many stories about Penporth that had them laughing and chatting for
hours.
Though it was only late afternoon, steel gray blanketed the sky and unexpected wind howled. Seeing the shift in the
weather, Maggie promised her friend she would call again before leaving Penporth.
Ruth’s eyes gleamed. “I will be coming by to meet all those dukes, earls, and viscounts. I’ll be the envy of everyone. My
parlor will be filled for weeks with callers nosing about your family.”
Maggie laughed, slipping on her hat and coat, then walking outside.
“Perhaps you should spend the night here,” Ruth said, strolling beside her. She frowned, peering upward. “We’ve not had
such snow in years, Maggie. I am worried.”
“Do not be silly. I miss the children too much to stay away another night.”
“I think we might get a storm.”
“Have you forgotten, though, that I spent most of my life in Penporth?” Maggie asked tartly. “I have navigated many winter
storms.”
Her friend pursed her lips. “I cannot help but feel that town polish you got rubbed away the experienced country rust.”
They laughed, and Maggie warmly hugged her friend. “Promise me you will visit us in London one day.”
“And create a scandal of the season? Undoubtedly, Hyacinth would love the spectacle, and I will consider it.”
They parted, and Maggie unhitched the reins and mounted Lady. She rode away, and after several minutes, it became clear
she had made a mistake. A storm was brewing, and it was coming in rather fiercely. Snow descended from the sky in a flurry,
but it was the harsh winds that ripped at her coat and skin that made her heart thump harshly. If she continued cutting through the
snow and these woodlands, she would not return to the manor before the worst of the blizzard landed.
Good heavens.
Maggie paused, thinking of turning back around. She could arrive back at Ruth’s before the harshest wind arrived.
“The cottage!”
How could she forget the small cottage their family owned, which abutted Simon Gracely’s land? From this side, that
cottage was closer than Ruth’s home or the Fairbanks’s manor. Maggie urged Lady forward, lowering her head against the
increasing wind.
The pathway to the cottage wasn’t long, but the snow made it difficult. What shocked Maggie was that she could barely see
through the sheet of whiteness. Her horse snickered, and she felt a moment of panic.
Oh, why did I leave Ruthie’s house? Should I turn around?
It was rather frightening to be out in the blizzard. Her friend and her coachman would likely think she made it back to the
main estate, given how long she had departed. Maggie urged Lady forward, a cry of relief slipping when she barely made out
the cottage. No one would know she was there, and inside would perhaps be cold and without any wood for a fire.
Her chest squeezed and then she relaxed. James had mentioned once making significant repairs to the cottage for Fanny and
Simon. Perhaps it was stocked with firewood and food that could last her for the few days she was sure to be stranded.
It was special to the family, especially Fanny who had kidnapped her lover and hid him there, hoping to seduce him into
recalling his memories of their attachment. Simon had gifted the small but charming cottage to Fanny. Maggie shook her head,
still bemused at the antics her daughter had gotten up to, though she had understood Fanny’s desperation for the man she loved
with her entire heart to remember her. That she was successful made Maggie admire her daughter the more for her brazen and
scandalous actions.
Puffing breathlessly, she dismounted Lady, groaning as she sank knee-deep into the snow. The pathway was untended, and
the thick snow made it harder for her to move. She dropped the reins, knowing her horse would instinctively seek cover when
necessary. Maggie pushed forward, trembling under the fierce wind. She all but stumbled, and then she realized the cottage step
caused it. Relieved, she marched up the steps, gripped the knob and turned it. She was surprised when it moved underneath her
palm, and she spilled inside. A rather large and fast movement arrested her gaze.
Shocked, Maggie stared at the man, who seemed just as startled to see her. He was garbed in a simple white shirt opened at
the neck to reveal the corded muscles of his throat. He had no waistcoat or jacket, only dark blue trousers that clung to
muscular thighs. Her cheeks heated at noticing. The man had no boots or stockings and had bare feet.
Dark silver eyes ran over her with a swift yet thorough intensity. Maggie’s heart started knocking inside her chest, and she
felt a sharp jolt of alarm.
“Who are you?”
 CHAPTER 3

W ho are you?
Those silver eyes caught Maggie’s in a quick snare. The demand had burst from them at the same time. The stranger in the
middle of the cottage wore an inscrutable expression as he returned her stunned regard. He was inarguably handsome. He
looked to be around mid-forties with muscles not seen in gentlemen of the ton. The stranger was tall, dressed in dark, simple
clothing that fitted so perfectly to his figure that one could not help noticing the muscles of his thighs and broad shoulders. His
raven black hair, laced with silver at his right temple, was brushed back from a square forehead. His savagely hewed
cheekbones were shadowed with a day’s growth beard, and he owned a wide, sensual mouth. Maggie flushed at noticing but
did not look away from his similarly brazen regard.
A rather self-assured and arrogant air emanated from him, and he stared at her as if she were the one to trespass into his
domain. Nonplussed, Maggie again asked, “Who are you, sir, and why are you in ... our family cottage?”
A slight frown touched his forehead. “Your family cottage?”
“Yes.”
“Then I can only ask forgiveness for the imposition,” he said in a smooth, cultured tone quite at odds with his mode of
dress. “Given your silence, I gather I am not forgiven, and you are wishing me to the depths of hell.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. Was he speaking in jest? “I …”
When her words deserted her, he said, “I took shelter from the unexpected storm. I felt lucky when I stumbled upon your
cottage.” He lowered his head in a small bow. “Grayson Rochester. Permit me to know your name.”
“I am Margaret Fairbanks.”
He glanced over her shoulder into the blizzard. “Does Mr. Fairbanks require any assistance with horses or a carriage?”
Oh. Maggie blinked. She was uncertain about telling this man she was alone. “Do you live close by, Mr. Rochester?”
“No.”
She waited, and when he said no more, she scowled. “Are you always this … brief with your reply.”
“I have been accused of it before.” Mr. Rochester sighed, and she detected the impatience in it.
He walked toward her, and Maggie lurched back a few steps. Her action seemed to surprise him, for his eyes widened
slightly and his steps faltered.
“I only meant to go and assist your husband.”
“I am alone, Mr. Rochester,” she confessed, smoothing her gloved palm down her coat. “There is no husband outside.”
“I see.” His gaze grew unreadable. “Though you are uncommonly lovely, upon my honor, I swear you do not need to fear
ravishment from me.”
Startled at his forwardness, her lips parted, but no words emerged.
“I do not reside close enough where I could brave the storm to return home and leave you here.”
“Where is not close enough?” she asked hopefully.
His lips quirked in good humor. “Devonshire, I’m afraid.”
It is a few days ride at best. “Bloody hell,” Maggie cursed before she had the presence of mind to stop it.
Those etiquette lessons she frequently reminded her children to always keep in mind seemed to desert her. Thankfully, the
old dragon was not present to witness it. Maggie silently groaned. How had she devolved to the level of her children to dare
think of the Dowager Countess of Celdon as the old dragon?
Maggie glanced over her shoulder. It was reckless and silly to go back outside into that blizzard. It was not as if she were
some young debutante who could not be alone with a gentleman for a few hours.
Or days. Good Lord.
She looked back at him, silently admitting his presence simply felt too large, and the charming cottage no longer felt …
comfortable.
“I don’t bite. Please come in and close the door. You are letting out all the warmth.” The words were a growl of irritation.
His eyes briefly flicked upward. “I won’t kiss you either.”
Maggie glanced up. Suspended above her head, delicately affixed to the wooden slats of the doorway, hung a sprig of
mistletoe. Good heavens! A smile played on her lips as she recognized this festive decoration, a clear sign that one of her
children had taken the liberty to adorn the cottage with the intention of indulging in some playful, amorous mischief with their
spouse.
“You are smiling,” Mr. Rochester said bemusedly. “Is it that you wished to be kissed?”
Maggie snapped her gaze to his to see the deviltry dancing in his gaze. She silently cursed her fair skin that burned in a
bright blush. Smoothing her hands over her winter pelisse, a nervous habit she had to shed, Maggie said, “I smiled because I
recognized that it must have been my daughter who placed the sprigs and pinecones in the cottage.”
A sharp gust kicked up and swirled around her feet, sending gusts of icy air up her skirts. She hurried inside and closed the
door, leaning against it. “My son told me that he had a small stable built behind the cottage. Were you able to find it, Mr.
Rochester?”
“Yes. The gift I was traveling with is locked inside with my stallion.”
“Gift?”
“A pony for my daughter. She has been asking for a pony all year. I thought it would be a perfect Christmas surprise.”
Everything about him softened, and Maggie stared at him, astonished. Some of her trepidation also vanished. With only a
few words, Mr. Rochester gave every indication that his daughter was firmly wrapped around his heart. “How old is your
daughter?”
“Bella is eight.”
“That is a lovely name,” Maggie said softly. She delicately cleared her throat. “Would you please assist in escorting my
horse to shelter in the barn?” “Yes. I will give it a few minutes for this gust of wind to ease.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rochester.”
The warm interior of the cottage chased away the chill from the snow, and thankfully, it had been recently aired and
cleaned, not just decorated. Crisp and fresh linens covered the mattress, and the few pillows seemed newly padded. The small
sitting area held a table and two chairs, and a chaise longue rested beneath the window. The snug quarters were adorned with a
rustic charm as pinecones, evergreen branches, and sprigs of mistletoe had been thoughtfully placed throughout the space.
Maggie strolled over to the hearth, untied her coat, then rested it on the mantle. She was painfully aware of Mr. Rochester’s
regard on her as she tugged off her coat and gloves, placing them on the grate near the fire. She kneeled and removed her half-
boots, revealing white silken stockings. Maggie rose and smoothed her hand down her gown. It was also damp. His eyes
scanned every detail of Maggie’s face and body as though he were attempting to etch something into his memory.
Their gazes collided and held for a moment.
“I explored the cottage earlier. There are a couple of gowns in the small armoire. I do believe they would fit.”
Perilous tension coated the air and his lips quirked. Seeing that and the deviltry that suddenly gleamed in his gaze surprised
her. Nerves quaked in her belly and Maggie frowned.
‘Chastity, modesty, and obedience are the pre-eminent female virtues and must be at the forefront at all times.’
Words the Dowager Countess of Celdon said to Maggie numerous times rolled through her thoughts. I am a mature woman
of good sense, and I cannot remain in these damp clothes. There was nothing to be skittish about. Maggie almost smiled at
her absurdity. She walked over to the armoire and saw three gowns. She recognized them as out of fashion day gowns that once
belonged to Fanny. Maggie retrieved a simple day gown. A glance over her shoulder showed that Mr. Rochester was by the
window, staring outside to grant her a measure of privacy. Maggie quickly changed out of her winter gown and slipped the day
dress over her head.
Good heavens!
She was far plumper than her daughter, and it clung to Maggie’s curves. Resting a hand on her belly, a soft breath shuddered
from her. There was no help for it; she would have to keep this on. It was far preferable to a wet garment that might lead to
illness. Maggie draped her gown over the small chair near the fire, hoping the heat would dry it.
“I am presentable,” she said.
Mr. Rochester turned around, and his eyes showed a slight flare before his expression grew inscrutable.
“I will escort your horse to the barn.”
She drew in a quick, fortifying breath. “The wind has not eased.”
He grimaced, raked his fingers through his hair, but made no reply. Mr. Rochester hurriedly donned his boots, wrapped
himself in his cloak, and flung open the door. The wind snatched the door from his grasp, compelling him to rush outside and
forcefully close it to keep the biting winds at bay. Maggie rushed to the window, peering outside. The swirling snow made it
nearly impossible for her to discern anything beyond the glass.
She left the window and went to the kitchen, where she inspected the larder. To her relief, it was brimming with supplies,
and she even saw carafes of wine and a decanter with brandy. Maggie discovered various treats awaiting them, including
marzipan, gingerbread, and a delightful lemon cake adorned with white icing.
It seemed Simon stocked the cottage, perhaps anticipating a getaway with Fanny.
With a determined resolve, Maggie retrieved a pair of plates and placed two slices of the delectable treat on them. Turning
her attention to the earthen stone fireplace, Maggie carefully stoked the wood and poured some oil to kindle the flames. The
gentle crackling and flickering of the fire provided a comforting warmth to the cottage. Next, she set a kettle on, preparing for a
soothing cup of tea.
As she crushed tea leaves with a pestle, Maggie blew out a breath, aware of the anxiety stirring inside her chest. How
would she share this confined space with a stranger while maintaining the utmost propriety?
 CHAPTER 4

G rayson Rochester, the Earl of Ashworth, had no intention of ever revealing his status to the lady snowed inside in the
cottage with him. Cold biting deeply into his body, he stomped up the few steps and shoved open the cottage door. For a
moment, he wondered if he’d been magically transported elsewhere. Something mouthwatering reached his nose, and he
appreciatively inhaled.
His gaze found her. She stood before the stone counter, cutting up carrots with a knife. The blue wool gown she’d changed
into clung far too enticingly to her curves, and he felt a dart of desire. Bloody hell. Grayson closed the door, and she seemed to
snap out of her deep introspection to look at him.
“You are cooking.”
Grayson has never met a lady with such a genteel appearance yet could cook.
She lowered the knife and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Yes. Beef soup. I also made some tea. Outside must have
been horribly cold, and you were gone for a long time.”
“Your horse needed a good rub down, and I had to unharness her so she would be comfortable.”
Her eyes widened and then softened in a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Rochester.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was a very kind gesture considering the bitter coldness and how uncomfortable you must have been. Many would have
led Lady into the barn and hastened back to where it is warm without rubbing her muscles.”
Grayson stared at her; a bit bemused by her endearing earnestness. “Your horse’s name is Lady?”
Her eyes crinkled deeply at the corners with her smile. “Yes. She is rather temperamental and far too elegant.”
He found himself smiling; odd that, when his eldest son Edward had mentioned to him a couple weeks ago that lately
Grayson hardly smiled.
“I have made tea, and there are cake slices on the table. The soup will take some time to be ready.”
He looked at the table that only had seating and space for two. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
“Go ahead and drink the tea; it will warm you.”
For a moment, he did not know what to say. “Thank you. You are truly making beef soup?”
“Yes. There is a ventilated meat safe attached to the larder,” she said. “It has bacon, mutton, beef and rabbit. We won’t
starve for the days we are trapped.”
“I saw it earlier; I am just relieved you know how to cook.” His gut tightened as the rest of her words sank in. “So, you do
know we will be trapped together for days.”
She flushed and looked away from him. “Yes. I found a few books, so I will be suitably entertained.”
Her words were cool and dismissive, as if she did not care what he did with his time. The lady wanted to create distance
between them, but he did not mind. Whatever her reasons were her own. Grayson also had his own reasons for the polite
reserve he planned to maintain. The main one is that any lady of society who stayed under the same roof with a gentleman
unchaperoned would be considered irrevocably ruined or compromised. This foolish notion expected him to make an
honorable offer, even if no one caught them.
Rubbish.
But he had to be careful with Margaret Fairbanks. Grayson’s sole reason for re-entering society was to find a wife. The
quality of her cloak, boots, and delicateness suggested she was a society lady. However, that she could cook almost tossed that
reasoning out the door.
It only mattered that there was a chance Margaret Fairbanks was from his society and could cry for a marriage in the
morning because her honor was compromised. An infuriating, foolish, hypocritical ideal his set took relish in practicing. Harsh
and unexpected circumstances had conspired against them, and they had to stay alone in a cottage as long as it took for the
blizzard to settle and for the roads to become clear once more.
Grayson wondered if there was any chance they might be discovered and be pressured by her family or even the lady
herself to make an offer. Even if nothing bloody happened. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He would never be
persuaded to act against his own inclination again.
Once had been enough. Grayson shrugged off the cloak and removed his boots. He hung the cloak on the peg attached to the
door and set his boots aside. Walking to the table, he sat and wrapped his palm over the steaming cup of tea. Warmth instantly
seeped through his skin, and he took a sip of the tea. Bloody hell. Simply delicious.
“Is it good?”
That soft question had him looking up. Margaret Fairbanks was watching him.
“Very,” he murmured.
She nodded and went back to cutting up ingredients Grayson could not identify. She started humming a tune. The sound was
discordant, and he wondered if she did it because she liked to sing or because she was nervous.
The tiny windowpane rattled, and he looked outside into a sheet of whiteness. He had to return home in time for Christmas.
It was thirteen days away, and the blizzard was bound to stop before that, but those damn roads could prove difficult. No matter
what, he had to make it back to his estate, or Bella would be heartbroken.
Once he’d found her pony, Grayson had ridden in the dreadful weather as fast as the road conditions allowed for a couple
of days while overnighting at inns. His man of affairs usually tended to such purchases, but his wife had fallen ill, and Grayson
had given him leave to be with his family. He had set out to retrieve the pony, not wanting to disappoint Bella’s hopes. She did
not know of his efforts, but he felt as if he had failed her, and getting her this gift would ease his guilt and provide her with a
measure of happiness. When the season started, he would give her what she desired most.
A mother.
Even though Grayson planned to wade back into the marriage mart the next season, he did not want ever to marry again
because he was forced. He loathed being pressured to do anything that was not his choice, and he’d already had one countess
whom he’d married because of a deliberate compromising situation orchestrated by her—for his title and wealth.
It had taken time for Grayson to forgive his countess, but eventually, they had worked past their ill-judged beginning and
had a good marriage. Despite that, he would never want a repeat of the experience. It was hard to work to trust someone who
proved themselves capable of such deception.
Grayson took several sips of tea. He was not looking forward to day walks and rides in Hyde Park, attending a mind-
numbing series of balls and soirees. But his daughter’s happiness greatly mattered to him. He had three children, and Bella was
the only one who had never known her mother’s soft embrace or gentle kiss on her forehead. His twin sons, Edward and Adam,
who recently celebrated their three and twentieth birthday, had basked in their mother’s love and attention. Grayson still
recalled the way Bella had held herself still when he read the list she made for her birthday gift.
I want a mama. Please, Papa.
Those words had slayed Grayson. He could not afford to choose his next wife without careful consideration. His future
countess had to be kind and compassionate, willing to help him guide and love his daughter. The log in the fireplace popped,
diverting his attention. He glanced toward the kitchen area and saw his companion seated on the chaise with a book. Grayson
watched for several minutes, charmed by the animation of her features as she read.
He frowned. She did not seem as young as he’d first supposed, and to his astonishment, he realized he could not guess her
age. “Permit me to ask your age.”
Her gaze snapped up to his, her mouth in the shape of a small ‘O’. Her eyes crinkled at the corner with her smile. “I am
fifty and will be one and fifty in a few weeks.”
 Grayson arched a brow. “I did not ask in jest; please do not reply in kind.”
“I am fifty, Mr. Rochester.”
Bloody hell. He blinked, slowly examining her body, considering details he had tried his best not to linger on earlier. Her
body was softly rounded, her hips wider than younger ladies. “You have children,” he said abruptly.
“Yes.”
“Earlier, you said you had no husband.”
“Because I am a widow, Mr. Rochester,” she said softly.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. It was as if his common sense had fled. “I am sorry,” he said gruffly. “So, you are Mrs.
Fairbanks.”
“Yes.”
“You give the appearance of a lady … perhaps no more than forty.”
She laughed—a rich, husky, sensual sound. Was she even aware of how sensuous she sounded?
Mrs. Fairbanks closed her book and canted her head. “A dear friend earlier told me I seemed younger than when I left
Penporth a few years ago; I now realize that was not sweet flattery unless you are a gentleman keen on handing out such
compliments.” Humor sparkled in her bright brown eyes. “I suppose a life of leisure works wonders for the skin.”
A life of leisure. It seemed she was indeed a lady belonging to his society. Grayson had not mingled in the ton for several
years. He attended to his duty in the House of Lords and then retreated to his estate in Devonshire to his children.
Mrs. Fairbanks gracefully rose from her seat and glided into the cozy kitchen, where she devoted several minutes to tending
to the pot bubbling away on the stove. He couldn’t help watching her, and Grayson felt bemused at the slow feeling of interest
stirring through his body. She reached up to retrieve two wooden bowls from a nearby shelf, and with great care, she ladled out
a hearty, steaming soup that bore more resemblance to a rich and satisfying stew. The tantalizing aroma wafted through the
cottage, and Grayson couldn’t help but feel his mouth water in anticipation.
He stood and hastened over when she made to take them up. “It is hot; please allow me.”
She nodded, walked to the table and sat. Grayson returned to the table, setting the bowls before them.
He inhaled deeply of the mouth-watering scents. Grayson lowered himself into his chair and reached for one of the spoons
she handed him. “This looks delectable,” he said, dipping his spoon in the soup or stew.
She watched him with an air of anticipation as he took his first bite. Grayson damn well groaned, and she lightly laughed.
Why was the sound so … charming?
“Is it good?”
He swallowed that bite. “It tastes better than how it smells and looks. Normally an impossible feat for a chef to
accomplish.”
She dipped her head, and a flush pinkened her cheeks.
Maggie dipped her spoon into the soup and started to eat. The silence was companionable as they enjoyed the flavorful
soup. They finished eating, and she stood, taking away their bowls.
“Thank you, Mrs. Fairbanks.”
She glanced over her shoulder, the move unknotting her hair that had been pinned in a loose chignon. Grayson inhaled
sharply as lustrous waves tumbled over her shoulders, back, and down to her hips. By God, he had never seen hair so
magnificent. Most remarkably, there was no hint of gray anywhere to be seen.
“You are welcome. We have lemon cake with icing for dessert. There is also brandy.”
“Thank you.” Grayson leaned back in his chair. “Mrs. Fairbanks, I was wondering if you might indulge me in a game of
chess. It seems a fitting way to spend the rest of the evening while we weather this storm together.”
Her gaze cut to the chess set on the mantle. “I am sorry, Mr. Rochester; I never learned the game.”
He dipped his head. “I understand.”
Grayson retrieved the set and went back to playing himself. Mrs. Fairbanks reposed on the chaise, reading by the lamp.
Darkness arrived sooner than he anticipated, and he stopped playing to add more logs to the fire and light the few candles in
the room. Mrs. Fairbanks nodded her appreciation without looking up from the pages. He went back to playing against himself.
 It grew later, and from the corner of his eyes he saw her sneak a quick peek at him. She went back to reading again, but he
noticed the tapping of her bare feet against the armrest of the chaise.
Are you nervous? He silently asked, a bit of humor rising inside.
Her expression remained aloof, but those little cues—tucking her hair behind her ears at least five times, tapping her foot,
and peeking from him to the chaise and then the bed informed him she was not serene. The chaise was rather small and would
not be comfortable for any one of them to sleep on. “Have you realized it yet?” Grayson murmured.
Mrs. Fairbanks looked at him with a startled look in her eyes. “Realized what, Mr. Rochester?”
His gaze flicked meaningfully to the bed and back to her. The lady followed his gaze, and then her lips parted. Such
emotions flashed across her lovely features—irritation, desire, fear.
She snapped her eyes to his, and he said, “There is one bed.” A very small bed. “We will have to share it.”
 CHAPTER 5

Colin Fairbanks, the Earl of Celdon

Fairbanks Manor

C olin moved his mouth with sensual greed over his wife’s lips, holding her tightly against his body as their passion
kindled. Hermina’s form fit his perfectly, curve to curve and angle to angle, as if God had fashioned this woman solely for
Colin. In times like this, he thanked the heavens his simple life had been disrupted and he became the Earl of Celdon. If not for
those events, he would never have met Hermina.
He kissed the almost unbearable sweetness of her lips, his cock aching. Colin made love to his wife twice just yesterday;
there was no reason for his cock to be aching to be inside her again. Mina moaned, arching her slim hips against the hard proof
of his arousal, her fragrance wafting around them.
He ran his palm up and down her delicate spine and across her shoulders before easing it between their bodies to cup her
luscious breast. She moaned, ripping her mouth from his to bury her face against his throat. It took him a few moments to
realize his wife trembled, and not from passion, for her unexpected tears wet his chest.
Colin’s heart jolted, and he tried to ease her away so he could look at her face, but she tightened her arms around his neck.
“No,” she said, her words thick and muffled.
His heart pounding, he said, “Tell me what troubles you, my darling.”
She made a small sound of distress and buried her nose firmer against his throat. His wife did not rush to say what bothered
her but sobbed for several moments. Colin patiently waited, understanding her mood better, especially since she gave birth to
their son last year. Whenever she was ready, Hermina would tell him. Colin was not worried that she would remain
tightlipped. They trusted each other and shared all joys and woe.
She gently eased from his clasp and slanted her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were red and slightly puffed, her gray eyes
dark with emotions.
“Tis the season to be festive,” he murmured, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “What ails you, my love?”
Her throat worked on a swallow. “I am pregnant,” she whispered.
Joy jolted through Colin and he grinned. “Mina! That is wonderful!”
Her expression crumpled, and she started to sob again. “Shh,” he crooned, holding her once more against his chest and
rubbing her shoulders reassuringly. “Is this not good news, my love?”
She vehemently shook her head against his chest.
“Tell me why?”
A few more breaths shuddered from her before she rolled away. Mina rested her head on his arm and sniffed. “I love our
son.”
“I know you do. No one dotes on George as you do.”
Mina nodded fiercely as if his words affirmed something she had been telling herself. “Our precious son is one of my
greatest happinesses in life, Colin. But I had such a wretched time with my pregnancy. It was so horrid that I never realized I
did not want to get pregnant again until my maid commented that my menses were late. Then I realized all the signs were there.
My breasts are sore, and the scent of fish makes me ill.”
 Colin frowned, recalling he’d had to whisk Hermina away from London when they had discovered her pregnancy. Most of
the scents in the clogged city had made her ill. The doctor had recommended the bracing, fresh air of the countryside, and they
had retired early from the season. She’d not gotten a reprieve and cast up her accounts almost daily, well into her seventh
month of pregnancy. Colin had stayed with her, diligently rubbing her aching back and swollen feet and ensuring their menu
was changed to assist her. When his wife had suggested he could dine alone instead of eating from the simple dishes she
consumed, he had refused.
“I understand,” he said, drawing her closer. “I am sorry, Mina.”
“I am afraid it will be the same,” she said, “You must think me horrid.”
“Do you wish me to turn you over and spank your luscious arse?”
Her sweet giggle was the best damn sound he’d heard all day.
“As long as you know it is still luscious,” she teased with a small hiccup.
He kissed her forehead. “I vow to you, Mina, I will hire dozens of physicians and midwives to see if they have any remedy
that will help.”
“Dr. Garret said such suffering is normal and—”
“Hang what he said,” Colin said. “If it distresses you, we must expend all effort to secure other options and not just accept
that it is normal. I wish I could carry this child for you.”
There was a pulse of silence then she laughed. “That was a wonderful image, Colin, you with your belly big and rounded,
waddling down the hallway.”
He chuckled. “Lizzy did not look miserable, so Dr. Garret’s sweeping statement needs to be assessed.”
“Lizzy glowed when she carried the twins, and she is even more radiant the second time around. Oh, Colin, I am wretched
to feel so envious.”
Colin kissed his wife. “You are not. I vow we will not have more babies after this one.”
She gasped, her breath feathering across his mouth. “You’ve always wanted several children. You told me so.”
“What I’ve always wanted, Mina, is you. I love you, wife. We have our heir and this second baby. We will have many
nieces and nephews running around. Lily is already turning my hair gray with her antics and is a firm reminder that I might have
erred in wanting many.”
Mina chuckled, then said, “I wanted a large one too. At least six, remember?”
He pressed another kiss to her mouth. “There are measures we can take so that you do not fall pregnant again. If at any time
you feel like you want to try again, I will lecherously tup you everywhere in our manor until the deed is done.”
A smile curved her mouth. “I love you, Colin.” She thrust her fingers through his hair and kissed him with such love and
tenderness a lump grew in his throat.
The door shoved open, and with a curse, he grabbed the coverlet and tossed it over their half-naked bodies.
“Unc!” Lily cried, running over to their bed and deftly climbed onto it. Her cheeks were red, and her green eyes gleamed
with delight. “Why are you sleeping too?”
“Lily,” Colin said firmly, “you should knock before entering a door.”
A look of familiar mischief settled on Lily’s cherub face. “Mama just told papa if he does not want me to come into the
room when they are sleeping early, they should close the door.”
“You mean your mama and papa are, err … also sleeping early now?”
“Yes! Only mama was …” Lily lowered her face and leaned forward. “Mama did not have on any clothes, and she pinched
papa when I came inside.”
A choking sound came from Mina, and then she pealed with laughter.
“You must still knock, always. Now go, Aunt Mina and I are sleeping—”
She pouted and tossed herself against his chest. “Why is everyone sleeping?”
Bloody hell. “Who else is sleeping?” he demanded, peering into the hellion’s face.
Lily scrunched up her nose. “Uncle Nicholas is sleeping with Aunt Cressida, and Uncle Rannulf is sleeping with Aunt
Lizzy. Only the babies are awake!”
 “You are a baby as well,” he said drily.
Her expression grew indignant. “I am five, Unc!”
His wife still giggled and he glared at her. What were the chances they were all making love with their damn partners? It
must be the blizzard and the cozy effect it created indoors. Hope sparked inside Colin’s chest, who was desperate to ravish his
wife. “Uncle Richard—”
“Is also sleeping!” Lily interjected, pouting even more. “Only in the library.”
Another shout of laughter erupted from Mina, and even Colin found himself smiling. “What about Uncle James?”
She nodded. “He is awake. But it is Unc James who sent me to find everyone. He was laughing too.”
The bloody …! Even in his thoughts, curses deserted Colin. The door shoved open at that moment, and his brother
sauntered inside, a smirk on his mouth and unholy amusement in his dark blue eyes.
“Unc!” Lily cried and hurtled herself from the bed.
James made a mad dash and caught her. “You are going to kill me, Lily.”
She giggled sweetly and kissed his cheek. “I checked on everyone, Unc; they are all tired and sleeping.”
Colin glared at him.
James grinned. “As the sole bachelor in residence, how could you all be so cruel? I had to disrupt the er … festivities.
Come along with your favorite uncle, Lily; we will play cards.”
The door closed behind their departure, and Colin smiled. “He needs a wife. Now, where were we?”
Mina peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. “I am sad to say I must leave. I need to finish planning with the cook—”
He caught her mouth with his, swallowing the rest of her words, and proceeded to delightfully ravish his wife.
 CHAPTER 6

I t is one bed, and we will have to share it.

Since Mr. Rochester said those words or something of the kind, Maggie could not say exactly how long had passed. She
had tried to remain serenely unflappable, gave him a cool smile and returned to her reading. However, the story failed to hold
her attention as she’d hoped, and her stare kept darting to the man playing chess alone. Maggie truly did not know how to play
and had felt a sense of loss that she had not learned. A yawn caught her by surprise, and she pressed a palm over her mouth.
Staring blankly at the open pages, she shook her head.
She was exhausted from the day’s journey. Maggie stared at the small bed flushed against a wall for several beats. She
lowered the book and rose. Going over to the bed, she stooped and dragged it, pleased that it moved and was not bolted to the
floor.
“What are you doing?”
She straightened and looked over her shoulder. “I am moving the bed so that … we can both easily climb from it should we
need to move.”
“I see.”
He walked to her and took over moving the bed so there was ample space on both sides.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He made a grunt and went back to his chess game. Maggie touched her hair, unable to bind the long, heavy tresses in a coil
by herself. Sighing, she climbed onto the bed.
“I will leave this side closest to the door for you, Mr. Rochester. In the event any undesirable elements discover this cabin
and enters, you are closest to deal with it without tripping over me.”
His low laugh rippled over her senses, and she slammed eyes closed, denying the sensation. There were two blankets, but
they were far too thin to provide proper comfort while they slept. She took up one and left the other on his side of the bed.
Maggie unrolled the blanket, laid down, and covered herself.
The crackling logs in the hearth were the only sound in the room. Mr. Rochester stood, went to each candle and outed the
wick. He walked over to the window, staring outside at the sleeting snow. Mr. Rochester stood there for a long time, and
Maggie was contented with watching his shoulders, wondering exactly who Grayson Rochester was.
He remained by the window for over an hour, staring at the white blanket surrounding the small cottage. His broad
shoulders were tensed, and the manner in how he held himself without moving informed her of his discipline. Curiosity
plucked at her chest. However, Maggie didn’t dare ask. What would be the point? Were they not mere strangers who
coincidently met and did not share anything in common? Or would remain connected?
As if sensing her perusal, he finally stirred, and glanced over his shoulder. The wind relentlessly howled, and Mr.
Rochester added a couple more logs to the hearth. Maggie’s chest tightened when he started to remove his shirt. She knew
better, but she unabashedly stared. Even in the dim light cast by the fireplace, she could see his naked chest.
He was … beautiful. Her blood heated with a sensation she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She quickly buried the unwanted
physical reaction. Mr. Rochester’s sculpted chest boasted well-defined muscles, drawing her gaze to a thin line of dark hair
that trailed down, disappearing into his trousers. His physique was undeniably captivating, leaving her curious about the nature
of his work that kept him so impressively fit.
 He crossed the room and settled on the edge of his side of the bed, causing the mattress to dip beneath his weight. With a
graceful motion, he reclined, his hand folding behind his head as he made himself comfortable. Mr. Rochester did not speak,
and Maggie’s heart was racing too fast for her to attempt a conversation.
Ridiculous, she groaned. Maggie had never liked lying, even to herself.
“You are unable to sleep.”
“Yes.”
He turned his head and their gazes collided. The bed was small, and this close Maggie fancied she could see the spark of
blue at the center of his silver gaze. A spark of heat flared brightly in his eyes. She inhaled sharply. The attraction is mutual.
Maggie felt … decidedly flustered. She shifted, creating a scant inch of space between their bodies.
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
“Of course not.”
“Whoever left the firewood, only provided enough for perhaps five days. I’ve calculated that we might be here for seven.”
Magge inhaled sharply. “So long?”
“Yes. I’ll ration the firewood so that it lasts.”
“I … I think there is enough food and water to drink,” she murmured.
“Whenever you need to wash, let me know and I will procure the water.”
The intimacy of their conversation robbed her of breath. “The well should be iced over.”
“Yes. I’ll gather enough snow in the basin and melt it.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll get cold throughout the night.”
Her heart thumped and she instantly made the connection to why he explained the rationing of the wood. “The fire will
die.”
“Eventually.”
As a heavy silence enveloped them, they remained still, nestled far too closely due to the size of the bed. The cottage
echoed with sporadic pops from the hearth, the windows occasionally rattling in response to the relentless wind outside.
Maggie’s soft rhythmic breathing seemed to underscore the palpable awareness she felt of Mr. Rochester’s presence beside
her.
Oh, Maggie, this is too silly.
As the silence lengthened, the cottage felt charged with unspoken tension. Maggie wondered what he thought or felt at the
moment. Was he also affected by her nearness? Or was it common to have women in his bed? Surely a man as handsome as Mr.
Rochester had a lover. She could not discern any sense of time as the minutes ticked away. The cottage darkened but thankfully
the warmth remained.
“You are about to take a tumble to your backside,” he said, his tone rich with good humor.
Maggie jolted, realizing she had scooted a bit closer to her side again. “I do not believe you can see me in the dark, Mr.
Rochester.”
“Come now, we are sharing a bed; you should call me Grayson.”
“Very well, Grayson. You may call me, Maggie.”
“Are you warm enough? The fire is dying. It might take a couple of hours for the heat to fully dissipate.”
“Is there any point in admitting I am a bit cold? There are no more blankets.”
“I will warm you.”
She breathed slowly, hoping to calm the sudden racing of her heart. “I beg your pardon?”
“If you come closer, my body heat will do the trick.”
“I cannot help but wonder if you are some sort of libertine,” she said primly.
Grayson chuckled. “I am practical, Maggie, that is all.”
“Is that to say your imaginings are not nefarious?”
He was silent for a beat, then he said, “You want me to account for the things I am envisioning? Isn’t that a bit
unreasonable, Maggie. You should only hold me responsible for the things I do. What I am thinking … nay, those thoughts are
only for me. I would not want to send you into a faint.”
Goodness!
There was a suspicious teasing in his tone, and she narrowed her eyes though she could not see him. She had no doubt the
devil knew exactly what he was doing. “You are scandalous,” she murmured. Maggie was glad he could not see that she was
smiling at his bit of wickedness. “I do not find you amusing.”
“Your teeth are too white; they already betrayed you.”
Laughter rushed from her before she could contain it. Maggie slapped a hand over her mouth.
“You have a lovely laugh; why do you stop it?”
She groaned. “I am trying to do the things The Principles of Politeness teaches, even when no one is looking.”
“Why are you reading that?”
Maggie blinked, never thinking that a country gentleman would be familiar with the work. Feeling ashamed for her
uncharitable thought, she said, “I am trying to be more ladylike.”
“Which fool said a lovely, genuine laugh is not ladylike?”
He thinks my laugh is lovely. Maggie felt a flutter in her heart at his words but tried not to read too much into them. He
could be liberal with his flattery and think a braying donkey sounded lovely.
“The ton,” she said softly, folding her arm beneath her head like a pillow. “They own to some very outrageous ideas of
what is proper conduct.”
A low sound left Mr. Rochester, but he made no other reply. Maggie supposed he would not know what to say, given he did
not move in those elevated circles. She covered her mouth as another yawn creeped up on her.
Tucking the blanket snugly under her chin, Maggie’s tired eyes fluttered closed as the allure of sleep beckoned her. She
started to drift into slumber when, suddenly, she jolted awake, her surroundings shrouded in darkness, leaving her uncertain
about how much time had passed. A shiver coursed through her, and a faint, involuntary sound escaped her lips.
“Cold?” Mr. Rochester’s gentle voice broke the silence, surprising her.
Her eyes widened in astonishment. “You are awake.”
“Sleep eludes me,” he admitted, his tone carrying a hint of restlessness.
Another shiver quaked through Maggie’s frame, and she struggled to suppress it.
“Maggie, come into my arms,” he suggested softly, his voice warm and inviting.
After a momentary hesitation, she scooted closer, and as she nestled into the comforting warmth of his embrace, his body
heat enveloped her, chasing away the cold and soothing her nerves.
He deftly gathered the two blankets and, with a practiced hand, arranged them to cover both of their bodies. The soft, warm
layers of fabric cocooned them, creating a comforting barrier against the cold that still lingered in the room.
“Better?”
His soft breath fanned her temple. “Yes.”
The warmth was truly glorious. She moaned her satisfaction and Grayson tensed.
“Try to be silently appreciative, Maggie. Please.”
She understood then her closeness was a distraction. Maggie fought to gather her composure at their proximity and lost. Her
fingers trembled and her heart raced.
“You are smiling,” he said gruffly.
“I am merely glad that I am not the only one suffering this attraction,” she said sleepily.
His chest lifted on a harsh inhalation. Maggie, feeling cocooned and safe beneath the blankets, could no longer resist the
lull of sleep that tugged at her consciousness. With a soft, drowsy murmur, she whispered, “Now be still so I can sleep.”
His chuckle washed over her. Without hesitation, he wrapped his strong arms around her, drawing her even closer, and
nestled her into the protective curve of his shoulders. A heat, delicate and tingling spread across her skin. A lump formed in
Maggie’s throat as she realized just how long it had been since she had been held in such a tender and caring manner. She
couldn’t help but feel a sense of security and intimacy and it was a feeling she missed more than she cared to admit.
 CHAPTER 7

T hey survived a night sleeping beside each other in the same bed. Grayson smiled as the thought entered his mind as he
woke. It had taken a couple of hours before Grayson succumbed to sleep. He had been acutely aware of Maggie’s presence—
her warmth and softness pressed against his side, the gentle rise and fall of her breath against his chest, and the sweet, enticing
scent that seemed to linger around her.
His senses had been heightened, and her proximity had ignited a longing he couldn’t deny, and he had to exercise strict self-
discipline to resist the temptation to act upon his baser instincts. The urge to taste her lips had been overpowering, but he knew
he needed to exercise restraint, especially in their current circumstances. They were not meant to be lovers; they were only
ships momentarily passing each other, and he’d vowed to be more distant knowing the thin line between desire and propriety
was a precarious one.
As Grayson’s belly rumbled in hunger, the enticing scent of something delectable wafted into his nostrils, stirring his
senses. He pushed himself up from the bed, feeling a renewed sense of alertness as he followed the aroma to its source.
Grayson stared at the picture Maggie Fairbanks presented. She wore a different gown, this one a pale-yellow wool of a simple
design that flattered her curvaceous figure. Her hair remained unbound, the chestnut curls swaying against her hips with each
movement. Grayson couldn’t help but recall how he had run his fingers through those very strands as she lay sleeping.
By God, she is so damn beautiful.
“You are staring, Grayson.”
“You are a beautiful woman.” Their gazes collided, and he smiled at the humor dancing in hers.
“I’ve prepared breakfast.”
“You have been awake for a while.”
Maggie’s smile lit up the room as she spoke. “I slept very well.” Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she
continued, “I even braved the cold outside and collected some snow in the basin. It has since melted and should be pleasantly
warm now. Feel free to use it to freshen up.”
Grayson admired her resourcefulness and the thoughtfulness of her gesture. Her ability to adapt to their situation with such
grace was impressive, stirring his curiosity about her life. “Thank you, Maggie.”
With a delicate shrug of her shoulder, Maggie replied, “We are partners in this adventure. I just had to try it once. But rest
assured, I won’t be venturing outside again anytime soon.”
Grayson chuckled as he imagined just how bitterly cold it must have been outside. He glanced through the windows, taking
note of the unforgiving, gray day that lay beyond the glass panes. However, he noticed that the relentless winds that had
battered them the night before had finally subsided.
Grayson rose from the bed, his movements drawing Maggie’s attention. He noticed the pretty flush that had colored her
cheeks, a sign of her awareness of his presence. As their eyes briefly met, Maggie quickly averted her gaze, but it was clear
that she had been observing him.
There was a small bar of soap, bristle brush and dental powder. Whoever had stocked the cottage had done so with the
intention of an extended stay. It was a fortunate stroke of luck for him and Maggie. There were indeed ample provisions of food
and necessities, firewood by the hearth, a well-stocked larder, and even a small collection of books on a nearby shelf.
Grayson silently offered his gratitude to the unintentional benefactor, recognizing that their situation had been made more
bearable because of this person. He would send a token of appreciation when he returned to Devonshire.
His quick ablutions completed, he sat at the table. Maggie artfully prepared tea and handed him a cup, which he accepted.
Their fingers brushed, and she snatched back her hand as if she had been burned.
“I … please eat.” Her hand fluttered to her throat, the gesture one of delicacy. She whirled around and marched back to the
small kitchen.
She was angry. Interesting. Grayson took a healthy swallow of the tea, sighing when it warmed his body.
“I’ve baked a loaf of bread, and we have honey. Would you like a few slices?”
Baked bread? How? “Thank you.”
“I also have bacon.”
His stomach growled and she smiled. The prettiness of it struck his heart, and Grayson looked away, aware that she was a
damn lovely woman. Maggie brought over rashers of crisp bacon, slices of cheese, strawberries, and sliced bread coated with
honey. They ate in companionable silence, and though he was used to much richer fare, something about this felt damn perfect.
“You are a lady of quality.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “To some degree.”
Grayson arched a brow. “An interesting answer.”
“Merely the truth,” she said with a smile, but did not expound.
“You are an incredible cook.”
She clasped elegant fingers over her cup. “My husband was a simple country gentleman. In our early years we were not
able to hire many servants. We had a cook who only came in twice per week. I had great fun learning from her.” A wistful look
entered her eyes. “It has been years since I prepared meals; I daresay I miss it.”
Grayson nodded and polished off the last bit of his bacon. “How long were you married for?”
“I got married at sixteen,” she murmured. “My John was nineteen.”
“How many children did you have?”
“Twelve.”
He choked on the last drink of his tea. “Twelve?”
Instead of appearing offended, she laughed. “Some have commented that my appetite must have been ungovernable.”
Those damn blackguards. Though she tried to sound flippant, a touch of shadow entered her eyes. “They speak from a
place of jealous pettiness. I would have also been hard pressed to keep from your bed.”
Maggie gasped, then laughed. “You have a bit of rogue in you.” She gave a graceful shrug of her shoulders. “I try not to be
wounded by it. How can I be, when my children are the source of my joy? But I have a set of triplets and twins.”
“Your face changes when you speak about them,” he said gruffly. “Your beauty becomes radiant.”
Maggie stared at him as if she did not know what to think. Finally, she said, “Is Bella your only child?”
“I also have twin sons, Edward and Adam. They are three and twenty.”
She grinned. “I daresay it is my time to ask your age.”
“I am seven and forty.”
“Ah …” Maggie said on a soft sigh. “You too appear perfectly … fit for your age. For a moment I wondered how close you
were to my eldest son’s age. Colin is four and thirty. I dare say if we ever end up kissing, I shall feel as if I have taken
advantage.”
His damn heart lurched, and Grayson smiled at the humor dancing in her eyes. She rose and went to stand before the
window, and it felt natural to join her. The heavy overnight snowfall had transformed the landscape outside into a picturesque
winter scene. The ground, trees, and bushes were all covered in a glistening layer of pristine white snow.
“My family will start to worry about me,” she said softly. “In the letter I sent down I told them I would be in Penporth no
later than the 15 th of the month.”
“Perhaps they will not worry and allow that you might change your mind.”
“They will worry,” Maggie said, wrinkling her nose. “Especially Julia and Penny. I have never broken a promise to my
children.”
 “Julia and Penny are the youngest?”
“Yes.”
“Will your family miss your presence?”
“My daughter,” Grayson said with a smile. “Her brothers spoil her rotten so they will entertain her whenever she cries that
she misses me. They were lads of fifteen when she arrived in their lives. They shamelessly dote on her.”
Maggie laughed. “I suspect you are the same.”
Grayson chuckled. “I admit it.”
They chatted for several more minutes, and he realized they both kept their conversation light, without delving deeply into
each other’s interest of background. Grayson understood the necessity of the distance they were carefully maintaining, but he
could not prevent the interest that stirred within him with each minute’s passage. He was very much attracted to her in a way he
had not felt in years. If ever. The notion sobered him. Grayson tried to dismiss her from his awareness, but his effort felt futile.
“Our conversations feel rather delightful,” she said with a smile. “In truth I cannot recall any conversation in recent times
that did not surround marriages, etiquette, and what constitutes as a good match. I am not at all inspired to read. If you are so
inclined, I think I would like you to teach me chess.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. My daughter Lizzy is a brilliant player but Julia has beaten her several times. The scene of them playing against each
other can get intense and rowdy. My sons tend to try and explain what is happening so I could follow, but I never took the time
to learn, and I quite like the idea of knowing exactly what the stakes are at the next match so I can bet wisely.”
“Bet?”
Maggie nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Ah, my children are notorious gamblers amongst themselves. And the bets
sway depending on how they read the board.”
Grayson chuckled, thinking her family sounded eccentric and interesting. Teaching her chess would not only be an
enjoyable way to pass the time but also a chance to get to know Maggie better. They moved to the oak table, where Grayson set
up the chessboard.
She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear and leaned forward. An intense awareness of her closeness flowed through
Grayson. Her fragrance was clean and sweet, the fresh scent of lavender soap.
He began to explain the basics of chess. “These are all the pieces on a chessboard.” Grayson pointed to the back row.
“These are the rooks. They move horizontally or vertically across the board.”
Maggie listened intently, her eyes fixed on the board.
“Next to them are the knights. They move in an L-shape—two squares in one direction and then one square perpendicular to
that.”
She arched a brow. “Perpendicular?”
He smiled. “I always forget not everyone enjoys mathematics as I do.”
“I assure you I have never studied the topic. Now explain what you mean.”
Grayson shifted a bit closer. “They can jump over other pieces. Then we have the bishops, he said, indicating the pieces on
the board. “They move diagonally across the board.”
She grinned and he showed her the diagonal.
“And this is the queen,” Grayson said. “She is the most powerful piece. She can move horizontally, vertically, or
diagonally.” He pointed to the piece at the end of the back row toward the center. “And this piece she stands beside is the king,
the most important piece on the board. The king can move one square in any direction. All pieces ultimately protect the king
from capture.”
They started a game, and while they played Grayson repeated the rules with each move, how each piece moved, and the
objective—to checkmate the opponent’s king. Maggie listened attentively, asking questions when she needed clarification. With
each move, their game grew more fun, strategic and competitive. Grayson was impressed by Maggie’s quick grasp of the rules
and her growing skill on the chessboard. They played game after game, their laughter at times filling the cottage.
“Check,” she gasped, leaning over so much her hair snagged a few pieces.
 “Hmm, I do not see it.”
“My hair knocked these over, but I checked, see!”
Her evident delight did the most peculiar thing to his heart. It damn ached, and he wondered what she did for fun. During
his light probing, it seemed like she had been in London for the last couple of years, seeking matches for her children. Her life
seemed centered on attaining their happiness, and he couldn’t help wondering what she did for hers.
“Do you go to the theater or the museum,” he asked gruffly.
Startled eyes met his. “I … not recently.”
“When was the last time you watched a play?”
“I … perhaps two years. I cannot recall.”
Grayson reached out; his thumb brushed against her cheek in a feather-light caress. He dropped his hand, blowing a sharp
breath. He’d not meant to touch her. Grayson stood and raked his fingers through his hair. “I think it is best we stop playing,” he
said gruffly.
“I … yes, of course.” She stood, the abrupt movement jerking the small table. Maggie stumbled and he lurched forward and
caught her against his body. They both froze. The sudden harsh, uneven rhythm of his breathing sounded loud in the small
cottage. Grayson’s reaction unnerved him, simply because he had never felt such hunger for any lady.
He did not step back but clasped Maggie’s hips. Her lips parted as she stared up at him, her breath hitching. Grayson gave
her all the time to protest or push him away. Maggie only stared at him, a heavy fringe of sooty lashes framing lovely golden-
brown eyes that seemed to silently ask a thousand questions. He lowered his head, pressing light, teasing brushes of his mouth
against hers.
She slipped her hands around his nape, her fingers teasing his hair in a caress that felt as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s
wing. Grayson flicked his tongue over the seam of her lips, and Maggie parted them. Her sigh pierced him with desire. The soft
feel of her mouth set his heart quickly pounding. The visceral reaction startled Grayson, but he did not lift his head. He
deepened the kiss, allowing his tongue to roam along the crease of her mouth.
She moaned, and the answering jolt in his body felt primal. Grayson cupped her cheek, his fingers brushing against the
fluttering pulse at her throat. He slanted her head, deepening their kiss by stroking his tongue over hers. She tasted sweet and
luscious. Would everywhere else taste just as sweet? Flames of heat raced through his body and settled at the base of his cock
in a wicked pulse of desire.
Another random document with
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to the officer commanding at the Hsi-Hua Gate, ordering them to
cease firing until her return to the Forbidden City.
11th Day of the 6th Moon (7th July).—Yü Lu has sent in a
ridiculous memorial, reporting the capture of four camels, as well as
the killing of many foreigners, in Tientsin. Jung Lu has advised him to
cease attacking the foreign Settlements. Talking of Jung Lu, I hear
that Tung Fu-hsiang recently hired a Manchu soldier to assassinate
him, but, instead of doing so, the man betrayed the plot to Jung Lu.
This soldier turns out to be a brother of that En Hai who slew the
foreign devil (Baron von Ketteler), and Tung thought therefore that
he would gladly do anything to assist in destroying the Legations.
But he is a clansman of Jung Lu’s banner, and, like Yü Kung-ssŭ,
whom Mencius called the best archer in Wei, “he could not bear to
slay the old Chief who had taught him the arts of war.” Jung Lu has
again memorialised the Old Buddha, reminding her of that well-
known saying in the Spring and Autumn annals,[87] which lays down
that the persons of foreign Envoys are always inviolate within the
territories of any civilised State. This attack on the Legation, he says,
is worse than an outrage; it is a piece of stupidity which will be
remembered against China for all time. Her Majesty appeared to
think that, because a small nation like the Transvaal could conquer a
great Power like England, China must necessarily be even more
successful in fighting the whole world; but there was no analogy
between the two cases. If peace were to be made at once, the
situation might still be saved; but if the Legations were demolished,
there must be an end of Manchu rule. He warned Her Majesty
solemnly, and she appears to be gradually coming to look at things
from his point of view. These Boxers can certainly talk, but they do
very little.
Bad news has reached the palace to-day of the fighting around
Tientsin, and Her Majesty is most anxious about it, though she still
refuses to believe that the foreign brigands can possibly enter
Peking.
15th Day of the 6th Moon (11th July).—My neighbour Wen Lien,
Comptroller-General of the Imperial Household, tells me that the Old
Buddha is in a furious rage. She finds the heat trying, and yesterday
she turned on the Heir Apparent and snubbed him badly for
impertinence; he had asked if he might be permitted to escort her to
Jehol, leaving the Emperor to settle matters with his foreign friends
in Peking. One of the young eunuchs tried to mollify her by reporting,
whenever the report of a gun was heard, that another foreign devil
had been killed, but as the Old Buddha observed, “there has been
enough firing for the past few weeks to kill off every foreigner in
China several times, and so far there is hardly anything to show for
it.”
17th Day of the 6th Moon (13th July).—Jung Lu asked Her
Majesty yesterday what she would do if the Boxers were defeated,
and if Peking were captured by the foreigners. In reply, she quoted to
him the words of Chia Yi, a sophist of the Han dynasty, in reference
to the Court’s diplomatic dealings with the Khan of the Hans:—

“If the Emperor wishes to gain the allegiance of other

countries, he can only do so by convincing their rulers that he
possesses the three cardinal virtues of government, and by
displaying the five allurements.
These allurements are: (1) Presents of chariots and rich
robes, to tempt the eye; (2) rich food and banquets, to tempt
the palate; (3) musical maidens, to tempt the ear; (4) fine
houses and beautiful women, to tempt the instinct of luxury;
and (5) the presence of the Emperor at the table of the foreign
ruler, to tempt his pride.
The three cardinal virtues of government are: (1) to
simulate affection; (2) to express honeyed sentiments; and (3)
to treat one’s inferiors as equals.”

Two years ago, said the Empress, she had invited the foreign
ladies to her Court, and had noticed their delight at the reception she
gave them, although she well knew that their sympathies were with
the Emperor, and against her. She would again allure them to her
side with rich gifts and honeyed words.[88]
 20th Day of the 6th Moon (16th July).—Bad news from Yü Lu;
Tientsin has been captured by the foreigners, who now swarm like
locusts. Not one of the Grand Councillors dared to carry the news to
Her Majesty, so Prince Tuan went in boldly, and informed her that the
foreign devils had taken the city, because the Boxers had been
negligent in the performance of their prescribed rites; Peking,
however, would always be perfectly safe from invasion. Early this
morning Jung Lu had informed the Old Buddha that he had
ascertained beyond doubt that the document, which purported to
come from the Foreign Ministers, demanding her abdication, was a
forgery. It had been prepared by Lien Wen-chung, a Secretary of the
Grand Council, at Prince Tuan’s orders. The Old Buddha was
therefore in no soft mood; angrily she told Prince Tuan that, if the
foreigners entered Peking, he would certainly lose his head. She
was quite aware of his motives; he wanted to secure the Regency,
but she bade him beware, for, so long as she lived, there could be no
other Regent. “Let him be careful, or his son would be expelled from
the palace, and the family estates confiscated to the throne.” His
actions had indeed been worthy of the dog’s[89] name he bore.
Prince Tuan left the palace, and was heard to remark that “the
thunderbolt had fallen too quickly for him to close his ears.”
Jung Lu has won over all the military commanders except Tung
Fu-hsiang and his staff, and they have come to a general
understanding that the bombardment of the Legations must cease.
Jung Lu has explained, as his reason for not allowing the heavy
artillery to be used, that it would inevitably have inflicted serious
damage on the Imperial shrines and the Ancestral temple.
The Old Buddha is sending presents to the Legations, water-
melons, wine, vegetables, and ice, and she has expressed a wish
that Prince Ch’ing should go and see the Foreign Ministers.
They say that Hsü Ching-ch’eng is secretly communicating with
the Legations.
A messenger with twelve dispatches from the Legations was
captured to-day and taken to Prince Chuang’s Palace. Three of the
twelve were in cipher and could not be translated by the Tsung Li
Yamên interpreter, but from the others it was learned that the
foreigners had lost over a hundred killed and wounded and that their
provisions were running very low.
Chi Shou-ch’eng has gone to T’ai-Yüan fu to see Yü Hsien, his
father-in-law. The latter has memorialised the Throne, reporting that
he cunningly entrapped all the foreigners, cast them into chains and
had every one decapitated in his Yamên. Only one woman had
escaped, after her breasts had been cut off, and had hidden herself
under the City wall. She was dead when they found her.
Rain has fallen very heavily to-day. Liu Ta-chiao brought me 8 lbs.
of pork from the Palace kitchen, and I sent a large bowl of it to my
married sister. Towards evening a detachment of cavalry, with
several guns, passed my door. They were Li Ping-heng’s men, on
their way to mount these guns on a platform above the Forbidden
City wall, as a precaution against sorties by the foreigners. There
has been heavy firing all night, and it is reported that foreign devils
have been seen in the neighbourhood of the Ha-Ta Men.
21st Day of the 6th Moon (17th July).—A lovely day. I walked over
to call on Prince Li and Duke Lan. The latest rumour is that Yü Lu’s
troops are in flight and harrying the country side. They are said to be
clamouring for their pay, which is months in arrears, and have
plundered both Tungchou and Chang Chia-wan most thoroughly.
Both the eastern gates of the City are now kept closed, and the
northern gate (Anting men) is only opened occasionally.
Yang Shun, the gate-keeper, has returned from his home at Pao-ti
hsien, east of Peking, where he reports things fairly quiet.
Li Ping-heng’s troops are reported to have won a great victory and
driven the barbarians to the sea. Nevertheless, heavy firing was
heard to the south-eastward this afternoon.
Duke Lan has gone out with a large force of Boxers to search for
converts reported to be in hiding in the temple of the Sun.
27th Day of the 6th Moon (23rd July).—This morning Yüan Ch’ang
and Hsü Ching-ch’eng handed in the third of their Memorials against
the Boxers, in which they recommend the execution of several
members of the Grand Council. Their valour seems to be more
laudable than their discretion, especially as the Old Buddha is
disposed once more to believe in the Boxers as the result of Li Ping-
heng’s audience with her yesterday. He came up from Hankow, and
has now been appointed joint Commander, with Jung Lu, of the army
of the North. He confidently assured her of his ability to take the
Legations by storm, and repeatedly said that never again would the
tutelary deities of the Dynasty suffer her to be driven forth, in
humiliation, from her capital.
I went across to Duke Lan’s house this morning and found Prince
Tuan and Li Ping-heng there. They were busy planning a renewed
attack on the Legations, and Li was strongly in favour of mining from
the Hanlin Academy side. He has advised the Empress Dowager
that a mine should be sprung, as was done lately at the French
Cathedral, and he is convinced that in the ensuing confusion the
foreigners would be easily overwhelmed.
After reading the latest Memorial of Hsü and Yüan, the Old
Buddha observed, “These are brave men. I have never cared much
for Hsü, but Yüan behaved well in 1898 and warned me about K’ang
Yu-wei and his plotting. Be that as it may, however, they have no
business to worry me with these persistent and querulous questions.
The Throne itself is fully competent to judge the character of its
servants, and it is a gross misconception of duty for ‘the acolyte to
stride across the sacred vessels and show the priest how to
slaughter the sacrificial beasts.’[90] Desiring to deal leniently with the
Memorialists, I command that my censure be communicated to them
and that they take heed to refrain in future from troubling my ears
with their petulant complainings.”
3rd Day of the 7th Moon (28th July).—The Old Buddha places
much confidence in Li Ping-heng. Yesterday he and Kang Yi
discovered that the word “to slay,” in Her Majesty’s Decree ordering
the extermination of all foreigners, had been altered to “protect” by
Yüan Ch’ang and Hsü Ching-ch’eng. I have just seen Kang Yi, and
he says that Her Majesty’s face was divine in its wrath. “They
deserve the punishment meted out to Kao Ch’u-mi,”[91] she said,
“their limbs should be torn asunder by chariots driven in opposite
directions. Let them be summarily decapitated.” An Edict was
forthwith issued, but no mention is made in it of the alteration of the
Decree, as this is a matter affecting the nation’s prestige; the
offenders are denounced only for having created dissensions in the
Palace and favoured the cause of the foreigner. Both were executed
this morning; my son, En Ming, witnessed their death. It is most
painful to me to think of the end of Yüan Ch’ang, for he had many
sterling qualities; as for Hsü, I knew him in the days when we were
colleagues at the Grand Secretariat, and I never had a high opinion
of the man. His corruption was notorious. Just before the sword of
the executioner fell, Yüan remarked that “he hoped that the Sun
might soon return to its place in the Heaven, and that the usurping
Comet might be destroyed.” By this he meant that Prince Tuan’s
malign influence had led the Empress Dowager to act against her
own better instincts. Duke Lan, who was superintending the
execution, angrily bade him be silent for a traitor, but Yüan fearlessly
went on, “I die innocent. In years to come my name will be
remembered with gratitude and respect, long after you evil-plotting
Princes have met your well-deserved doom.” Turning then to Hsü, he
said, “We shall meet anon at the Yellow Springs.[92] To die is only to
come home.” Duke Lan stepped forward as if to strike him, and the
headsman quickly despatched them both.
8th Day of the 7th Moon (3rd August).—I have had much trouble
with my eldest son to-day. He has been robbing me lately of large
sums, and when I rebuked him he had the audacity to reply that my
duty to the Throne would make my suicide a fitting return for the
benefits which I have received at its hands.
Li Ping-heng has gone to the front to rally the troops and check the
foreigners’ advance. He has impeached Jung Lu but the Old Buddha
has suppressed the Memorial. The Emperor thanked Jung Lu for his
services, and the Commander-in-Chief replied that he of all the
servants of the Throne never expected to receive praise from His
Majesty, considering the events of the past two years.[93]
 11th Day of the 7th Moon (5th August).—The Old Buddha has
commanded Jung Lu to arrange for escorting the foreigners to
Tientsin, so that the advance of the Allies may be stopped. In this
connection, I hear that not many days ago, ⸺ persuaded Ch’i Hsiu
to have a letter sent to the Foreign Ministers, inviting them to come,
without escort of troops, to an interview with the Tsung Li Yamên, his
idea being to have them all massacred on the way. Ch’i Hsiu thought
the suggestion excellent, but, although several letters have been
sent proposing it, the Ministers decline to leave the Legations.
Meanwhile, there have been several fresh attacks on the Legations
during the past few days.
A foreign devil, half naked, was found yesterday in Hatamen
Street. He kowtowed to everyone he met, high class or low,
imploring even the rag-pickers to spare his life and give him a few
cash. “We shall all be massacred soon,” he said, “but I have done no
wrong.” One of Jung Lu’s sergeants seized him and took him to the
Commander-in-Chief’s residence. Instead of decapitating him, Jung
Lu sent him back. This shows, however, the desperate straits to
which the foreigners are reduced.
15th Day of the 7th Moon (9th August).—Bad news from the
South. Yü Lu’s forces have been defeated and the foreigners are
approaching nearer every day. The Old Buddha is meditating flight to
Jehol, but Jung Lu strongly urges her to remain, even if the Allies
should enter the City. Duke Lan scoffs at the idea of their being able
to do so. One comfort is that, if they do come, they will not loot or kill.
I remember well how good their discipline was forty years ago. I
never stirred out of my house and not one of the barbarians ever
came near it. We had a little difficulty about getting victuals, but the
foreigners hardly came into the city, and did us no harm.
16th Day of the 7th Moon (10th August).—My old colleague, Li
Shan, whose house adjoins the French Cathedral, has been
accused of making a subterranean passage and thus assisting the
foreigners with supplies. He has been handed over to the Board of
Punishments by Prince Tuan, without the knowledge of the Empress
Dowager, together with Hsü Yung-yi and Lien Yuan. Prince Tuan has
long had a grudge against Hsü for having expressed disapproval of
the selection of the Heir Apparent. As to Lien, they say that his arrest
is due to ⸺, and his offence is that he was on terms of intimacy
with Yüan Ch’ang. All three prisoners were decapitated this morning.
Hsü Yung-yi was older than I am (seventy-nine) and his death is a
lamentable business indeed. But he went to his death calmly and
without complaint when he learned that the Empress Dowager knew
nothing of the matter and that it was Prince Tuan’s doing alone. “The
power of the usurper,” said he, “is short-lived. As for me, I am glad to
die before the foreigners take Peking.” The Old Buddha will be very
wrath when she hears that two Manchus have thus been put to
death. Li Shan and Jung Lu were old friends.
A certain General Liu, from Shansi, assured the Empress this
morning that he would undertake to demolish the Legations in three
days, and this would so alarm the allies that their advance would
certainly be stopped. A furious bombardment has just begun.
The Boxers have proved themselves utterly useless. I always said
they never would do anything.
18th Day of the 7th Moon (12th August).—The foreigners are
getting nearer and nearer. Yü Lu shot himself with a revolver on the
12th at Ts’ai Ts’un. He had taken refuge in a coffin shop, of all ill-
omened places! His troops had been utterly routed thrice, at Pei
Tsang, Yang Ts’un and at Ts’ai Ts’un. Li Ping-heng reached Ho-hsi
wu on the 14th, but in spite of all his efforts to rally our forces, the
two divisional leaders, Chang Ch’un-fa and Ch’en Tsê-lin, refused to
fight. Li Ping-heng therefore took poison. Jung Lu went to-day to
break the news to the Old Buddha: sovereign and Minister wept
together at the disasters which these Princes and rebels have
brought upon our glorious Empire. Jung Lu refrained from any
attempt at self-justification; he is a wise man. The Old Buddha said
she would commit suicide and make the Emperor do the same,
rather than leave her capital. Jung Lu besought her to take his
advice, which was to remain in Peking and to issue Decrees ordering
the decapitation of Prince Tuan and his followers, thus proving her
innocence to the world. But she seems to cling still to a hope that the
supernatural powers of the Boxers may save Peking, and so the
furious bombardment of the Legations continues.
 Eight audiences have been given to-day to Jung Lu and five to
Prince Tuan. All the other members of the Grand Council sat with
folded hands, suggesting nothing.
20th Day (14th August), 5 p.m.—Tungchou has fallen and now the
foreigners have begun to bombard the city. The Grand Council has
been summoned to five meetings to-day in the Palace of Peaceful
Longevity: Her Majesty is reported to be starting for Kalgan. At the
hour of the Monkey (4 p.m.) Duke Lan burst into the Palace,
unannounced, and shouted, “Old Buddha, the foreign devils have
come!” Close upon his footsteps came Kang Yi, who reported that a
large force of turbaned soldiery were encamped in the enclosure of
the Temple of Heaven. “Perhaps they are our Mahommedan braves
from Kansuh,” said Her Majesty, “come to demolish the Legations?”
“No,” replied Kang Yi, “they are foreign devils. Your Majesty must
escape at once, or they will murder you.”
Later, midnight.—There has just been an Audience given to the
Grand Council in the Palace, at which Kang Yi, Chao Shu-ch’iao and
Wang Wen-shao were present. “Where are the others?” said the Old
Buddha. “Gone, I suppose, everyone to his own home, leaving us
here, Mother and Son,[94] to look after ourselves as best we may. At
all events, you three must now accompany me on my journey.”
Turning to Wang Wen-shao, she added:—“You are too old, and I
could not bear the thought of exposing you to such hardships. Make
such speed as you can and join me later.” Then to the other two she
said, “You two are good riders. It will be your duty never to lose sight
of me for an instant.” Wang Wen-shao replied, “I will hasten after
Your Majesty to the best of my ability.” The Emperor, who seemed
surprisingly alert and vigorous, here joined in, “Yes, by all means,
follow as quickly as you can.” This ended the audience, but the
actual hour of Her Majesty’s departure remains uncertain. Jung Lu’s
attendance was impossible because he was busy trying to rally our
forces.
21st Day (15th August).—Wen Lien tells me that the Old Buddha
arose this morning at the Hour of the Tiger (3 a.m.) after only an
hour’s rest, and dressed herself hurriedly in the common blue cloth
garments of a peasant woman, which she had ordered to be
prepared. For the first time in her life, her hair was done up in the
Chinese fashion. “Who could ever have believed that it would come
to this?” she said. Three common carts were brought into the
Palace; their drivers wore no official hats.

Facsimile of a Fragment of the Diary.

 All the Concubines were summoned to appear before Her Majesty
at 3.30 a.m.; she had previously issued a decree that none of them
would accompany her for the present. The Pearl Concubine, who
has always been insubordinate to the Old Buddha, came with the
rest and actually dared to suggest that the Emperor should remain in
Peking. The Empress was in no mood for argument. Without a
moment’s hesitation, she shouted to the eunuchs on duty, “Throw
this wretched minion down the well!” At this the Emperor, who was
greatly grieved, fell on his knees in supplication, but the Empress
angrily bade him desist, saying that this was no time for bandying
words. “Let her die at once,” she said, “as a warning to all undutiful
children, and to those ‘hsiao’ birds[95] who, when fledged, peck out
their own mother’s eyes.” So the eunuchs Li and Sung took the Pearl
Concubine and cast her down the large well which is just outside the
Ning Shou Palace.
Then to the Emperor, who stood trembling with grief and wrath,
she said: “Get into your cart and hang up the screen, so that you be
not recognised” (he was wearing a long gown of black gauze and
black cloth trousers). Swiftly then the Old Buddha gave her orders.
“P’u Lun, you will ride on the shaft of the Emperor’s cart and look
after him. I shall travel in the other cart, and you, P’u Chün (the Heir
Apparent) will ride on the shaft. Li Lien-ying, I know you are a poor
rider, but you must shift as best you can to keep up with us.” At this
critical moment it seemed as if the Old Buddha alone retained her
presence of mind. “Drive your hardest,” she said to the carters, “and
if any foreign devil should stop you, say nothing. I will speak to them
and explain that we are but poor country folk, fleeing to our homes.
Go first to the Summer Palace.” Thereupon the carts started,
passing out through the northern gate of the Palace (The Gate of
Military Prowess) while all the members of the Household and the
Imperial Concubines prostrated themselves, wishing their Majesties
a long life. Only the three Grand Councillors followed on horseback,
a rendezvous having been arranged for other officials at the Summer
Palace. My neighbour Wen Lien, the Comptroller of the Household,
followed their Majesties at a distance, to see them safely out of the
city. They left by the “Te-sheng-men,” or Gate of Victory, on the
north-west side of the city, where for a time their carts were blocked
in the dense mass of refugees passing out that way.
4 p.m.—The Sacred Chariot of Her Majesty reached the Summer
Palace at about 8 a.m. and Their Majesties remained there an hour.
Meanwhile, at 6 a.m., Prince Ch’ing, just before starting for the
Summer Palace, sent a flag of truce to the Japanese Pigmies who
were bombarding the city close to the “Chi Hua” Gate on the east of
the city. The gate was thrown open and the troops swarmed in.
My son En Ming was on duty at the Summer Palace with a few of
his men, when the Imperial party arrived, all bedraggled and dust-
begrimed. The soldiers at the Palace gate could not believe that this
was really their Imperial mistress until the Old Buddha angrily asked
whether they failed to recognise her. The carts were driven in
through the side entrance, and tea was served. Her Majesty gave
orders that all curios, valuables, and ornaments were to be packed
at once and sent off to Jehol; at the same time she despatched one
of the eunuchs to Peking to tell the Empress[96] to bury quickly every
scrap of treasure in the Forbidden City, hiding it in the courtyard of
the Ning Shou Palace.
The Princes Tuan, Ching, Na, and Su joined Their Majesties at the
Summer Palace; a few Dukes were there also, as well as Wu Shu-
mei and Pu Hsing of the higher officials. About a dozen Secretaries
from the different Boards, and three Clerks to the Grand Council,
accompanied the Court from this point. General Ma Yu-k’un, with a
force of 1,000 men escorted Their Majesties to Kalgan, and there
were, in addition, several hundreds of Prince Tuan’s “Heavenly
Tiger” Bannermen, fresh from their fruitless attacks on the Legations.
Jung Lu is still endeavouring to rally his troops.
I have just heard of the death of my old friend, Hsü T’ung, the
Imperial Tutor and Grand Secretary. He has hanged himself in his
house and eighteen of his womenfolk have followed his example. He
was a true patriot and a fine scholar. Alas, alas! From all sides I hear
the same piteous story; the proudest of the Manchus have come to
the same miserable end. The betrothed of Prince Ch’un, whom he
was to have married next month, has committed suicide, with all her
family. It is indeed pitiful.[97]
Thus, for the second time in her life, the Old Buddha has had to
flee from her Sacred City, like the Son of Heaven in the Chou
Dynasty, who “fled with dust-covered head.” The failure of the
southern provinces to join in the enterprise has ruined us. Prince
Tuan was much to blame in being anti-Chinese. As Confucius said,
“By the lack of broad-minded tolerance in small matters, a great
design has been frustrated.” After all, Jung Lu was right—the Boxers’
so-called magic was nothing but child’s talk. They were in reality no
stronger than autumn thistledown. Alas, the bright flower of spring
does not bloom twice!
 Daughters of a High Manchu Official of the Court.

My wife and the other women, stupidly obstinate like all females,
intend to take opium. I cannot prevent them from doing so, but, for
myself, I have no intention of doing anything so foolish. Already the
foreign brigands are looting in other quarters of the city, but they will
never find my hidden treasure, and I shall just remain here, old and
feeble as I am. My son, En Ch’u, has disappeared since yesterday,
and nearly all my servants have fled. There is no one to prepare my
evening meal.
(Here the Diary ends. The old man was murdered by his eldest
son that same evening; all his women folk had previously taken
poison and died.)

Vermilion Decree of H.M. Kuang Hsü, 24th day, 12th Moon of

25th year (January, 1900), making Prince Tuan’s son Heir
Apparent.
“In days of our tender infancy we succeeded by adoption to
the Great Inheritance, and were favoured by the Empress
Dowager, who graciously ‘suspended the curtain’ and
administered the Government as Regent, earnestly labouring
the while at our education in all matters. Since we assumed
the reins of government, the nation has passed through
severe crises, and our sole desire has been to govern the
Empire wisely in order to requite the material benevolence of
Her Majesty as well as to fulfil the arduous task imposed on
us by His late Majesty.
“But since last year our constitution has been sore-stricken
with illness, and we have undergone much anxiety lest the
business of the State should suffer in consequence.
Reflecting on the duty we owe to our sacred ancestors and to
the Empire, we have therefore besought Her Majesty to
administer the Government during the past year. Our sickness
has so far shown no signs of improvement, and it has
prevented us from performing all the important sacrifices at
the ancestral shrines and at the altars of the gods of the soil.
“And now at this acute crisis, the spectacle of Her Majesty,
labouring without cease in the profound seclusion of her
Palace, without relaxation or thought of rest, has filled us with
dismay. We can neither sleep nor eat in the anxiety of our
thoughts. Reflecting on the arduous labours of our ancestors
 from whom this great Heritage has descended to us, we are
overwhelmed by our unfitness for this task of government. We
bear in mind (and the fact is well known to all our subjects)
that when first we succeeded by adoption to the Throne, we
were honoured with a Decree from the Empress Dowager to
the effect that so soon as we should have begotten an heir,
he should become the adopted son of His Majesty T’ung-
Chih. But our protracted sickness renders it impossible for us
to hope for a son, so that His late Majesty remains without
heir. This question of the succession is of transcendent
importance, and our grief, as we ponder the situation, fills us
with feelings of the deepest self-abasement, and renders
illusive all hope of our recovery from this sickness.
“We have accordingly prostrated ourselves in supplication
before our Sacred Mother, begging that she may be pleased
to select some worthy person from among the Princes of the
Blood as heir to His Majesty T’ung-Chih, in order that the
Great Inheritance may duly revert to him. As the result of our
repeated entreaties Her Majesty has graciously consented,
and has appointed P’u Chün, son of Prince Tuan, as heir by
adoption to His late Majesty. Our gratitude at this is
unbounded, and obediently we obey her behests, hereby
appointing P’u Chün to be Heir Apparent and successor to the
Throne. Let this Decree be made known throughout the
Empire.”

Seldom has history seen so tragically pathetic a document. It was

not only a confession of his own illegality and an abdication, but his
death-warrant, clear writ for all men to read. And the poor victim
must perforce thank his executioner and praise the “maternal
benevolence” of the woman whose uncontrollable love of power had
wrecked his life from the cradle.

Memorial from the Censorate at Peking to the Throne at Hsi-

an, describing the arrest of En Hai, the murderer of the
German Minister, Baron von Ketteler.[98]
 This Memorial affords a striking illustration of the sympathy which
animated, and still animates, many of those nearest to the Throne in
regard to the Boxers and their anti-foreign crusade, and their
appreciation of the real sentiments of the Empress Dowager, even in
defeat. It also throws light on the Chinese official’s idea of heroism in
a soldier.

“A spy in Japanese employ, engaged in searching for

looted articles in the pawnshops of the district in Japanese
military occupation, found among the unredeemed pledges in
one shop a watch bearing Baron von Ketteler’s monogram.
The pawnbroker said that it had been pledged by a
bannerman named En Hai, who lived at a carters’ inn of the
Tartar city. This spy was a man named Te Lu, a writer
attached to the Manchu Field Force, of the 8th squad of the
‘Ting’ Company. He went at once and informed the Japanese,
who promptly sent a picquet to the inn mentioned. Two or
three men were standing about in the courtyard, and the
soldiers asked one of them whether En Hai was there. ‘I’m the
man,’ said he, whereupon they took him prisoner. Under
examination, En was perfectly calm and showed no sort of
emotion. The presiding Magistrate enquired ‘Was it you who
slew the German Minister?’ He replied ‘I received orders from
my Sergeant to kill every foreigner that came up the street. I
am a soldier, and I only know it is my duty to obey orders. On
that day I was with my men, some thirty of them, in the street,
when a foreigner came along in a sedan chair. At once I took
up my stand a little to the side of the street, and, taking
careful aim, fired into the chair. Thereupon the bearers fled:
we went up to the chair, dragged the foreigner out, and saw
that he was dead. I felt a watch in his breast pocket and took
it as my lawful share; my comrades appropriated a revolver,
some rings and other articles. I never thought that this watch
would lead to my detection, but I am glad to die for having
killed one of the enemies of my country. Please behead me at
once.’
 “The interpreter asked him whether he was drunk at the
time. He laughed and said, ‘Wine’s a fine thing, and I can put
away four or five catties at a time, but that day I had not
touched a drop. Do you suppose I would try to screen myself
on the score of being in liquor?’ This En Hai appears to have
been an honest fellow; his words were brave and dignified, so
that the bystanders all realised that China is not without
heroes in the ranks of her army. On the following day he was
handed over to the Germans, and beheaded on the scene of
his exploit. We, your Memorialists, feel that Your Majesties
should be made acquainted with his meritorious behaviour,
and we therefore report the above facts. We are of opinion
that his name should not be permitted to fall into oblivion, and
we trust that Your Majesties may be pleased to confer upon
him honours as in the case of one who has fallen in battle
with his face to the foe.”
 XVIII
IN MEMORY OF TWO BRAVE MEN

The Memorial of the Censors given in the last chapter, recording

the arrest and execution of the Manchu soldier who shot the German
Minister defenceless in his chair, took occasion to congratulate the
Empress and the nation on possessing such brave defenders; and to
do the man justice, he met his end with a fine courage. But with fuller
knowledge and a clearer insight, the scholars of the Empire might
well put forward claims to real heroism, moral courage of the rarest
kind, in the case of Yüan Ch’ang and Hsü Ching-ch’eng, the two
Ministers who, as we have shown, so nobly laid down their lives for
what they knew to be their country’s highest good. So long as China
can breed men like these, so long as the Confucian system contains
moral force sufficient to produce Stoic scholars of this type, the
nation has no cause to despair of its future. We make no apology for
insisting on the claims of these two men to our grateful admiration, or
for reproducing their last Memorials, in which they warned the Old
Buddha of her folly, and, by denouncing the Boxers, braved all the
forces of anarchy and savagery which surged about the Dragon
Throne. Already their good name stands high in the esteem of their
countrymen. Et prevalebit: their courage and unselfish patriotism
have been recognised by their canonisation in the Pantheon of
China’s worthies, under an Edict of the present Regent.
Shortly after their execution the following circular letter pour faire
part was addressed by the sons of Yüan Ch’ang to the relatives and
friends of the family:—

Notice sent by the Yüan family to their relatives regarding the

death of Yüan Ch’ang, September, 1900.
 After the usual conventional formulæ of grief and self-abasement,
this circular letter proceeds as follows:—

“We realise that it was because of his outspoken courage in

resisting the evil tendencies of the times that our parent met
his untimely death, and we now submit the following report of
the circumstances for the information of our relatives and
friends.
“When, in the 5th Moon of this year, the Boxer madness
commenced, our late father, in his capacity as a Minister of
the Foreign Office, felt extremely anxious in regard to the
situation, and his anxiety was shared by his colleague, Hsü
Ching-ch’eng. On three occasions when the Princes and
Ministers were received in audience, my father expressed his
opinion to the Throne that the Boxers were utterly unreliable.
‘I have been in person,’ he said, ‘to Legation Street, and have
seen the corpses of Boxers lying on all sides. They had most
certainly been shot, proving that their unholy rites availed
them nothing. They should be exterminated and not used as
Government forces.’ On hearing this advice, the Emperor,
turning to Hsü Ching-ch’eng, enquired whether China is
strong enough to resist the foreigners or not, and other
questions bearing on the position of the Foreign Powers
abroad. Hsü replied without hesitation that China was far too
weak to think of fighting the whole world. His Majesty was so
much impressed by what he had heard that he caught hold of
Hsü by the sleeve and seemed much distressed. Hsü
sorrowfully left the presence, and proceeded with our father to
draft the first of their joint Memorials.
“Later on, when the bombardment of the Legations was in
full swing, our father observed to Hsü, ‘This slaughtering of
Envoys is a grave breach of all international law. If the
Legations are destroyed and the Powers then send an
expedition to avenge them, what will become of our country?
We must oppose this folly, you and I, even at the risk of our
lives.’ So they put in their second Memorial, which never