Family Christmas Miracle: A Dragons' House Story (Dragons' House 5.5) Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by H.M. Wolfe and E.L. Nelson

  No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owners. This book is a work of fiction. All names, places, characters, and events are fictitious or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover art by EL Nelson

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  I

  t was still dark outside when Zoe Stark woke up that bitter-cold morning at the beginning of December. She'd done that for as long as she could remember, and wasn't going to break the habit at almost eighty-six. Especially with the long day awaiting her. It was a Thursday, one day away from what Liam called the tree decorating family reunion.

  Thinking about the redhead, Zoe smiled, her features softening instantly, her soulful brown eyes shining with love and pride. She loved each and every one of them but had a soft spot for Liam, Gerrard, and Alasdair. They always managed to warm her old heart. At this point, the matriarch shook her head as she didn't feel old. Not anymore.

  The discreet noises coming from her son's apartment caught Zoe's attention, making her listen intently. Most likely, Alastair and Mallory were getting ready to leave for work, she thought, sighing inwardly. For the millionth time over the last three months, she wondered if her son's decision to permanently move to the mansion, commuting to New York every day, was a wise one.

  The two husbands woke up way earlier, and, at the end of the day, when they finally got home, both of them looked exhausted. That worried Zoe to no end, especially since Alastair hadn't entirely recovered after being shot, in spite of his assurances. She and Mallory had a long discussion on that point, and the man agreed with her.

  He was searching for a competent assistant to delegate some of his responsibilities and going to New York only when his presence was necessary. Two days earlier, her son-in-law informed Zoe that he'd found the perfect candidate for the job, in the person of one Ramsay Stanford from New Jersey. The guy had graduated Harvard at only twenty-one and was a junior partner in one of the most reputable firms in the city.

  While her thoughts wandered in all directions, the woman's hands were also busy making the bed and straightening the room. That was another habit she'd had since early childhood. Although one of the wealthiest families in the world, Zoe's parents hadn't forgotten their humble beginnings. They cleaned their rooms themselves, while the servants only took care of the parts of the house that was reserved for guests.

  There were still two good hours or even more, before her granddaughters Rowena and Morwena would wake up. It was plenty of time for her to work a little bit more at her super-special, super-secret project, as she called it. Zoe's heart filled with joy, knowing that her grandchildren and all the other kids of the two clans would appreciate the giant scrapbook that was slowly filling with old photos, postcards, and fragments of letters.

  All those things were speaking of a bygone era. The woman attempted to connect the children and teens with the distant past of their family, and with the spirit of their ancestors. One week earlier, the girls' nanny, Sue Ellen Milkovich, who Aristarh had recommended, discovered a box hidden in a secret compartment in the nursery. Still, Zoe wasn't the one who got to open it.

  But that Thursday morning, the woman felt it was the time for her to find out what it contained. Somehow, she felt a vital piece of her past was hidden there, waiting to be discovered. It wasn't the first time the matriarch had that feeling, but it was never as strong as it was right then. With slightly shaky fingers, Zoe opened the box, looking inside it, eyes widened.

  In a split second, she shifted from excitement to utter disappointment as a single letter was lying on the bottom of it. The woman was about to put the box away when she noticed her name written on the envelope. The detail made her reconsider because no one had addressed letters directly to her after she married.

  All of them, especially those sent to the mansion, was in her husband's name. That was to avoid any indiscretions of staff members who were spying for the man's uncles. They detested their marriage, always looking for a reason to come between them. The few friends Zoe had, had known about that arrangement, and even her parents' letters were sent in their son-in-law's name.

  There was, however, someone who hadn't applied the code, although she knew about it, Lady Cecilia, Earl Stanford's wife. She was the only close, true friend the fishy-smelling Greek girl, as Zoe was called behind her back by her husband's uncles and cousins, had in that complicated, sophisticated, fake, gossip-loving world. She had always addressed her letters in her name.

  After a long moment of hesitation, Alastair's mother opened the envelope, two sheets of paper falling onto her bed. Strangely enough, one of them was covered in Moore's, the butler, writing, and Zoe decided to read it first. The mansion's staff chief was informing her about Lady Cecilia visiting the mansion in an agitated state a couple of days after the shipwreck that altered their lives so drastically.

  She'd left the letter in his hands, the loyal employee was saying in the message, and he had hidden it in one of the spare rooms. He was hoping for the rightful master's, as he called Alastair, safe return. Until his last breath, Moore had the firm belief that Zoe and her son were alive somewhere, and that they would come back one day.

  Zoe laid down the butler's irrefutable proof of affection and loyalty onto the bed, and the matriarch finally unfolded the other piece of paper, covered in Lady Cecilia's elegant, cursive writing. Starting from the first words, the woman covered her mouth with one hand, tears springing from her eyes. Alastair has to know, she thought, putting everything in the box.

  However, she couldn't tell him everything in one go, she decided. Her son was a brilliant man; he'd figure out the rest by himself. All Zoe had to do was to give him a nudge, a head start. And, with Christmas just around the corner, it would be the perfect occasion, because that particular holiday was all about family, she smiled through tears.

  ''Hello, boys, do you have a minute for your old Mama Zoe? I would like to talk to you.'' the matriarch affectionately smiled to the two men several hours later, after they came back from work.

  ''Of course,'' Alastair hugged his mother's fragile form, kissing her on the cheek, with Mallory imitating him. ''We always have time for our beautiful, loving, strong mother. You are not old, ask my husband, if you think I'm biased.''

  ''Shall we go into your father's office?'' Zoe asked, making her son smile inwardly. Even then, after fifty-seven years since her husband's death, she still considered the office as belonging to him.

  ''Sure,'' he nodded, so the three of them headed that way. ''What is it you want to talk about, Mama?'' Alastair asked once the three of them were comfortably seated.

  ''My family was wealthy.'' the woman started, ''But we didn't belong in the world of those who had money, power, and influence. They had always looked down on us. The situation didn't change much after I married your father.'' Zoe turned to her son, speaking in an almost flat voice.

  ''It was their loss, the goddamn snobs!'' Alastair
gestured with his hand. ''We survived. I would have liked to see how or if they would have made it in the same situation.''

  ''However, among all those fake people, who had a wallet instead of heart, I had the privilege to meet someone. She was a woman, noble by both birth and soul, with whom I became close friends.''

  ''Are you talking about Lady Cecilia Stanford?'' Alastair's face brightened at the memory of the young woman who spoiled him as much as Zoe herself, showering the then-child with affection and presents. ''I remember Earl Stanford, too. He spent a lot of time in Father's company.''

  ''Your memories are in the right place, my son.'' the matriarch smiled affectionately. ''The Earl was madly in love with his wife, who was loathed by his brothers. Just like in my case, they detested her very existence, and I guess this was the thing that drew us close together and led to our pact.''

  ''A pact? What was it about?'' Mallory, who'd stayed silent until then, asked.

  But Zoe didn't answer right away, taking a trip down memory lane instead. She remembered everything with great clarity, even the smell of the roses delicately surrounding them, like a perfumed cloud. It had happened on Alastair's sixth birthday, a perfect opportunity for the Starks to pick on the little boy, so they could hurt his mother.

  And they succeeded because nothing saddened and made Zoe suffer more than the pain in her son's eyes and the confused expression on his little face. But Lady Cecilia was there, and she took the child out, discreetly signaling her friend to follow her. While little Alastair, in his innocence, was busy chasing butterflies, the noblewoman made a request followed by a promise, sealing the already tight bond between her and Zoe.

  ''Lady Cecilia promised me she would take care of your husband,'' the matriarch turned to Mallory, who'd patiently waited for her to come down from her reverie, ''should something happen to me. I had to watch over her child if it had been the other way around."

  ''But Lady Cecilia didn't have a child.'' Alastair furrowed his brows in confusion. ''At least I don't remember one.''

  ''You're right, my dear friend was childless back then. She'd only found out a couple of days after the shipwreck. And now, I found the letter she sent here, intercepted by our loyal Moore, who kept it hidden, hoping that, one day, we would return.''

  ''That child has to be an adult now.'' Alastair frowned. ''So your pact is no longer valid. How can you take care of a...fifty-seven-year-old? There's no point to...''

  ''No!'' Zoe cut her son short, ''the pact is as valid as ever, and I want to invite them here. I want them to spend Christmas with all of us like it should have been from the start.''

  ''I don't have anything against it.'' Alastair's voice was a mix of logic and passion. ''But we don't know anything about this child: gender, name, if they are still alive, where they live...''

  ''Wait a minute!'' Mallory put an abrupt stop to his husband's speech, turning to Zoe. ''Did you say Lady Cecilia's last name was Stanford? Because I think we just came across her grandson or something,'' he added. ''There is this guy, Ramsay Stanford from New Jersey. I've tried to bring him onto our team since forever. I could easily run a background check on him, and it won't look suspicious.''

  ''From the moment I saw your husband, I knew you made the best choice: loving, handsome, with a heart of gold and very intelligent.'' Zoe left her seat, coming over to Mallory and kissing him on the forehead.

  His mother's gesture made Alastair smile, and his heart filled to the brim with affection for the younger man, and pride for being the one he'd chosen as a life partner. His mother was right, the man he was married to had all the qualities in the world. He would find Lady Cecilia's child and bring them to the mansion, together with their family. Everything would be alright, Alastair thought, relaxing into the huge armchair.

  Ramsay Stanford parked his car on the driveway, noticing too late that it was blocking the garage door. However, he was too exhausted to move it. So he just made a dismissive gesture, thinking that one of the kids or his wife, Miranda, could take care of the problem later if they needed access to the garage. His day at the office was miserable. But that seemed to be the rule over the past three months or so.

  That was when the leading senior partner had stepped down and was replaced by his son, who was an absolute zero when it came to knowing and applying the commercial law and international trading legislation principles. The guy didn't have any negotiation skills or the strength to admit when he was wrong, preferring to bring the office to ruin.

  And the worst part, Ramsay thought while he stepped inside the house, was that the other senior partners, his father's old partners, didn't lift a finger to stop him, as if they didn't care anymore. Maybe they didn't, and he was the only one stupid enough to give a damn about the whole thing. But the man couldn't stand with his arms crossed, not after he'd slaved there for the last fifteen years.

  ''Are you home already?" Miranda's voice greeted Ramsay as soon as he stepped inside the house. ''I'm glad because we need to talk.''

  ''Hello, darling.'' the man kissed her on the neck, gently sucking at the spot. ''Mmmm, you smell so good! You also taste great, too,'' he whispered in her ear.

  ''Could we get to the point? I have important things to bring to your attention.'' Miranda huffed, lightly pushing her husband. ''We can resume that after the talk, OK, honey?''

  ''Your wish is my command, beautiful creature.'' a weak smile played on Ramsay's lips. ''Now, let's see what the emergency is.'' he then laid down on the extra-large, extremely comfortable couch in the living room.

  ''The children. Duncan and Tess, to be more specific.'' Miranda started, inhaling through her nostrils. ''Look, I know that he's following in your footsteps. And he's being admitted to Harvard and everything, but the boy is arrogant and treats poor Trenton like dirt. And the girl stubbornly refuses to wear decent clothes, even at parties. It's not natural; I'm embarrassed every time...''

  ''C'mon, lovely one,'' Ramsay offered his wife a tired smile, ''kids are weird. When I was Duncan's age, I already had two children and the third on the way, because I had unprotected sex at fifteen. Now that was something foolish, although I don't regret it, not a single moment. They will settle down their differences by themselves; intervening between them will only make things worse.''

  ''I can understand that.'' Miranda carefully said, feeling that she was walking in a minefield. ''However, I can't understand Tess, for the life of it. Why wear boys' clothes when there are so many beautiful dresses she could choose from? I mean, look at Amelia, always so good looking and elegant...''

  ''Darling, I'm sure that God intended to make those two different. Otherwise, he would have created two Amelias, and that would have been somewhat boring, don't you think? You don't have to accompany Tess when she shops for clothes, Mattie can continue to do that. I've never heard her complaining. Now, can I have a little peace, please? All I want is...''

  ''Sorry to bother you again,'' Miranda's voice sounded somewhat sour, ''but there's also the problem with Tarann. You see, Trent is embarrassed, he can't bring his friends home because of...you know. People have started to talk, and he may lose his place on the team, and that would be devastating for the poor soul.''

  ''Enough!'' Ramsay's voice suddenly became cold and sharp. ''There are plenty of places Trent and his buddies could meet. He doesn't have to bring them here. I would sleep in one of the spare rooms before I become an embarrassment myself.''

  Ramsay got up from the couch, striding out of the room, leaving behind a petrified Miranda. The woman knew she'd overstepped the line when she started to complain about Tarann, her husband's favorite child. On the other hand, she couldn't just stay silent, the whole situation with that boy casting a shadow over her reputation.

  In the spare room, Ramsay lay on his back, hands folded under his head, unable to sleep after the discussion with his wife. Miranda was a well-mannered, attractive, elegant woman, but he didn't marry her for any of those qualities. What impressed the then-widower was the love she'd sh
owed to his three orphaned children, Duncan, Tarann, and Tess.

  Recovering after a nasty divorce and with two children of her own, the woman had conquered the young widower's heart, and he proposed six months after their first date. Ramsay thought Miranda would be a great mother, and indeed she was, but mostly for her children. Running a hand over his face, the man wondered how bad the situation really was. Slowly, but surely, he felt his life was falling apart, and there was nothing to do to stop that.

  ''H

  ello, and good morning!'' Matilda Stanford, or Mattie, greeted Henry Carson, one of the assistant managers of the jewelry design company she worked for. ''Did I tell you lately how much I love you?'' she lightly kissed him on the cheek.

  ''Ten thousand times a day,'' the man grinned, ''and I suspect that the donut box has nothing to do with it.'' he gestured with his head to the desk.

  ''Of course not.'' Mattie shook her head in protest, ''Although it substantially contributes to maintaining my mood at the no-kill level, especially these days.''

  ''Well, yes. I can't understand them, either, but it's not my job to oppose the board's decisions, or even comment on them.'' Henry shrugged.