A Winter Wish (The Read Family Saga Book 1)

by Christi Caldwell

  “I’m in love with Merry Read,” Luke said quietly, ushering silence into the room.

  His mother fluttered a hand about her chest before clutching at her throat. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered. “Why, just ten days ago you thought you loved Josephine Pratt and were spending your days drunk because of her.”

  Luke flexed his jaw, biting back the scathing words and measuring them instead. “I respected Josephine Pratt. I admired her.” But he’d also been at sea around her, never having the right words and more intrigued by her than in a true partnership. “I love Merry,” he said once more.

  And she deserved to hear that from him. And she would.

  But would she, however, want him? A pompous, self-absorbed bastard who’d only just had his eyes opened to the world? His chest constricted.

  His mother dissolved into another fit of tears. “He’s doing this to upset me, L-Louis. Surely you see that. He—”

  “Enough, Sara,” his father ordered, in the greatest of role reversals in their marriage. “I trust Lucas knows his mind.”

  “You would condone this?”

  “What right decisions have we made where any of our sons are concerned these past years, Sara?” He looked sadly over at Luke. “Given… everything that has unfolded in our family, it is hard to say anymore what is right and what is wrong.”

  His mother’s lower lip trembled, and she lifted her palms beseechingly. “I’ve not been cruel where Miss Read is concerned. Why… I… I even offered her passage to Europe and funds with which to travel.”

  “You…?” Luke went still. His mother had attempted to send Merry away. Nay, not only had she ordered her gone, she’d attempted to bribe her with the one thing Merry wanted out of life. A secret his mother would know only if she had been listening at some point to that most intimate exchange he’d had with Merry.

  Luke saw, breathed, and tasted the red-hot rage that burned through him.

  “Did she take that… offer?” his father ventured hesitantly.

  “Of course she didn’t,” Luke snapped.

  “No,” the countess said at the same time.

  No, a woman as proud and honorable as Merry Read would never accept such an offer, no matter how much she wanted or deserved it.

  Luke unleashed a stream of black curses.

  His mother bit her trembling lower lip. “Please, Lucas. I’ve only ever done what is best for my children.”

  “No,” he said tiredly. “You’ve only ever done what is best for the Holman name. Those aren’t the same things, Mother.”

  She jerked like he’d struck her, and then dusting the tears from her cheek, she gave her head a slight shake. When she again spoke, she was fully in command of her emotions, as she’d always been. “I do not expect you to know anything of the decisions we’ve made. When you are a father—”

  “When I’m a father, I’ll not put rank and status above the happiness of my own children.” With that, Luke started for the door.

  “Where are you going?” his mother cried.

  “I think it should be fairly obvious,” the earl drawled.

  With his mother’s wails trailing after him, Luke quit the room.

  A short while later, he was horse-bound for Leeds.

  Chapter Twelve

  One of the benefits of having two siblings who always sought to outdo each other was that, over the years, it had afforded Merry the ability to sit on the sidelines and be alone with her thoughts.

  Or that had been the case.

  “You’ve not said anything about what his lordship’s Mayfair residence is like,” her sister pressed.

  Nay, she hadn’t. Since her return that morn, she’d not wanted to think of that place or what had unfolded with the countess. And Luke. She especially did not want to think about Luke, and just how very much she missed him, and wished to be with him. And… Fighting back a swell of tears, she stared down at the roast beef on her wooden plate.

  “Come,” her mother chided, rescuing Merry. “Leave your sister alone. She’s no doubt exhausted from the work she did and in such a short time.”

  “Overworkers, they are,” her brother muttered as he sliced into the roast on his plate. He wielded it on the edge of his fork, brandishing it about like a cudgel.

  “Shh,” their parents commanded.

  “What?” Diccan asked around a large mouthful of his roast. He swallowed forcibly. “They’re all away, playing their merry festive games.” He waved his fork around once more. “No need to worry about them hanging about and overhearing.”

  His father thumped the table. “We’ve all enjoyed a comfortable existence and steady work, which is more than most can rely upon, because of Lord Maldavers.” He pointed across the table to his son. “You’d do well to remember that.”

  “Do well to remember that the very minute Merry returned from studying abroad to benefit their fine households, they ordered her onward to London?”

  As Diccan launched into a long diatribe, Merry’s gaze drifted over to the windowpanes and the flakes of snow faintly visible through the frosted glass.

  Any other time, Merry would have felt only warmth inside for her loving brother’s defense, and yet… her heart wasn’t here. It remained in London, in the household of the family her brother now disparaged with words she would have agreed with… eleven days ago. But everything had changed. She’d seen that Luke was not the man she’d taken him to be. He was so much more. Seeing her, encouraging her to have her dreams, and… She bit the inside of her cheek and welcomed the sting of pain. God, how she would miss him.

  “And for what?” her brother was saying. “To throw together a hasty celebration when the entire world knows what the real purpose was…” Diccan let those words dangle as the invitation they were.

  A captive audience to her brother’s tirade, Matilda sat forward. “And that was?”

  Diccan stared at Matilda as if she had two heads. “Why, to distract the ton from the scandal of their eldest son, the precious heir. Why, it was enough that the youngest was a traitor, but now the pompous Lord Grimslee?” He brought his shoulders back and pointed his nose at the air.

  “He is not like that,” Merry exclaimed, and four pairs of gazes whipped toward her.

  “Not pompous? Not priggish?” Diccan snorted. “Those words are synonymous with Lord Grimslee’s name.”

  “Just what do you know about the viscount?” Matilda asked Merry with far too much suspicion for one of her years.

  She knew he wasn’t the man they believed him to be. “He’s…” Merry felt every last pair of eyes home in on her face. “He’s not that man. He’s kind.”

  Diccan gave another snort.

  Merry glowered. “He is. He’s nothing like Lady Maldavers.” That miserable woman had sent her packing.

  Their mother banged the table with her fist. “Enough talk of the Holmans.” She shouted order into the room. “Can we please begin with our Yuletide wishes?”

  A sharp rap sounded at the door.

  The entire Read family went silent.

  Mama’s mouth hung open as she stared with horror-filled eyes at the front door of their cottage.

  Their father glared at his son, who had the grace to at least sink lower in his seat.

  “What?” he whispered. “Surely you don’t expect a Holman to come here at Christmas, no less?”

  “Unless they need something,” Matilda said in like hushed, but still inordinately loud, tones. “Which is entirely possible as—”

  Knock-knock-knock.

  This rapping came more insistent.

  Jumping to her feet, Mama rushed to the door. She shot a silencing look over her shoulder and then drew the oak panel open. Snowflakes gusted into the room, little flecks that fluttered and danced.

  Luke?

  Her sister threw her a sharp look.

  Had Merry spoken aloud? She couldn’t sort it out. She couldn’t sort anything out.

  Her heart ceased to beat.

  It fro
ze. Immobile in her chest.

  And then it resumed an erratic rhythm.

  The wind howled, and Luke doffed the elegant black Oxonian atop his head. “Hullo,” he greeted when no one made a move to speak.

  “M-my lord,” her mother stammered, sinking into a curtsy.

  As one, the Reads belatedly shoved to their feet. The legs of their chairs scraped in noisy discord.

  Except Merry’s.

  Merry remained fixed to her seat, unable to move. Unable to so much as take her eyes off the towering figure who filled the doorway. Because she was certain she’d conjured him. How else to explain Luke being here, on Christmas night?

  Her sister kicked her under the table.

  Grunting, Merry jumped up.

  In the end, her father proved to be the single Read capable of reason. “Good evening, my lord. Is there something I might be of assistance with?”

  That servantly query returned Mama to her usual composed self, and she was once more the in-charge housekeeper. “Please, please, come in,” she stepped aside, allowing Luke to enter.

  Luke stepped forward, and Merry’s mother reached for his belongings.

  He hesitated a moment and then handed over that elegant hat. The quality befit a nobleman and was of far greater value than anything in the Read’s modest cottage. “Uh… thank you,” he said, retaining his hold on the satchel he carried. “I was wondering… if I might”—his gaze slid over to Merry—“speak to your daughter?”

  Her family all looked in her direction.

  Merry’s pulse pounded in her ears. “Why?” It took a moment to realize she’d spoken aloud.

  The ghost of a smile played upon his lips, those very lips that had claimed hers in a kiss that burned in her memory still. And always would.

  She cleared her throat. “That is—”

  “Of course,” her parents said for her.

  With all the uniformity drummed into servants since birth, her family fell into step behind one another and filed past the now forgotten Christmas feast. The kitchen door closed behind the last Read, and Merry and Luke were left… alone.

  There was surely something for her to say.

  Only, she’d not thought to see him again and so had not bothered to prepare anything for a moment such as this. In the end, she fell back on the repertoire of words available to her as a servant. “Is there something I can do to help you?”

  His thick lashes came down. “I’m not here because I want anything or expect anything, Merry,” he said softly, and her belly fluttered as he started forward.

  His lengthy strides made quick work of erasing the distance between them.

  She wet her lips. “Th-then why have you come?”

  “I learned of this…” He reached inside his satchel and withdrew a packet.

  A very familiar packet.

  “Oh,” she said dumbly.

  He set it on the edge of the table alongside her abandoned cutlery. “My mother informed me of… what she’d done.” Next, he looped the strap of his satchel over the back of the yew wood chair her sister had abandoned.

  Merry’s eyes fell briefly to those hated pages his mother had wanted her to take not even two days ago. Now, it made sense why he was here. And her chest ached, because hopelessly and foolishly, she’d wanted there to be entirely different reasons that had brought him here. That he’d missed her as much as she’d missed being with him. The silence stretched on. When Luke made no attempt to fill it, she drew in a deep breath and met his gaze squarely. “Luke, you don’t need to come here and apologize for—”

  “Is that the reason you believe I’ve come? To apologize?”

  She wavered. “Isn’t it?” Why else would he be here… and at Christmas, no less?

  “Well, that is one reason. My mother behaved unforgivably toward you, and I’ll not make excuses for her heart or coldness, nor ask you to forgive such treatment. You deserve better, and I’d not ask you to accept less than the respect you deserve.”

  Tears clogged her throat as she fell in love with him all over again. Madly. Deeply. Head-over-heels, devoid-of-all-reason in love.

  Luke cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his gloved palm, wishing away that still-cold and damp leather barrier between them, but content to take what she could. “I know this day is a special one,” he murmured. “It is that favorite time where you share your Yuletide wishes.” He dropped his arm to his side, and she silently cried out for the loss of that caress. “And I know what wish you’ve carried in your heart.” Not taking his eyes from her face, he picked up the ivory packet. “You want this, Merry. You deserve it, and I’ve come here to tell you that it is yours, unconditionally.”

  She made herself accept that gift.

  And her stomach flipped for altogether different reasons.

  This was what he believed her wish was?

  Only, why shouldn’t he? That was what she’d shared with him. Merry turned the package over in her hands, studying it. It wasn’t, however, what she wanted now. She wanted to travel… and so much more. I want to travel with him at my side.

  Luke brushed his knuckles along her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

  “However, as it is the time for revealing one’s Yuletide wishes, I thought it fair to share mine with you, Merry,” he murmured. Reaching inside his satchel, he fished around and pulled out another packet.

  “What is this?” she asked as he placed it in her fingers. Merry unfolded the pages and froze.

  They were for a second passage.

  “I want you to have the life you deserve, Merry,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion, and with every word, his tone grew more and more impassioned. “But I want to share it with you, as my wife.”

  As my wife? She struggled to follow the words, beyond those three, falling from his lips.

  “I want you to travel and see the world and wish that I might do that with you.” His throat moved. “But more? I love you, Merry Read.” Her heart swelled and soared. “And because I love you, I want you to ultimately decide, and if you choose to go alone, then—”

  With a sob, Merry launched herself into his arms.

  Luke staggered and stumbled, but catching her at the waist, he kept them both upright.

  “I l-love you,” she stammered between great, gasping tears.

  Wonder lit his eyes. “You love me?” he whispered.

  How could he not know? Both laughing and crying, she took Luke’s unshaven face between her palms and gripped him lightly. The light beard tickled her fingers, and she giggled. “Traveling to the Continent was only part of what I dreamed of, Luke. I want those experiences, but I want to share them with you.”

  Emotion paraded through his eyes. “I love you, Merry Read,” he repeated, and then reaching around her, he scrambled around inside his bag.

  She angled her head in a bid to see what he did, and then a startled laugh escaped her.

  Luke withdrew another familiar item. Crushed and limp, but still recognizable. The garish ball with its gold beading and red bows.

  “It is mistletoe.”

  “Ah,” she said, catching sight of the sprig of white berries at the center of his arrangement.

  “And this is my other Yuletide wish,” he confessed, displaying the evergreen he’d worked so hard at. “To kiss you under the mistletoe, Merry Read.”

  Joy filled every corner of her being.

  Gasps sounded from the kitchen.

  “What did he say?” Diccan’s loud whisper spilled out into the living quarters. “Did he say he wants to—?”

  “Shh,” Mama whispered.

  Luke faltered, and an adorable blush climbed his cheeks.

  Plucking the lovingly made decoration from his fingers, she stretched it above them. “Then let us make all our wishes come true this Christmas season.”

  As Luke lowered his mouth and claimed her lips in a kiss, that was just what they did.

  The End

  Biography

  Christi Caldwell i
s the bestselling author of historical romance novels set in the Regency era. Christi blames Judith McNaught’s “Whitney, My Love,” for luring her into the world of historical romance. While sitting in her graduate school apartment at the University of Connecticut, Christi decided to set aside her notes and try her hand at writing romance. She believes the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections and rather enjoys tormenting them before crafting a well-deserved happily ever after!

  When Christi isn’t writing the stories of flawed heroes and heroines, she can be found in her Southern Connecticut home with her courageous son, and caring for twin princesses-in-training!

  Visit www.christicaldwellauthor.com to learn more about what Christi is working on, or join her on Facebook at Christi Caldwell Author, and Twitter @ChristiCaldwell!

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