Yuletide Happily Ever After II: An Original Regency Romance Collection

by Anna Bradley

  “I won’t be here tomorrow evening. I’m returning to London in the morning.”

  Penelope placed the teapot on the tray with exaggerated precision. “Oh? May I ask why?”

  “I, er…I need to get back to the Pandemonium. You know how Silas is. He’ll have a fit if I’m not back on stage soon.” It wasn’t the real reason, of course, but it was plausible enough.

  Penelope lifted her tea cup to her lips and took a dainty sip. “Silas isn’t the reason you want to leave. Try again.”

  “He’s…I…I don’t know what you want me to…will Miss Spence be at the supper tomorrow evening?” Dinah snapped her mouth closed, horrified. Why, why, why had she brought up Miss Spence? If she could have snatched the words out of the air, she would have.

  Penelope was no fool. She’d realize at once Oliver was the reason Dinah was fleeing Cliff’s Edge, and she’d never cease teasing until she had the whole story.

  But Penelope’s next words shocked her. “No. There isn’t any Miss Spence. I invented her.”

  Dinah stared. “Invented her?” No, that couldn’t be true. She must have misheard—

  “Invented her, yes. Right out of thin air, just like that.” Penelope snapped her fingers. “You see, I knew if you thought there was a Miss Spence, you’d make certain Oliver came to Cliff’s Edge so you might deliver him into a respectable young lady’s arms and save him from marrying a wicked actress.”

  Dinah’s mouth dropped open. “Penelope! How could you do such a—”

  “You’re the wicked actress in this scenario, in case that’s not clear,” Penelope interrupted, stirring another lump of sugar into her tea.

  “But that’s…you—”

  “I knew Oliver—being wildly in love with you—would make the most of his time alone with you in the coach. Am I correct?”

  “You seem to know a great deal more about this than I do,” Dinah hissed, frazzled to the last degree. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Penelope shrugged. “Certainly, if you like. I believe it’s something like this. Oliver is madly, wildly in love with you, has been since the moment he saw you and has, in his own odd way, been courting you for a year now.”

  “Not precisely courting—”

  “You’ve made up your mind you can’t have him,” Penelope went on. “Despite having realized during your journey from London you’re as madly, wildly in love with him as he is with you. Is that correct?”

  “It’s not…it’s more complicated than that.” Wasn’t it? Dinah thought it must be, but her thoughts were all muddled, and she couldn’t make sense of anything anymore.

  “No, it isn’t. The only trouble here is you’ve decided it won’t do for Oliver to marry you, because you’re certain he’ll be made unhappy by it, despite ample evidence the Angel brothers marry for love, and make exceptionally devoted husbands.” Penelope patted her swollen belly. “Now then, let’s try this again, shall we? Why do you insist on leaving tomorrow morning, Dinah?”

  Dinah threw her hands up in the air. “To get out of Oliver’s way, so he can get on with the business of falling in love with Miss Spence—”

  “Who doesn’t exist,” Penelope reminded her.

  “…and save him from years of regret—”

  “Save him from a lifetime of happiness, you mean.”

  “…and to keep him from making a dreadful mistake!”

  Penelope snorted. “The dreadful mistake of marrying the lady he loves? Dear me, that is a good plan. I wonder I didn’t think of it myself.”

  Dinah stared at Penelope, unable to say a word. All at once, all she wanted in the world was to lay her head on her friend’s shoulder and let her tears fall.

  Penelope’s face softened. “Do you love him, Dinah?”

  Dinah pressed her hand to her stomach, nausea rising in her throat. “A marriage between us would be a farce. No, worse than that. It would be a blasphemy. It will lead to a lifetime of regret for Oliver, and a lifetime of guilt and shame for me.”

  Penelope regarded Dinah with steady brown eyes. “That’s not what I asked, Dinah. Do you love him?”

  Dinah let her face fall into her hands. She’d lied to Oliver, lied to herself, and now she was about to lie to Penelope, her dearest friend, and she just…she simply couldn’t do it anymore. “Oh, Penelope, of course, I do! How could I not? I’ve never known anyone like him. He has the purest, most loving heart. If I didn’t know him to be flesh and blood, I’d never believe a man with a heart like his could exist.”

  “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Have you told him you love him?”

  “No! He can’t ever know. If he finds out, he’ll never let me go until I promise to marry him.” That sharp blue gaze of his would pry under her hard surface to the tender, raw skin beneath, and he’d see everything.

  “You’re right, he won’t. What does that tell you, Dinah? What does it tell you when a man with a heart as fine and pure as Oliver’s refuses to give you up?”

  Dinah didn’t have an answer to that, so she remained silent, her gaze on her hands. Penelope was also silent, waiting, and they might have sat there all afternoon if they hadn’t been interrupted by the sound of a man clearing his throat.

  They both turned to find Oliver standing in the doorway. “William sent me to fetch you, Penelope,” he said, but he was looking at Dinah, his face tight with worry.

  “Yes, of course.” Penelope arched a meaningful eyebrow at Dinah before she leapt to her feet and disappeared through the door.

  “Are you all right?” Oliver asked quietly, stepping further into the room. “You look…unlike yourself.”

  “Yes, I’m…” Dinah began, but she couldn’t lie to him, not when he was gazing at her with those worried blue eyes. She whirled around, turning her back to Oliver just as the tears burning in her eyes began running down her cheeks.

  “Don’t turn away from me, Dinah.” Oliver strode across the room, took her shoulders in his hands and turned her toward him. As soon as he saw her face he froze, horrified. “What’s the matter, love? Why are you crying?”

  Because I love you and I can’t have you.

  Words were bruising her ribs, burning her throat, shoving against her lips, and she couldn’t stop them, couldn’t hold them back. They were gushing from her mouth, bursting forth—

  “I…I killed the pineapple!” Dinah blurted, then buried her face in her hands as hot tears slid down her cheeks.

  “The pineapple?” Oliver took her wrists and gently lowered her hands from her face. “Dinah, the pineapple doesn’t matter.”

  “Look at it!” Dinah pointed a dramatic finger at the pineapple, which was still sitting on the tea table, looking particularly forlorn. “I tried to take care of it, but it was so cold, and I could tell it was freezing, and then I fell asleep and dropped it and the puppy chewed on its…its…spikes, and now it’s dead, and it won’t bear fruit, and I’ve spoiled your gift for Penelope!”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t care about the pineapple.” Oliver cupped her face in his hands. “Look at me. I only care about you.”

  “But don’t you see, Oliver?” Dinah gulped in a few shuddering breaths. “I can’t be trusted with anything p-p-precious. I don’t know how t-to care for things.”

  “Things? Do you mean…no, Dinah, don’t look away from me.” Oliver tipped her chin up. “Are we talking about pineapples, or something else?”

  “Everything,” she whispered. “Pineapples, and animals, and people.”

  “That isn’t true, Dinah. What about the kittens?”

  Dinah raised her tear-stained face to his. “Mathilda’s kittens?”

  Oliver brushed damp strands of hair back from her cheeks. “Well, yes, those kittens, but I was thinking of the kittens you had as a child. The barn cats. You took care of them, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but that was just—”

  “Then there’s Penelope. You’ve been taking care of her since she came to the Pandemonium, haven’t you? And Maddy. You’ve alwa
ys taken care of her as if she were your own sister.”

  “Yes, but anyone would—”

  “The puppy, too. You’ve been taking care of him since we left Dartford, though God knows he’s naughty enough to put anyone out of temper.”

  Dinah sniffled. “Well, he doesn’t like me much.”

  A hint of a smile crossed Oliver’s lips. “I don’t know about that. He didn’t chew your pocket to bits.”

  “Well, no.”

  “No. Tell me then, sweetheart. What are these ‘other things’ you can’t be trusted to take care of?”

  Dinah bit her lip. Once she said it, he’d know the truth, and there’d be no taking it back, but maybe…maybe she’d come too far for that, and maybe she no longer wanted to take it back.

  “A heart,” she whispered at last. “Such a precious heart. I’m afraid if it’s trusted to me, I’ll make mistakes, and I’ll…I’ll break it.”

  Oliver brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, but he was quiet for a long time before he asked, “Whose heart, Dinah?”

  She tried to look down at her hands, but Oliver wouldn’t allow it. “No, look at me. Whose heart is so precious to you, you’re afraid to trust yourself with it?”

  Dinah drew in a long, shaky breath, then she lay a trembling hand on his chest. Under her palm his heart was thundering, the beat strong and steady and true. “Yours.”

  There was a brief, fraught silence, and then Oliver was gathering her against him, pressing his lips into her hair. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t you see? My heart isn’t mine anymore. It’s yours. Nothing will ever change that. The only way you could break it is by leaving me, and even then, it would still be yours.”

  Dinah gripped his coat and let her forehead rest against his chest.

  He held her, nuzzling her temple and scattering sweet, tender kisses over her cheeks, her eyelids and the tip of her nose. When her breathing calmed and her tears slowed, he eased her away from him so he could gaze down into her eyes. “Your heart is pounding.” He touched a fingertip to the hollow of her throat where her pulse was beating wildly.

  “Yes.” She took his hand and pressed his palm flat against her chest, over her heart. “Perhaps it’s not frozen, after all.”

  “It never was, Dinah.” He gazed down at her, his blue eyes bright with fear and love and hope. “It was just…waiting until it was safe.”

  Dinah reached up and traced his lips with a hesitant finger. “It was waiting for you. I-I love you, Oliver.”

  Oliver closed his eyes, as if he’d waited a lifetime to hear her say those words, and needed a quiet moment to treasure them. When he opened them again, they were glowing with joy and love. “I love you so much, sweetheart. You’ll marry me, Dinah? You’ll be my wife?”

  Dinah hesitated, but for only a moment. She was still afraid, but this was no time to turn coward. When a man like Oliver Angel offered you his heart, you took it, and spent a lifetime cherishing it.

  “Yes. I’ll marry you. How could I not, after such a courtship?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “Or did we decide it was an escapade? A Christmas courtship caper?”

  “It was a lark. A playful, harmless bit of fun, and the first in a lifetime of adventures together.” He smiled down at her, his dimples flashing.

  Dinah’s breath caught. She’d seen Oliver smile thousands of times, but never before had she seen him smile like this. It burst across his face like a sunrise, the warmth of its rays melting in an instant the last tiny shard of ice buried deep inside her heart.

  EPILOGUE

  Cliff’s Edge, Essex, England

  Late April, 1813

  Marriage had made Dinah shamefully lazy.

  Or perhaps it wasn’t marriage itself. Perhaps it was just a blissful marriage to a man she adored, but a lady did tend to spend a great deal more time lounging in bed when she was safely snuggled in her husband’s arms, her cheek pillowed on his bare chest and his hands stroking her hair.

  Oh my, yes. She was every inch the languid, indolent lady these days. A contented smile curved her lips as she reached across the bed for Oliver. But instead of the smooth, warm skin and wild, rumpled hair that made her fingertips tingle with delight, her hand found only cool sheets.

  “Oliver?” She sat up, frowning. The scent of Malmaison lingered in the folds of the sheets but it was faint, just an echo of vanilla and cedar. She glanced toward the window. A sliver of pale, dappled moonlight peeked between the drapes.

  Where on earth was Oliver? She didn’t fancy a midnight game of hide and seek, but there wasn’t a chance she’d fall asleep again without him by her side.

  She indulged in one last long, languid stretch, her arms over her head and her toes curling, but before she could throw the coverlet aside and commence a search for her wayward husband she was interrupted by a low, husky drawl from the doorway.

  “Ah, now there’s a tantalizing vision.”

  Dinah turned her head on the pillow. Oliver had one hip propped against the doorframe, his glittering blue eyes taking her in from head to toe.

  “There you are.” Dinah rose onto her elbow and rested her head on her hand. “Where have you been?” Her gaze lingered on the bare expanse of skin revealed by the open neck of his shirt. “I missed you.” She held out a hand to him. “Come back to bed.”

  Oliver’s eyes darkened and a flush rose in his cheeks, but he shook his head. “Soon. I want to show you something first. Come with me, sweetheart.”

  “Can’t it wait?” She crooked a finger at him, an inviting smile curving her lips.

  Oliver’s lips parted on a soft groan, but he kept a stubborn distance between himself and the bed. “No. You’ll like it, I promise you.”

  She threw the covers aside with a sigh and rose from the bed. “Oh, very well. Do I have to get dressed, or…Oliver? What’s the matter?”

  He looked pained, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “The moonlight, behind you. I can see every inch of you through your night rail. You’re so beautiful, love.”

  Dinah looked down at herself, her cheeks heating. She’d never been the sort of lady who blushed, but Oliver’s hungry gaze seared her.

  He strode across the room and snatched her into his arms. His hands moved restlessly over her curves as he nuzzled into her neck, inhaling deeply. “Dear God, you smell good. How do you always manage to smell so good?”

  Dinah tangled her fingers in his hair. “I smell like you.”

  “Hmmm. I smell lovely, then.” He bit gently at her throat, letting out a low growl. “Perhaps we should return to bed, after all.”

  “Certainly not, my lord,” Dinah said with mock sternness. “I’m up now.”

  “Yes, well, so am I.” He nudged his thigh between her legs. “Just let me…”

  He trailed off with a groan as Dinah sank her teeth into his earlobe. She teased the tender flesh between her lips until Oliver was panting, but then she set him gently away from her. “If I let you do anything, we’ll never leave this bedchamber, and I’m curious to see what got you out of it in the first place.”

  “A thing so magical I left my lovely wife alone in our bed, which was no easy feat. Here, you’ll need this.” Oliver took up the thick woolen shawl draped across the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, then grabbed her hand and led her from the bedchamber and down the stairs to the ground floor.

  “My goodness, Oliver. Where are you taking me?”

  “Shhh.” Oliver pressed a brief kiss to her lips. They crept down the darkened hallway and into William’s study, then slipped through the glass doors onto the terrace. They dashed across the west lawn, the dew dampening the toes of Dinah’s slippers, then stopped at the door to Penelope’s greenhouse.

  “Good Lord, what a monstrosity.” Oliver eyed the octagonal building. “It’s a wonder there’s any glazing or cast-iron left in England.”

  Dinah laughed. William had gone a bit too far with the greenhouse, but Penelope was delighted with i
t, and spent many happy hours inside, fussing over her plants. “Oh, come now. It’s lovely.”

  “Well, I will admit I find greenhouses a great deal more intriguing since our visit to Lord Horace.”

  Oliver waggled his eyebrows, making Dinah laugh again. “I hope you haven’t brought me out here to debauch me in Penelope’s greenhouse.”

  “Not tonight, but you can be sure I’ll keep it in mind for another time. For now, I believe I’ll settle for a pineapple.”

  “Another pineapple?” Dinah groaned. She hadn’t had much luck with pineapples.

  Oliver gave her an enigmatic smile. “Not another pineapple, but Lord Horace’s pineapple.” He led her by the hand to the back of the greenhouse, where Penelope kept a row of citrus trees in pots against the southern wall.

  That was when Dinah saw it.

  There, amid the orange trees with their cluster of white blossoms was Lord Horace’s lone pineapple, and it was…

  She gasped softly. “It isn’t dead.”

  “No, sweetheart, it isn’t.” Oliver squeezed her shoulders. “See that bit of green, just at the base there? It’s a new leaf. The plant won’t flower for some time yet, but it’s not dead.”

  Dinah leaned closer, staring in wonder at the tiny green bud. “I-I told Penelope it was dead. I wonder she took the time to plant it at all.”

  Oliver dropped a kiss on the back of her neck. “I asked her to plant it as a favor to me.”

  “You did?” Dinah turned to face him, her heart rushing into her throat. “Why, Oliver?”

  He was quiet for a while before murmuring, “Sometimes a thing can appear hopeless when really it’s just—”

  “Waiting,” Dinah whispered.

  “Yes.” He smiled down at her, his eyes warm.

  “Until it feels safe.” She caressed the dimple in Oliver’s cheek.

  “Until it feels safe.” Oliver opened his arms to her then, and Dinah rushed into his embrace. She pressed her cheek against his chest, listened to his heart beating, and marveled over Christmas larks, joyful blue eyes, and the astounding resilience of hearts, and pineapples.