Yuletide Happily Ever After II: An Original Regency Romance Collection

by Anna Bradley

  “What will you do after the new year?” Abigail asked her.

  She turned her attention to her aunt. “I suppose that depends on whether Sir Thomas is in residence or not.”

  “Why ever should that matter?” Abigail put down her work and frowned at Rose. “You need your own life, my dear. Your brother has let you stay here often enough. You should have a season. A family of your own.”

  “Emma is my friend. I want to help her.”

  Abigail sniffed loudly. “Your friend has plenty of help. She has a brother. If he chooses to roam all over the countryside with those digs of his, that is not your concern. It is selfish of him to suppose you will always be here to shoulder his responsibilities.”

  She sat silent. Her aunt had repeated the words Ambrose said to her before Rose returned to Wickling Manor nearly two months before. Sir Thomas was to depart yet again, Emma had asked her to stay.

  A movement at the open door caught her eye. Sir Thomas entered the room. If he’d heard their conversation, he gave no sign of it.

  “I thought Emma might have joined you by now,” he said and inclined his head toward them. “I will be in the library if I am needed.”

  When he’d gone, she let out a breath. Her aunt had made quite the impression on their host today.

  Abigail clicked her tongue. “It does not signify, Rose. If he did hear our conversation, it will give him something to think on.”

  She held her tongue. Her aunt had the right of it after all. Rose was usually aggravated with Thomas’s behavior, although the presence of her aunt found her wanting to support him rather than rebuke him. Was she content to return to Wickling Manor every few weeks when Emma needed her?

  What did she want? She wasn’t sure feelings of friendship and guilt were her only motivation for returning to the manor. The thought of going home to Marcourt after Christmas was not as appealing as it should have been. Rose loved her family but more and more recently she found herself drawn to Wickling Manor.

  Would Thomas stay at the estate until Epiphany? The roads would surely keep him there. She couldn’t expect Aunt Abigail to chaperone her forever. The more she thought about her situation, the more she wondered if Emma was the only reason she wanted to stay at the manor.

  * * * * *

  Thomas stood in front of one of the library windows, watching what had been a light snow turn into a drizzle of rain. The sky was gray to match his mood.

  Emma had appeared in better spirits when he left the house. A few minutes speaking with his steward had made him feel in control of estate matters if nothing else. And then he’d entered the house and overheard the conversation between Rose and her aunt.

  Lady Markham was right. He was selfish to expect Lady Rose to be his sister’s companion. She had her own life to lead. He knew Emma and Rose were close, but that shouldn’t prevent Rose from having a family of her own.

  The thought of Rose married caused him some anxiety. When he went away, he not only missed Emma but Lady Rose as well. He missed her laughter, her kindness to everyone she encountered.

  Before he spoke with Emma about Rose, he would speak with Lady Markham. She had done him a service by coming to Wickling Manor. She was concerned for her niece, and it was the honorable thing to do to set her mind at rest.

  It was also time he understood that he couldn’t cure Emma. He had roamed all over the country to see surgeons and doctors to no avail.

  He would have to live with what happened just as Emma did. They would make a life at Wickling Manor. His mother would not contact them again if the money kept coming. There was still one thing his sister didn’t know: their father hadn’t died of a fever. He’d never told another living soul that secret.

  It was nearly time to dress for dinner. He would speak with Lady Markham on the morrow. Right now, he wanted a meal and a nice quiet evening with his sister. There had been enough turmoil in the house for one day.

  * * * * *

  After dinner Aunt Abigail complained of a headache. Sir Thomas would have joined Rose and Emma in the drawing room, but he was called away to the stables. Something to do with an inebriated groom.

  “Shall we make some Christmas arrangements for our bedchambers?” Rose asked Emma. “It would be heavenly to go to sleep with the scent of evergreens in our rooms.”

  “That is a wonderful idea,” Emma replied. Rose took the handle of Emma’s chair and pushed her out of the room, Livingston following along behind them.

  An hour later, they’d finished an arrangement that was suitable for a bedchamber dresser and were working on another. Livingston lay on the floor nearby, content to watch their activity. A maid looked in to see if they required any assistance.

  “Please see me to my room.” Emma yawned. She turned to Rose. “I’m so sorry. I can barely keep my eyes open. You take the completed arrangement. We can make one for my room tomorrow.”

  “You take it,” she replied. She placed the glass bowl full of holly and ivy tied with red ribbon in Emma’s lap. “It will only take me a few minutes to complete this other one. You go on to bed.”

  “If you’re sure.” Emma yawned again.

  “I’m sure. Now off with you.” She made shooing motions with her hands.

  When Emma was gone, she added some ribbon and a sprig of mistletoe to the decoration for her bedchamber. She heard Livingston get up and turned to see Sir Thomas enter the room.

  “One of the footmen told me you and Emma were in here.”

  She shook her head, her eyes on his. Tonight, his hazel eyes were almost green. He looked unbelievably handsome in dark evening clothes. She’d rarely been alone with him. She felt goosebumps on her arms, a warm flush on her throat.

  “Emma was tired. She went to bed,” she said softly.

  Thomas leaned down and patted Livingston.

  “I thought you didn’t like him.”

  “I like all animals,” he replied. He gave the dog another few pats. “I was not in a terribly good mood when I returned home yesterday. I hope he forgives me.”

  Thomas took a few steps toward her. She inhaled his musky scent. She really must think of something to say.

  “Why were you in a bad mood?” she asked, breathless. He was smiling at her, his handsome face so near and dear to her.

  “I didn’t have a very good trip to London. It doesn’t matter why. I’ll be staying at the manor for some time to come.” His voice was warm. His eyes were on her face, her mouth.

  She felt both relief and pleasure at his words. Was she happiest for Emma or for herself? “That’s wonderful news. Emma will be delighted to have you home.”

  “And you, Rose? How will you feel having me so close by?” he asked in an intimate tone.

  She laughed softly to cover her confusion at his meaning. “We’ve been neighbors for years, Sir Thomas.”

  He reached out with one hand and caressed her jawline.

  Rose didn’t flinch, didn’t jerk away. So many years she’d dreamed of his touching her. At the feel of his skin against hers she thought she might melt into his hand like warm treacle.

  She was nineteen years old and had never been kissed. “Thomas. . .”

  The yearning in her voice was unmistakable.

  He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. She remained still, enjoying the feel of his mouth against hers. Thomas raised his head, then kissed her once, twice. When he raised his head again, neither moved. She was content to stand in the shadow of his body. His warmth and scent captivated her.

  “My first kiss,” she said without thinking. It was everything she’d dreamed of and more. It seemed only right that Thomas would be the first man she ever kissed.

  “First?” He frowned. “All the men you’ve been smitten with since you were a young girl, and that was your first kiss?”

  “Young girls often fixate on older men,” she replied flippantly as she stepped back. The bewilderment in his voice added to her own. Despite her irritation at his words, she wanted him to kiss her
again.

  She turned away from him, picked up the Christmas arrangement, and held it to her chest. “I’m not a little girl anymore; I’m a woman. Don’t ever forget that, Sir Thomas.”

  She stepped around him and called to Livingston. As she exited the room, she heard Sir Thomas say softly, “I can’t forget, Lady Rose. I wish I could.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When he’d kissed Rose, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He’d thought he was merely grateful to her for all that she had done for Emma. Had done for him. That kiss had changed everything.

  Going away as often as he had, meeting women in all parts of England had made no difference to his bachelor status. Other than his infatuation with Iris years ago, he’d never felt as strong an attraction to a woman as the one he felt for Rose.

  “She’s too young. She could never care for me,” he muttered as he tossed in his bed later that night.

  He was the first man to kiss her. Despite her swooning over her dance instructor, language tutors, and nearly every man that wasn’t a relative, she’d never been kissed.

  Thomas felt a shudder of pleasure at the memory of those kisses. Her lips were soft, sweet. No matter how much he wanted her to remain at Wickling Manor, Rose must return home soon. He couldn’t take advantage of her kindness any longer. Emma must understand they were both being selfish to expect Rose to put her life aside whenever they wanted her at the manor.

  One obstacle to Emma’s desire for a new beginning in the new year? There was still a cloud over himself and Emma. What would happen if he told Emma that he didn’t know who her father was? He couldn’t tell her how the man she thought was her father had really died. But what if she found out someday and he hadn’t been the one to tell her?

  Would Rose or any woman want to be aligned with his family once they knew the whole truth about his father’s death? What would polite society think about Emma’s parentage? He had never given marriage much thought because of his circumstances. It was best for Lady Rose to return home. He mustn’t let himself think about a bright future with any woman when his family’s past was so stained.

  * * * * *

  The next day Rose woke to see her maid holding a curtain aside and peeking out of the window. Livingston whined to have a look himself.

  “Is something amiss, Mary?” she asked, sitting up in bed.

  “I am sorry I woke you, my lady. There is a thick blanket of snow on the ground.” The girl sounded awed by the sight. “It is beautiful.”

  “Really?” She jumped out of bed and rushed to her maid’s side, her feet chilled as she stood barefoot on the hard wood floor.

  Mary pulled the curtain farther to the side. They both stared at the white expanse of snow that lay pristine as far as the eye could see. She allowed Livingston to prop his paws on the window sash for a look.

  “How lovely it is outside! I must get dressed and go downstairs.”

  When she made her way to the entry hall she tasked one of the footmen to let Livingston outside. “Make sure you dry his paws when he comes back in.”

  She entered the breakfast room before she remembered Thomas might be there alone. She’d dreamed about his kiss several times the previous night. What would they say to each other in the cold light of day?

  Thomas and Emma were both in the room eating breakfast. “Isn’t the snow just wonderful?” Emma asked her.

  “It is a lovely surprise,” she replied cautiously. Emma would not be able to go outside in her wheeled chair.

  After she selected eggs and ham from the sideboard, she took a seat at the round table across from Emma and Thomas. Her attention was on her plate. The fragrant smell of the tea in her cup mixed with Thomas’s musky scent and floated around her.

  “We’re going out in the snow after breakfast,” Emma said excitedly. Rose looked up to see her friend smiling at her brother. “Thomas has asked two footmen to bring a bench from the rose garden to the side courtyard. I will sit on the bench and make snowballs.”

  She glanced at Thomas. His eyes were on her face. “That is a lovely idea,” she replied, feeling heat in her cheeks. His eyes moved to her lips, and she had to look away. There was an intensity to his gaze. She didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand her instant awareness of the man whenever he was in the same room.

  “It has been some years since I’ve had a snow ice,” Thomas replied. “I shall ask Cook to make lemon-flavored ice for the dessert course tonight.”

  His sister declared her approval for that idea. Emma chatted away as Rose ate her meal, her attention again on the plate in front of her. When she asked after Abigail, Emma replied that Lady Markham had requested a tray in her room.

  Rose’s thick morning dress was suitable for out of doors. She went back upstairs to change into some serviceable boots and returned to the entry hall with not only her boots, but gloves and a fur-lined cape with a hood.

  Emma was present in her chair, wrapped in a thick cloak with her own gloves. Thomas wore a great coat, his tall hat, and gloves. Livingston sat nearby, the last of their small party.

  The baronet turned Emma’s invalid chair down a corridor from the room that led to the family entrance on the west side of the house. A footman stationed near the door opened it for them. Outside there was a walled courtyard with a large expanse of snow-covered grass and dormant trailing vines covering the walls.

  “Shall we?” Thomas bent down and lifted Emma from her chair. He strode out of the door and down two steps, carrying Emma as if she weighed nothing at all. Rose and Livingston followed.

  The bench was positioned in the middle of the secluded courtyard. The sky was clear, the air decidedly chilly. Thomas placed Emma on one end of the bench.

  “Now get me some snow.” Emma grinned. “Please.”

  Thomas looked bewildered. Rose walked near the bench, bent down, and used her hands to push snow toward Emma. She moved around, scooping snow with her gloved hands. Thomas followed suit, and soon they had a large pile to the side of the bench where Emma sat. Rose started to push more snow into a mound in front of her friend.

  “I’m trapped,” Emma said with a laugh. “I think I have enough snow to be getting on with.”

  Rose heard a bark, and Livingston barreled toward her. “What do you think of this white stuff?” she asked the dog.

  Livingston’s response was to bark again and then proceed to wander around the perimeter of the courtyard sniffing the walls.

  Rose walked through the snow, watching her feet kick up the soft white flakes. She smiled. The cool fresh air was invigorating. Other than snuffling noises from Livingston, it was so quiet outside she could have been alone.

  Something hit her in the back. Rose spun to look accusingly at Emma.

  “It wasn’t me,” Emma said, raising both hands and shaking her head vigorously.

  Rose looked at Thomas in time to catch a snowball square in her midsection.

  “Oh! You!” She bent down and fashioned a snowball. When she threw it, Thomas didn’t make any move to avoid her projectile. Her aim was so bad she missed him by several inches. He laughed deeply.

  She took a few paces forward and tried again. This time Thomas jumped aside. He ran behind Emma’s bench.

  “That is cheating!” She wondered if she could hit him and miss Emma. Not a chance.

  “All’s fair,” he replied.

  “Remember that, Thomas.” Emma turned on the bench and proceeded to hit him in the neck with her own snowball.

  Thomas staggered away a few feet, shaking snow from the collar of his coat. Rose saw her chance and hit him square in the chest.

  “I give up!” Thomas raised his hands high in the air. “You ladies are worthy opponents. You win.”

  He cleared the other end of the bench of snow and invited Rose to sit down.

  Emma was still making snowballs and piling them up near the bench. “They’re my cannonballs. I hope the snow doesn’t melt and we can come out again tomorrow.”

  �
��Christmas Eve is two days from now,” Thomas replied. “If it snows any more, our guests may not be able to make it for Christmas dinner.”

  “That would be a terrible thing.” Emma squared her shoulders. “I’m not worried. I know everything will be perfect for Christmas Day. It just has to be.”

  * * * * *

  He looked down at Rose seated on the bench. She glanced up at him a moment, blushed, and looked away again. She’d also been shy with him at breakfast.

  She was so very pretty in her green pelisse. He wished he could warm her pink cheeks with his hands, taste her sweet lips again.

  Emma was happy to chat with Rose. His sister no longer made snowballs but attempted to use a closed fan she had brought along to carve a castle out of the remaining pile of snow beside her.

  He’d been warm enough until Emma’s snowball hit his neck. He played with Livingston to keep from freezing and distract himself from staring at Rose. He waited an hour to give Emma more time outside before suggesting they return to the house.

  “Oh yes, I’m terribly chilled,” Rose said. “I would love some warm chocolate.”

  Warm, spiced chocolate was a favorite of Emma’s. Rose was a genius for suggesting the treat.

  “Chocolate does sound heavenly,” Emma replied.

  He picked up his sister and strode back to the house. Rose called to Livingston. When he reached the door, a footman opened it for him and stood back to let him go through. Another footman with a large piece of linen waited inside and promptly set to drying Livingston’s paws.

  He pushed Emma’s chair down the corridor to the entry hall. She asked the butler to send tea and chocolate to the drawing room. Soon after they entered the room, Lady Markham joined them.

  “From your smiling faces, it looks like your adventure in the snow was a success.” Abigail took a seat beside Rose on a low settee. She gave Livingston a pat before the dog curled up on the floor next to his chair.