by Anna Bradley
“You look very happy, my dear,” her aunt said. “As does your husband. I think married life suits him.”
“Thank you, Aunt Abigail,” she replied, her heart full. “Thank you for all you have done for all of us.”
“Off with you, my dear. You’ll have me blubbering like a baby before long.” Abigail blinked several times.
She was grateful to her aunt for one more kindness. Before Rose married Thomas, Abigail had requested an interview with Lady Childs. According to Thomas’s mother, Abigail’s husband could not be Emma’s father.
“That is a relief,” she replied. And it was. She didn’t think she could have kept the possibility from Emma forever.
Livingston was overjoyed to see his mistress and new master. They made their goodbyes to her family and then it was time to depart for Wickling Manor. Her new home.
A stack of correspondence awaited them as Thomas had requested the post not be forwarded to them on their travels.
“What does your mother’s letter say, Thomas?” she asked her husband.
Seated at the rosewood writing desk she’d insisted belonged in their bedchamber, he looked up from the page in his hand.
“I can’t believe it. She’s currently living in America,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Someplace called Philadelphia. She met a wealthy American in Paris and he married her.”
“That is wonderful news.” She let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps the woman would never bother them again. Her happiness could not be more complete.
Thomas nodded in agreement. “She writes that her new husband is so wealthy she doesn’t need her miserable stipend.”
She supposed his mother wanted her son to know she was now so affluent she didn’t need anything from him. No matter the lady’s motive, Rose wished her well.
“I’m glad that part of my life is over,” Thomas said as he put the letter back on the desk and stood. “The rest of the lot can wait until tomorrow.”
He removed his dressing gown to display a pair of navy-blue silk pajamas. His gaze roamed over her lace trimmed negligee. “We are both overdressed.”
“I thought you might have grown bored with me after a month of marriage,” she replied breathlessly. As for herself, she loved him more and more every day.
“Bored? Never.” He moved to settle on the bed beside her, a soft smile on his gorgeous lips. “It is rather strange not to have you railing at me as you did so often in the last year.”
She swatted his chest playfully. “I’m sure you will eventually do something to displease me.”
“I’m sure I will, wife,” he replied. His hand having caught hers, he brought it to his lips for a quick kiss.
A sudden wave of emotion came over her as she realized they had many years together. “There is no one I would rather fight with, husband.”
“As long as we always reconcile our differences before bed,” he replied with a wiggle of his brows. His eyes were now a dark gold color, a sure sign to Rose that her husband desired her. He placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled her into the circle of his arms.
She heard a snuffling noise. Livingston’s head appeared over Thomas’s side of the bed. She’d thought the dog was downstairs.
Thomas released her, got up and let the dog out of the room. When the door to their bedchamber was shut again, he smiled and shook his head. “I think Livingston likes me a little too much.”
“He’s been my dog for so many years my love for you had to rub off.” She patted the bed beside her. “Come to bed husband, we need to practice reconciling our differences.”
THE END
SNEAK PEEK AT The Marquess’s Christmas Lily
On the eve of his Grand Tour of the Continent, Charles shares an unexpected kiss with his childhood friend Lily. A year later Charles returns to England due to the death of his father. The old marquess controlled his son’s life and attempts to do so even in death. Charles must have an arranged marriage to his childhood friend or lose his fortune.
Lily grew up in a happy household and knows she loves her friend. Charles’s parents couldn’t stand the sight of each other and lived separate lives. He isn’t sure what married love is.
A journal of Charles’s travels may hold the answer to whether these friends live happily ever after or whether they made the biggest mistake of their lives.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Las Vegas, NV, I joined the air force to see the world. An assignment to England kindled my love of the Regency era and prompted my dream to publish the stories in my head. I love to write with a steady supply of coffee nearby and one of my three cats on my lap. I currently live in Alaska with my husband and two teenage boys and wish I had the attention span to be a better cook.
A Promise Beneath the Kissing Bough
Tabetha Waite
A Promise Beneath the Kissing Bough
He is the bastard son of an earl…
Cornell Reed was raised as a commoner by his mother, a maid who had been dismissed from service after it was discovered she was carrying an illegitimate child. Because of his modest upbringing, Cornell had never cared to be recognized by his father, Lord Haverton. He is content with his simple life as a cordwainer in London, a skill he’d learned during his years as a sea-faring naval captain. It isn’t until he advertises for an apprentice for the busy Christmas season, does Cornell realize what he’s been missing.
She is a poor, Irish immigrant…
Miss Pleasant Hill moved to London after the death of her cobbler father in Ireland. When she isn’t trying to help raise her three, younger siblings, or toiling as a washerwoman, she assists her ailing stepmother as a seamstress. She always dreamed of something more, but soon realized it was pointless to wish upon stars. However, when she sees the sign in the shopkeeper’s window, she feels it’s the answer to her long-awaited prayers. Pleasant feels that this year, she can finally make a difference and give her family the holiday they had always been denied.
But is a Christmas miracle even possible?
Other Titles by Tabetha Waite
Ways of Love Historical Romance Series
How it All Began for the Baron (Christmas prequel novella)
Why the Earl is After the Girl (Book 1)
Where the Viscount Met His Match (Book 2)
When a Duke Pursues a Lady (Book 3)
Who the Marquess Dares to Desire (Book 4)
What a Gentleman Does for Love (Book 5)
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Anthologies
Yuletide Happily Ever Afters (*Limited Release* Christmas Regency)
A Hauntingly Romantic Winter (*Limited Release* Fantasy Fairy Tales)
Moonlight, Monsters & Magic (erotic paranormal)
Heyer Society (non-fiction essays)
Nine Ladies Dancing 2018 (*Limited Release* Regency Christmas set)
Second Chance Love (*Limited Release* Regency Romance)
Lady It’s Cold Outside (Christmas Regency)
Yuletide Happily Ever Afters II (Christmas Regency)
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Novellas
Twelve Gifts by Christmas (Yuletide Happily Ever Afters)
Lord Castleford’s Fortunate Folly (Fortunes of Fate #1)
A Lady’s Guide to Marriage (Second Chance Love)
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Novels
Behind a Moonlit Veil (Victorian Gothic)
A Promise Beneath the Kissing Bough
Copyright © 2019 Tabetha Waite
All rights reserved.
Dedication:
I’ve always enjoyed stories by Charles Dickens, who celebrated the unsung, common-born heroes. In honor of his works, I hope you enjoy my Regency take on those a little less fortunate.
CHAPTER ONE
London, England
December 4, 1815
Miss Pleasant Hill stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her gaze riveted on the sign in the shopkeeper’s window. She ignored the weight of the basket in her arms, the jostle from the passerby, and even the cold chi
ll of icy wind mixed with tiny pinpricks of ice that flew at her face and coated the covering on her hair. None of it mattered, because that sign was the answer to her prayers.
While Pleasant stayed plenty busy as a washerwoman and caring for her sick mother and three younger siblings, taking on another position as an apprentice for a cordwainer was something that would require little effort. Her father had been a cobbler in Ireland, so she already had experience in how to repair shoes, even if she’d never manipulated the leather from scratch to create a specific design.
But with this bit of extra income, it might just be enough to give her family the Christmas season they all deserved.
She set the basket on her hip and pushed open the door, glancing up at the silver bell that heralded her entrance. Beside it was a clump of festive greenery.
“Mistletoe,” she whispered, as the lovely, welcoming heat of the shop enveloped her, followed by several familiar scents.
“May I help you?”
Pleasant turned her head at the sound of the smooth, even timbre of the masculine voice. But instead of seeing a face to go with the sound, no one was behind the counter. She took a couple steps forward and saw the profile of a man’s body on the other side of a wooden beam. He was sitting on a crude stool with an apron draped over his common clothes, and was using a burnisher to shine the bottom of a boot.
But it wasn’t what he was doing, so much as his appearance that had arrested her attention and made her tongue abruptly stick to the roof of her mouth. Unlike most shopkeepers she’d met in London, he was younger, likely in his early-thirties, if she had to guess. His dark hair had yet to turn gray, although it was lighter in spots, as if he’d spent a lot of time out-of-doors. Without any facial hair, his strong jaw was clearly defined, and when he turned his head to look at her, she was surprised to find that his eyes were as green as hers.
She wondered if he might be as fascinated by her as she was with him, but when his gaze flicked along her form without any sort of interest, her hopes fizzled away. “What can I do for you, miss?” he asked almost impatiently this time.
Finally, Pleasant found her voice. “I’m here to inquire about the apprentice position.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I see.” He set aside the boot he’d been working on, laying it on a wooden shelf with several others, and grabbed a cloth to wipe his hands. He tossed that on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, causing the muscles in his upper arms to tighten under his shirt.
His forearms were exposed, and she noticed that they were nicely tanned and covered with a sprinkling of dark hair. But it was his hands, strong and steady, that she admired. “You’re Irish?”
“I am,” she confirmed, wondering if that made a difference when his accent marked him as definite English.
He gestured to the basket in her arms. “And a washerwoman?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, but said no more, just continued to study her. Abruptly, he asked, “How old are you?”
She lifted her chin slightly. “I’m four and twenty.”
His brows flew upward at this. “I would have guessed much younger.” He rubbed a finger across his bottom lip in apparent contemplation. It was rather distracting. “Very well, do you have any qualifications?”
“My father was a cobbler in Ireland. I used to assist him.”
“Is he with you in London?”
“No.” Pleasant had to swallow over the tight lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “He passed away about a year ago. My mother and siblings moved to England after we…lost our home.” She hated to admit that part, that because she was a woman she’d been overlooked on her merits in taking over her father’s trade, thus resulting in a lack of work and the inability to pay their rent.
“What does your mother do?”
Pleasant was glad for something else to focus her mind on. “She’s a seamstress, and she helps me with the wash, but she’s ill, so she’s restricted by what she can do.”
“I see,” he murmured. “And your siblings?”
“Niall is thirteen, Connor is eleven, and Fiona is seven.”
He appeared to consider this. “There is quite a difference in your age compared to that of your brothers and sister.”
Pleasant shifted the weight of the basket. “Aine is my father’s second wife. The woman who gave birth to me, my true mother, died when I was born, but Aine has always treated me as her own.”
“It sounds like a close family,” he guessed.
“We do what we can,” she hedged, not wishing to earn sympathy, but at the same time, wanting to impress upon him the importance of hiring her by being honest. “I love them very much. It’s why I am here to inquire about the position. I want to offer them a good Christmas. I promise that I will work hard.”
He rose to his feet and walked toward her. Pleasant wasn’t sure what his intentions were when he stopped before her, his towering height almost intimidating, but when he reached out and took the basket from her and set it on the floor, she couldn’t help but feel relief as the weight of the wet laundry had eased. She was so used to packing it around day after day that it was almost a part of her until it was gone.
He reached out and took one of her hands in his. He frowned when he looked at her hands. She knew what he saw. The once creamy flesh was tainted red and rough with the continual use of the lye soap. She yearned to draw back her hand, but the feel of his warm flesh on hers was rather…comforting. Strange that, considering he was a complete stranger and his touch should mean nothing.
He released her and his green eyes bored into hers, as if trying to see into her very soul. Several heartbeats passed, and she hardly dared to breathe, but then he seemed to come to a decision. “My name is Cornell Reed. I shall expect you here tomorrow morning at eight to see what you can do.”
Pleasant couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Mr. Reed. You won’t regret it.”
“I will be the judge of that, Miss…?”
She bobbed a brief curtsy. “Pleasant Hill.”
His lips twitched slightly. “You didn’t even have to make that up, did you?”
She was confused. “Pardon?”
“Never mind.” He waved a hand. “Until tomorrow.”
Dismissed, Pleasant picked up her basket and strode out the door.
***
The door to the cramped confines Pleasant shared with her family squeaked in protest when she opened it. As usual, when she returned with a load of laundry to be cleaned, her mother was sewing in her chair by the fire, while Fiona moved a broom about the room in an effort to clean.
Niall had hauled water home from the city pump for her wash, noted Pleasant, so since she was running a bit behind that morning, he was likely already out with Connor sweeping chimneys. It was a filthy occupation, but they did what they could to pull their fair share.
Normally, Pleasant would make her way to the washboard and pan on the opposite side of the room and, after removing the buttons or other fancy adornments that could be damaged, she would scrub the cotton in the lye, then drape the clean linens on the ropes hanging overhead to dry. During the summer months when it was warmer, she could do it all outside and spare them the foul stench of the soap, and whatever else she could find to remove any stains, but on miserable, cold days like this, she had no other choice.
Either way, it was quite a process that would usually take most of the day, so she knew there were some late nights ahead for her if she impressed Mr. Reed enough that he kept her on at the shop, but it would be worth it just to see her siblings’ smiling faces on Christmas morning. The year before, the holiday had been spent in misery after their father’s death and the long, weary move to London.
But Pleasant vowed that this time it would be different. Their faces would be wreathed in smiles.
Feeling hopeful, she set down her basket in the middle of the floor and announced, “I may have a position at the cordwainer’s shop.”
Her stepmothe
r gasped in happy surprise. “Why, that’s wonderful, Pleasant!” She paused as she was struck with a coughing fit. Unfortunately, they had become more frequent with the oncoming winter. Pleasant didn’t even want to imagine what sort of dire straits they would be in should Aine succumb to her illness. “But what about the laundry?”
“I plan to continue it, of course.”
Aine’s mouth turned down grimly. “Pleasant…”
She knew what was coming, so she went to her stepmother’s side and knelt down by the chair and took her hand. “Please. Just let me do this.” She gestured to Fiona, who was humming in the corner of the room as she swept, and lowered her voice. “For them. They deserve the chance to be children, if only for a day.”
Aine’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “I wish I could do more to help. I just feel so…useless.”
“You’re not,” Pleasant returned firmly. “You are the glue that keeps us all together. Besides, you need to retain your strength.”
Aine sighed. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a daughter like you.”
Pleasant leaned forward and kissed her stepmother on the cheek. “You gave me love and a home. That’s all I need.”
Later that night, after Aine decided to retire early, the siblings were all seated around the crude table, and the wash was hanging out to dry, Pleasant told the three surrounding faces her news.
Niall frowned and stabbed a potato with his fork. “I wish Mama would just let me work at the docks. I would make so much more money, and not have to inhale that bloody soot anymore.”
“Watch your language,” Pleasant admonished. “And as far as dock work, you think sweeping chimneys is grueling? Not to mention all the fiends that you would encounter down by the river. Perhaps in a few years—”