Yuletide Happily Ever After II: An Original Regency Romance Collection

by Anna Bradley

  He’d objected but she’d insisted, and Natalia knew that Ben was excited to invest the money, to start on all his new and inventive ideas.

  And she was excited to help him every step of the way.

  Natalia’s father’s rigidity had thawed over the past twelve months. And once he’d received assurances that they would come back to visit as often as they could, he’d finally allowed himself to be truly happy for his daughter.

  “She has,” Ben agreed with his wife, pulling her against his side and placing a kiss upon her head.

  He’d never cared for propriety, flouting the unwritten rule that men and women, even husbands and wives, shouldn’t touch overly much in public.

  “If the Russians can handle it, the English will have to learn to,” he’d said when Natalia had reminded him of the rigid Society of his home country.

  “I seem to recall the dear lady bemoaning the fact that our wedding last year had quite ruined her future events,” Natalia quipped.

  Ben dropped a hand to Natalia’s gently rounded stomach.

  “She won’t be long in changing her mind on that score,” he said tenderly, and Natalia felt the familiar rush of love course through her.

  Even after a year, the strength of her feelings for her husband could take her by surprise.

  “Let’s at least wait until she’s finished receiving her guests,” she laughed.

  “Are you talking about the baby?” Beatrice appeared on the other side of Ben, her face the picture of excitement.

  “The secret baby,” Natalia reminded her with mock severity.

  “You two have had more than enough secrets,” Bea argued. “And I don’t want to be involved in any more of them.”

  Someone called a greeting to her and with a quick smile of apology, Bea flitted off again.

  “You really were a disgrace when it came to having secrets,” Ben said earning himself a scowl.

  “Me?” Natalia objected. “How so?”

  “Well, there was the fake betrothal scheme. That was all you. And the fact that you were secretly in love with me, secretly pining for me, wishing that – oof.”

  Natalia blinked up at her husband, her eyes wide and innocent.

  “Oh, I am sorry, my love. Did I accidentally stand on your toe?”

  “You’re still nothing but a hoyden, Lady Staunton.” Ben grinned. “Not even a year of wedded bliss to a handsome earl has sorted you out.”

  “And you’re still an arrogant, smug cad, Lord Staunton.” She grinned back.

  “Only because I have so much to be smug about,” he said, kissing his wife on the lips for all the world to see.

  Natalia knew there’d be talk about them. Knew the matrons would despair of them, and Ben wouldn’t care a jot.

  And neither did she.

  He might have become her husband by accident, but when she kissed him back, it was most definitely on purpose.

  The End

  SNEAK PEEK AT BEAUTY & THE DUKE

  Isabelle Carlton has loved the boy next door for as long as she can remember.

  Now they’re both grown up, their lives could not be more different; Mathew is a studious, serious duke, and Isabelle a social butterfly and the darling of the ton.

  But Isabelle still wants Mathew, and she has no intention of letting him go.

  So, all she has to do is make him fall desperately in love with her. And who better to help than the man himself?

  Mathew Rourke hates everything about the shallow world of the ton, and the people who play its foolish game.

  And none of them play it more than Isabelle Carlton.

  When Isabelle enlists Mathew’s help to catch herself a husband, he reluctantly agrees.

  After all, when has he ever been able to tell her no?

  But helping Isabelle is getting increasingly more difficult. For one thing, he can’t help but wonder why she needs any help. And for another, he can’t seem to want to let her go.

  Do opposites really attract? And can this beauty catch the duke next door?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Nadine Millard is a writer hailing from Dublin, Ireland. Having studied and worked in law for a number of years, Nadine started writing when she became a stay at home mother to her three children.

  Now she can be found writing romances, looking after her children, her dog, her cat, and neglecting household chores to the best of her ability.

  She can be found on all social media and loves to hear from readers!

  The Perfect Christmas

  Annabelle Anders

  The Perfect Christmas

  She’s a vicar’s sister with a past. He’s the rogue from her past. Will the magic of the Holidays be enough that these star crossed lovers can come together and celebrate the Perfect Christmas?

  Read More by Annabelle Anders

  Devilish Debutantes Series

  Hell Hath No Fury

  Hell in a Hand Basket

  Hell Hath Frozen Over (Novella)

  Hell’s Belle

  Hell of a Lady

  Lord Love a Lady Series

  Nobody’s Lady

  A Lady’s Prerogative

  Lady Saves the Duke

  Not So Saintly Sisters Series

  The Perfect Debutante

  The Perfect Spinster

  I love keeping in touch with readers and would be thrilled to hear from you! Join or follow me at any (or all!) of the social media links below!

  Amazon

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  www.annabelleanders.com

  The Perfect Christmas

  Copyright © 2019 Annabelle Anders

  All rights reserved.

  Dedication

  This is a story about forgiveness. Over the course of a lifetime, a person is faced with millions of choices, some more difficult than others. And sometimes, we make the wrong ones.

  In a world filled with hard consequences, we need grace.

  And so I’m dedicating this book to those who practice grace.

  She needed to remember this:

  Remember that circumstances weren’t always what they seemed.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Invisible

  Where had the magic of Christmas gone?

  Miss Eliza Cline stared out the window of the Dog and Pudding Pot Inn at the large snowflakes swirling in the wind, and then slumped so that her forehead rested against the cold pane.

  She’d had no trouble acquiring a private chamber when the driver had said they could travel no farther, and as soon as the storm let up, she would be spending Christmas at Lord and Lady Kingsley’s grand estate for what promised to be a magnificent house party.

  A warm fire burned in the corner of the taproom, and she would sleep in a warm and clean bed.

  She ought to be more than content. She ought to be grateful for all that she had.

  Living and working with her brother Thomas at the vicarage provided her with all the fulfillment she ought to have ever sought. She helped feed the poor and care for the sick. She heard all the latest gossip…

  But something was missing. At the age of one and thirty, Eliza wanted…

  More.

  Her conscience chastised her for such an ungrateful thought. Because that ‘more’ she wanted tended to pester her in the dead of night, often when she awoke from a most inappropriate dream.

  Sitting here, in a room full of strangers, a heated blush worked its way up her neck and into her cheeks at the thought that anyone could read her thoughts or know the contents of those scandalous dreams.

  One glance around emphasized all too well how ridiculous it was for her to blush.

  No one ever even looked at her.

  As a spinster of one and thirty, dressed in dull grays and browns, her brownish hair tightly knotted at her nape and a pair of spectacles perched atop her nose, she
might as well have been invisible.

  She was seen only for what she could do for others, for her good deeds and the baskets of rations she delivered to those in need.

  She removed her spectacles and wiped at the corner of one of her eyes.

  The holidays loomed a week away and instead of feeling excitement for all of her blessings, she had fallen into a melancholy. Another year gone by.

  She would never have a family. A husband. Someone who would hold her at night, who would be there when she awoke. Someone who would…

  Interrupting her indulgent musings, the door burst open and a well-dressed young man entered along with a flurry of snow and cold air. Behind him scurried a dark-haired girl of perhaps five and ten and another mob-capped lady, presumably her companion or maid. Eliza donned her spectacles quickly, feeling self-conscious but also wanting to see who the newcomers might be.

  The innkeeper scowled at first but upon seeing another older gentleman wearing a greatcoat with many layers follow the young people inside, he became all that was welcoming. The new arrivals were obviously of quality.

  Other patrons, who had been openly inspecting them, quickly lost interest and turned their attention back to one another and their pints without comment.

  Eliza remained invisible to those surrounding her.

  Staring only at the two gentlemen’s backs, Eliza had no reason to feign disinterest. They were of similar height, but the taller man’s shoulders stretched slightly wider and he held himself with more…

  She couldn’t decide. Arrogance? Confidence? No, something else—maturity, wisdom. He must be the elder of the two.

  The younger removed his hat and, without thought to anyone around him, shook it so that the snow scattered. He then brushed at his shoulders with the same casual aplomb.

  “Have a care, Bartholomew.” The younger girl stepped away from the brash young man. “My coat’s already wet enough.”

  He scowled. “Then a few more snowflakes ought not to concern you.” He must be her brother. Only siblings spoke so directly to one another.

  The well-dressed young woman scowled, stiffened her back, and lifted her chin. She glanced around and what she saw only deepened her frown. She was obviously of the opinion that she was far too good for her present surroundings.

  It was easy to dismiss particular blessings at such a young age.

  “You’re in luck, My Lord,” the innkeeper addressed the taller man, who’d also removed his hat. His air of authority lent himself to be either the other two’s father or uncle… perhaps an older brother. “We have one available room left to let. Filling up quick-like with the storm.”

  “But we need two rooms, Papa!” The girl stepped up to the desk. Eliza studied her profile. Even from the distant vantage point, some ten feet away, she could make out the girl’s pouting lips.

  Eliza glanced back out the window. Indeed, she could barely see any of the yard now, the innocent-looking flakes having turned to a scurrying whirlwind of white. No one could last long outside in what was quickly transforming into a blizzard.

  And just before Christmas. How appropriate, she thought cynically. The one and only time she’d ever been invited to a Christmas celebration, snow had made such an inconvenient appearance.

  Eliza ought to be cheered by it.

  Olivia would likely have all of them building snowmen and having snow wars. Her dear friend had married well and was graciously hosting the Christmas Celebration at her husband’s grand country estate.

  At least, Eliza assumed it would be grand, as her newlywed friend’s husband was an earl.

  “If you could be so kind as to check again, good sir. My daughter and her maid require private quarters.”

  Eliza turned back to watch the scenario at the counter, a prickle of awareness spreading up her spine. There was something familiar about the man’s voice, but she could not put her finger on it.

  The flustered innkeeper shuffled through some papers but continued to shake his head in a discouraging manner. “I’m quite certain… unless I were to put out one of the guests who’s already arrived...”

  The girl nodded, but her father shook his head. “That will not be necessary. If there are some cots lying about somewhere…”

  That prickle turned to a most unusual combination of excitement and mortification.

  It could not be.

  Ah, yes, she had imagined seeing him again, although she’d considered the event highly unlikely. Part of her wanted to hide, and yet, she twisted her mouth into a grimace. He would not look at her.

  Did he even remember?

  “I’ve a small mudroom in back where we can set up two cots.” The innkeeper would not wish to lose these paying guests.

  “Father!” The younger man was not at all agreeable with such a plan. “I’m not sleeping on a cot as though we’re some sort of vagrants.”

  “You’ll do as I say.” The older man’s voice cut him off in a cold manner she’d not heard from him before.

  It was him. She was certain of it.

  “Charlotte and Mrs. Blake will take the available chamber, and you can either sleep on the cot or in the stables. It is up to you.”

  Eliza wondered that the boy thought it fair to turn out another guest, one who’d arrived before himself, of the room they’d already let. She pinched her lips together.

  They were a wealthy family, nobility even. He’d told her he was the second son of a baron. A long time ago.

  All was not amiable amongst them, however: father, son, and daughter. It was quite apparent to her in just the few minutes she’d observed.

  “We’ll take the room. You do have private dining quarters, I assume?” the older man addressed the innkeeper once again.

  “Of course, My Lord. Of course.” Ah, so he was no longer just a second son but a lord himself.

  And just then, the gentleman glanced over his shoulder. Eliza inhaled sharply.

  Glossy thick black hair with just a hint of gray, hawkish features, emerald eyes, a firm chin slightly shadowed by a day’s growth of beard.

  It was him.

  Without thinking, she pushed back her chair and crossed the room.

  “Excuse me.” She cleared her throat when her voice came out sounding hoarse and dry.

  When no one acknowledged her, she cleared her throat again. “I’d be more than happy to share my chamber with your daughter and her maid,” she volunteered. “So that you and your son may have a bed.”

  What was she doing?

  What had gotten into her?

  The younger man turned with a smile. He looked so very much like his father.

  Eliza was a fool for drawing attention to herself. Even more so for giving up her privacy. She had no idea how long they would all be stuck here. For all she knew, the storm could go on for days, making travel impossible.

  “Look here, Father.” The young man found her suggestion most convenient.

  And at last, he turned to acknowledge Eliza. Her blood ran cold and hot at the same time beneath his gaze.

  “Do I know you, Miss…?” He was scowling as he raised a monocle to one eye. The creases around his mouth showed the twelve years that had passed. He seemed the same but… different.

  “Miss Cline. Miss Eliza Cline,” she prompted. “From Misty Brooke, the Dog and Pudding Pot.” She could tell he was searching his memory, and then… there it was.

  The dawn of recollection.

  She curtsied in her plain gray dress with her ugly brown shawl wrapped around her shoulders. As she lifted her head, she was forced to push the spectacles higher upon her nose. She hadn’t needed them until a few years ago. If she thought he looked older, what on earth must he think when he looked at her?

  And then she’d gone and reminded him that she’d once been in service. She was not ashamed of it. She might be in an even worse position if not for her brother.

  He made a quick bow but then glanced at his daughter when she tugged at his sleeve.

  “I don�
��t want to share a room with a stranger, Papa.” Her eyes swept over toward Eliza. “My gratitude, all the same.”

  “You are Mr. Fairchild, are you not?” Eliza caught his attention once again. But of course, he was no longer a mere mister. “We were acquainted some time ago—”

  “I am aware.” He cut her off, staring at her with something of a pained expression.

  “He is not Mr. Fairchild, madam. He is Lord Crestwood.” The young girl informed her as though offended.

  “But we are the Fairchilds.” The young man scowled in his sister’s direction. “Father, Miss Cline’s offer provides the best solution,” he added cajolingly.

  “Miss Cline.” Lord Crestwood cocked one eyebrow and then the left side of his mouth lifted, effecting what she remembered to be the closest expression he made to a smile. “You may withdraw your kind offer, if you’d like. If you do not, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you up on it, on behalf of my most ill-mannered offspring.”

  Eliza swallowed hard. That smile… Oh, what it had done to her twelve years ago.

  She ought to withdraw the offer. Have as little as possible to do with this man. However, her chamber not only boasted a bed, easily large enough for two, but a trundle for the maid. It was the Christian thing to do.

  And Eliza always did the Christian thing, what with being a vicar’s sister, and all…

  “I will not withdraw it.” She tightened her own lips so as not to respond to his good looks and charm. Lord Crestwood was obviously married—with children—and then a horrific understanding began creeping into her conscience.