Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1)

by Anna Campbell

Ludo huffed, grumbling as he pulled on his greatcoat.

  Bunty hoped her instincts were correct, and that this visit to the family’s man of business would not cause him further upset. She had seen the distaste in Mr Middleton’s eyes when his employer had come upon them yesterday. In fact, she believed loathing was closer to what she had seen there. It had been hidden beneath a façade of professionalism and icy civility once he’d bent to help the earl to his feet, from where Ludo had sent him sprawling, but it had unmistakeably been there.

  To her relief, they would not need to visit any of the family homes, for Mr Middleton also kept an office in the city.

  “Well, if we must, I ought to call in and see to some business of my own on the way,” said Ludo, his tone suggesting he was still unenthusiastic about the idea, but accepting at least.

  “Of course,” she said brightly, tying her bonnet.

  She looked up as he moved before her and tweaked the bow, before leaning down and kissing her.

  “Gorgeous,” he said, leaving her giddy and happily dazed with nothing more than a word and a peck on the lips.

  Bunty kicked her heels in the hallway of the large red brick building, a little irritated to have been abandoned, but not wanting to pry. Men were funny about matters involving money, and Ludo was obviously very much on his dignity about the state of his finances. Still, her curiosity burned, and she dared to wander down the hallway a bit and peek into the room at the end. A huge printing press was set up here, and the smell of ink hung heavy on the air.

  “I knew you’d not be able to resist.”

  Bunty spun around to see Ludo watching her.

  “Oh. Well, no. I’m sorry. Only I had nothing to do and I was curious. Is this part of your business? Printing?”

  “In a way,” he said. He seemed rather tense, anxious and yet also pleased.

  “Did your meeting go well?”

  He nodded, turning this hat around and around in his hand.

  “It did, better than I expected. We’ve….” He laughed, a glint of astonishment in his eyes. “We’ve made some money. Not… Not a huge amount, but more than we’d expected.”

  “Well, that’s marvellous,” she said, meaning it. “But how, Ludo? Won’t you tell me?”

  He hesitated. She moved towards him and took his hand, aware that he was nervous, but uncertain why.

  “Promise you won’t laugh.”

  Bunty stared up at him. “Why on earth would I laugh at something that makes money?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in a riot of thick dark curls. Bunty reached up on her toes and enjoyed the miraculous delight of smoothing it back into place.

  “Well,” he said, staring down at her. “Oh, come along. I’ll show you.”

  He tugged at her hand and Bunty hurried beside him as he strode down the corridor and up a flight of stairs. He opened a door, guiding her into a cramped, dingy office. Weak daylight filtered in through the grubby windows, and the place needed a good sweep, but Bunty strove to ignore that, too curious about what he wanted to show her.

  He closed the door and tapped his hat on his thigh a couple of times before clearing his throat. “Have you ever seen those dissection puzzles? I had one as a boy. Well, what was left of one. Half the pieces were missing by the time it came to me, but it was a map of the world pasted onto board and cut up into sections. It was supposed to teach geography, and it did, rather cleverly. I always thought it would be more fun if there were other things to put back together, though. Pictures, for example.”

  “What sort of pictures?” she asked, more than surprised at his words.

  He shrugged, a little diffident, and then gestured to a table where there were a dozen or more boxes stacked. Bunty moved to the table and, as he seemed to be waiting for her to do so, lifted the lid on the box nearest her. There were a jumble of pieces inside and she tipped them onto the table.

  “Oh,” she said, enchanted to see what he meant. Putting aside her reticule, she organised the pieces, putting them back together to make a picture of a smug-looking cat, his paw holding down the tail of a mouse. The poor mouse was yanking at his tail like fury, trying to get free. “Oh, Ludo, it’s marvellous. A child would love this.”

  Ludo grinned at her.

  “That one is for a younger child. There’s a dog, too, and a rabbit. Then here, these are for older children.” He tipped over another box, scattering more pieces, smaller and more complex this time. “There’s a farmyard scene, and a knight fighting a dragon so far.”

  Bunty exclaimed with delight and said nothing at all for some time, deep in concentration until she had completed the farmyard scene, complete with a pretty cottage, a milkmaid and chickens and ducks, sheep and cows.

  “It’s beautiful. What a clever artist you have to draw such beautiful pictures too.”

  She looked up to see his face filled with pleasure. “Well, the pen drawings are printed out so we can reproduce them in numbers, but then they are hand-painted so they’re colourful.”

  Bunty stared at the puzzle a little longer, considering, studying the way the light glimmered on the duck pond and the sunlight glittered on the puddles in the cobbled yard, as if it had just rained.

  “These are the originals?” she guessed, looking up at him.

  Ludo nodded. “The painting on the ones we sell are less detailed, as it takes too long, but still very good quality. We’ve some marvellous painters working with us.”

  “Yes,” Bunty agreed, nodding. “You do.”

  “You like them, then?” he asked, and she heard the eagerness in his voice.

  “I think they’re wonderful. Any child would be delighted to receive such a gift. Goodness, I would be delighted. They’re marvellous, Ludo.”

  Bunty squealed as he swept her up, spun her around, and then kissed her soundly.

  “You’re marvellous,” he said, and she could see happiness shining in his eyes.

  Her heart lurched, knowing she had done that. She kissed him and then pushed him away with a laugh, returning the puzzles she’d made back to their boxes. As she put the last lid back on the box she frowned, tracing her finger over the words, John Cooper’s Dissected Puzzles.

  “This was your idea, wasn’t it, Ludo? Your creation?”

  Ludo nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then why isn’t your name on the box. Who is John Cooper?”

  “John is the printer, my business partner. Be reasonable, love. Who in their right mind would buy something for a child created by Lascivious Lord Courtenay?”

  He laughed, but she thought there was regret in the sound.

  “I suppose so,” she said, not liking the truth of his words. “It’s not fair, though, when it was your idea.”

  Rather more than his idea, she suspected.

  Ludo moved closer to her and lifted her chin, kissing her. “You know. That’s all I care about. Now come along, my love, and let us get the tedious part of the day over with. I’ve no doubt Middleton will put me in a wretched temper, so I shall leave it to you to cheer me up once we’re done.”

  He winked at her to show he didn’t blame her for dragging him to see the man, and Bunty followed him out to find a hackney.

  Mr Middleton’s office was every bit as neat and precise as the man himself. He was small of stature, balding, and with a round face which seemed rounder still as he peered owlishly out from behind thick spectacles. He took them off, cleaning the lenses with care, and surreptitiously glancing at Ludo who was pacing the elegant room like a caged lion, tension rolling off his large frame with every move.

  “Ludo, do come and sit down,” Bunty said, patting the chair beside her, aware that his prowling was making Mr Middleton nervous.

  He folded his arms, scowling, and for a moment Bunty worried he’d balk and tell Middleton to bloody well get on with it. She could see the desire to do so burning in his eyes. She patted the seat again and he sighed, moving to sit beside her with a glower. Bunty reached for his hand and he cur
led his fingers around hers.

  “Thank you for coming, my lord,” Middleton said, replacing his spectacles. “I… I admit I was uncertain you would come but, for once, I believe I can do you some good.”

  “You mean unlike that time when you told me my father had cut me out of his will?”

  Middleton blanched and Bunty squeezed his hand.

  “Mr Middleton was only doing his job, Ludo. It was not his choice.”

  Middleton sent her a look of profound gratitude and nodded. “Quite so, my lord. I was sorry to do it, and for any other… er… unpleasantness that has passed through my hands over the years.”

  Ludo snorted but said nothing.

  “Bearing that in mind, I beg you to remember that your father is my employer and that he strictly forbade me to give you any details of… of the inheritance your mother left you.”

  “Inheritance?” Ludo echoed, sounding stunned. “But there was nothing. Father always took great delight in reminding me I had nothing of hers….”

  He broke off and Bunty firmed her grip on his hand.

  “That was untrue, I regret to say,” Middleton said with a heavy sigh. “Though it would not have been yours until now, until you took a wife. Those were the terms of the will.”

  Mr Middleton reached down beside him and lifted a box, placing it on the table before him. “Firstly, there are these personal effects which your mother wished you to have.”

  Bunty watched Ludo, saw his throat working, saw the moment he gathered his courage and reached for the box. He placed it carefully on his lap and lifted the lid.

  Inside were two small paintings. One was of his mother as a young woman, a beautiful smiling portrait with vivid blue eyes and soft brown curls.

  “You have her eyes,” Bunty said, hearing her voice quaver.

  Ludo blinked hard and nodded, handing her the painting to look beneath.

  “Oh,” he said.

  Here was a painting of a man. A big, rugged, pirate of a man, with thick black curls and dark, laughing eyes, a full sensuous mouth, and an air of disreputable charm.

  “Your father,” Middleton said, smiling. “I believe there are details of where he might be contacted, should you wish to do so?”

  “He’s still alive?” Ludo said, clearly astonished. “But Bramwell said—” He cursed and shook his head. “Idiot.”

  “Aren’t you glad you came?” Bunty asked gently, watching his face.

  “I am,” he said, staring at the portrait of his father, of a man who bore a striking resemblance to Ludo. He reached for his mother’s portrait, and Bunty felt her heart constrict as he touched a reverent finger to her lovely face. “Thank you, Middleton. I… I cannot tell you how happy I am to have these. I’m grateful.”

  Middleton returned a look full of regret. “I am only happy to have brought you something pleasant for a change, my lord.”

  “Not your fault,” Ludo said gruffly, putting the paintings back in the box with care. He stood and held his hand out to the man. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll bid you—”

  “Oh! No, my lord, that is not all.”

  Ludo frowned at him. “It isn’t?”

  Middleton shook his head, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “No, Lord Courtenay. There is the matter of your mother’s house, and a bequest of… let me see, with interest… yes, nine thousand, eight hundred and twenty-seven pounds.

  Ludo sat down again with such a crash Bunty feared for the chair.

  “H-House?” he said faintly. “Nine thousand…?”

  “Nine thousand, eight hundred and twenty-seven pounds, ten shillings and sixpence, if you wish the precise figure,” Middleton repeated helpfully.

  “Breathe, Ludo,” Bunty said, reaching for his hand again, as he’d gone a rather odd colour.

  He clutched at her hand so tightly she almost protested.

  “Where is the house?” Bunty said, hoping it was Ludo’s childhood home.

  “In Kent, Lady Courtenay. I understand it has been in Lord Courtenay’s mother’s family for generations. It is in good order, having had caretakers look after it in the interim. I took the liberty of asking them to prepare for your arrival, having assumed you would wish to visit the property.”

  “The caretakers,” Ludo asked, his voice hoarse. “Who?”

  “A Mr and Mrs Widdershins.”

  “Widdy,” he said, audibly choked now. “Oh, good Lord. I never… I never imagined….” He turned to Bunty, his eyes shining with emotion. “A home, Bunty. We have a home. My home!”

  “Oh, Ludo, I’m so happy for you.” Bunty turned back to Mr Middleton, hardly able to get the words out. “Thank you.”

  The man looked a little overcome himself, but nodded, obviously pleased.

  Ludo stood and held out his hand to Mr Middleton, who was now looking a little stunned, no doubt used to less than polite treatment at the hands of Ludo’s family.

  “Thank you, Middleton. Thank you so much, and I do understand… why you didn’t tell me before.”

  Middleton shook his hand firmly. “I have wished to these many years, my lord, only….”

  “No need to explain,” Ludo said kindly. “He’s your employer. I understand, truly.”

  Middleton frowned, looking extremely displeased at this fact.

  “He is, and I am not in a position to consider retirement, not with five daughters still unmarried,” he added with a sigh. “However, should you ever be in a position to… to….”

  He flushed then, such an extraordinary sight against his serious visage that Bunty’s eyebrows rose.

  “You would like to come and work for Lord Courtenay?” she guessed.

  Ludo stared at her in astonishment and then looked back to Middleton. “You’re not serious? You’d leave my father’s employ for mine?”

  “In a heartbeat,” Middleton said calmly.

  Ludo’s incredulity made Bunty’s chest hurt. He’d truly had no idea that there was anyone who would believe in him. Yet anyone who had been in his company for any length of time must have been able to see the goodness that shone from him, the honour and integrity.

  Ludo frowned, considering this. “Middleton, I have a business venture that is showing signs of promise. It needs a firm hand, a good business brain to get it off the ground. I also have… nine thousand, eight hundred, and—”

  “Twenty-seven pounds, ten shillings and sixpence,” Middleton supplied for him.

  “Precisely.” Ludo nodded. “Can I afford you?”

  Middleton grinned at him. “I believe that you can, my lord.”

  Chapter 7

  “Wherein a house in the country.”

  London

  December 14, 1820

  They returned home and began packing at once as Ludo was beside himself with excitement. He gave his landlady notice on his rooms and arranged for a carriage to collect them and their luggage at nine the following morning. Packing didn’t take long. Besides a wardrobe that certainly rivalled Bunty’s for quantity, and most certainly for style, Ludo had few belongings. Bunty had not yet had the belongings which were a part of her dowry sent over, as Ludo’s rooms simply had not the space for them. She was cross, in fact, that her parents had still not visited once since her marriage. The only word she’d had were a few tearful letters from her mother and a rather sternly worded note from her father, which gruffly reminded her she could return home at any time, should she come to realise the gravity of the mistake she’d made. Bunty could not blame them for their fears, but she could blame them for being ashamed and not coming to visit her.

  She therefore took great delight in writing and telling them both how blissfully happy she was, how Ludo’s business had the makings of a terrific success, and how they were about to move into their new home in the country, where Ludo would keep her in fine style, thank you very much. The letter included a pointed reminder that Papa had not announced their marriage, and a firm suggestion that he do so, at once. She did not invite them for Christmas. She would invite
them soon, naturally, but not yet. Perhaps Easter, but only if they swore to be polite to her husband.

  Bunty looked around to see if there was anything left to pack, finding only the two lovely paintings on the wall. Smiling, she moved towards them and took the one of the elegant house off the wall. She looked up as Ludo came in from outside, bringing the scent of cold air with him and brushing snow from his hair. He ran to her and swept her up, kissing her hard and making her squeal with the press of his cold lips and icy hands upon her warm skin.

  “Warm me up, wife. I’m chilled to the marrow.”

  “Eek! Get off me, you’re freezing,” she complained, though half-heartedly.

  He stilled, looking at the picture she had clung to valiantly during his boisterous entrance.

  “That’s it,” he said, smiling at her. “That’s home.”

  Bunty nodded, thrilled that she’d been correct.

  “It’s so beautiful, Ludo. I can’t wait to live there, with you and… and you painted it, didn’t you? And all the pictures for the puzzles. Why ever didn’t you tell me?” she exclaimed crossly as he gave a sheepish nod. “I’m so proud of you. Imagine having an artist for a husband!”

  “You don’t mind?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck and looking awkward.

  Bunty stared at him, perplexed. “Why would I mind?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not very… manly.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, whoever…?” She sighed and shook her head. “Never mind. Darling, if ever something as stupid as that thought crosses your mind again, would you just investigate the source of it before you believe it? I feel confident supposing it was something Farringdon, or one of your ghastly brothers told you. Am I correct?”

  Ludo frowned, considering this and then his face cleared. “Yes, by God. How―”

  Bunty pressed a finger to his lips. “Did it never cross your mind that all the great artists are men? Women don’t get a look in.”

  Ludo huffed. “Well, obviously, but that’s hardly what this is. This is dabbling with watercolours, which is exactly what young ladies do, and your Great-Aunt Mary.”