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

by Anna Campbell

  For there was a disquieting shadow to Venetia’s smile that tempered the joy and astonishment he’d felt at discovering her at last.

  For a terrible moment he thought he’d not receive an answer. Then she said in a rush, as she gathered up her hair and bundled it into a hasty, serviceable knot before pushing it beneath her unflattering cap, “Lady Indigo likes to take a perambulation each morning at eight. I could meet you by the lake.”

  Chapter 4

  “You’re dawdling, girl. I like a brisk walk, don’t you know!”

  Venetia breathed in and increased her pace, pushing the Bath chair in front of her while the old lady steered them along the path by the lake. The air was cold and crisp though; so far, December had been reasonably mild.

  “Are there some strange creatures hiding in the woodlands?”

  Venetia made a face at this next round of carping but stayed silent.

  “If not, I can’t imagine why else you’d keep glancing into the trees. Who are you expecting to see?”

  For an old woman who was half deaf and blind, Lady Indigo was remarkably percipient.

  Venetia sighed and decided the truth—or part of it—was best. At least Lady Indigo couldn’t see her face. “The gentleman who was here last night is the son of the man for whom my father worked for nearly twenty years. He recognized me and wanted to know how Papa did.”

  “So he’s lurking in the woods, waiting for my attention to wander, so you can have a secret tryst behind my back?”

  “Not at all, m’lady.” Indignation, not embarrassment, burned Venetia’s face though lord knew how she kept her voice even. “I was a child when Papa took the job as bailiff to old Mr Wells. Master Sebastian was always kind to me and...fond of Papa.” There was a basis of truth to this. No need for Lady Indigo to be told, or led to infer, anything more.

  “Then park me before the ducks and go and have your private conversation with him, girl.” The old woman sniffed. “You know I can’t abide whispers and secret trysts, but if that’s all there is to it, then of course you must tell Mr Wells what he wants to know about your father.”

  Venetia couldn’t believe she’d been granted leave so easily. “I see him on the path in the distance now. Thank you, ma’am.” Hastily she wrapped the paisley shawl more closely around Lady Indigo’s shoulders and put the bag of breadcrumbs with which to feed the ducks on her lap. “I’ll be gone no more than five minutes.” She swallowed. “Or six, if it doesn’t rain.”

  With a sanctioned conversation with Sebastian, in the open, nearly upon her, Venetia’s heart was creating all manner of strange tattoos within her chest as she hurried toward him. Last night, the shock of recognizing him had been overwhelming. Despite the fact her body had responded to him as it always had, she’d not been able to give herself up to the joy she’d imagined she’d feel at such a reunion.

  The time that had passed, his words, his actions...his entanglements with two society matrons had, she believed, made it clear he no longer felt for her as he declared he had four years earlier.

  So, what did last night’s passionate kiss really mean?

  Certainly, that he was pleased to see her. But...marriage?

  Venetia felt she had good reason to be on her guard. Sebastian was no innocent; she was very aware of that. And words were cheap.

  “Good lord, what did you tell the old lady?” Sebastian, who’d been leaning against the trunk of a massive oak tree, came toward her. He was as tall and slender, yet well-built, as she remembered him; a little older, but more handsome, his strong jaw in contrast to the softness of his beautiful mouth and his expression as he held his arms out to her, smiling.

  “The truth,” Venetia said as she walked into his embrace, allowing him to hold her for a moment before she stepped back. Every fiber of her being responded as if no time at all had elapsed, but she was wary. Sebastian seemed to think they could pick up exactly where they’d left off. As if there’d been no pain, no angst, no disappointments to mar the decisions that had been made. “I told her my father had worked for yours for twenty years and that you were keen to know how he did.”

  “As I am. And…” His voice dropped as he searched her face, “What about us?”

  “I said I’d known you since I was a child.”

  “And that it took ten years—and my return from the Grand Tour—before we realized there could be no one else for each other?”

  “That’s hardly true,” Venetia scoffed gently, but his look was deadly serious as he regarded her with the old intensity. No man had ever looked at her with such consideration: as if he were deciding whether to consult her on a matter of national importance or kiss her senseless.

  “I married Dorothea because you insisted upon it.” A deep furrow appeared between Sebastian’s brow as he cupped her chin, his thumbs gently contouring her cheekbones. “And only because you refused me, Venetia.” His voice was now a whisper. “Again and again.”

  The familiar pain washed through her. She didn’t need reminding it had been her doing. Yet what else could she have done? “You know it wasn’t because I didn’t love you,” she murmured.

  “I know that very well. You are very gifted at making your position seem like there can be no other.” His smile was rueful. “And you are very determined.”

  “I was hardly going to elope with you, Sebastian. Much as I would have liked to.” She sent him a rueful smile. “You know it would have meant my father would like as not have been dismissed. And you had not yet come into your inheritance.”

  “So, that was then.” He brought her hand up to his lips. “What about now?”

  “All I know is that in the time since we parted, you’ve been married, fathered a child, lost a wife, and then been involved in several very public and scandalous romantic entanglements.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I tried not to hear all the lurid details, though that was hard when the gossip sheets were full of them.”

  “You think that means I don’t still love you as much as before?”

  She didn’t like the way he dismissed what was, to her mind, the greatest concern: the women with whom he’d been involved since he’d become widowed. “People’s feelings change. They subside with time. Of course they do.”

  “Have yours?”

  She weighed this up. The surprise at seeing him last night had sent her world spinning. Yes, she’d been consumed with the old feelings of longing, while his kiss had whipped up all the wonderful sensations of being in love and being desired. But, all those months earlier, at the same time as learning that Dorothea had died, she’d also heard of his affairs with Lady Banks and Mrs Compton. It had felt like a betrayal; as if he’d been unfaithful to her.

  For the three years of his marriage, she’d held a girlish candle to what might have been. But this fourth and final year, she’d shifted her thinking to what she’d considered a more mature approach. Pragmatic by nature, she’d had to assume that Sebastian had moved on with his life and that he barely thought of her.

  That had meant she would have to do the same.

  So, her shock at their reunion in the long gallery, which had made so clear the strength of his feelings, had filled her with the most profound happiness mixed with the greatest doubt, too. Sebastian was a handsome, soon-to-be-titled gentleman who could marry whomever he pleased. In view of the reasons why they couldn’t marry before, any association with Venetia would be in the nature of dalliance only—surely? And Venetia didn’t think she could bear that.

  “So much has happened, and we are no longer the young hopefuls we once were.” She glanced over her shoulder at Lady Indigo who was feeding the ducks. Just from the jerky, desultory way the old lady was plucking chunks from the loaf and tossing them into the lake, she could see her employer was becoming peevish and restless. “You can't expect me to trust what I'd once hoped might be here...forever." She touched her heart.

  “I married against my inclination, Venetia, when I only wanted you—”

  “But you qu
ickly became involved with two other women within months of Dorothea’s death, Sebastian,” she reminded him.

  "Venetia." He gripped her shoulders and put his head close to hers. "Venetia, I searched for you for four months! I was a faithful husband to Dorothea because after you persuaded me to marry her, I knew it was the only honorable course for me to follow. If I'd strayed, by god it would only have been if I’d found you and…” He dropped his voice, as he added, “persuaded you to come to my bed.” He paused, meaningfully, before adding softly but with emphasis, “Again."

  "Please, Sebastian," she murmured, more distressed than embarrassed.

  "Would you have come?" he asked.

  "Not if you were a married man. You know that. We both respected Dorothea—and ourselves—too much for that."

  "But you loved me enough—back then—to take the greatest risk."

  "Except that it was no risk at all, Sebastian." She smiled at the memory of those lust-laden couplings. "I gave myself to you, body and heart, because you persuaded me that if a child were on the way, then your father would relent and permit marriage between us; that his desire for an heir trumped even his desire for a union between Dorothea and yourself."

  "You were certainly far from unwilling to take risks back then." Gently he contoured the planes of her cheeks with his thumbs before kissing her again. "Oh Venetia, you cannot know how much I've thought of those times we spent together."

  "I can!”

  "Were we wrong? Please tell me that I did nothing to harm your reputation?" He regarded her with concern. "What happened, Venetia? Why are you working for that old termagant? Why did you not get snapped up by the next gentleman who would forgo a dowry for a pretty face?” He stopped. “Do you resent me? Is that why you are so reserved?”

  "I never resented you. I persuaded you this was best. And as for why I’ve never married, it’s because I’ve never felt for another the way I felt for you." She didn’t mind being honest. It’s what they always had been with one another.

  "Feel. Please don't relegate this to the past. But you haven't answered my question." He touched her forehead. "And why bury your loveliness beneath such a hideous bonnet? You turned more heads than just mine. I searched for you, relentlessly, the moment Dorothea had been laid to rest. Finally, I had to assume you'd been whisked down the aisle or to the Continent and to persuade myself that I'd never discover your whereabouts. Do you know how much torment that caused me? No one seemed to know where you were. And now I find you here, looking remarkably nunnish."

  "After Papa died, I found it was easier."

  "I hadn't got to that. I'm sorry. I must be stupid not to have taken into account the fact you no longer had your father's protection. Or anyone's, for that matter."

  "There were others willing to give me their protection though only one prepared to do so honorably." Venetia sighed. "But I cared for none of them. In the end, it was easier to simply try and look as plain as possible and take the position Lady Indigo offered after her nephew died. She’s a distant relative, so I traded my independence for a roof over my head and no more unwelcome advances."

  “I’m sorry.” His regret was replaced by a smile. "But now you can leave the old witch's employ and let your hair loose and be mine. Forever." When she didn’t immediately reply, he frowned. "There's nothing else to stop you, surely? It's an honorable offer; I swear. You know the kind of man I am."

  "I think I do, Sebastian, but..." She bit her lip. "Lady Indigo has promised to leave me her fortune if I stay and nurse her through what she believes are her last days—"

  "Good heavens, how can that compare with my offer? Lady Indigo might give you her fortune? Why, I'll give you whatever you want!"

  "It's too soon, Sebastian. I...I think I love you...like I did before. But you told me you’d explain how you came to be involved with Lady Banks and Mrs Compton so soon after Dorothea died."

  “Yes, I did.” He glanced across at the lake as if he were reluctant to go into details. Then, turning back to face her, he said, “Lord Banks lost heavily to me at cards one night. He resented having to pay up. But my association with his wife was purely by accident.” He shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Her offer was not an innocent game of cards?”

  “She wanted me to sell her jewelry.” He sounded hurt at the implied accusation. “Of course, the gossips painted a different picture. And her husband jumped to entirely the wrong conclusion when he found me in her bedchamber. I swear it was innocent, but he was consumed by rage and jealousy, and he challenged me to a duel, there and then.”

  “And Lady Banks did nothing to...explain? Or try to stop it?”

  Sebastian raised his palms in a gesture of wonder. “No, she did not.”

  “And Mrs Compton?”

  “Ah, Mrs Compton,” he repeated softly. “Now there was a scheming seductress, if ever I met one.” He looked into her eyes, and asked, “What have you heard about Mrs Compton?”

  “I was not exactly fishing for details,” Venetia told him. “Suffice to say that I heard that your…affair was not well tolerated by her husband who wished to divorce her as a result.”

  “But now he’s forgiven her.” Sebastian squeezed her hands again, an edge of desperation in his voice as he went on, “Please, Venetia, it’s true that I have no excuses for my behavior with Mrs Compton other than that she invited me to her evening party, whereupon I discovered I was the only guest.” He swallowed. “Do you want me to go on.”

  “No, Sebastian!” Venetia shook her head. “It’s…painful.”

  “And painful for me, too,” he murmured. I just thought you would want you to hear it from me. But, my darling, I'd searched for you until I believed you were gone forever. Dorothea had been with child for the previous nine months before her death. She left me with a beautiful son and an ache for what she might have yet enjoyed in her life. But she did not feel for me as...as you did. She did not care for the marriage bed. She was fond of me, but she never loved me.” He slipped his fingers beneath her cap and raked his fingers through her hair, as he added, “Knowing how you'd loved me, Venetia, and how glorious it was between us as a result, I tried to find it with Dorothea—and failed. But now I've found you again. Please, I beg you, if you won't say you'll marry me, then please say you'll let me try and win back your heart. Let me at least try and make you feel about me the way you once did? Please let me kiss you.“

  It was no hardship to say yes.

  After all these years of longing and loss and disappointment, their reunion seemed…

  Too wonderful to be true.

  His confession hadn’t sounded nearly as terrible as she’d thought it would. So he really had looked for her. Hope made her feel lighter than air.

  Could she really believe that she’d finally found her happy ever after so easily?

  Sebastian seemed as sincere and as ardent as he had ever been. He’d explained the anomalies of his past. And he’d asked her to marry him.

  She allowed herself to smile.

  And to believe they had a future.

  Chapter 5

  Sebastian watched Venetia return to her mistress with a sense of disquiet. He did not feel as confident as he’d expected he would after their arranged exchange, but he was determined he was fully capable of sweeping away any vestige of her reluctance.

  He was well aware of Venetia’s determined nature. That had become clear when she’d been a child whom Sebastian had dismissed as wilful and overly confident. He’d been an adolescent at the time, with no reason to think more about Venetia than that the daughter of his father’s bailiff was wondrously clever at wrapping her father—and Sebastian’s—around her little finger the way they indulged her whims. He’d decried it as a nonsensical notion when Sebastian’s father had agreed, extraordinarily, that Venetia could be educated—in a rudimentary manner, of course—with his sister Libby.

  With a dismissive shrug of his shoulders at the time, Sebastian had said he supposed it was a kindness to
let the girl learn to sew a sampler, play the pianoforte, and do a little drawing and arithmetic if it would equip her with the skills to earn her way in the world as a governess.

  How much thought did thirteen-year-old boys expend on such matters, anyway?

  When Sebastian returned from the Grand Tour and encountered Miss Venetia Stone—now a young woman—after an absence of four years, his feelings were very different.

  As were his father’s. Venetia, at eight, had been a little doll to indulge as much—or more—than he’d indulged his more stolid, less pretty daughter, Libby.

  At eighteen, the penniless daughter of his bailiff, who’d now caught the eye of his son, had become a threat.

  For, in Sebastian’s opinion, not all the Grecian beauties and Spanish dancers could compare with the allure that Miss Venetia presented him in just her little fingertip.

  It was no different, now.

  He gazed at the rippling waters of the lake that had been still just a moment before. How easily the calm was disturbed by the merest breeze he thought as he reflected on his own life. His own feelings.

  He’d been as good a husband as could be hoped for. He’d offered Dorothea everything she had wanted: his fidelity, security, and, in the early days, his company when she seemed to desire it.

  But she had not loved him.

  Nor had he loved her, though for the years they’d rubbed along together, it had been tolerable. He’d thrown himself into different pursuits, and he’d had unfettered access to her bed, for she’d desired a son as much as he—and his father—had. She just hadn’t enjoyed the means required to produce one.

  Venetia, by contrast, had had his heart: utterly and completely. And when Dorothea’s death had freed him, he’d realized more than ever how much he valued that: the true love of a woman who wanted nothing more of him than his affection and fidelity.

  “Mr Wells?”

  He spun around, twigs crackling as his boots dug into the soft soil.