Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  Meg blushed hotly. “You should go.”

  He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand and smiled. “I definitely should.”

  He crept to the door, turned the key and peered out—and then quickly shut the door again. “Does she never stay in her own room?”

  “Town hours?” Meg suggested, and then yawned.

  “I might have to wait her out.” He bit his lip. “I don’t want to inconvenience you but might I stay here a little longer? She has to go to her own bed sooner or later.”

  Meg considered what might happen if he stayed. He might kiss her again, but she did not believe he might try to do more than that. Having him here now already risked her reputation, but if he were seen leaving, and she was in her nightgown, it would be ten times worse. She nodded, knowing there was no other choice but to agree and hope for the best. The alternative, sending him back out the window was impossible. He might freeze. “You may stay.”

  “Again, you are saving my life,” he assured her. “Take yourself to bed and don’t mind me.”

  She glanced at him, and then at the narrow settee. “What are you going to do?”

  “Wait by the door and hope I don’t freeze. A pity you do not have a spare blanket lying around.”

  “I have all of them on the bed, but sitting by the door doesn’t sound very comfortable or warm enough for you,” she noted.

  His brow rose. “Would you have me join you in bed instead?”

  Meg gaped. “Otis!”

  He chuckled softly. “We could always practice bundling.”

  “That is a terrible idea.” She peeked out the door quickly and grinned. Miss Milne’s maid was nowhere in sight and the hall was finally empty.

  Otis joined her at the door, and she made room for him. She pushed. “Go.”

  “Until tomorrow,” he said, and then slipped out of the room soundlessly.

  Meg closed the door, grinning broadly. She was glad Lord Clement was a gentleman at heart rather than the rogue she’d imagined.

  Chapter 10

  Otis flung himself from the carriage in the stable yard of the Lucky Chance Tavern. He glanced around carefully. There were four horses hanging their heads over the stalls inside the stables, one of which he instantly recognized by color and the blaze on its forehead. Lord Hector Stockwick was at the tavern, or nearby perhaps.

  He turned toward the coachman. “Make sure the horses are given hay and cover them up while you wait. I’ll try not to be too long.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Otis hurried toward the tavern, brushing snow from his shoulders, flanked by two of the burliest footmen from The Vynes. He’d come prepared for an argument, should Hector not wish to return home with Otis of his own free will.

  As much as he’d like his arrival to pass unnoticed, the tavern drew customers from miles around. The taproom was full and loud. He gave the occupants a cursory glance but did not immediately see Hector in their number.

  The tavern keeper saw him though and rushed over. “A table and ale, my lord?”

  “Not today. I should like to speak with Lord Stockwick if he is here.”

  The fellow frowned. “I am sorry, my lord. There is no one here by that name.”

  Hector had a habit of hiding his identity when he was drinking in low places like this, so he would not become a target for thieves. “What about another name? A stranger to these parts. It is a matter of some urgency.”

  The innkeeper scratched his chin. “There’s a fellow abed upstairs, but I never imagined him a friend of yours. He’s been malingering here a few days.”

  The timing sounded right. Otis tried to recall what Hector had worn the last time he been seen. “He might have arrived wearing a blue coat, paler blue waistcoat, and riding boots. He has dark hair and is a little shorter than I. But I swear his horse is in your stable right now, unless he gambled it away.”

  The innkeeper nodded. “Might be my customer. He owes me money.”

  Otis sighed and dug in his pocket for coin. He counted out a number until the innkeeper smiled. Otis nodded, hiding his annoyance at the amount. “This is yours if the man upstairs turns out to be my friend.”

  “I’d be happy to take you to him.” The innkeeper led the way, climbing the narrow stairs to an upper floor with a heavy tread. Otis followed, drawing his men with him.

  The innkeeper banged on a bright yellow door at the end of the hall and hollered, “You’ve a visitor.”

  There was grumble of complaint inside, and Otis recognized the tone as belonging to Meg’s brother. “That’s him.”

  Otis handed over the money owed and asked his men to wait outside the door before going in.

  He stepped through the doorway and squinted about the dingy little room, noting the décor hadn’t improved since the last time he’d been forced to spend the night here due to bad weather. The same faded drapes still hung at the window, unpolished floorboards bare of any rugs graced the floor, and a narrow and untidy bed stood in the center of the room.

  A large lump shifted under a faded quilt gracing the bed.

  “Wake up, man,” Otis demanded. “You’ve been here long enough.”

  “Bugger off,” Hector complained. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “Sleeping,” Otis noted. “Don’t make me drag you out by your heels.”

  A pair of dainty feet suddenly appeared on one of the pillows. “I think he means it, sir,” a woman whispered.

  Hector grumbled again and the bedding was flung back from one side. Hector had been sleeping upside down in the bed and, with a bit of effort, crawled out.

  Otis averted his eyes from his nakedness. “For God’s sake, cover up,” he complained.

  “S’ your own fault for intruding,” Hector taunted. “What brings you here so early?”

  “It’s midday.”

  “Oh, all right then,” Hector agreed then began to look around. He seemed particularly unsteady, and the way he was scrubbing at his head made his hair stand on end even worse than before. “Be a good fellow and help me find my trousers.”

  Otis moved deeper into the room. He found Hector’s discarded clothing scattered all about and a few items worn by a lady. He tossed each piece onto the bed where the woman still hid, saying not a word. Otis cared nothing about the lady, but his friend really should learn to be discreet. “I’ll be waiting downstairs. Don’t take long unless you’d like my men to truss you like a hog and tie you to the top of my carriage for the return home.”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Hector insisted as he put his trousers on backward. He jerked them back off and tried a second time. “I just need a moment.”

  Otis glanced at his pocket watch, struggling not to laugh. Hector was a difficult man, more so at this hour. Otis still had a little time to spare, but he was loath to be late today just because Hector couldn’t don his trousers the right way round. Meg was expecting him.

  The thought of her made him grin.

  After last night’s encounter and kiss, he was certain he was looking in the right direction for the woman who might be his bride.

  “A storm is coming, and I’d like to be home before the roads become treacherous,” he announced as he exited the room.

  Otis left his men outside Hector’s door, with strict instructions to bring Hector within ten minutes, dressed or not. He greeted a few of the locals and he departed the tavern, resisting the urge to linger. He would wait in the carriage.

  The air was chilly, and he threw furs over his knees while he waited for Hector to make an appearance. In his head, he rehearsed what he would say to his friend. Asking for Meg’s hand in marriage was a delicate business.

  He was so close to winning the wager that he could taste the freedom to take his mother anywhere she wanted to go.

  Eventually, Hector appeared at the tavern doorway, shading his eyes from the light. He stumbled across the stable yard with Otis’ servants helping him along and into the carriage. Hector collapsed on the opposite bench s
eat with a groan.

  Otis wasted no time. “Home,” he called loudly as he thumped on the wall.

  Hector flinched from the noise. “What is wrong with you?”

  Otis studied his friend. He hadn’t improved very much since Otis had found him. “Well, I’m not ape-drunk like you are, for one.”

  Hector pressed a hand to his brow. “I’ve had a very good time.”

  “No doubt.”

  Hector lowered his hand and squinted across the carriage. God, he looked terrible.

  “So what’s the crisis, man? Why did you come after me?” Hector demanded.

  Otis nodded slowly. “My reason for disturbing you is a delicate matter best spoken of quietly. It concerns your sister.”

  Hector jerked upright. “Is she ill?”

  “No, she is very well.” He drew in a deep breath before he continued. “I want to speak to you about her future. Taking her to London might not be necessary after all.”

  Hector groaned. “What has Meg done now? Begged to return home…or wait, has she convinced your mother to let her stay at The Vynes? It is too much to ask for that she might have simply run off with some poor fool and saved me the expense of dowering her at all.”

  “Your sister has more sense than that, but you might be correct that she is willing to stay at The Vynes.” He sighed. “She has asked for you every morning and every night, you know.”

  “I told you exactly when I would return.” Hector’s expression turned to alarm. “I’m not late, am I?”

  “No. You were expected back tomorrow.”

  “Good. Then this can wait until tomorrow when my head is clear.”

  Otis shook his head. “Your clear head is needed at The Vynes now.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re lonely without me?”

  “No, I have not missed you personally. But Meg does, and there is also Father’s unexpected guests, Mr. Milne and his daughter, that you should meet with.”

  Hector’s brows rose high. “How pleasant for you to have so many friends come to call, but I still don’t understand?”

  “It’s Meg.”

  “You said there was nothing wrong with her.” Hector drew close. “Why the urgency to speak of my sister all of a sudden?”

  Otis drew a breath, and then wet his lips. “I know this might seem a hasty decision to you…but I wanted to ask for her hand in marriage.”

  Hector laughed. “Good God, you’ve a wicked sense of humor. Don’t talk nonsense. You and Meg, an ill-matched pair if ever there was one. What is it you really want?”

  “Your blessing.”

  Hector squinted. “But she’s hated you for years?”

  Otis reeled back. Hate was a very strong word. “That cannot be true.”

  “Oh, yes. You have no idea how much she disliked the idea of being under the same roof as you for the holiday. We argued about turning back for three days in a row.”

  Otis shook his head. Meg may have initially believed him responsible for Hector’s prolonged stays in London, but he had set her straight days ago. Hector would know her opinion had changed if he’d not been preoccupied with his own amusements at the tavern. “I am convinced she understands now why you stayed away from home for so long. But I am still asking for your approval to court her.”

  Hector frowned. “Does your sudden change of heart have anything to do with the bet you made with your father? It’s all the servants were talking about the day I left.”

  “What I feel for Meg has nothing at all to do with any wager.”

  “But in marrying her, you’ll win. Why choose Meg over the Milne chit? A large dowry more than makes up for the disappointment of Meg’s smaller one.”

  “The wager is beside the point. So too is the size of a dowry. I care about Meg.”

  Hector drew closer. “I knew you were desperate to win the wager, but to ask for my sisters hand and claim to love her is beyond the pale.”

  “I’m not sure it is love, but it is something important. After the last few days of becoming reacquainted, I think she would accept my proposal.”

  Hector seemed unconvinced still. “Does she know about the wager?”

  “No,” Otis admitted. “There wasn’t time to tell her everything about my family.”

  Hector shook his head. “You’ve no chance then. My sister believes in love at first sight and all that romantic gibberish young women go on with. Once she learns about the wager…well, I’m sure you can imagine the likely response. She’ll refuse you then, and so do I now. Don’t waste your time and energy courting Meg. She was born stubborn.”

  Otis was not unduly alarmed at being refused but he definitely did not agree with Hector’s opinion of her character. However, had Hector asked for one of his sister’s hands in marriage, if they were the right age for marriage, he might have said no too at first. “I wager she won’t.”

  Hector smiled coldly. “Care to put hard coin on that bet.”

  “I will not buy your approval. Meg’s affections are priceless.”

  “I have told you no, and that is the end of it,” Hector insisted. “We all promised to stay well-away from our sisters and if you know what’s good for you, you will keep that promise.”

  “I cannot.”

  Hector glared, suddenly appearing very clearheaded and angry. “If you so much as touch one hair on her head, I’ll throttle you.”

  Otis scowled. “How will you know what goes on between Meg and I? You’re never around her. You make a bloody poor chaperone indeed.”

  “I will make up for any lapse just as soon as my head clears,” Hector insisted.

  “Oh good, and when you do, perhaps you could repay me what you owe me. There’s the money you took to fund your little excursions to the tavern, to gamble with Moore, or so you said. Then there was more besides that was paid to the innkeeper for your stay. I assume you paid your female companion handsomely for her time, too.”

  “Of course I pay my way, you penny-pinching prig. I don’t know why I bothered coming all this way to be subjected to your disapproval. I had enough of that when my father was alive.”

  “I hope your father’s shade never learns that you abandoned your sister to spend Christmas rutting between a whore’s thighs. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Hector’s face paled suddenly, and he put his hand up to his mouth. “Stop the bloody carriage.”

  By the time Otis stepped out, Hector was hunched over and casting up his accounts with painful persistence. Otis watched in silence, but then when he was done and appeared weak, he strode over and helped Hector into the carriage.

  “My thanks,” Hector murmured as Otis tossed every blanket over him. “You are a true friend in my hour of need. I don’t feel at all well. Let’s forget we ever quarreled.”

  Otis shook his head, no longer amused. “I do this knowing Meg would want me to look after you as if you were part of my family already. You don’t deserve an ounce of pity.”

  His complaint was met with a loud snore.

  Chapter 11

  Meg wandered The Vynes with a sense of anticipation building inside her. Casting an eye upon every clock as she moved from room to room, she checked the time to be certain that she would not be late for her meeting with Lord Clement at four. Meg had not seen him since last night, but that was not unusual. He was frequently busy about the estate, or he was with his younger siblings, doting on them.

  She would never have believed Lord Clement a family man if she had not seen his good and steady influence on the children with her own eyes.

  She stepped into another room, finding herself in the family gallery again. Of all the paintings hung upon the walls, she found the summer landscapes the most pleasing. This valley was so beautiful when bursting with green rather than smothered in white.

  It was very possible that she just might see that transformation with her own eyes soon, if she had not misunderstood the intent behind Otis’ exciting kisses.

  Something had changed between her and
the viscount last night. Developed beyond superficial curiosity about each other. She thought perhaps that Otis might be sincerely interested in her as a woman. One he might be willing to court if things continued to go well between them.

  Meg was definitely interested in Otis, and not just because encouraging him might spare her from being dragged to London for the season. She had not been looking for a husband here, but she wondered if she might have stumbled upon one. She did not like to think Otis would bestow his affections in the hope of getting under her skirts. He would not do that to a friend’s sister. She believed he had very honorable intentions toward her.

  “Ah, there you are, my dear,’ Lady Vyne cried as she burst into the gallery hall. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “Here I am,” she promised with a smile. One day, all going well, Lady Vyne might be family, a mother figure perhaps who she could count on for advice. “I was just walking about for the exercise.”

  “Miss Milne is doing the same, except upstairs.”

  There was not very much to see in the upstairs halls, unless one slipped into bedchambers that were not their own, as Miss Milne was wont to do. Meg preferred the lower rooms and the views to be found rather than snooping about. “Are the children still at their lessons?”

  “I expect so,” Lady Vyne said as she fell into step beside Meg. “Did you give any thought to my question of the other night?”

  “Which one?” Meg asked, smiling. She honestly couldn’t remember ever being asked so many questions about her likes and dislikes. The countess had questioned her thoroughly in the past few days. There were so many decisions she would have to make before she was fit to move about in society. Dresses, slippers, parasols, colors. If she married Otis, she might be spared most of that chore. He had claimed he spent most of his time here in Derbyshire with his family, and so would his wife, too. But he also moved in society a few weeks a year. Meg would have to navigate that world if her husband wished her to.

  Lady Vyne moved so they could see each other. “I asked what sort of husband would do for you, young lady,” she complained. “You said you would let me know, and yet I am still waiting. Well?”