by Cheryl Bolen
Aunt Maude gave the bride a family heirloom wedding band, which matched Mary’s engagement ring to perfection. The Duchess and Dowager Duchess of Strathmore presented Mary with a blue woolen gown and a matching Strathmore tartan sash and shawl. Mary Radley was now one of the family.
It was New Year’s Eve, Hogmanay in Scotland, and in a break with tradition, Mary had been chosen to conduct the ancient First Foot ceremony.
Earlier in the evening, she and Hugh had led the castle staff down to the village and shared a hot supper with them. Her welcome into the Strathmore Castle and village family had been so heartfelt that she’d felt close to tears at many moments during the day. Only Hugh’s constant presence—he was never far from her—kept her from dissolving into a weeping mess.
Master Crowdie strode into the village tavern with a large brass bell in his hand. A hush fell over the gathering before he swung the bell high and rang it loudly. He then turned and marched out the door.
Hugh offered Mary his arm and they followed. A happy, chatting group of villagers took up the rear. Flaming torches held on spikes were dotted along the road to light the way back to the castle.
Walking arm in arm with her husband, Mary felt sure of her future, and thanks to her trusty tackety boots, also of her footing. Her Strathmore tartan shawl kept the bitter night wind at bay.
As they crossed over the drawbridge and into the castle bailey, a loud cheer rose from the assembly. Hugh smiled at her. “The cheers are for you, my love.”
They waited until everyone from the village had arrived and gathered around them in the courtyard. Master Crowdie pulled out his pocket watch and checked it. He nodded toward Mary. Hugh let go of her arm and stood back, a huge smile of pride on his face.
She gave him one last nervous look, then climbed the steps of the keep. A hush descended on the crowd. All eyes were fixed on Master Crowdie.
He held his hand up and then dropped it to his side. The bells in the village church began to peal. The castle chapel bell rang in time. The crowd looked to where Mary stood on the steps of the castle keep.
She took hold of the door knocker and raised it before hitting it hard on the wood. The knock echoed in the still night air.
She did it a second time, and then a third.
After the third knock, the door of the keep slowly opened. Ewan Radley stood in the doorway, a glass of whisky in his hand.
Mary cleared her throat. “A happy new year and good tidings to you and yours,” she said.
She handed him the basket, and Ewan gave her the glass of whisky in exchange. He stepped back and she crossed the threshold. Inside the great hall, all the Radley family, her family, were gathered. The heady scent of burnt juniper filled her nostrils.
Ewan shrugged. “Evil spirits only leave if you burn enough juniper to have everyone’s eyes watering.”
At the sound of steps on the stone flagging behind her, she turned and saw Hugh race in the door, just ahead of the rest of the castle staff and villagers. He grabbed hold of the door and after swinging it fully open, stood and held it for the crowd which quickly filed through.
The great hall was filled with lit torches, and on the first table was a mass of cups—all full of whisky from the look of it. One by one, the villagers took up a cup. Then, with their whisky untouched, they stood back and waited.
When every last cup of whisky had been taken, Ewan Radley climbed up on one of the roughly hewn wooden tables. Master Crowdie held up his hand once more. Silence descended on the great hall.
The Duke of Strathmore was about to speak.
Chapter 19
“Wylcome to you all, this most special of days. May the new year find you blessed by good fortune and good health,” he said.
Some of the younger members of the gathering went to raise their cups to drink, but a growl from Master Crowdie had those same cups quickly lowered.
Ewan shook his head, a smile still on his lips. “Now some of you may have noticed that our First Foot tonight was indeed a woman. But she is of dark hair and also a member of the Radley family, so I think the sprits of Hogmanay will forgive my trespass,” he said.
Hugh caught a sideways glance at his new bride. Mary’s eyes shone bright with happiness. The touch of her fingers met his, and he leaned in and brushed a soft kiss on her cheek. A soft “ah” rippled through the gathering.
“I see I am going to have to make this a short speech,” Ewan added, looking directly at his brother.
Hugh grinned back at him. He was a newlywed, and that entitled him to a healthy degree of leeway.
“As I was saying, my family and I welcome you all to our home tonight. And to Mary, a special welcome on the occasion of not only your first Hogmanay, but your first as my brother Hugh’s wife. Thank you for your First Foot gifts; we shall put them to good use. To the rest of the Strathmore family, I am both honored and humbled to serve as your laird. I raise my glass to you and yours. May the new year be a good one and your health stay hearty. Slainte!”
“Slainte!”
The sound of cups and glasses being clinked together echoed through the great hall, followed by loud cheers of “Happy New Year!”
With the formalities over, Hugh pulled Mary into his arms and gave her the kiss he had been aching to give to her all evening. Her soft lips met his as she melted into his embrace. Holding her in his arms was as natural as breathing
“Happy New Year, Husband,” she said.
“Happy New Year, my wife, my love,” said Hugh.
Waking up beside her that morning had been a gift beyond words. He’d been humbled when she had welcomed him into her arms, and they’d made love. With the new year would come a new life for the both of them. Knowing that every day he would be blessed with her love had him lost for words.
“Come,” she said.
He let her lead him over to where the mistletoe still hung.
“I love you,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Hugh did the only thing a newlywed man could do. He pulled his wife into his arms and, ignoring the cheers of the crowd, kissed her senseless.
With his loving wife to support him, Hugh Radley did make a success of his career in the Church of England, rising to one of its highest positions of rank, eventually becoming the Bishop of London.
And every year he, along with Mary and their children, would arrive at Strathmore Castle a few days before Christmas, bringing with them a red box.
Inside that box would be a perfect branch of mistletoe, ready to weave its magic.
* * *
The End
About Sasha Cottman
Born in England, but raised in Australia, Sasha has a love for both countries. Having her heart in two places has created a love for travel, which at last count was to over 55 countries. A travel guide is always on her pile of new books to read.
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Her first published novel, Letter from a Rake was a finalist for the 2014 Romantic Book of the Year. Sasha lives with her husband, daughter and a cat who demands a starring role in the next book. She is always seeking new hiding spots for her secret chocolate stash.
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Sasha’s novels are set around the Regency period in England, Scotland, and France. Her books are centered on the themes of love, honor, and family.
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You can find details of her work at
www.SashaCottman.com
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MUST LOVE MAJORS
* * *
by
* * *
SAMANTHA GRACE
He longs for the past...
* * *
Major Phillip Rowland has one objective when he returns from war, retreat to the country with his dog—which is quite impossible when a debutante has kidnapped him. Determined to rescue his pet, Phillip charges into a Christmas house party only to discover he’s intruded on a private marriage mart. When unexpected events leave him stranded at the party, Phillip is confronted with the
truth. He doesn’t know how to rejoin a world where he no longer feels he belongs.
* * *
She is his hope for the future...
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Lady Ambrosia Everly promised to select a husband by Christmas, but a certain major has become a major distraction since his arrival at Everly Manor. She knows nothing about warfare, but the man should prepare for the fight of his life if he thinks she will surrender her beloved dog. When the lines between enemies and lovers become blurred, however, Ambrosia faces her own personal battle. Should she give her heart to the major or marry a man of her parents’ choosing?
* * *
Copyright © 2019 by Samantha Grace
Chapter 1
Everly Manor, Kent
2 December 1816
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It had been one year, seven months, and ten days since Cupid’s arrows had struck Lady Ambrosia Everly. As her eldest sister Mercedes was fond of saying, ‘Love finds you when you least expect it.’ For Ammie, love had found her in an alley behind Madame Delannoy’s fashionable London dress shop—or more aptly, she’d found him.
“There’s my Mr. Perky,” she cooed as a footman escorted her beloved into the cozy drawing room. “I missed you, Perky Poo. Yes, I did. Yes, I did.”
Her sisters groaned when she abandoned their game of whist to shower her sweetheart with affection, scratching behind his ears and making smooching noises with her mouth. Mr. Perkins, her adorable whisky-colored springer spaniel, wagged his stubby tail and licked her face as if they had been separated for weeks instead of fifteen minutes.
“Ew!” Calliope, Ammie’s youngest sister, crinkled her pert nose in disgust. The light dusting of freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and cheeks made her appear even younger than thirteen. “Do you have any idea where that dog’s mouth has been today?”
“Of course she doesn’t,” Octavia said. “She has no idea where Sir Edmund’s mouth has been either, but I’ll wager she will grant him a kiss under the mistletoe all the same.”
“Quiet, you pests.” Ammie laughed softly and ruffled Mr. Perkins’s ears. He flashed her a grin like only a dog could—mouth open, brown eyes sparkling.
Ammie’s twin sister piped up from across the table, “You must admit the youngsters make good points.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” Ammie asked.
Laurel smiled and shrugged.
Octavia leaned toward Ammie and lowered her voice. “We want details afterward. Sir Edmund looks like a marvelous kisser.”
“Pardon?” Their mother glanced up from the book she was reading on the green velvet sofa.
“I barely know Sir Edmund, Mama.” Ammie kicked her sister under the table. Octavia grunted and laughed. “I have no intention of allowing him to kiss me.”
“Mm-hmm.” Mama narrowed her eyes. “Should I remind you and Laurel what is considered proper behavior before the guests arrive for the house party?”
“No, Mama,” Ammie and her twin said in unison. They could have saved themselves the trouble of answering, because once again their mother launched into ‘The Dreaded Dressing Down’, as Octavia had dubbed the tiresome lecture.
“No man shall be allowed liberties until after he has proposed. And you two”—Mama wagged her finger toward Octavia and Calliope—“what are the rules?”
“We are not to venture from our governess’s side for any reason,” the youngest girls recited in monotone voices.
“It appears you were listening after all.” Their mother returned to her reading, her dark blonde brow arching in amusement. “No need to look glum, girls. Your brothers are under similar instructions for the coming Christmas festivities.”
“Four more years of lectures,” Octavia muttered. “How will I ever survive?”
Ammie chuckled. “You will endure. You always do.”
She leaned down to kiss the top of the spaniel’s head once more before retrieving her cards from the table.
“Thank you for taking Mr. Perkins outside,” she said to the footman standing by awaiting further orders.
“He’s a right good dog, he is.” Charlie attempted to maintain decorum by standing up taller when addressed, but a beaming smile broke across his face. “It be my pleasure to take Mr. Perkins for a walk, milady.”
“It is my pleasure,” Mama corrected without looking up. “Proper grammar is not optional, Charlie. A footman is a reflection of his employer.”
Charlie dropped his head, blushing. “Yes, milady.”
“Pleasure or not,” Ammie said, attempting to temper the young man’s embarrassment, “I am grateful to you for taking Mr. Perkins outside in my stead. Octavia and Calliope threatened to riot if I left before finishing the game.” Ammie tossed a card on the table when it was her turn.
“Only because we are winning.” Laurel reached to tweak their baby sister’s plump cheek, and Calliope smacked her hand away.
“Stop it! You are ahead because you cheat.”
“It isn’t cheating if Ammie and I are able to read each other’s minds,” Laurel teased. “It is the gift of being twins.”
Fire flashed in Calliope’s brown eyes. The poor girl was terribly easy to rile. She slapped her cards on the table and jutted her chin. “You are a cheat and a liar. Ammie told me there is no gift.”
“Girls.”
Their mother nailed Ammie’s sisters with an imperious glower then flicked her gaze toward the footman. The message was clear. No arguing when the help is present.
Laurel and Calliope snapped their mouths closed and dutifully lifted their cards.
Octavia, seemingly untroubled by the bickering or their mother’s reprimand, tapped her finger against the table. “It is your turn to lead.”
Ammie selected a card and addressed Charlie. “Mr. Perkins appears content for the moment.” Her pampered dog had already made a bed by the fire and was softly snoring. “You may leave him with me and return to your duties.”
“Yes, milady.”
Once the servant had gone, Laurel cocked her head. Her sable hair slid over one shoulder in a silky waterfall. “You don’t seem particularly enthused by the prospect of seeing Sir Edmund again.”
No one who met Laurel and Ammie believed they were twins. They looked nothing alike. Out of ten offspring, Ammie was the only one to inherit her maternal grandmother’s green eyes and auburn hair. For the longest time, her older brothers tried to convince her that gypsies had left her in a basket on Everly Manor’s doorstep. Sometimes, she’d believed them.
“I am optimistic but cautious when it comes to the gentleman.”
Sir Edmund was an uncommonly handsome man with golden hair, a regal nose, and eyes as pale blue as the winter sky, but she’d only made his acquaintance at the end of the Season. A week wasn’t long enough to know if she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.
Ammie won the hand and swept the cards into a pile. “Sir Edmund must earn Mr. Perkins’s approval before he wins my heart.”
Laurel tsked. “I pity any man who believes he can usurp that dog’s place in your heart.”
“I cling to my scruples,” Ammie said with a shrug.
“How noble.”
While Ammie would never actually favor Mr. Perkins over a husband, she did believe how a man treated animals revealed his true character. She cut her gaze toward Mama and lowered her voice. “It would be best if my future husband recognized his place sooner, rather than later. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Only if he values his manhood,” Octavia said.
Calliope giggled into her cards.
There had never been a question about who ruled the household. Mama was queen and Papa, her loyal subject. Any man brave enough to marry into the family would have quite the battle ahead if he attempted to dethrone the Marchioness of Seabrook.
Ammie and her sisters were nearing the end of their game when their father stalked into the room with a sheet of paper in his hand.
“There you are,” he sai
d to Mama without greeting anyone in the room. “Do you recall Lord Grandstern’s son, Major Phillip Rowland?”
Mama closed her book and set it aside. “I seem to recall Lord Grandstern has two sons commissioned in the Army. Which one is the major?”
“He is the older of the two.” Papa joined Mama on the sofa. “Phillip Rowland is with the King’s Hussars. His regiment was deployed to Spain and later he fought in the Battle of Waterloo. The 13th and 15th Regiments were responsible for driving back the Cuirassiers.”
“A war hero? Impressive. Lord Grandstern must be very proud.”
“Indeed.” Papa sighed and passed what appeared to be a letter to Mama. “His hero status will only complicate matters, I fear.”
Ammie was only half-listening while she dealt cards around the table. It wasn’t unusual for her parents to have lengthy conversations about people she had never met, and eavesdropping rarely proved interesting. She and her sisters played through the hand and counted points at the end.
Octavia scribbled the numbers on a piece of paper and calculated the total score. “For heaven’s sake, Calliope.” She dropped the pencil on the table. “You overestimated your hand, and they beat us again.”
Their youngest sister puffed up, sputtering. “It-it’s not my fault. They cheat. I know they do.”
Her accusation wasn’t true. Ammie doubted Calliope believed it herself, but her pride had been stung. Since Ammie had always been partial to her baby sister, she offered to partner with her next time. This seemed to mollify Calliope, and she stacked the cards, neatly lining up the edges.