Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  "I heard a rumor you intend to court her," Warford said to his companion.

  Sir Edmund mumbled what sounded like an affirmative. With his back to Phillip, he couldn't be certain.

  "We met in London at the end of the Season," Sir Edmund said. "I would have offered for her hand months ago if my uncle hadn't fallen ill and summoned me back to the country. I wrote to her father as soon as I was able, declaring my devotion to her."

  "Seems rash given the brevity of your association,” Warford said, “but you are no different from most young men your age. Always rushing headlong into marriage without giving it proper thought."

  In the abstract, Phillip agreed with Warford about the foolishness of youth, but Lady Ambrosia's appeal was hard to deny. Falling under her spell would be easy, possibly even unintentional.

  "You are wrong about me," Sir Edmund said. "I've thought of nothing else since we parted. She is the most delightfully charming creature I have ever encountered, and I must have her for my wife."

  Warford crossed his arms, his stance challenging. "Are you certain it isn't her dowry you find dazzling? It is no secret you enjoy the gaming tables."

  The young man shoulders stiffened, and a blush crept up the back of his neck. "I made mistakes in my past, my lord, but I am reformed. My debts are paid."

  "Nevertheless, her fortune must hold some appeal."

  Sir Edmund snapped, "You dishonor the lady by suggesting she is less valuable than her dowry. Continue in this vein to your peril, sir."

  Phillip was on the verge of intervening when Warford clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Sir Edmund. Her mother will be satisfied by this good report."

  "Did Lady Seabrook ask you to speak with me?" Instead of being properly offended by the marchioness's interference, Sir Edmund sounded as if he'd been handed a gift. "Does she support my courtship?"

  Warford nodded. "As will her father, I have been told."

  The earl caught Phillip's eye over the other man's shoulder. Phillip looked away. Lady Ambrosia's future marriage prospects were none of his concern, even if the sudden tightness in his chest said otherwise.

  "When should I seek an audience with Lady Ambrosia? Tomorrow? No, tonight, I should speak with her tonight."

  Before Sir Edmund could charge across the room in his eagerness, Warford caught his arm above the elbow. "Fools rush in, remember?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You might have her parents’ approval, but more importantly, you need her dog's blessing." Warford caught Phillip gawking again and raised a dark blond eyebrow. "Some men understand that is the way to her heart."

  "The dog," Sir Edmund repeated. "Yes, of course." He thanked Warford for the advice and melded into the crowd.

  The Earl of Warford remained at the back of the room. "Phillip Rowland, it has been a long time. Where have you been keeping yourself?"

  "No place worth mentioning," he said. It was Christmas—peace on earth, good will toward men. Nothing spoiled the holiday spirit faster than talk of war. "It seems Lady Seabrook employs spies. Why am I not surprised?"

  Warford chuckled and shrugged with his arms extended at his sides in a self-effacing manner. "One does what one must for family. Astrid is a distant cousin. She wishes to do right by her daughters."

  Phillip held his tongue. Sir Edmund seemed like a decent man. He would make a good husband for any young woman, and Phillip had no right to entertain thoughts of thrashing him for wanting to marry Lady Ambrosia. He indulged his imagination anyway.

  Warford gained his attention with an unexpected revelation. "I saw you walking with Ammie this afternoon. You looked cozy together."

  The earl had always been a repugnant gossip, one who seemed unlikely to allow a small thing like being related to the Seabrooks stop him from spreading tales. Phillip felt justified in telling a white lie to protect Lady Ambrosia's reputation.

  "I crossed paths with her and her younger brother. It was quite by accident. We walked a short distance, and I asked after her dog to be polite."

  Warford clicked his tongue as if he saw through Phillip's lies. "As I told Sir Edmund, some men are natural born strategists. How long did it take you to determine the way to Ammie’s heart is through her beloved pet?"

  Phillip scowled, tempted to knock the saccharine smile from Lord Warford's face. "If I were interested in courting the lady, I would be straightforward about it, not pretend to like her dog to manipulate her into loving me."

  "It is a relief to hear you've not set your sites on the girl," Warford said. "I wasn't looking forward to reporting your activities to Lady Seabrook."

  "My activities are none of the marchioness's concern."

  "If they involve her daughter, I am afraid she'll not see it your way."

  Phillip doubted Lady Seabrook would see anything his way. She had taken an instant dislike to him, and her animosity was like a burr in his boot. "Tell me, Lord Warford. What is her objection to me? I am a man of my word; I have no vices. Lady Ambrosia would marry into a good family, and she would always be treated with the respect she deserves."

  "For someone who claims to have no intentions toward Ambrosia, you seem eager to argue your suitability."

  Phillip snapped his mouth closed. He didn't have a ready defense or a clear understanding of why he felt driven to win Lady Seabrook's approval. Thankfully, Warford abandoned the topic and announced he was retreating to Lord Seabrook's study where some of the men were gathering for brandy and cheroots. He didn't invite Phillip.

  When Warford was gone, Phillip realized he was clenching his teeth. He exhaled and willed the tension to drain from his body. Lady Ambrosia’s eldest brother Clive, heir to the marquessate, shouted the answer to the latest charade and took his place at the front to choose a partner.

  "Laurel?"

  Lady Ambrosia's twin hopped from the settee to join her brother. The Seabrook’s offspring were dominating the game. They must have entertained each other many long winter nights through the years, honing their skills. Their camaraderie was unmistakable, even when they bickered.

  Phillip felt a tug of wistfulness. He'd come from a small family—only three sons, and he and his brothers hadn't rubbed well together when they were young. A strong sense of competitiveness between them had often led to violent rows and the occasional bloody nose. After years apart fighting a real enemy, their differences seemed petty now. Phillip was even willing to overlook his brother Jeremy's negligence in caring for Orion, since no harm had come to the dog.

  His gaze strayed toward Lady Ambrosia again. Sir Edmund took advantage of the vacated seat next to her and plopped down beside her. When he reached to pet Orion, the spaniel growled. Sir Edmund jerked back his hand.

  "Good dog," Phillip muttered and smiled.

  Chapter 7

  The young footman Charlie arrived at Phillip's door half an hour after he'd retired to his chamber with Orion in tow. The spaniel rushed the room and danced a circle around Phillip.

  “What a good boy you are,” he said, showering the dog with attention. The lad stepped inside and closed the door.

  "Lady Ambrosia wishes you a restful sleep, sir."

  "She is very thoughtful."

  Phillip hadn't known whether she would keep her promise to surrender Orion come nightfall. She'd given no indication she noticed Phillip in the great room. She had seemed too preoccupied by Sir Edmund's attempts to woo her through the dog. When she had rewarded the pretender with a brilliant smile, Phillip's gut had soured.

  "Would you like help readying for bed?" Charlie asked.

  Phillip considered declining the boy's assistance then thought better of it. It would be good experience for Charlie to learn a valet's duties and improve his chances of promotion down the road. What Lady Seabrook surely meant as an insult to Phillip, he could turn into a good deed. If he pleased Lady Ambrosia in the process, he would consider it a bonus.

  Phillip removed his jacket and began loosening his cravat. "You can assist
with removing my boots and polish them properly for tomorrow."

  "Yes, sir."

  Charlie hopped to the task when Phillip sat on the edge of the bed. He instructed the lad in how to care for his boots, applying the same patience and demand for quality that he did with new soldiers under his command. When Charlie had them gleaming, Phillip offered a simple word of praise and dismissed him. The valet lessons could resume in the morning.

  Alone at last, Phillip discarded his waistcoat and sat on the bed again. It had been a long day. That morning he'd risen from bed expecting to be halfway home, but here he was sharing custody of his dog. He chuckled and patted the spot beside him. Orion jumped on the bed and playfully tried to bite Phillip's sleeves. Phillip wrestled the dog onto his back and scratched his belly. Orion stopped fighting; his tongue lolled from the side of his mouth.

  "I think Lady Ambrosia spoiled you while I was gone. You're a very lucky dog. You found a good keeper."

  Phillip’s mind drifted as he continued to pet Orion. He needed to warn Lady Ambrosia that they had been spotted walking together without a chaperone earlier today. Since the Earl of Warford was her relation, he would be less likely to spread the rumor, but it was too risky to continue the arrangement.

  "Damnation." He exhaled, his shoulders slowly sinking toward the floor. He'd been looking forward to spending time with her again without her eager suitor Sir Edmund underfoot.

  Orion wiggled to a seated position, looked up at him, and whined.

  "What is it, boy?"

  The dog hopped from the bed and approached the door to paw it. He turned back toward Phillip with imploring brown eyes.

  "Do you need to go outside?"

  Orion whimpered.

  Phillip retrieved his boots and cursed Sir Edmund for sneaking the dog too many treats. He had to hand it to the man; he was innovative in his approach to winning Orion's approval—sweet-talking the cook into allowing him to raid the kitchen. Roast beef, indeed. The blighter wasn't the one taking the dog out for midnight walks.

  "Let's go," Phillip murmured and opened the door. The spaniel shot into the dark corridor, heading away from the stairs.

  "Orion, heel," he hissed. The dog either couldn't hear the command or had forgotten everything he had been taught.

  As quietly as possible, Phillip pursued him over creaky floorboards. Lady Ambrosia would have his head if he lost the dog the first night in his care. Orion stayed several steps ahead, ignoring Phillip's furiously whispered command for him to come. She had turned the spaniel into a disobedient rascal, ruined him. Phillip would have to retrain the dog in Hounslow, and God only knew when there would be time.

  Orion disappeared around a corner. Phillip hurried his step, grateful for the thick carpet to muffle his footfalls. When he caught up to Orion, he was scratching at one of the closed doors.

  “No!” Phillip lunged for Orion as the door opened; the dog bolted inside.

  Phillip froze, crouching at a lady's feet. He needn't look up to know her identity. Her scent was recognizable, even if he hadn't already worked out that the dog was returning to sleep in his own bed.

  Slowly, he rose to face Lady Ambrosia. Before he could whisper an apology, she laid her finger to his lips to shush him. Of course, she wouldn't want to be discovered with him. He'd felt the same when she had surprised him in her father's study. When had the notion of becoming trapped into marriage lose its sense of horror?

  She grasped his wrist and drew him inside. The door closed softly behind him. When she lifted to her toes to whisper in his ear, an urge to embrace and keep her close washed over him. He didn't move.

  Her breath was as light as a fairy wing fluttering over his skin, her hand warm and comforting resting on his shoulder. "Laurel is sleeping."

  Through the fog of his enchantment, her words filtered into his consciousness and he became aware of his surroundings. Airy snores were coming from the canopied bed. A steady flame leisurely consumed the logs stacked in the hearth, bathing the feminine room in a warm glow. Orion was curled into a ball at Lady Laurel's feet, fast asleep already.

  Defector. Phillip smiled. How could he blame the rascal for preferring the company of ladies?

  Ambrosia remained tucked against his side. The subtle scent of milk and honey soap lingered on her skin. "Is something wrong?" she whispered.

  He nodded, eager to prolong their contact. Besides, he might not get another chance to warn her that they might be the subjects of gossip tomorrow.

  She tapped his shoulder. "Come with me."

  “Where?” he hissed.

  She didn’t answer and headed for the dressing screen in the corner. When she passed in front of the fire, every lovely slope of her body stood out in relief beneath her cotton gown. Her legs were long and trim, her waist and breasts small. The view was an intimacy meant for a husband's eyes alone, but he was powerless to look away.

  "I should leave—”

  She shushed him and retrieved the wrapper left draped over the screen. After she donned slippers and lit a candle with the fire in the hearth, she motioned him to follow. She slipped behind the dressing screen and pressed a place on the wall. A panel sprang open to a hidden passage. She led the way, her candle casting flickering light over the stone walls. The temperature dropped the further they traveled.

  “Wait.” He shrugged off his jacket to place it around her shoulders. "You will catch a chill."

  She frowned. "Are you impervious to the cold, sir? Perhaps you fancy yourself immortal?"

  Not immortal but luckier than most. "I have survived worse."

  She huffed. “I am warm enough, and your chivalry is worthless if you catch a chill.” She tried to return his jacket.

  "Keep it, Ambrosia." He draped it around her again.

  She pursed her lips but accepted his offering. They had walked several paces when she said, "Everyone who knows me calls me Ammie."

  It appeared she had no objection to his familiar use of her name. He accepted her allowance as a small victory. "I prefer Ambrosia,” he said. “It is a woman's name."

  She grumbled to herself, but the shy tilt of her head suggested she might like being regarded as a woman in his eyes. She stopped in front of a slide lock on the wall, handed him the candle, and opened the secret door. When he stepped through the threshold, he found himself back in his bedchamber.

  "This is how you surprised me in your father's study."

  She didn't confirm or deny his observation.

  He extinguished the candle and placed the holder on a side table. There was very little seating in his room, so he offered her the chair and sat on the footstool far enough away as to not alarm her. Her gaze was direct, and her posture composed when she addressed him.

  "You brought Mr. Perkins to me. Did you change your mind about our arrangement?"

  He laughed softly. "Your Mr. Perkins has his own ideas about our arrangement. It seems he prefers your company at night."

  The dog's show of favoritism would have bothered him yesterday, but Phillip was feeling generous. He forgave Orion's defection. It had led to this beautiful woman visiting his bedchamber. After a single afternoon of basking in her undivided attention, Phillip craved more.

  She sighed; her mouth formed a sympathetic moue. "I'm sorry. I thought Mr. Perkins would have no trouble adjusting to the change. It is obvious he remembers and loves you."

  He didn’t like to see her sad, even on his behalf. "I thought we agreed to call him Opie," he said, trying to tease her into a happier mood.

  "Opie." She wrinkled her nose. "Perhaps you were correct. It is an undignified moniker."

  He would rather suggest she call him by his given name, but he suspected the attraction he felt was one-sided. Her eye seemed firmly fixed on Sir Edmund.

  "You do realize Mr. Perkins only warmed to Sir Edmund, because he was sneaking the dog bites of roast beef."

  Ambrosia recoiled. "No! Is that true?"

  "I caught him in the act. I assume he returned to the kit
chen sometime during charades."

  "Oh, my word!” Her green eyes sparked in the lamplight. Whether from amusement or irritation, Phillip didn't know. He hoped the latter. “No wonder Mr. Perkins warmed to him so quickly. He doesn't take to strangers, but you must know that already.”

  "Your Mr. Perkins is a careful judge of character," he said evenly.

  She sank into the chair with a smile teasing her lips. "It is rather sweet, isn’t it? Sir Edmund seeking Mr. Perkins's approval?"

  "Don’t be foolish,” he snapped. “You cannot believe Sir Edmund cares what a dog thinks of him. His only aim is to win you."

  Her gaze cut toward him, her smile long gone. "Perhaps you've never courted a lady, Major Rowland, but we do appreciate a bit of effort.”

  “The man is manipulating you.”

  “At least Sir Edmund is showing initiative, and he already has my parents' approval. He never would have been invited to Everly Manor otherwise."

  Her defense of the man was irksome. "I suppose you find him handsome, too. He meets every requirement on your short list, I wager."

  "I do not appreciate your tone, sir, nor having my judgment challenged.”

  She might be speaking in a harsh whisper, but there was no doubt she was shouting at him. “Yes, I prefer a husband who is pleasing to the eye, and I will not apologize for desiring my parents' blessing or seeking a man capable of loving a vulnerable animal."

  He held up his hands in surrender. “It is your life.”

  “I know it’s my life.” She scooted to the edge of the chair and extended her finger, ticking off each point as she made it. "One, my parents' approval will bode well for my future happiness. I love my mother, but she is difficult. If she tries to pick apart the man I have chosen, I cannot stand by quietly or allow the abuse to continue, and I would rather not be forced to avoid my family. Two, a man who shows tenderness to animals reveals a good heart. I believe he will be a loving husband and father."

  "Consider this, Ambrosia.” Phillip scooted closer, too, his knees bumping against hers. “What manner of man must hide meat in his pocket to make a dog like him?"