Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  She took it without looking at him, her attention still focused on his friend.

  “Mrs. MacDonal and I are cousins, duke.” Marlowe smiled kindly at the new arrival. “Penelope, my dear, though you are already acquainted, allow me to introduce you again to the Duke of Kinmarty.” She swept a hand out toward George, her back turned to Andrew.

  Penelope paused in dabbing her eyes and glanced from George to him. Her mouth dropped open and her gaze raked over him, probably appalled at his rumpled appearance, all the while strangling the damp square of linen.

  And there it was: a flash of the anger he’d been expecting.

  “Oh, my dear.” Penelope turned to Marlowe, her face softening to a pity that riled him.

  Hell and damnation. This was his fault. All his fault. What had he been playing at? “Marlowe—”

  “No, Minny.” Penelope’s lips thinned as she cut him off and pointed, her finger like the barrel of a fine Manton pistol. “That is Andrew MacDonal, the new Duke of Kinmarty.”

  In the hush that followed all he could hear was Marlowe’s panicked breath and the clanging of his own pulse.

  What flashed in her eyes wasn’t anger but something else, something he couldn’t read. He needed to talk to her.

  “And who are you, sir?” Penelope directed the question to George who had the good grace to introduce himself like a proper gentleman.

  Before he could summon breath to join the conversation, the door opened again, and a servant ushered in a woman swathed in yards and yards of bright cloth and two bundled children.

  Penelope beamed at them. “Take off your cloaks, boys.”

  Unwrapping the layers of wool revealed two children; two children with straight black hair and darker-toned skin.

  Penelope’s golden locks caught the lamplight and glittered. These were not Penelope’s children, at least not by blood, but love shown in her eyes.

  “Your grace,” she said. “I am pleased to introduce to you your nephews. Arun is six years old, and Ravi is four. Boys, greet your uncle, his grace, the Duke of Kinmarty.”

  They glanced at each other, mischief sparking between them.

  It was as if two Evans had sprung to life in front of him. His eyes misted, and he willed away the moisture.

  Arun bent grandly, one arm at his waist. “Pleased to meet you, uncle, your grace.” Ravi parroted his brother and giggled.

  He crouched down and shook each of their hands. As in the childhood portrait of Evan on the nursery mantel, they had Evan’s square jaw and the start of his great beak of a nose, and eyes that glinted with his thirst for merriment.

  He understood why Evan would want them brought here. He didn’t understand why Penelope had agreed, but gratitude made his heart race and his eyes fill again.

  He cleared his throat. “Welcome, Arun and Ravi. Your father and I had grand times here at Castle Kinmarty and so will you, if you follow the rules.”

  Gad, he sounded as pompous as Old Horace.

  He squelched a smile. “And the first rule is this: you are not to call me ‘your grace’. You are to call me Uncle Andrew.”

  “You look like our papa,” Arun said.

  “As do the both of you.”

  Ravi grinned, squirming and scratching his belly and arms. Either they’d picked up bugs at an inn on the way, or the skeleton suits they wore itched.

  This time he did smile.

  “But Papa had blue eyes,” Arun said. “Yours are a funny color.”

  “Uncle Andrew’s eyes are green.” Penelope tugged Marlowe closer, crowding him. “and this is your Aunt Minny, who has brown eyes like yours.”

  Marlowe bent and gave each boy a hug.

  Tears shone in those lovely eyes, and she swallowed hard holding them back.

  She’d been shocked into more tears this day, and he still needed to speak to her. “You boys will want to see the toys in the nursery that your Papa and I played with.”

  Marlowe took in a deep breath and beckoned Kyla and Duff while Penelope called over the foreign woman.

  “This is Sitara,” Penelope said, “Arun and Ravi’s cousin, who graciously agreed to accompany us.”

  Ravi’s tiny finger shot out pointing at Duff. “Why is your hair orange?”

  Duff’s blush swallowed his freckles. “Me mam said I was tooched by the fairies.”

  “Will you show us these fairies?” Arun asked.

  “No,” Duff said, “But I’ll show you the toy soldiers.”

  They both latched onto Duff and the train of small boys rushed to the stairs, Kyla and Sitara following. Once they disappeared at the first landing, the hurried steps turned into stomping feet and laughter that reverberated in the grand entry.

  It would be like the old days of Castle Kinmarty, with mayhem and mischief and life. Instead of the crotchety old Horace, he’d preside as the duke. Forbes would be here for a time. Ramsey was gone, but Marlowe, dear Marlowe…

  She couldn’t leave. He must talk to her. “Penelope—may I call you by your Christian name? I’m sure you’ll want to have a rest. We have guests coming tonight for Christmas Eve dinner and you absolutely must join us. Forbes, would you kindly show Mrs. MacDonal to her rooms?”

  “I’ll do that,” Marlowe said.

  Her arch tone threw up a challenge. “No, Mrs. Marlowe. You may join your cousin in a few moments. First you and I must speak.”

  The firm set of her mouth signaled a skirmish ahead.

  Penelope touched her arm. “The duke is right. Come join me when you have finished.”

  He snatched up Marlowe’s hand and tugged her along to the first door he found.

  Chapter 16

  The tiny, dank room might have been an old receiving room for unwanted visitors, or a resting place for a porter from the days when the Castle employed one. A small patch of light poured through the grimy pane highlighting a table and two ladder-back chairs.

  Marlowe stood shivering near the door as he closed it. The grate was bare, no fuel to start a fire even if she granted him the few minutes it would require.

  Best get right to it, as he should already have done. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

  She allowed him to keep hold of her hand.

  “I lied, Marlowe. I lied about who I was. Who I am. I don’t deserve…this title should have been my brother’s. The old duke died, and I thought, thank heavens, Evan is coming home. And then the news arrived. He was dead, had been dead for months.”

  Blast it, his eyes were moist again. He squeezed them shut. Men did not cry, not even dukes.

  “I have no excuse, Marlowe, except that…as I told you, I was completely at sixes and sevens. I’d only arrived and seen almost immediately that the factor was embezzling, and…then you appeared, and you were so fetching and, you had already mistaken me for a servant and, well, I asked George to play the duke for a few days. I’m sorry.” He bit his lip. “About lying, that is, not about the kisses or what happened between us in your bedchamber today.”

  She drew in air through rounded lips. “All right,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

  “Whatever I said so many years ago to cause you grief—”

  His breath caught. Of course. He remembered now. He’d got himself roaring drunk at White’s. He’d lashed out at Penelope Grant and her cousin. “Oh hell.” He swiped a hand through his hair. “I was so angry then. Not at you. I didn’t know you. Except…except I did know you, didn’t I, Minny? I’d met you that time when we were children. You were the duck. It was you I fished out of the burn.”

  She frowned up at him while more memories rushed him.

  * * *

  Why did you jump in the water with a stupid dress on?

  You daft boy, I was rescuing someone. I saw the shawl. I thought she fell in.

  * * *

  Her eyes widened. He squeezed her hand. Their lives had intertwined before, and fate had brought them here together.

  “I’m sorry about what I said at White’s. I’m sorry that it hurt you.”


  But any man who would walk away from you because of my drunken ravings was a weak fool.

  He didn’t say that. He couldn’t say that, not yet, anyway.

  She studied the worn carpet that stretched under the few pieces of furniture. No screaming. No raging anger. In his experience, that wasn’t a good sign.

  But neither had she threatened to leave him again. Because Penelope was here and that meant Marlowe would want to stay. Not for him, but never mind. He would still have a chance with her.

  “I understand now that you came here for your cousin and her children. You were afraid I would be unwelcoming, but I won’t be, not to her or to my brother’s…” He laughed. “Boys. We were all fooled. Boys, not girls.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  He knew what she meant: you don’t mind that they’re by-blows?

  “No. They are certainly my nephews. Do you mind?”

  She swallowed hard, sniffed, and shook her head.

  “I’m glad that whatever estrangement you had with your cousin has been healed.”

  His last talk with Evan came to him—there’d been raging aplenty on both sides. He dropped her hand and walked to the small patch of glass and the weak light that trickled in. Out of pure arrogance, he’d bungled everything, with Evan, with the old duke, and now, with Marlowe.

  Forbes had called it fear, and he hadn’t been wrong. He’d lost his brother forever, as well as Old Horace. He couldn’t lose Marlowe.

  “You have every right to be angry. But please stay, my love. Please do not leave because of my stupidity.”

  When he turned, he caught her watching. She’d recovered, and her eyes told him nothing.

  She could hide her true feelings well when she wished to. She would make a marvelous duchess, would Mrs. Marlowe.

  He wasn’t Mr. Andrews the factor; he was Andrew MacDonal, the Duke of Kinmarty, and she was the one he wanted. He wanted Filomena Marlowe to be his duchess.

  Filomena watched the proud angles of his shoulders framed in the window, all the while trying to make sense of his words.

  He’d lied to her. He’d made her an object of pity to Penelope and the staff. He’d nearly made love to her.

  He’d stopped but he hadn’t rejected her outright, not yet.

  Outside the light was waning and the need to be elsewhere nagged at her. With the short days and long nights, they’d set their dinner for country hours, and the guests would arrive soon. She wanted some moments with Penelope before then.

  And Mr. Forbes—she was letting him down. She’d left him all the preparation and gone off for a tumble with…with the duke.

  Dear God, she’d been intimate with the Duke of Kinmarty. They hadn’t done the full deed only because Andrew MacDonal was not truly a scoundrel. He had a sense of honor.

  As had that skinny rude boy who’d saved her from drowning so many years ago. Had it truly been him? That meant the boy with him had been his brother, Evan. No wonder Penelope fell so quickly for Evan in London—she’d been renewing an old romance.

  Filomena fisted her hands in her skirts. Ten years past, Andrew had ruined her chances at a good marriage, called her a social-climber, a shabby genteel twit.

  And before that, he’d saved her life, for she truly would have drowned.

  And today, he’d almost made love to her.

  Her heart ached, and she squeezed her eyes tight. She’d been wrong about him.

  Could she truly forgive him? The words that cost her a marriage had been spoken in anger, but not at her. His brother had deserted him as Penelope had done to her.

  “You have every right to be angry. But please stay, my love. Please do not leave because of my stupidity.”

  She’d thought she had every right to be angry, in fact she had hated him, and for years. Somehow, her anger had melted away.

  And—my love. Oh.

  Yet she couldn’t stay here. If he appeared in her bedchamber, she’d never conjure the willpower to tell him to leave.

  Why tell him to leave? Why not let him stay? The voice of temptation perched on her shoulder and whispered the words, coaxing her to go against a lifetime of rules.

  It would be wrong in so many ways, and what would Penelope say?

  Yet…Arun and Ravi were surely Evan MacDonal’s by-blows, and her cousin had taken them in as her own.

  Perhaps Penelope wouldn’t care about her and the duke.

  Oh, but she would care when the duke married, and he would have to. He needed an heir. To take this affair any further would mean more heartache than she’d borne in all of her years with Marlowe. If she loved Andrew MacDonal—and she did—she must let him go, and for her own sake it must be now.

  When the duke in question finally turned away from the window anguish drew his lips tight and furrowed his brow.

  Her heart ached with his pain. His brother’s loss was fresh and raw, and he was still grieving. Penelope had returned to her, but he’d lost Evan forever.

  The effort to tame the anguish strained him. He wasn’t that good of an actor—he’d fooled her only because she’d been blinded by bias.

  She took a step forward and his chin shot up, and he was once again the cocky boy who’d pulled her out of the burn, who’d called her a brat, who’d told her she looked like a duck. He’d had enough sense of her pride to not coddle her then.

  Oh, how she loved him.

  She straightened her shoulders. “Pretending to be the factor was an addlepated prank. Not at all worthy of a duke.”

  He let out a long breath. “You are so right, Marlowe.”

  She touched his hand. “I forgive you. But I’m not at all certain I can ever forgive Mr. Lovelace.”

  Someone knocked at the door. She dropped his hand and went to answer.

  Forbes glanced from her to the Duke.

  “I’ve not harmed this nodcock, Forbes. Is Mrs. MacDonal settled?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Duke.” She curtsied. “I would speak with my cousin before your guests arrive.”

  Andrew watched her walk off. “Forbes,” he said. “Mrs. Marlowe cannot be allowed to leave. She’s a fine woman.”

  “Aye, as I told ye before.”

  Shadows smudged the old butler’s eyes, but a twinkle caught in the light.

  “Did you mean what you said, Forbes, that you’re a Kinmarty man?”

  “Aye, duke. Of course.”

  “Would you consider a partner in your distillery?”

  Forbes smiled. “One as has come to his senses, mayhap.”

  “I’ll need you to set another place for this dinner.”

  “For Mrs. MacDonal, aye, I’ve seen to it.”

  “Yes, and you must add one more. Come with me.” He would need the old butler’s help for this plan to succeed.

  In the green bedchamber, Filomena found a lady’s maid unpacking clothing. Penelope had gone to the nursery to check on the children, the maid said.

  In the nursery, the boys sat at the small table, eating biscuits, attended by Duff who was helping himself to the feast as well. The cat stretched in the window watching them.

  “You have a cat,” Ravi said around a mouthful of biscuit. “We want to see the Yule log.”

  “The cat won’t let us touch him,” Arun said. “Duff said the log is as big as my uncle, and there will be singing and cakes tonight.”

  “You will have no cakes," Sitara said, “if you do not finish eating and take your rest.”

  Filomena told them to give the cat time to become acquainted and to mind Sitara, and she made a mental note to talk to Cook about refreshments for the children after the more formal dinner.

  She inquired after Penelope and learned her cousin had left the nursery moments before.

  Heading back to her bedchamber, she spotted a footman exiting the parlor.

  “Is Mrs. MacDonal there?” she asked.

  “Aye, ma’am. I’ve just brought in a tray.”

  Heart racing, she paused at the door. Penel
ope must think her a fool, being bamboozled by the duke and that lascivious wretch, Lovelace. If Penelope only knew how her heart ached…

  She shook off the thought and paused in the open doorway. Penelope looked up from pouring a cup for Mr. Lovelace, who stood when he spotted her.

  “Minny, come join us,” Penelope said. “Mr. Lovelace has just been explaining to me about your charade.”

  “My charade?”

  “Yes.” She patted the spot on the sofa next to her. “Come. Do you still take milk and sugar?”

  “Yes, but…but, no thank you, not now. My charade is not truly a charade. I really did take the position of housekeeper at Castle Kinmarty.”

  “Please do join us,” Lovelace said.

  She glared at the smug villain. “Perhaps you would like to discuss your charade, Mr. Lovelace.”

  “About that, I apologize.” That came with a smile.

  A smile—the arrogant fool.

  “For everything,” he added.

  Penelope raised her eyebrows.

  Behind her, a throat cleared.

  “Mrs. Marlowe.” Forbes had found her again. “You’re wanted in the kitchen.”

  It was just as well. She couldn’t talk intimately with Lovelace present.

  “Penelope, I dearly want to speak with you later. For now, I’m not at all sure I should leave you alone with this man. Shall I send for your maid?”

  Penelope laughed, and Lovelace blushed, the beast.

  “I will not misbehave again, Mrs. Marlowe,” he said. “I promise.”

  Through the partially open door of his bedchamber, Andrew watched Marlowe pass down the corridor, and then went to join the others in the parlor.

  Penelope nodded by way of greeting. “What exactly is between you and my cousin, Andrew?”

  He closed the door. “I understand you’re the only family she has.”

  “That’s true.”

  “In which case, I must speak with you.”

  “Oh?” She sent him an arch look. The giggling girl his brother ran off with had matured into a formidable matron. A necessary thing, he supposed, to survive living so far from home and putting up with his brother’s disloyalty.