Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  The daughter in question had pulled Ravi onto her lap and was laughing at something he said.

  Filomena’s heart skipped a beat. Miss Strachney would make a sensible duchess and give Andrew the money he needed to save Kinmarty.

  She herself would have to leave, but not before she gave this bully a piece of her mind.

  “If you wish to help your daughter become a duchess, you will mind your tongue. Those boys are the duke’s only family. You had best accommodate yourself to their presence here and cease insulting them.”

  He turned a curious look on her. “You are a bold one, Mrs. Marlowe. If you would help me achieve my goal, I could make it worth your while.” His gaze swept over her from the top of her head to her toes and back up again, like a snake winding itself around her.

  “I wouldn’t be helping you.” You loathsome toad. “Your daughter seems a kind and sensible girl.” And getting her away from you would be a great kindness to her. “But the duke is his own man and I have no sway over him. Can you not buy your daughter a noble title in Edinburgh where she has family and would be happy?”

  “Women think too much of happiness. With my money, he can buy her a house in Edinburgh. He is a virile fellow, I’d guess, and will do as well as any to give her a child or two that she can spoil.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut on the image of Andrew bedding Miss Strachney, her heart twisting with hot jealousy.

  When she looked, Miss Strachney was skipping off to the fire, a child in each hand.

  Mr. Strachney grumbled low in his throat. “I do not like it. I do not like it at all.”

  The duke followed the young lady and the boys, and the girl smiled up at him. Filomena’s heart sank to her stomach, churning it until bile rose.

  Andrew was not for her.

  She’d known that when she’d brought him into her chamber, thinking he was merely the duke’s factor. There had been no hope for her then, just as there was none now. She wouldn’t stay on as his leman while he installed his wife in another bedchamber.

  “If I can help your daughter, I will do so,” she said. “But you are to stay away from those children. And me.”

  Penelope stood locked in conversation with Mr. Lovelace. The refreshments were waning.

  She slipped out of the great hall and made her way to the kitchens.

  “Not so close.” Andrew snagged the collar of Ravi’s robe and pulled him back from the flames.

  Miss Strachney smiled up at him. “I’ve a cousin who caught his neck cloth on fire once.” She laughed. “My aunt poured the pot of tea—which fortunately had gone cold—over him, and no harm was done.”

  While Arun and Ravi demanded to know all the details of her story, he turned away, seeking Marlowe.

  He’d been busy with the children, but had kept an eye on what looked to be a tense conversation between her and the nabob.

  And now, the nabob stood by the door, a calculating look in his eye, and Marlowe had disappeared.

  He caught Penelope’s attention. Frowning, she glanced around, signaled to Forbes who’d just entered the room, and came to link arms with Andrew.

  “We shall give that blasted man something else to fret about,” she whispered.

  “Boys,” Andrew announced loudly, “tell Miss Strachney good night. Miss Strachney, Mr. Strachney, Forbes has sent for your carriage.” The nabob frowned, but to hell with him. “We wish you safe travels home and a Merry Christmas.”

  While Miss Strachney hugged each of the boys, Strachney bestirred himself and approached to shake hands with Andrew and Lovelace.

  Sitara appeared as stealthily as a wraith, ignoring the nabob’s glare as she took each boy by the hand.

  “Daughter,” Strachney pressed, “our invitation?”

  “Yes, of course. Father has invited some of the best families in the area for dinner on Friday next. We should like you to join us, your grace.” She nodded at the others. “You and your party.”

  “Thank you.” He fixed a gaze on Strachney. “I shall have to ask Mrs. Marlowe if she has arranged anything else for that day, though I know she’ll be pleased by the invitation.”

  The nabob colored deeply. “Sir, I don’t think—”

  “Mrs. Marlowe will send a note.”

  “Mrs. MacDonal’s cousin is most welcome as well.” Miss Strachney’s look dared her father to contradict her and he silently cheered.

  “Bravo, Miss Strachney,” Penelope said. “Hospitality is so important in Highland society, is it not, Andrew?”

  “It is.”

  The departure dragged on, but they finally waved farewell and closed the door on their guests.

  “Dreadful man,” George said. “The daughter, on the other hand, is—”

  “A child,” Andrew said.

  “Yes.” Penelope said. “But not a fool. And I don’t think she’s determined to be the next duchess.”

  Neither was Marlowe. And Marlowe’s conversation with Strachney had upset her. He’d observed her discomfort, but he’d also seen the man eyeing the boys with distaste. He’d wanted to go to her rescue, but remaining with Arun and Ravi sent a signal to the old blunderbuss that the boys were family and they would stay.

  Now he had to find Marlowe and convince her she should as well.

  Hovering nearby, Forbes cleared his throat. “I believe Mrs. Marlowe went below stairs.”

  * * *

  Andrew flew down the narrow servant staircase and through the service corridor spotting a light through the partially open door in the pantry—the same pantry where George had cornered Marlowe.

  At his touch, the door moved silently and his breath caught.

  A white smock covered the emerald dress, the strings tied at the waist of a back that had gone stiff. She’d discerned his entry and frozen in place, though the curls piled atop her head trembled.

  He came up behind her.

  “The nabob and his daughter have left.”

  Her shoulders sank with a long exhale, and her elbows moved as she dried the silver, piece by piece.

  “Leave off this task, my dear.”

  “They’ll spot.”

  “Let them.” He pulled the apron string and lifted the garment, knocking out a comb and sending a lock of hair tumbling.

  Her lips bent in a determined frown. “Miss Strachney was very kind to the—”

  “No. I will not marry her.”

  “She was kind to the children. She would make you a suitable wife. In time—”

  “No.” He nudged her around and took her hands. “I want to marry you. I fear I’ve loved you since you jumped into the burn.”

  “I didn’t. I fell. I was—”

  “Clumsy. Yes, I heard your story. But I was there. You jumped, thinking your cousin was under the water. I was in awe of your pluck. When you floundered I had to save you.”

  “You called me a nodcock and a brat.”

  “Of course. I was all of eleven years old.”

  “I could have saved myself but for that blasted new gown.”

  He swept a finger over her cheek where, despite all her eye-scrunching, a tear was making a path over the silky skin.

  “No doubt you could have. And now you can save me, if you will. I love you, Minny. Filomena. Marlowe. By whatever name, I love you. Will you please marry me?”

  Her eyes flashed and more tears flowed before she slowly shook her head. “You can’t think only of love. You must also think of Kinmarty, and Kinmarty needs money.”

  “Is my lack of money your only objection?”

  Filomena caught the humor in his eyes and hope rose in her.

  He loved her. Could it possibly be true?

  Despite his losses, despite the burdens placed on him, he had kept his capacity for humor. It was early days though, wasn’t it? Mightn’t he grow sullen when the money ran out completely?

  She wasn’t a fool, but oh, how she longed to be in his arms again, forever.

  “You’re teasing me, duke. You know I’m speaking o
f my own lack. I have only enough to live quietly with a servant or two.”

  “And you would choose that over becoming a duchess and chatelaine of a fairy tale castle?”

  Hope thrummed within her. “There’s that, I suppose.”

  His eyes lit and darkened. “And there’s also the matter of our unfinished business today.”

  The hot gaze sparked flames in her, as if she herself was the Yule log catching fire, and his smile made her want to weep again.

  “Do you have any other objections?”

  No, she wanted to shout. But one of them must be sensible. They couldn’t maintain Kinmarty on only her income and their love.

  Love. She loved him, and he loved her. The miracle of it made her choke.

  She managed a breath. “There’s the matter of gossip.”

  “Do you really care about that?”

  She shook her head. “Honestly, the problem is money, Andrew. Mr. Strachney threatened to turn the whole county against you, to use his money to ruin Kinmarty, to buy up the land and clear out the tenants. You have the boys to look out for and educate, and…” Her hand went to her belly. If they married, there might be more children.

  Oh, how she wished there might be more children.

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, tasting of sweet lemon syllabub, and she had no power to resist. Her arms came around him and she tilted her head welcoming him.

  He could be hers. She could kiss him like this every night.

  His gaze darkened to a deep forest green. “I’ll take that kiss as a yes.”

  “I…no, Andrew.”

  “Come.” He took her hand. “We’ll have a practical talk up in the study where I’ll persuade you with sensible words.”

  In the study, Penelope and Lovelace sat on either side of the large desk, Lovelace scribbling with a quill and Penelope examining pages of writing under an oil lamp. Forbes was there also, standing off to the side.

  “Perhaps we should go elsewhere, Andrew,” Filomena whispered.

  “Well?” Penelope asked without looking up. “Did you ask her?”

  She drew in a sharp breath. It was as she had suspected. They had conspired together.

  Penelope finally raised her gaze to them. “You didn’t tell her, Andrew.”

  He turned Filomena to face him. “What I said, is the truth. I love you and I wanted to make a proper proposal. The subject of money is not very romantic. Not that I mind you bringing it up.”

  “Money is always romantic,” Lovelace said.

  Andrew fumbled in his pocket and brought his hand out, fisted around something. “You have a dowry, quite a sizeable one, and…” he uncurled his fingers “a proper ring.”

  Her heart pounded. An emerald set in gold and surrounded by diamonds, twinkled up at her. The ring matched her necklace.

  “I couldn’t take Penelope’s jewelry.”

  “It’s not my jewelry,” Penelope said, “and don’t go missish on us, or I’ll pull that emerald necklace—which isn’t mine either—tighter around your neck. The jewels are from Andrew.”

  “Actually, they’re Mrs. Ramsey’s,” Andrew said. “Her wedding gift from the old duke.”

  “Wedding gift?” Filomena asked.

  “Forbes, will you explain?”

  Forbes stepped out of the shadow. “The old duke couldn’t let Mrs. Ramsey go into the hereafter without setting things right. Before she died, he married her.”

  “But…is that commonly known?”

  Forbes shrugged. “It’s known by me and the other two servants who witnessed it. She bade us not share the news, should it cause the duke embarrassment, and we honored our word to her.”

  “You witnessed it?”

  “Aye. Under Scottish law, all that’s required is a Scottish citizen to witness a man and a woman’s vows.”

  “Marrying over the anvil,” she whispered. The ring winked at her.

  When she lifted her head, four pairs of eyes bore into her.

  “Forbes is a Scottish citizen,” Andrew said.

  No. No, no, no. They expected her to marry Andrew tonight, here, in this very room.

  “Evan did well in India, and all his money came to me. I am very rich.” Penelope laughed. “Far richer than Strachney. Wait until that dratted man finds out. Lovelace has some excellent schemes, and I plan to invest in Kinmarty, but first I will help my cousin and dearest friend in all the world by giving her a proper dowry.”

  “Penelope—”

  “You mustn’t refuse. Lovelace is on the last page of the marriage agreement, and it is very nicely done.”

  “Thank you,” Lovelace said, and his pen commenced scratching again.

  Her mind reeled. She would have a dowry sufficient to marry a duke—the duke she’d despised for much of her adult life, a man who’d posed as someone else, just to make a joke of her.

  No, that wasn’t right. He’d been making a joke of himself, and she’d been lying to him, as well.

  He slipped an arm around her and bent close. “I wanted you as my duchess even without Penelope’s money. I would have sold the emeralds if needed, but I very much want you to have them.”

  His face lit with a smile before becoming serious again. “Like the old duke, I fell in love with my housekeeper.” He traced a finger down her cheek. “But he held onto convention too long. He should have married Ramsey when they were younger. She might have borne him an heir, and you and I might have found each other at a ball during your season and been plain Mr. and Mrs. MacDonal. But, Minny, we can’t help what has gone before, and we don’t have to repeat old mistakes.”

  Her heart stirred mightily. This was the boy who’d jumped in without hesitation and saved her. He’d borne the loss of his brother—not just in the past few weeks, but for years and years. He’d been alone, as had she, for so very long.

  They’d both broken with the people they loved. They’d both made mistakes. She wouldn’t make another.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will marry you, Andrew.”

  He lifted her up and spun her around until she was dizzy and laughing with him.

  “You must sign this contract first,” Penelope called.

  Back on her feet, she staggered against him. “But, we will marry in the kirk as well and all of Kinmarty will come.”

  “Agreed.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek and escorted her to the desk.

  As she bent over the papers, the cat leapt up next to them.

  “Ah, Mungo is here for the nuptials,” Forbes said. “How appropriate.”

  “Mungo? Is that truly his name?” she asked. “We’ve become fast friends.” She gave him a pat and then scratched her name across the bottom of the page.

  Andrew took the pen next. “And why is it appropriate for Mungo to join us?”

  “Mungo was present when the old duke wed Mrs. Ramsey,” Forbes said. “He was her favorite mouser. It feels like the old girl herself is here with us.”

  “Well, then.” Andrew signed and waved the feather at the cat’s nose. “Tell your mistress I’ve found her a worthy successor, Mungo.”

  The cat fixed them both with a haughty look, then settled upon his haunches and meowed.

  Forbes chuckled. “Mungo says it’s time. Let us begin.”

  Fifteen minutes later…

  The whisky from one last toast was still burning a path down her throat when Andrew swept her into his arms.

  “Goodnight all,” he said. “And a merry Christmas.” He nuzzled her ear. “And a merry Christmas to you, duchess.”

  Duchess? She’d awoken that morning as a housekeeper and now she was a duchess. It made her head spin.

  She clung to him as he stumbled into the corridor. “Put me down, duke.”

  “Duke? I like the way that sounds on your lips.” He stopped at a door and juggled her while he reached for the latch.

  “This is the wrong room, duke. My door is the next one down.”

  Ignoring her, he carried her through, and set her on her
feet for a long kiss. And then his fingers flew, pulling out combs and hairpins, spinning her around to work the fastenings on her gown.

  This chamber was the mirror of her own, except the bed was larger, the curtains darker. A man’s razor and a masculine brush lay on the dressing table. A man’s coats draped one of the chairs. The fireplace backed the one in her chamber, and next to it was a door…

  The same unobtrusive door in her bedchamber that she’d found locked.

  “You.” She pressed her hands to his cheeks. “You lodged me in the bedchamber adjacent to your own.”

  “Yes. Kick off your slippers, love.”

  She obeyed, blindly. “With a connecting door.”

  He grinned. “I cannot tell you how I struggled to resist temptation.” Under his skilled fingers, her bodice loosened. “It was a near thing. Had I known earlier how strongly you returned my interest I might have thrown off all caution before you seduced me.”

  “Andrew.” Her cheeks flamed.

  “You’re a bold one, duchess.”

  “Bold? I…”

  The room chilled as her gown fell around her and he helped her step out of it.

  “Yes, bold. Bold enough to jump into the burn. Bold enough to take a position with a man you hated. Bold enough to bring that man to his senses. And thank God for it.” He loosened her stays. “And thank God for you. I love you. We shall have a good life. I’ll do my best to see to it.”

  Her throat clogged with wonder. Unable to speak, she opened her arms and he crushed her to him.

  “I love you as well, Andrew MacDonal.” She pulled back and lifted her gaze. “And why are you still fully dressed?”

  His laughter filled her heart, filled the room, filled the entire castle and all of Kinmarty.

  Epilogue

  One week later…

  * * *

  The bonfire was the largest anyone had seen in years, or so the local villagers told the duke and duchess when their graces walked out to the meadow to greet their people and join in the caelidh.