A Winter Wish

by Christi Caldwell

  A Winter Wish

  by

  Christi Caldwell

  Other Titles by Christi Caldwell

  Heart of a Duke

  In Need of a Duke—Prequel Novella

  For Love of the Duke

  More than a Duke

  The Love of a Rogue

  Loved by a Duke

  To Love a Lord

  The Heart of a Scoundrel

  To Wed His Christmas Lady

  To Trust a Rogue

  The Lure of a Rake

  To Woo a Widow

  To Redeem a Rake

  One Winter with a Baron

  To Enchant a Wicked Duke

  Beguiled by a Baron

  To Tempt a Scoundrel

  To Hold a Lady’s Secret

  The Heart of a Scandal

  In Need of a Knight—Prequel Novella

  Schooling the Duke

  A Lady’s Guide to a Gentleman’s Heart

  A Matchmaker for a Marquess

  His Duchess for a Day

  Five Days with a Duke

  Lords of Honor

  Seduced by a Lady’s Heart

  Captivated by a Lady’s Charm

  Rescued by a Lady’s Love

  Tempted by a Lady’s Smile

  Courting Poppy Tidemore

  Scandalous Seasons

  Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride

  Never Courted, Suddenly Wed

  Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous

  Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love

  A Marquess for Christmas

  Once a Wallflower, at Last His Love

  Sinful Brides

  The Rogue’s Wager

  The Scoundrel’s Honor

  The Lady’s Guard

  The Heiress’s Deception

  The Wicked Wallflowers

  The Hellion

  The Vixen

  The Governess

  The Bluestocking

  The Spitfire

  The Theodosia Sword

  Only For His Lady

  Only For Her Honor

  Only For Their Love

  Danby

  A Season of Hope

  Winning a Lady’s Heart

  The Brethren

  The Spy Who Seduced Her

  The Lady Who Loved Him

  The Rogue Who Rescued Her

  The Minx Who Met Her Match

  The Spinster Who Saved a Scoundrel

  Lost Lords of London

  In Bed with the Earl

  Brethren of the Lords

  My Lady of Deception

  Her Duke of Secrets

  Regency Duets

  Rogues Rush In: Tessa Dare and Christi Caldwell

  Yuletide Wishes: Grace Burrowes and Christi Caldwell

  Her Christmas Rogue

  Standalone

  Fighting for His Lady

  Memoir: Non-Fiction

  Uninterrupted Joy

  A Winter Wish

  Copyright © 2020 by Christi Caldwell

  EPUB Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  For more information about the author:

  www.christicaldwellauthor.com

  christicaldwellauthor@gmail.com

  Twitter: @ChristiCaldwell

  Or on Facebook at: Christi Caldwell Author

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Other Titles by Christi Caldwell

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Other Books by Christi Caldwell

  Biography

  Prologue

  Winter 1822

  Not much had changed in the Read household.

  That was, in the three years Miss Merry Amaryllis Read, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Maldavers’ steward and housekeeper and soon-to-be new housekeeper for Lord and Lady Maldavers, had been sent off to receive proper training for her future role.

  At that very moment, Merry’s two younger siblings were seated in the main gathering room of their peak cottage as she prepared her tea, she listened on while they engaged in the activity they were most noted for—one-bettering.

  Somewhere around her tenth and eleventh year, she’d grown tired of the boy-girl twins’ bickering. Somewhere around her thirteenth year, Merry had become quite adept at blocking it all out.

  “…oh, and of a sudden, you, with every hour of every day spent training to one day be steward, also find yourself in possession of the latest London scandals?” Matilda, her younger sister, challenged.

  This time, there was something altogether different about the stories and challenges flying back and forth.

  This time involved the unlikeliest of subjects: Lord Lucas Grimslee, the earl’s stuffiest, stodgiest, most-well-behaved son… which, given that all the Holman boys—now men—were notoriously proper, was saying a good deal indeed.

  “You think you’re the one in accurate possession of the gentleman’s goings-on?”

  “Hardly, I’m just in possession of more information.” Matilda launched into an impressive list of all the ways by which she’d become an aficionado of the subject at hand.

  Her twenty-four-year-old sister leaned forward in her carved-walnut armchair and spoke in a loud whisper. “I heard he broke out into song in the middle of a Covent Garden performance he was attending.”

  “What?” Merry blurted. Apparently, she had been adept at ignoring their sparring.

  Matilda whipped her attention over to Merry. By the pleased little smile that split her face, Merry’s reaction had been reward enough. “Indeed. He was… singing in the middle of the performance.”

  “Luke Holman… singing?” She knew it was an echo of what her sister had said, but it was just too far-fetched. The gentleman, who couldn’t manage more than a polite—albeit curt—greeting whenever she was near, had sung aloud… in public?

  Matilda nodded. “From what I read, it was quite an exuberant performance, at that.”

  “And here I’d believed he’d not even hum a happy tune in the privacy of his own company,” Merry said without malice and earned another round of giggles from her sister.

  “It has been wildly shocking. All of it.”

  “That was surely the first time in the whole of a lifetime that anyone has ever charged the Holman family with being even remotely out of step,” Merry noted, eyeing the confectionary treats her mother had prepared before plucking another gingerbread.

  “Yes, but much has changed since you’ve been gone,” Diccan intoned.

  “Everything,” Matilda added with a nod, for good measure.


  “First”—Diccan stuck a finger up—“Lord Lathan Holman, a perfectly respectable clerk at the Home Office, was accused of high treason.”

  When Merry only took another bite of her treat and didn’t indulge her brother with any questions, Diccan frowned. “Surely, you must wonder what he did.”

  After Merry finished chewing and then swallowing her bite, she carefully dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “No,” she said simply.

  Diccan bristled. “And whyever not?”

  “Because it is impossible.” Not many years younger than she, the youngest Holman brother had been bookish, without even a hair out of order in his life. “Not a single Holman would ever do something as shameful as to betray King and Crown.” In an effortful display of nonchalance, Merry rearranged the tray of goodies her mother had set out. “And what of Lord Ewan?” He had been the only Holman child to play with her as though she were equal in birthright.

  Her brother eyed her peculiarly. “What of him?”

  Snatching up the nearest pastry, she set it on her plate. “Has Lord Ewan become as pompous as the rest?” If he had, it was going to be utter misery serving in that household.

  “Hardly.”

  She released the breath she’d not realized she was holding.

  “Either way, returning to the more interesting Holmans. Mr. Lathan Holman was cleared,” Matilda confirmed. “Though some say strings were pulled and that the Crown will ultimately have their vengeance.” She made a garish slashing motion across her throat and hung her head sideways.

  “Matilda,” she chided.

  Their brother grunted. “All nobles are invariably cleared of wrongdoing,” he pointed out, not inaccurately. “Even the guilty ones like Mr. Lathan Holman.”

  Their mother, the former housekeeper who’d been employed by the Holmans, ducked out from the kitchens. “Hush,” she whispered.

  Alas, the former head of the female staff, who’d terrified the maids with her no-nonsense attitude, had never managed that feat with her own children.

  Diccan scoffed. “They are hardly going to hear us from our cottage.”

  “Their cottage,” their mother aptly pointed out. Wiping her hands with the cloth she held, she waved it at her only son. “Furthermore, it doesn’t do to talk unkindly about the one who employs you.” Their mother looked pointedly at Matilda. “And you.” Her gaze landed on Merry, the sole member of the Read family who was not yet employed by the Earl and Countess of Maldavers. “And, well… all of you need to be quiet.”

  The trio of Read siblings went silent.

  With a satisfied nod, their mother hurried back into the kitchens.

  The moment she’d gone, they dissolved into silent laughter. Merry’s form shook with such mirth that she keeled over into her sister’s side. How good this felt. How very wonderful it was simply being home.

  “I hear you.” Their mother’s warning came muffled by the kitchen doors.

  “Of course she does,” Diccan muttered.

  He continued on with his gossip about Lord Luke as though there’d been no interruption. Planting his hands on his legs, he leaned forward. “Now, returning to the Holman scandals.”

  Merry’s heart kicked up. Lord Ewan. The one gentleman who’d not yet been spoken of. The kindest, most affable of… well, all the Holmans, really.

  “Lord Luke”—she stifled a disappointed sigh as Diccan returned to the heir—“I heard he was seen entering the Duke and Duchess of Bainbridge’s.”

  “I’d hardly consider that scandalous,” Matilda shot back.

  “I must agree with Mattie,” Merry said to her sister’s older-by-seven-minutes twin. Stirring cream into her teacup, Merry paused to take a sip. “In fact, I’d quite expect that visiting a powerful peer and his wife is precisely the manner of thing Lord Luke would do.” Luke, who she’d once predicted had entered the world somber and composed. Whereas Ewan had played children’s games with Merry, Lord Luke had never joined in. Instead, the bookish Lord Luke had peered down at them with a scowl to match those of his equally stern tutors.

  With a triumphant flounce of her blond curls, Matilda stole a biscuit from the tray and held it aloft like a confectionary trophy she’d awarded herself.

  “I agree it doesn’t seem outrageous for the gentleman to pay a visit to another lord,” Diccan conceded. He looped his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers. “And it wouldn’t be. That is, if he’d been invited.”

  Merry flared her eyes. Surely her brother wasn’t saying…

  Matilda scrambled to the edge of her seat. “What did he do?” she demanded, her question conceding defeat to her twin.

  With a sly half grin, Diccan added, “Apparently, a very inebriated Lord Luke entered his neighbor’s townhouse.” He continued over his sisters’ matching gasps. “He stumbled into their foyer and relieved himself in a plant stand that he’d mistaken for a chamber pot.”

  A laugh exploded from Merry at the sheer outrageousness that image painted, even as it could not be true that Lord Luke would do anything so outrageous. She laughed until tears leaked from her eyes.

  “It is true,” Diccan insisted defensively, through his sisters’ noisy amusement.

  She laughed all the harder, until her sides ached from the force of her own amusement.

  When their laughter had ebbed, Matilda curled onto her side and rested her cheek atop Merry’s lap, as she’d done so many times as a girl.

  Merry stroked her sister’s curls.

  “I’ve missed this,” Matilda said softly.

  “I have, too,” Merry murmured. It had been three years since she’d left, and for all the tears she’d cried continually during her first three months gone, in time, she’d found joy in her studies and work. Only to find now just how very much she’d missed all of these moments.

  A firm knock landed on the door, splitting the quiet.

  They all three went motionless.

  Their mother came flying out of the kitchens, her rounded cheeks pale but for the splotches of red from the heat of the fires she worked over.

  “Whoever is that?” Matilda whispered when the echo from the hard rap’s wake had abated.

  Frowning, Merry stole a glance at the clock.

  Nine o’clock. Early on, she and her siblings had learned that only crises at the main household merited after-hours intrusions.

  There came another heavy pounding.

  Merry was across the room in several quick strides. She yanked the door open, letting in a blast of cold winter air and one unexpected noblewoman.

  Oh, bloody hell.

  The countess swept inside and gave a flick of her hand.

  An unfamiliar-to-Merry-footman hovering on the stone porch hurriedly drew the door shut.

  That click managed to spring the occupants of the cottage into motion. All the Reads scrambled to their feet and proceeded to drop belated curtsies or bows.

  Lady Maldavers thumped her cane once. “I’ll not waste time with it,” the countess said in her slightly nasal, perfectly enunciated Queen’s English. “I’m here on a matter of importance.”

  Merry and her siblings looked to one another and then their mother. As the former housekeeper rushed forward, her children began to wordlessly back from the room. “Yes, my lady. I’ll fetch my husband immediately.” Given the lady of the household hadn’t ever set foot inside the cottage, and her ladyship, not her husband, was seeing to business, the situation must be dire.

  “Not him.” The countess stretched her other arm out and pointed at Merry. “You.”

  Or it seemed that that perfectly manicured digit fell in Merry’s direction. Except… that hardly made sense. She was neither employed by the woman, nor, having arrived only that morn, had Merry seen the lady of the household. Even more to point, the countess had never sought Merry out—ever.

  A log shifted in the hearth, the snap and hiss of the fire the only sound to meet the countess’ pronouncement.

  “Yes, you,” the countess sa
id impatiently. She thumped her cane twice, and Merry’s siblings instantly fell into a neat line and filed into the kitchens. Her mother, ever the consummate housekeeper, was the last to take her leave. She followed after the pair and then closed the door in her wake, leaving Merry and the countess alone.

  At one time, Merry had been a girl at sea around her parents’ employer. Regal, austere, unsmiling, they’d been a cold family whom she’d spent far more time pitying than envying. For her time away, however, Merry had left the protected, countrified world of Leeds for the Continent. She’d explored some of the most magnificent artwork and households. She’d moved among the aristocracy. Therefore, she didn’t have quite the same terror she’d once had around the countess.

  Folding her hands primly before her, Merry stood in the middle of the room, her back straight. “Should I have refreshments called for, my lady?”

  “This isn’t a social call.” The other woman laid her ornate ivory cane against the back of the armchair Merry had previously occupied and tugged off her gloves. “I shall get to it, Miss Read. As we’re both aware, after the holiday season, you’ll be taking on the role of housekeeper in place of your mother.”

  “I—”

  “However, until then, I’d ask you to help ready the household for our guests.”

  Merry started. She’d have wagered—and lost—her family’s cottage in Leeds that the Holman household had already been transformed. “My lady, I’m honored.”

  Lady Maldavers waved her hand dismissively. “It’s less a matter of preference and more a matter of necessity. We’ve company scheduled to arrive.”

  They always did. Lord and Lady Maldavers were an expert host and hostess, never long without other leading societal guests for company.

  Of all the tasks Merry had been charged with—polishing the silver, inventorying the linens—the only one she’d ever truly looked forward to with any real joy was that of preparing for Christmastide. “I can begin immediately,” she promised, thrilling at the prospect of decorating the sprawling manor.

  The older woman gathered her cane and gave it another thump. “Is this your conversation or mine to lead, Miss Read?”

  “Forgive me.” Born to two servants, Merry had known since birth that servitude was the future that awaited her. Even knowing that as she did, she chafed at that treatment. She wanted more.