20150618 A Midsummer Night's Kiss epub final

by And Then the Moon) (epub)

“Ah,” said Fenton, smiling indulgently as he mixed his paste with cool water and a spoonful of honey to sweeten. “Try sipping this, then a slice of toasted bread.”

  The drink was delicious, tart yet refreshing, and she sighed in relief as her roiling stomach slowly settled. She’d heard word of the morning sickness curse, but recently occasional nausea had become morning, noon and night and she’d had quite enough.

  Abruptly Caleb stormed through the bedchamber door, his face like thunder.

  “Everyone is denying it. Said they wouldn’t let a berry within a hundred feet of this house. Do not worry, I will get to the bottom of this. Someone will pay, damn it.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cal, sit down,” she said, loving him for his concern and yet trying valiantly not to giggle. “It is not strawberries that put me in this state, but you.”

  His eyes widened in affront.

  “Me? But I haven’t…wait. Do you mean…are you saying…”

  “Yes. We are going to have a baby.”

  Shock and awe and joy crossed his face, and as he visibly swallowed hard, she wanted to shoo the doctor away and wrap her arms around him. Well, when she knew for sure the contents of her stomach would stay put. Decorating a man’s trousers wasn’t the most romantic way to show him he was your dream come true.

  “But how?” he said slowly. “I mean, it never happened before, not once in all those years.”

  “Lord Brentwood,” said Fenton. “If I may, her ladyship assured me you have been diligent in er, not dillydallying since your permanent return.”

  “Oh, very much so,” said her husband dryly. “Perhaps the most diligent couple in history.”

  Cheeks ablaze, she concentrated fiercely on the kittens, wishing Caleb was close enough for a swarm of insect attacks.

  “Well,” Fenton continued. “It is my belief that when there is undue pressure and expectation around conception, combined with long time lapses between attempts, a gentleman’s essence becomes…melancholy.”

  Caleb cleared his throat. “Melancholy, you say?”

  “Oh yes,” said the doctor enthusiastically as he repacked his satchel. “And what womb might embrace such an unhappy guest when it is equally morose?”

  “Unless a gothic pairing, I can’t imagine.”

  Pressing her fingers to her mouth, Emma began to rock.

  “Hmmm. But I’m delighted for you both. Lady Brentwood, I will prepare packets of powder to be made into the settling beverage for your stomach. Do send word if you have any concerns.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” she choked out.

  “Poor, dear lady,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Good day to you.”

  As soon as they were alone in the bedchamber, Emma turned and buried her face in the pillow, laughter shaking her entire body and probably about to undo all the good work of the peppermint and ginger concoction.

  “Not sure why you think this is so amusing,” Caleb said sternly, strolling over to sit beside her on the bed. “Imagine if my melancholy essence hadn’t cheered up enough to be embraced by your previously morose womb. Our combined repertoire of witticisms, songs, and magic tricks would have been sorely tested. Might even have been too much for Frisky and Bard.”

  She sat up and wiped her eyes. “Are you pleased?”

  “Anything that pleases you, pleases me. But yes, I am thrilled. Also terrified, and eager to meet him or her.”

  “I feel the same. Hold me?”

  Caleb shuffled sideways, and carefully folded his arms around her. Sighing in pleasure, she burrowed against him, reveling in the strength and heat. When they were together like this, it was almost impossible to remember the bad times.

  “I love you, Caleb.”

  His hold tightened.

  “I love you, Emmy,” he said softly.

  A promise for always.

  About Nicola

  New Zealander Nicola Davidson always adored words, romance and history, so writing historical romance was a logical career progression…er, eventually. After completing a communications degree and journalism diploma she left to teach English in Taiwan and travel through Asia before returning home to work in television. Jobs in tertiary education, local government communications and print media followed, but the lords and ladies in her head wouldn’t hold their peace a moment longer and so began the years of professional daydreaming. When not chained to a computer, Nicola can be found ambling along a beach, cheering on the champion All Blacks rugby team or driving her nearest and dearest batty with her history geekisms, chocolate hoarding and complete lack of domestic skills.

  Keep up with Nicola’s news on Twitter, Facebook, or her Website

  Also by Nicola Davidson

  His Forbidden Lady

  Tudor England, 1542

  When beautiful widow Lady Annabelle Benton-Hayes is ordered to court, she is terrified. Henry VIII desires a sixth queen for his bloodstained throne, and her scheming family cares not for her wishes. Annabelle yearns for love, but there is no escaping her fate: escorting her is Rafe de Vere, the man who abandoned her to become England’s most loyal and brutally successful soldier.

  Rafe is utterly weary of war and its impossible demands. Thankfully, his final task is the easiest: accompany a wellborn lady to London for Henry’s perusal. Until he discovers she is Annabelle, the woman who swore to wait for him but married another. Rafe isn’t permitted to care, yet time hasn’t dulled their sizzling attraction and his orders are increasingly difficult to obey. To love her, he would have to risk all and cross his king to secure the ultimate prize – Annabelle’s heart.

  To Love a Hellion

  Two years after the shocking deaths of his father and older brother, life is finally improving for Stephen Forsyth, Earl of Westleigh. His mother has rejoined society, the estates are flourishing, and according to his mathematical calculations his new betrothed is a sensibly near-perfect match. What better way to celebrate than attending a pre-Season country house party? Yet on Bruce land, the world is utterly awry. Strange happenings, bizarre hosts, seven spinsters stalking, and assistance comes from the least likely source – Caroline Edwards, his best friend’s hellion sister and fiercely dedicated nemesis. An unwanted sizzling attraction soon scorches their war of words, but a far sterner battle lies ahead: an old enemy sworn on vengeance is closing in, and won’t rest until Stephen and everyone he loves is destroyed.

  And Then the Moon

  After unexpectedly inheriting a viscountcy, Duncan Newfield must join society. He seems to be the only one not enjoying the Midsummer Night’s Ball – until he discovers Lady Madalene Parish hiding in the garden. Her father, Lord Gilmanton, has ordered her to accept a marriage proposal, any marriage proposal, by the end of the season. A bargain is struck and they enter into a fake engagement, but once they realize they might be perfect for one another, unexpected complications arise that may prevent them from having a future together.

  Copyright © 2015 by

  Ally Broadfield

  To everyone who believes in the Magic of the Night.

  Chapter One

  No good had ever come as a result of being summoned to her father’s study. Lady Madalene Parish’s boots tapped an impatient rhythm as she drew closer to the torture chamber, as she and her sisters referred to it. Though she had no notion as to why he wanted to speak with her, she would find out soon enough.

  She raised her hand to knock, but Papa barked out, “Enter,” prior to her knuckles reaching the door.

  After schooling her features, she opened the door and moved toward him slowly.

  “Sit,” he said, pointing to the two uncomfortable wooden chairs that occupied the space in front of his desk.

  Once she had perched demurely on the edge of the chair, she lifted her chin and met his eyes.

  Never one to tarry, he got straight to the point. “As we both know, you h
ave now weathered three seasons without receiving an offer.” He lifted his hands and touched the pads of his steepled fingers together. “Coincidentally, three is also the number of sisters who have been waiting for you to marry so they can make their debuts.”

  Ah, so it was to be force then.

  “We have just received an invitation from the Duke and Duchess of Milton to attend their Midsummer Night’s Ball, and I intend for the event to be a sort of reintroduction of you to the ton, if you will.”

  Stifling a sigh, she said, “I believe I have already made the acquaintance of every available man in the empire. What sort of reintroduction are you proposing?”

  He shot her a sideways glance, but did not reprimand her impertinence. “You have dallied on the marriage mart long enough. Your sisters are tired of waiting, and I am tired of entertaining your mother’s thoughts on the situation. I am adding a significant amount to your dowry to draw offers, and you will accept one of them. I don’t particularly care who you choose, but you will marry this season.”

  Really, if he was so anxious to expedite things, he ought to just put her up on an auction block with the livestock and be done with it. It would be far more efficient, and less painful, than being parading about to the ton and sold to the highest bidder. Increasing her dowry would not attract any desirable suitors, but only those desperately in need of a large sum of money. As Papa well knew.

  “How much time am I to be allotted to make my decision?”

  “I do not intend for you to accompany us when we retire to Gilmanton Place at the end of July.”

  So this was it. He was essentially exiling her from the family. Very well. It would do her no good to argue with him, but she would find a way to foil his plans. The very last thing she would do was follow in her mother’s footsteps and spend the rest of her life trapped in an unhappy marriage. She would rather be alone.

  Chapter Two

  The face of a stranger stared back at Madalene from her mirror. Well, nearly so. Mama had outdone herself, somehow managing to draw out the gold flecks from her lackluster brown eyes using only powder and strategically placed rouge. Though she had been skeptical about the gold silk gown, Mama had been correct about that as well. It even managed to bring out the amber highlights she hadn’t known were hidden in her dull brown hair.

  “What do you think?” Mama’s eyes met hers in the mirror.

  “You must certainly be a sorcerer to make me look so fine.” Her transformation was remarkable. For the first time in her life, she felt almost pretty.

  “Darling, you mustn’t say things like that. You are quite lovely and all of the men at the ball tonight will want to dance with you.”

  “If so, it will be because of my newly increased dowry.” Her improved appearance would not stop the fortune hunters from pursuing her like hounds after a fox.

  Mama wrapped her arms around Madalene from behind. “I am not best pleased with your father’s tactics either, but the larger dowry will help attract more offers for you.”

  She knelt in front of Madalene and took her hands. “Don’t you want to marry? To have a family of your own?”

  “Of course I do, Mama. But I had hoped to find a husband who was attracted to me due to my own merits.”

  “That is what all ladies hope for, but just because a man may initially be drawn to you because of your dowry doesn’t mean he won’t grow to appreciate your other attributes as well.”

  “I suppose you are correct.” Though there would be no way for her to determine that sort of thing in the amount of time she had been allotted. Oliver leapt to her lap and purred prodigiously.

  Mama shook her head. “Dearest, have a care for your gown. He will leave hair all over it and his claws might pull the fabric.”

  Oliver was the only male on earth who had ever shown her any affection. She cradled him against her chest and rubbed her chin over his head before gently placing him on the bed. After quickly brushing his hair from her gown, she grabbed her reticule from the dresser and followed Mama out.

  Madalene held her head high and fought the urge to whinny plaintively like a mare up for auction who was being separated from everyone and everything she had ever known. Lord Aberton smiled as he regained her hand and spun away from her once again. Even she could admit he was a pleasant sort of man, and it wasn’t necessarily his fault that he needed her money, but it did trouble her that she saw only the pound symbol reflecting back at her when she looked into his eyes.

  As the music ended, Lord Aberton tucked her arm through his and cut a path through the crowd to her mother. “Lady Madalene, will you reserve another dance for me later this evening?”

  Sadly, despite the news of her increased dowry sweeping through the room, her dance card still was not full. Aberton was one of her top prospects, as pitiful as that was. “Of course, my lord. I shall save you a waltz.”

  After all, he at least was both taller than her and younger than her parents, two statements that could not be made about her next partner.

  Lord Aberton bowed over her hand and took his leave just before Viscount Bakersfield scuttled over to her to claim the next dance. Having inherited his property from his father many years before she was born, he had no excuse but mismanagement for the sorry state of his accounts. The last thing she would do was marry a decrepit man who couldn’t manage his estates properly. Even if his impending death meant she might soon gain her freedom, it would do her no good if there was no money left for her to live on. His first wife had given him two sons and three daughters, all of whom were older than Madalene. Of course, that might at least mean that he would not be interested in having additional children, which made sense since he wouldn’t be around to see them grow to maturity.

  “Lady Madalene.” Lord Bakersfield bowed over her hand and hesitated in his stooped position, almost as if he was unable to straighten. If he was too feeble to right himself from bowing, however did he think he would make it through a dance, and a waltz at that?

  After finally managing to attain an upright posture, he led her slowly to the middle of the floor where the other dancers had gathered. She towered over him. The top of his head barely reached her nose.

  “Lady Madalene, I feel as if we are strangers. What are your interests?”

  Perhaps that was because they were strangers. “I enjoy riding my mare in the park whenever the weather cooperates.”

  He shook his head. “I no longer ride. A fall could be my undoing.”

  Madalene bit back a grin at the absurd situation she was in. “I also enjoy long walks through the gardens.”

  He frowned. “No, I’m afraid I no longer have the stamina to walk long distances.”

  That certainly wasn’t surprising. “I tend to my own rose garden, and am especially interested in cultivating different varieties of roses.”

  “I certainly have no interest in that. If we are to make a match, I would hire a gardener to do that for you.”

  Somehow, she wasn’t surprised that they had nothing in common. The music finally began and he swept…well, no. Swept was the wrong word. Eased her into the waltz.

  She made one last attempt to discover a mutual interest. “I also enjoy reading books of all types, though novels are my favorite.”

  He opened his mouth and wheezed, then managed to whisper, “Don’t read anymore. Can’t see the words even with spectacles.”

  As they moved into a turn, he tilted to the right and his heel came down painfully atop the arch of her foot. Though she stumbled, she managed to right herself and pull Bakersfield up. After that, he didn’t bother trying to make conversation, which was just as well since his breathing was quite labored.

  As they circled around again, she turned her head and noted the pallor of his face. He began to cant downward, and grabbed for her arm to steady himself, which would have been fine except that he clasped onto her cap sleeve and pull
ed her gown halfway down her upper arm. A gasp sounded from behind her and she grasped the sleeve and yanked it back into place.

  “My lord, it is quite warm and I am feeling a bit queasy. Perhaps we could leave the dance floor and seek refreshment.” She fled to the refreshment table without waiting for his response. After taking a large gulp of lemonade, she hazarded a glance behind her. Lord Bakersfield had dropped into a chair. She ought to go and make sure he was all right, but she couldn’t summon the fortitude. Surely someone else would step up if he drooped over off of the chair. But of course that wouldn’t do.

  Sighing, she picked up another glass of lemonade and took it to him. “My lord, I thought you might be in need of refreshment.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” The hand that reached for the glass shook.

  She hovered over him, prepared to catch him lest he slip from the chair. Though she had no interest in marrying him, she didn’t harbor any ill will toward him. He seemed slightly recovered after drinking all of the lemonade. A bit of color had returned to his cheeks.

  “My lord, I am engaged for the next dance. Is there someone I can find to assist you?”

  He smiled up at her, reminding her of her own grandfather. Good heavens. “I believe I am recovered. Go, enjoy your dance.”

  She took his empty glass back to the refreshment table. Lady Anne Hill, her closest friend, approached. “How are you faring?”

  “Not well at all. After that debacle, I must steel myself to dance with Lord Thornbrook, who should arrive to collect me at any moment.”

  Anne shivered. “He’s almost here.”

  Turning back toward the dance floor, Madalene nearly collided with her next partner, who was quite tall and broad. His black hair and eerie green eyes were a bit disconcerting. A shiver skittered up her spine. She glanced back over her shoulder at Anne, as if she could somehow rescue her.