O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Innes, needing to be certain the wretches were truly on their way, peered out the window of his study to watch them climb into the ducal carriage and be driven away. Only then did he turn back to his two Brayden guardian angels. “They’re gone.”

  “Thank goodness.” Hyacinth set down her weapon and hurried to his side. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

  “No, Hyacinth. And contrary to appearances, I had the matter in hand.” He pointed to the pistol in the open drawer of his desk.

  “That puny thing? He would have gotten you first.” Her eyes were aglow. She’d obviously had too much fun rescuing him. “Did you see the way he blanched when I raised that big gun and pointed it at him. Good thing he didn’t put me to the test. I don’t think it is loaded.”

  “What!” He and Romulus shouted at the same time.

  “Holmes and I didn’t have time to check. We were afraid your brothers were going to shoot you before we could figure out how to open up the barrel.”

  Romulus wiped his forehead and then glanced at his weapon.

  “Oh, do be careful, Papa. Yours is most definitely loaded. I left Holmes in the library to figure out how to do it while I held the men at bay. Good thing you showed up when you did, for I was running out of things to say. Innes, what did they want from you? Do stop shaking your head and laughing.”

  “They wanted me to sign over all my assets to them, and then they were going to shoot me. Well, they were going to try. I wasn’t about to let them. Now, tell me what you are doing here. I don’t recall inviting you.”

  “You left last night and forgot to take your gift. I only meant to bring it to you. Good thing I did.”

  He frowned. “No, you might have been hurt.”

  “So might you have been.” She was now frowning back at him. “Spare me the lecture on how you are the strong male, and I am the delicate female, and I should not have come to your rescue.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have…but thank you. In truth, you were magnificent.”

  “I was?” Her smile lit up the room. “Oh, Innes. Thank you in return. You must know I’ll always look out for you. So will Papa. You are part of our family. And to that point, we also brought you a box of decorations. This house is in desperate need of cheering up. But first, open up my gift. Holmes, I think I set it down in the library near the gun cabinet.”

  “Yes, Miss Hyacinth. I’ll fetch it straight away.”

  She watched Innes’s butler leave before turning back to him. “And while we are waiting for him to bring it, I wanted to–”

  Innes drew her into his arms and crushed his lips to hers.

  She squealed and then slid her arms around his neck, kissing him back with innocent fervor.

  Blessed saints.

  Was this her first kiss?

  It had to be, for her lips were pressed tight, and the kiss was grandmotherly. But she would learn to loosen up. He’d teach her, take his time, and show her properly. Nevertheless, her lips were soft and sweet, exactly the sort of lips one hoped for in a wife he intended to love into eternity.

  He felt a joy he did not ever believe possible.

  Hyacinth had been saving herself for him. She’d saved her first words for him. Her first steps. Her first Christmas gift, which was still wrapped in the box and left somewhere in his library.

  He lifted her into his arms and continued to kiss her, tasting the apple cider on her lips and breathing in the scent of lavender on her skin. He felt the perfect softness of her body against his and felt his heart open up to let her in.

  Perhaps she had always been in his heart, and he simply had not realized it.

  She sighed as he set her down and eased his lips off hers.

  He knew there would be no backing out now, especially not with her father about to aim his loaded weapon at him. He’d be doing the same thing if Hyacinth were his daughter, and some besotted dolt was kissing her with enough heat to roast the sun. “This house does not need a box of decorations. There is only one thing this house needs, and that is you, Hyacinth.”

  Her eyes rounded in surprise. “Do you mean it?”

  Innes nodded. “You called me an idiot last night. Well, I was. And now that I’ve reconsidered, I am going to take you up on your suggestion to find someone who will love me and cherish me as I deserve. However, I don’t know that I am all that deserving. But I have found that someone in you, if you wish to have me. I want to share my life with you. So, my beloved Hyacinth–”

  “Stop!” She pushed out of his arms. “Wait. Not yet. You have to open my gift first.”

  He groaned. “You’ve shattered the mood. I was trying to be romantic.”

  Her father groaned and took a seat in one of the chairs, watching him about to make a fool of himself over his daughter. “She’s my own flesh and blood,” Romulus said, grinning at him. “I have no choice but to love and protect her. It isn’t too late for you to change your mind, Innes.”

  “Papa!”

  “He adores you, Hyacinth. Let me tease him just a little. Besides, he knows I will hunt him down to the pits of hell if he dares back out of marrying you now.”

  “Be quiet, Papa. That is appallingly ghoulish and not in the holiday spirit at all. Holmes, did you find the box?”

  “Yes, Miss Hyacinth.”

  Good grief, were those tears forming in his butler’s eyes?

  She took the box from Holmes and handed it over to him. “Happy Christmas, Innes.”

  “I love you, Hyacinth.” He kissed her softly on the mouth before opening the box, not really caring what it held, for she was his true gift.

  Hyacinth nudged him. “Stop grinning at me, Innes. Look at what’s inside the box.”

  “I am looking.” There were two silver bells, one etched with a design of the Plover. The other had words etched into it. To Innes, Remember me always. Love, Hyacinth.

  He nodded, too choked up for words.

  Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke in a rasping voice. “I never forgot you, Hyacinth. I’ve always carried you in my heart.”

  “Nor could I ever forget you. No one ever had better ears to tug. I love you, Innes.”

  He took her back in his arms and kissed her again.

  She had been the best part of his Christmas past.

  She was the best part of his Christmas present.

  She would be the best part of his Christmas future.

  “Hyacinth, just so we are clear on why I am kissing you…will you marry me?”

  Also by Meara Platt

  FARTHINGALE SERIES

  My Fair Lily

  The Duke I’m Going To Marry

  Rules For Reforming A Rake

  A Midsummer’s Kiss

  The Viscount’s Rose

  Earl Of Hearts

  If You Wished For Me

  Never Dare A Duke

  Capturing The Heart Of A Cameron

  BOOK OF LOVE SERIES

  The Look of Love

  The Touch of Love

  The Taste of Love

  The Song of Love

  The Scent of Love

  The Kiss of Love

  The Chance of Love

  The Gift of Love

  The Heart of Love

  The Hope of Love (novella)

  The Remembrance of Love (novella)

  DARK GARDENS SERIES

  Garden of Shadows

  Garden of Light

  Garden of Dragons

  Garden of Destiny

  Garden of Angels

  THE BRAYDENS

  A Match Made In Duty

  Earl of Westcliff

  Fortune’s Dragon

  Earl of Kinross

  Pearls of Fire*

  (*also in Pirates of Britannia series)

  Aislin

  Gennalyn

  DeWOLFE PACK ANGELS SERIES

  Nobody’s Angel

  Kiss An Angel

  Bhrodi’s Angel

  About the Author

  Meara Platt is an award
winning, USA TODAY bestselling author and an Amazon UK All-Star. She is happily married to her Russell Crowe look-alike husband, and they have two terrific children. Her favorite place in all the world is England’s Lake District, which may not come as a surprise since many of her stories are set in that idyllic landscape, including her paranormal romance Dark Gardens series. Learn more about the Dark Gardens and Meara’s lighthearted and humorous Regency romances in her Farthingale series and Book of Love series, or her warmhearted Regency romances in her Braydens series by visiting her website at www.mearaplatt.com.

  How to Get an Earl for Christmas

  Violetta Rand

  Chapter One

  The butler set their bags outside the front doors, refusing to make eye contact with Rose, her younger brother Timothy, or their faithful maid, Jen, who had sworn to their deceased mother that she would accompany her children wherever they went. With only five days left before Christmas, Rose’s half-brother, now the Earl of Brentley, had kept his promise to cast her and her lame brother out once he assumed their father’s title.

  A carriage awaited them, the frosty morning air chilling their flesh. Though properly attired for such weather, the wind had a particularly bitter bite to it today.

  “Does my brother have nothing to say to me, Johns?” Rose addressed the servant. “Will he not even wish us well in person?”

  The butler raised his head, staring down his nose at her. “I am sorry, Lady Rose,” he said hollowly. “The earl gave me strict instructions before he retired last night—he is not to be disturbed.”

  If Rose had been as selfish as her elder brother, she would have accepted his offer to send Timothy to an institution in return for sponsoring her Season—an opportunity to find a respectable husband. But no one in the world mattered more to her than her beloved little brother.

  He walked with a pronounced limp, the result of having a leg shorter than the other, but beyond that, he was a perfectly healthy fifteen-year-old boy with a heart of gold. She gazed at him with pure love. Banishment from the only home she had ever known cut at her spirit, even dulled the strong sense of happiness she woke with every day—but it would never diminish her bond with Timothy.

  “Come, lad,” Jen said softly, aiding Timothy down the last step of the entrance to the Mayfair townhouse. “The good Lord would never wish us to stay in such a dark place.”

  The maid helped Timothy into the carriage, then followed Rose with an armful of bags they handed off to the footman. It appeared that the earl had commanded all his servants to not make their departure easy.

  Once their luggage was secured, Jen scuttled inside the carriage, then Rose took her seat—staring out the window—longing for the days when her father and mother were alive and happy in their elegant home. But those wonderful times were mere memories now. Her mother had died a year ago, leaving her two children dependent upon the new earl for support.

  Rose closed her eyes and thought about their dire circumstances. There was a seaside cottage in the village of Whitmore and three hundred pounds a year to live off of—better than most people had, she admitted. These had been left to her by their father, who had purchased the cottage ten years ago as a gift for his second wife, their mother, who adored the quaint village.

  The carriage jolted to life, rolling out of the property and onto the quiet morning streets of London. Most of the ton had abandoned the city for their country estates to celebrate the holidays with family and friends. Unlike them, Rose had to think practically now—she had two people relying on her to provide a roof over their heads and food to eat. Three hundred pounds a year. She considered the sum… it would provide the necessities and perhaps a tutor for Timothy, for his education must not suffer. He was an earl’s son.

  She could go without and had plenty of gowns and fripperies to last a lifetime if she was careful. Not to mention, her mother had taught her to be proficient with needle and thread. They had often designed hats and walking dresses from the loveliest materials, silks and velvets, lace and seed pearls. Yes, if she kept her courage in place, denying the fear that filled her now, she could do this. For Timothy and Jen—both terrified as they huddled together under a wool blanket, tears in their eyes.

  “Tis a shameful way for an earl to act,” Jen said, accustomed to speaking her mind freely with Rose. “Yer sire would have never treated the lowest creature this poorly.” She wiped a tear from her cheek.

  Rose reached for the middle-aged woman’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “My older brother cannot be solely blamed for his jealousy and arrogance. His mother overindulged him, and after she died, he was forever altered.”

  Jen clicked her tongue in disapproval. “He hated your mother the day she stepped through the front door on yer sire’s arm. And once ye were born…” The maid gazed at her.

  “It is Christmas soon, Jen. We must think happy things—good tidings—be grateful for what we have.”

  “And have not,” Jen muttered, obviously pleased to be away from the earl.

  Rose gave her a stern look, but Timothy chuckled at the maid’s words.

  “Do not admonish her,” Timothy said. “She speaks the truth.”

  Rose nodded. “Just because we know it to be the truth does not mean we need to give it more power by speaking about it. It is enough that we have been thrown from our home along with the trash.”

  “Have you ever been to Whitmore, Rose?” Timothy asked.

  “Only in Mama’s stories. But she spoke so vividly about the place, I feel as if I have been.”

  “Tis a magical place,” Jen assured them. “The cottage is just feet away from the sandy shore. And the water…” She sank back against the leather squab, finding a comfortable position. “There will be plenty of fish and clams and oysters.”

  “Yes,” Rose agreed, fond of baked fish of every kind. “And fresh air, salt air.”

  “Rose?” Timothy sat up straight and gazed at her. “I am sorry to have cost you so much.” He stared down at his leg, the far-off look of regret darkening his blue eyes.

  Rose sniffled but refused to cry. How many times must she tell him she could never blame him for anything? “You are innocent, Timothy, an angel. The Earl of Brentley must live with his callousness for the rest of his life. We will find our places in Whitmore, I promise.”

  Two days later, travel-weary and in desperate need of freedom from the cramped space in the carriage, they arrived at their cottage on the outskirts of Whitmore in the early afternoon. The footman placed their bags on the cobblestone walkway, bowed to Rose, then quickly departed.

  “Well.” Rose folded her gloved hands together and slowly spun around, taking in their surroundings. Incredibly, the cottage appeared to be in fine shape. The white picket fence was freshly painted, the walkway swept clean, the two large windows at the front of the cottage were free of grime, and if she weren’t imagining it, smoke billowed from the chimney.

  Just beyond the gate, as Jen had said, the waves rolled onto the shoreline, fierce and gray as she expected it to be in winter, but beautiful. Gulls flew overhead, calling to each other, swooping down into the water for food.

  Together, they walked to the door of the cottage and opened it, leaving the bags outside.

  Rose swallowed as she crossed the threshold. The welcoming scent of freshly baked bread and pastries filled the air. There was a roaring fire in the stone hearth in the drawing room, candles lit throughout. There were fine carpets, framed portraits and other artwork hung on the walls, newer furnishings, and even a pianoforte in the corner.

  “I cannot believe what I am seeing,” Rose said, looking at Jen. “Is this the way you remember the cottage?”

  The maid considered it for a long moment. “Perhaps some of the furnishings are newer, but I remember the earl telling yer mother often enough to do whatever she wanted with the place, to spare no expense.”

  Her answer did not satisfy Rose. “How long has it been since my mother visited the cottage?”

  “Four
years.”

  “Well,” Timothy said. “Someone knew we were coming.” He grinned as he took in the pleasant environs, moving deeper into the house. He wandered to the next room, off the back of the drawing room. “Rose!”

  Thinking him hurt, she rushed to his side, afraid he had fallen. But instead, she found herself in another well-appointed space, a bedchamber, masculinely decorated, and obviously meant for Timothy. Yes, as much as she appreciated whoever had put in such careful effort to make the new home welcoming, she feared the inability to repay the costs.

  “We owe someone our sincerest gratitude,” she said, peering through the single window in her brother’s chamber that overlooked the back garden. Though the flowerbeds were not filled with colorful blooms due to the winter season, the hedgerows were maintained, and there were three white-washed benches arranged under the loveliest tree. Even statues of a mermaid and dolphins!

  Rose shook her head as she returned her attention to her brother. “Three hundred a year could never afford such extravagance, Timmy.”

  Her brother grinned. “You haven’t called me Timmy in a long while.”

  “I haven’t smiled so much in a long while, either.”

  After discovering the kitchen had been fully stocked, including the prettiest set of china dishes and other such luxuries, Rose braved going above stairs with her bags where she found a perfectly fashionable lady’s bedchamber with a small sitting room and a comfortable chamber for Jen. As downstairs, a fire roared in the hearth, and there were marble statuettes on the mantelpiece of various sea-bound creatures, dolphins, a turtle, shark, and a mermaid combing her long hair. She picked one of the figures up and examined it closely—truly beautiful.

  She chose to sit in the coral-colored chair in front of the fireplace and sighed, taking an enormous breath, which she held. Did she have a fairy godmother? Was an angel of mercy watching over her family? A secret admirer? Who could have done this, been so kind when her own flesh and blood brother had been nothing but a hardhearted scoundrel?