The Taming of Lord Scrooge

by Renee Ann Miller

  “I have plans I need to make.” He’d hoped to get to Dartmore House before the crack of dawn. Evie was probably still sleeping and hadn’t realized he’d left, but he needed to work fast.

  His estate manager knocked on the open door. “Lord Dartmore, you wished to see me?”

  “Come in, Wrigley. Mother, if you’ll excuse us.”

  “Yes, of course.” She stepped from the room.

  Julien sat behind his desk as the estate manager stood before it. “Wrigley, it has come to my attention that skating on the lake has been closed to the townsfolk and my tenants. Did you order that?”

  Bright spots of red settled on the man’s cheek. “Yes, my lord.”

  Julien drew in a long breath. “Why?”

  “B-because you asked me to cut expenditures.”

  Damnation. He had, but he’d not meant something that cost so little. A large kettle of hot chocolate and gingerbread men was a measly expense. He’d wanted him to stop Mother’s frivolous spending. Last year alone, she’d had two new fountains installed. How many bloody fountains did an estate need?

  “But hadn’t we discussed earlier this year which items?”

  “Y-yes, my lord.”

  “And was that one of them?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “And why was the lake closed to fishing?”

  “So you would not have to restock it.”

  That was a sound enough answer. Julien sighed. “I want you and several of the men to knock on the doors of my tenants and the townsfolk. Tell them that there will be skating on the lake this morning, with warm drinks and treats for the children. Am I clear?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  As the estate manager stepped over the threshold, Julien said, “I hope your family will be there, Wrigley. And Merry Christmas.”

  The man who a minute ago looked about to piss himself smiled. “They will, my lord. Thank you.”

  * * * *

  One by one, Eve tossed the letters she’d written into the fire and watch them ignite in bursts of yellow and orange flames.

  What type of gentleman leaves those who have sheltered him without a single word of thanks?

  An earl who reads a letter addressing him as a Jack-a-ninny-pea-brain.

  Eve tossed the first letter she’d written to Julien ten years ago into the fire. Unlike the others, it did not disparage him. In it, she’d told Julien she loved him. She’d signed it Evie and drawn a foolish heart next to her name.

  Mary stepped into the room, holding the new ragdoll Eve had made her daughter for Christmas. She’d named her Ginger because of the red yarn used to make the doll’s hair. After they’d opened their gifts, they’d gotten dressed in the red velvet gowns Eve had sewn for the holiday.

  “Mama, when is Mr. Earl coming back?”

  She’d told her daughter that he’d had to return to Dartmore House to be with his family, but Mary kept insisting he would return soon. Her daughter’s word mimicked Eve’s foolish thoughts from ten years ago.

  “Darling, I told you he needs to spend Christmas with his family.”

  The jangling of sleigh bells caused both her and Mary to peer at the window.

  A broad smile wreathed the lower half of her daughter’s face.

  Eve’s palms grew moist. Had Julien returned?

  “Mama, I told you Mr. Earl would return.”

  Drawing in a breath, Eve dried her damp palms on the skirt of her gown, parted the curtain, and peered outside.

  Chapter Eleven

  Outside Eve’s house, a middle-aged woman, exquisitely dressed in a green wool coat with white fur trim and elaborate matching hat, sat in a horse-drawn sleigh. With the assistance of the driver, she stepped out of the vehicle and moved up the path to the front door.

  Mary, who stood next to Eve peering out the parlor window, released a long-drawn-out sigh. “That’s not Mr. Earl.”

  Eve could hear the disappointment in her daughter’s voice and feel it in her own heart. Julien wasn’t coming back. Both Mary and she had to come to grips with that fact. Eve smoothed a hand down the front of her red velvet dress and opened the door.

  The woman was probably a guest from Dartmore House who’d gotten lost. “Hello, May I help you?”

  “Are you Evangeline Breckenridge?”

  She tipped her head to the side. How did the woman know her name? “I am.”

  The woman’s gaze drifted down Eve’s length, and she smiled as if Eve’s appearance passed some test.

  “And you are…?” Eve’s voice lodged in her throat as recognition seeped into her brain. She had only seen Julien’s mother, the Countess of Dartmore, a few times, and that had been years ago.

  “Lady Dartmore, forgive me. I didn’t recognize you at first. May I help you?” Eve stepped aside to allow the woman to enter and closed the door.

  “Julien sent me to get you.”

  Get her? Surely if Julien wanted her arrested, he would have sent the magistrate, not his mother. And he couldn’t arrest her for calling him a pea-brain or any of the other insults she’d written. Eve tipped her chin in the air. If Julien wanted to see her, he’d have to come here. She opened her mouth to tell the countess that, but snapped it closed as Mary peeked her head out of the parlor doorway.

  “Ah, this must be your daughter, Mary. She is to join us, along with the housekeeper.” The countess frowned as if the latter was an odd request.

  Eve’s stomach fluttered. Julien wanted all of them to go with his mother? “My lady, I don’t understand.”

  “You will, once we get to the lake at Dartmore House.”

  * * * *

  As the horse-drawn sleigh took the road that led to the lake on Julien’s estate, Eve saw people walking toward it, holding their skates. Children dressed in mittens and thick scarves laughed. Some sang Christmas carols. Ahead of them on the snow-covered road was an enormous sleigh with several rows of seats full of people.

  What was going on?

  The vehicle took the last bend in the road and the lake came into view. Crowds of townsfolk skated on the edge of the ice-covered surface. Several tripods with large cast-iron pots were set up over open fires, and those not skating gathered around them, drinking from steaming mugs. The scent of spiced cider and hot chocolate drifted in the air from the sizable kettles. At a large table, three women passed out gingerbread men and red-striped peppermint sticks.

  “Mama, look!” Mary exclaimed, “Aunt Penny is here!”

  Penny stood with several other women from the village. Noticing Eve, her friend waved and walked toward the vehicle as it came to a standstill.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Eve asked.

  “The Earl of Dartmore had men knock on everyone’s door and invite us to the lake for skating and to celebrate Christmas.”

  Julien had invited the whole town? “Is his lordship here?”

  “Yes, he’s skating.” Penny’s gaze shifted to the countess sitting next to Eve. Her eyes grew as wide as a full moon in a dark sky. “M-my lady, Merry Christmas.”

  The countess nodded, and with the assistance of the driver she climbed out of the sleigh.

  The man came around and helped Eve out.

  Mary, still sitting in the sleigh with Mrs. Campbell, squealed and pointed. “Mr. Earl is here!”

  Eve set her hand over her eyes to shadow out the sun and saw Julien skating on the lake. Her heartbeat sped up at the sight of him.

  “He skates really well,” Mary said.

  Julien’s mother peered at Mary. “Of course, he is an earl. He excels at everything.”

  Mary looked ready to argue but luckily said nothing.

  Three young women in white fur-trimmed coats, which looked as costly as the Lady Dartmore’s, skated behind him. They were chatting away like magpies.

  “Tho
se are my three daughters,” the countess said.

  Julien appeared to be trying to get away from them, but they were following him like goslings would their mother. Eve wanted to laugh, but her head was still spinning with confusion as to what was going on.

  Noticing her, Julien glided across the ice toward the bank.

  Eve had expected him to be livid with her, but he was flashing that sexy dimple of his as he smiled.

  “I think he has something he wishes to ask you.” The countess practically gave Eve a shove in Julien’s direction.

  Still puzzled, Eve walked to the edge of the lake.

  Julien stepped onto the bank, his three sisters still trailing him. They stopped next to their brother and grinned at her, looking as if they might burst with excitement.

  “Evie, these are my sisters, Rose, Dahlia, and Violet.”

  Before Evie could say hello, they were hugging her and giggling.

  “She is as lovely as you said, Julien,” the one named Rose said.

  Her gaze shifted from his sisters to him. Hadn’t he read her letters? “You think I’m lovely?”

  “Oh, he does,” Dahlia said.

  “He said just as lovely inside as out,” Violet added.

  Even though it was cold, heat flooded Eve’s cheeks.

  Julien sighed. “Could the three of you give Evie and me a minute.”

  “But we want to watch you ask her,” Rose and Dahlia said in unison.

  “Girls, come here and leave your brother alone.” With her hand, Julien’s mother motioned to her daughters.

  Pouting, they walked away.

  “Julien, what is going on?” Eve asked, trying not to fiddle with the sleeve of her coat.

  “I read your letters. Ten years ago, I made a grave error in judgment. Those letters conveyed how much I hurt you. I take responsibility for my actions. I let my father talk me into something that was beyond foolish to agree upon, but having not yet reached my majority, I believed I had no choice.”

  Her heart was beating fast.

  Julien took her gloved hands in his and explained the bargain he’d made with his father. “You see, two years and one day after I promised my father I would not have any contact with you, I went to Kent. Time had not dimmed my affection for you.”

  Eve could feel her eyes tearing up as Julien spoke.

  “But I was too late. I saw you and Samuel walking together. You were smiling at him and laughing at something he said, and I realized you had moved on. But Evie, I fear I never have. I’ve spent years thinking of what could have been.”

  A warm tear trailed down her cold cheek. All this time, she’d thought he hadn’t truly cared for her, but she’d been mistaken.

  Julien got on one knee, while still holding her hands.

  “What are you doing?” She blinked.

  The buzz of conversation, drifting around them, grew louder.

  She heard Julien’s sisters giggling and their mother hushing them. And Mary asking Penny if Mr. Earl had dropped something on the ground and couldn’t find it.

  Her heart was beating so loud in her ears, Eve feared she wouldn’t hear what Julien was saying.

  “Evie, dearest, darling Evie, will you marry me?” Julien asked.

  “You’re not joking, are you?”

  “No. But everyone is watching, so if you don’t say yes, I’m going to feel like a complete fool.”

  She smiled. “Yes. Definitely, yes.”

  He stood and brushed his lips to hers, then, holding her waist, he swung her around.

  “Julien, people are watching.”

  “Let them. I don’t care.” He pressed his lips to hers.

  He kissed her so long, she thought the heat coursing between them would melt all the snow in Dartmore.

  Epilogue

  Christmas Eve

  The following year

  Eve stretched out in her bed and glanced at the empty spot next to her. She ran a hand over her belly, which was growing larger every day. “I bet I know where your Papa is.”

  She climbed out of the bed, slipped on her red velvet robe, and looked out the window of her little cottage. Instead of staying at Dartmore House for the week before Christmas, Julien had surprised her by having them return to the home she’d inherited from her uncle.

  It was a sentimental gesture, though it might have been precipitated by the way Julien’s sisters had been following him around since they’d returned from school. Or because his mother was hounding him to hire an architect to plan a new fountain. Or it could have been for the reason he’d given her: That the cottage was a magical place that had reunited them.

  A knock sounded on her door. “Mama, are you awake?” Mary asked.

  “Yes, come in.”

  Her daughter bounced into the room, grinning broadly. “The elves have brought us an even bigger tree this year.”

  Bigger? That would seem impossible.

  “You must come and see it. Papa Earl and I have already started hanging the ornaments.”

  Holding Mary’s hand, Eve walked downstairs. The tree in the corner of the parlor was indeed larger, the top only an inch from the ceiling. Eve’s gaze shifted to the gingerbread men hanging from the tree. Like last year, several were missing feet. She couldn’t help her smile.

  Julien grinned and handed her a package. “Open it, Evie.”

  “But it’s not Christmas.”

  “Open it anyway, Mama!” Mary bounced up and down on her toes.

  Eve untied the red ribbon and tore off the white paper to reveal her newly published book, The Countess of Dartmore’s Guide to a Homemade Christmas. She bit her lip and smiled. It was filled with patterns to make some of the quilted ornaments that hung on their tree, along with instructions on how to sew her Christmas angel. The book didn’t contain any recipes because Eve freely admitted she was a wretched cook, which explained why Julien had hired someone to prepare their meals while at the cottage.

  Julien turned to Mary. “Dear, can you go ask Mrs. Hillman if breakfast is ready?”

  As soon as Mary skipped out of the room, Julien pulled Eve close.

  “Don’t you wish me to go and whip up some scones?” Eve asked, trying not to grin.

  Her husband, who rarely showed fear, briefly looked terrified. “No, Evie darling, I have a better plan for you.”

  Julien covered her mouth with his and deepened the kiss, showing her how lucky she was that the Naughty Earl was all hers.

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  NEVER CONSPIRE WITH A SINFUL BARON

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  It is universally understood that a gentleman with an excessive number of debts must marry a wife with a sizable dowry.

  Chapter One

  London, England

  May 1881

  “How about Lady Sara Elsmere?” Lord Adam Talbot asked, looking up from his copy of Debrett’s Peerage, a guide to the nobility.

  Elliot Havenford, Baron Ralston, leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet onto the corner of his desk. Obviously, Talbot was a half pint short of a full cup. Though Lady Sara possessed a handsome enough face, the woman suffered from a nervous laugh whenever a gentleman stepped within two feet of her. Elliot couldn’t imagine what bedding her would be like. Well, actually he could, and there lay the crux of the problem.

  He shook his head. “I’d rather wed old Lady Winton.”

  Talbot snorted and flipped to another page in the th
ick book. The smile on his friend’s face dissolved, and his gaze shot back to Elliot. “Good God, man, you’re joking, right? Surely, you aren’t seriously considering marrying that battleax.”

  Of course, he wasn’t. Lady Winton was in her dotage and as mean as a dog fighting over a bone. He motioned to the glass of liquor in Talbot’s hand. “Old chum, you’ve had too much of my brandy if you can’t tell when I’m jesting.”

  “Elliot, this liquor is so inferior, I bet I couldn’t get tipsy even if I downed the whole decanter.”

  Elliot lifted his own glass and swallowed a mouthful. Talbot was right. Bloody awful. His current circumstances had reduced him to buying rotgut. A year ago, he’d been a content fellow. Not a rich man, but a comfortable man. Oxford-educated, he’d made several rather clever investments. Now, he was heading toward destitution, having sunk nearly every farthing he possessed into his entailed properties. The only thing he still owned of value was Swan Cottage, in the Lakes District, which he wished to give to his sister.

  The storm raging outside Elliot’s townhouse intensified, and a bolt of lightning lit up the evening sky. The rain pounding against the windows sent sheets of water over the mullioned glass, causing rivulets to run down the inside of the panes and settle in a puddle on the interior’s wide sill.

  Damnation. The property still needed more repairs. His estate in Hampshire stood in worse condition than the London residence. Elliot feared the next storm might send the country home toppling to the ground. His uncle, the last Baron Ralston, a bachelor, had spent more money on his tailor, traveling, and his string of mistresses than on any of his properties.

  “Ah.” Talbot tapped a firm finger on a page in Debrett’s. “How about Lady Nina Trent?”

  Nina Trent? Elliot rubbed his shaven jaw, already coarse with bristle this late in the evening, and pictured the raven-haired beauty, a close friend of his cousin Victoria. He could easily envision taking Nina to bed.

  “She’s quite pretty,” Talbot said, breaking into Elliot’s lurid thoughts. “Though a bit too thin for my taste. If you know what I mean.” His friend winked.