Regency Christmas Box Set: Risking it all

by Regina Darcy

  “She is resting comfortably now, my lord.”

  Alexander jerked his head around to see the housekeeper addressing both himself and Lord Parkham but chose to remain where he was. Lord Parkham hurried into the room, leaving Alexander and the Dowager Countess standing outside.

  “Go,” his grandmother said gently. “She will still be here when you return.”

  Taking in a long breath, Alexander nodded and turned away, his heart aching with a fierce and terrible pain.

  “You are a changed man, Alexander,” his grandmother said, her voice trailing after him. “Take solace in that. For what is perhaps the first time in your life, you will be able to go to Lady Jemima with the promise that you are entirely besotted with her and no other. How often have you felt such a wondrous emotion before?”

  Alexander did not reply but continued to walk towards his own rooms, his grandmother’s words making his heart sink all the lower. What would be the good in telling Lady Jemima such things if, after what she had seen, she did not believe him? What would he do with his broken heart then?

  TEN

  Jemima sat back against her pillows and allowed herself to luxuriate in the warmth that surrounded her. She was still feeling rather tired, but given all that she had endured, that was, she supposed, quite acceptable.

  She had awoken yesterday to find herself swathed in blankets and towels, her hair being rubbed vigorously by one of the maids whilst her sister held her hand tightly. Her eyes had focused on the face of her father, who had been leaning over her bed with an expression of great distress. When she had tried to speak, her voice had croaked terribly, her throat aching, but the relief in her father’s eyes had been immediate.

  “How are you feeling this morning, Jemima?”

  A little surprised, Jemima saw the door open and her sister step inside, a somewhat tentative expression on her face.

  “I am much improved, I thank you,” Jemima replied honestly. “You need not look so worried, Madeline, truly.” The memories of what had occurred suddenly slammed into her mind, and she was forced to close her eyes tightly, just as Madeline took her hand.

  “You are still not quite well, I think,” Madeline said softly as the maid bustled in with a tray in her hands. “Are you still somewhat chilled?”

  “No, indeed,” Jemima answered, throwing the memories aside with an effort. “I find that my mind does not always wish to forget what it is that occurred, that is all.”

  Her sister nodded. “Was it truly terrible?”

  Jemima swallowed, her eyes fluttering closed again. No matter how often she remembered it, she could never forget the one man who had been there by her, calling her name, begging her to trust him. Lord Denhaven had come chasing after her, determined, it seemed, to make her believe that what she had witnessed had not been the truth. As the icy water had tugged at her, as the ice slipped from under her fingers, she had not been given any other choice but to trust him. And he had not let her down.

  Her sister had told her what she had witnessed, how she had seen the determination in Lord Denhaven’s steps as he had carried her indoors, how he had barely been able to let her go from his grasp. If only he had not dishonoured her by pursuing Lady Smythe, if only he had not lied to her by pretending he was truly a changed man. Her heart was quite broken, and she did not think it would be mended.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “It was.”

  “Lord Denhaven has sent Lady Smythe and her arrogant daughter away.” There was a faint note of triumph in her sister’s voice as Jemima slowly opened her eyes. “Lady Smythe made something of a scene, shouting terribly as she walked from the house. She stated that Lord Denhaven was a cruel and heartless gentleman, sending them away when it is only a few days until Christmas.” She smiled at Jemima, tilting her head. “We are to remain here for Christmas now, I think. Will you mind terribly?”

  Jemima’s stomach dropped like a stone. “If it is on my account, then there is no need, I assure you. I will be more than ready to return home.”

  Her sister sighed and shook her head. “You are practically engaged, Jemima. After what has occurred, surely you must know that you cannot separate from Lord Denhaven now. This will be your home one day soon. Can you not be glad about that, not even a little?”

  To Jemima’s horror, tears immediately began to slip down her cheeks.

  “I think you misjudge Lord Denhaven, Jemima,” Madeline persisted, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to her sister. “I have never seen a man so distressed!”

  Jemima shook her head. “You did not see what I saw, Madeline.”

  “I have heard about it,” Madeline replied, surprising her. “Lord Denhaven has not hidden that from either myself or our father. He states quite clearly that it was not his doing and that Lady Smythe set up the situation in the hope of separating you and him. Apparently, it now seems that she is not as wealthy as we might have thought. She was, perhaps, looking for a protector.”

  Jemima dabbed at her eyes, wishing she was not so obviously upset. “I cannot believe that, Madeline. I—”

  She stopped dead, her mind suddenly recalling something that begged her to question all that she believed about Lord Denhaven. Miss Lilian had been by Jemima’s side, encouraging her towards the stables whilst stating that she simply wanted to take in the view for a time. That was, Jemima had to admit, rather odd for someone to do when it was so very cold outside. Had it been as Lord Denhaven had said? Had she truly been set up to see such a thing, in the hope that she would leave Lord Denhaven’s side?

  “I think,” she said slowly, her eyes closing tightly with the sudden pain of what she had remembered, “I think I must speak to Lord Denhaven.”

  Madeline grinned, her eyes brightening. “Good,” she said calmly. “For he has been most desperate to speak to you, Jemima. In fact, he has been waiting outside the door for hours.”

  Jemima stared at her sister, her mouth going dry. “Hours?”

  “I do not think he wanted to leave you for a moment,” Madeline said gently, her hand pressing Jemima’s. “He has sat outside your door all through the night, my dear sister. He has waited there in the hope that you would wish to speak to him.”

  Her heart began to thunder. “Then I suppose I must,” she whispered, her eyes drifting to the window as the maid pulled back the curtain to reveal the gently falling snow. The scent of spices wafted towards her from the garland that the maid had hung over the fireplace, reminding her that Christmas was only a few days away.

  Madeline was right. She would have no choice but to wed Lord Denhaven, regardless of whether she wished to or not. This would be her home, where she would spend every Christmas for the rest of her days.

  Besides which, to know that Lord Denhaven had shown her such dedication and devotion did, in its own way, send spiralling questions through her mind. Was there the possibility that she had been wrong about what she had seen? Or was Lord Denhaven, underneath it all, still the rogue she feared him to be?

  ***

  One hour later, Jemima walked into the library, feeling both weak and strong in equal measure. Her body was regaining strength with every step, but the anxiety she felt in coming to meet with Lord Denhaven seemed to sap it almost at once.

  Lord Denhaven turned towards her the moment she came into the room, as she ensured she left the door open. He was framed by the warm glow of the fire, having evidently been pacing up and down as he waited.

  “Jemima,” he breathed, hurrying towards her. “I—”

  His hands reached for her, but then he immediately drew back, his expression growing sorrowful. “How are you?” he asked gently, his hands now behind his back. “Are you much recovered?”

  “I am,” she replied truthfully. “Although I have you to thank for my rescue, Lord Denhaven.”

  His smile was tight. “I can only apologise for what you witnessed, Jemima. Would that I could convince you that Lady Smythe was attempting to practically force herself on me!” He grimaced, his eyes
settling on her. “But I will not attempt to convince you with words, Jemima. Instead, I shall prove to you that my devotion is true.”

  She swallowed hard, seeing the pain in his expression and finding herself wanting to believe it. “We are to wed, then?” she asked, a little tightly. “I presume that, after what occurred, there is very little choice.”

  Lord Denhaven’s smile was somewhat grim. “A Christmas bride, Lady Jemima. Yes, if you will have me.” His eyes flickered to hers. “Will you marry me, Jemima?”

  There was no explosion of light, no thundering of her heart nor exclamation of delight that immediately came to her lips. Instead, there was a simple acceptance that this was how things were to be. “Yes, Lord Denhaven,” she replied, calmly. “Yes, I will marry you.”

  He looked entirely relieved. Coming a little closer to her, his eyes caught hers and held her gaze firmly. “I will prove myself to you, Jemima, I swear it. I have never felt such a depth of emotion for any other living soul. I look upon my life, such as it was, and see the arrogant, selfish cad that I was, and I am ashamed of it. But no more. You have shown me what it is to love others, to set aside one’s own feelings for the sake of another. You have such a beauty about you, Jemima, that just a smile from you quite overwhelms me.”

  Jemima could feel her heart quickening, warmth pooling in her belly. She wanted desperately to believe him, wanted to allow her heart to feel again all that it had once held for Lord Denhaven, and yet still, doubts held her back.

  “If only you would trust me, Jemima, then we might find a happiness together that neither of us has ever even allowed ourselves to dream of before.”

  Those words hit her hard. She stared at Lord Denhaven, her mind working frantically to recall where she had heard them before, only for everything to come back to her. Catching her breath, she put out one hand to him for support, feeling him grasp her readily, holding her tightly.

  “Jemima!” Lord Denhaven exclaimed, looking down at her fearfully. “Whatever is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I remember,” she whispered, slowly tilting her face up to his. “I remember everything you said to me as you carried me home.”

  His expression changed from concern to relief, his eyes seeming to glow like embers in the fire. “I meant every word, Jemima,” Lord Denhaven promised, his free hand gently brushing down her cheek. “I have come to find myself in love, which is a situation I never thought I would discover. It is more wondrous, more beautiful than I could have ever imagined—and I have you to thank for it. This Christmas shall be the most delightful, the most memorable of all my Christmases before and hereafter, for it is the Christmas that I have learned what it is to love.”

  Her breath escaped from her, leaving her weak with both relief and hope. She had to trust him, Jemima realised. She had to allow herself to believe that all Lord Denhaven had to say came from his heart. Had he not tried to prove it to her? Had he not shown her such unrelenting devotion?

  In that moment, Jemima felt her heart free itself of the chains of doubt and fear that held it, and she reached up to wrap her arms about Lord Denhaven’s neck. A quiet laugh escaped her at the astonishment etched across his face as though he could not quite believe what she was doing.

  “I choose to trust you… Alexander,” she whispered, smiling bashfully. Lord Denhaven tightened his grip around her waist, sending tendrils of heat all through her limbs, her whole body alive with happiness. “My heart is yours. This Christmastime, I will marry you in the knowledge that I love you, that I trust you, and that I want to be here with you.”

  His lips met hers almost the moment she stopped speaking, his kiss gentle and sweet. She clung to him as he pulled her tight against himself, his passion evident and yet restrained.

  “I love you, Jemima,” he whispered, breaking the kiss so that he might look into her eyes. “My beautiful Christmas bride.”

  The End

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