“Of course! I admit that I am curious to see the challenge that my mother now faces!”
Olivia gave him a rather stern look, at that, then laughed, shaking her head.
“He will be quite a challenge, I suspect, for he has more energy than you ever had at that age!”
They went on to talk of wedding plans, and soon, Edward left to set in motion all that was required for the banns to be called, and the marriage to happen, as soon as possible. Olivia, after sending letters to her other two children, informing them and their families of her impending marriage, settled in with Amelia, to plan the wedding itself. Sterling left them to their discussions of dresses, and Wedding Breakfast food, and escaped to his study.
THE WEEKS PASSED QUICKLY, as December brought cold days, and a sparkling coat of frost and snow to the world. For Olivia, everything was magical, and she felt happier than she had since her children were small. The day of the wedding arrived, and she stood in the church, her gown of a golden cream shade, glittering with the scattered tiny green beads, the same colour as her eyes, which decorated the bodice and hem.
It was so very different from her first marriage – there were only a relatively small number of people present – but all those she truly cared for. And she was filled with love for the man at her side. This time, there was no doubt, no uncertainty about the future, this time, she went into it with the surety that she would be happy.
The ceremony passed quickly, and they stepped out into the pale winter sun. The day had dawned crisp, clear, and sparkling, the sun sparking fire from the icicles on trees and buildings. Never had the world seemed so beautiful to her.
Pierce had watched his new-found father wed with a determinedly solemn face, all the while darting glances at everyone and everything. For him, Olivia knew, the world had become a far larger place. People swirled around them, and spoke to them, but afterwards, she remembered nothing but the touch of Edward’s hand on hers, and the feel of his ring on her finger.
The Wedding Breakfast - held at Greenidge House, the first large function to be held there in ten years or more – was a delight. Perhaps it was simply that her happiness made everything seem better, but she could not imagine any way in which it could have been improved. By late evening, the guests had departed, and a very tired Pierce had finally been convinced to go to his bed. Olivia and Edward stood in the large parlour, alone.
“Thank you, Olivia.” She looked at Edward, raising an eyebrow in query. He lifted her hand and kissed it, before explaining. “Today was wonderful – not just because I have married you, but because this delightful day has wiped away the last of my unpleasant memories. My first wedding could not have been more different. This day of happiness is a far better thing to hold to, as an image attached to the concept of marriage. I regretted my marriage to Sarina, almost from the first moment. My marriage to you brings no regrets, and never will. I love you, Olivia, more than I imagined it was possible to love.”
“Edward... thank you! For you have taught me what it means to love, truly. Now... now that we are alone, is it not time for us to take ourselves to our bed?”
“I cannot imagine anything which would please me more, my love.”
He pulled her into a kiss, and Olivia melted against him, heat and desire flooding her senses. Moments later, he drew back, and taking her hand, led her towards the stairs. As they ascended, she spoke softly.
“Edward, I just realised – today, I have not heard your speech hesitate – not once. Perhaps happiness is good for it?”
They reached the door of the master suite, and he led her inside. Once the door was closed, he turned back to her, with heat in his eyes.
“That may be so, but at this moment, I have no interest in speaking – there are far better purposes I can put my lips to.”
Olivia smiled, as he pulled her to him, proving his point by raining kisses upon her, as his hands swiftly set about freeing her from her gown. Then she put her own hands to work on his clothing.
It was many hours before another word was spoken...
CHRISTMAS WAS FAR DIFFERENT from anything that Edward had experienced before. Now, he had become part of Olivia’s family, as well as having a child of his own. Hemsbridge Park was filled with the sound of children, and the conversation of loved ones.
The contrast to his Christmases of past years could not have been more extreme. It was Christmas night, and he stood to one side of the parlour at Hemsbridge Park, simply watching everyone. Pierce was playing with one of Olivia’s grandchildren, the five-year-old son of her daughter Gloriana. For a boy of thirteen, he was remarkably patient with the younger child – Edward was more and more certain that he would grow into a fine man. Mrs Bentick had done an excellent job of raising him.
Olivia came to his side, and slipped her hand into his, leaning her head against his shoulder.
“Are you tired, my love?”
“A little. I fear that I had forgotten just how exhausting children can be. But not so tired that I could not be motivated...” She lifted her head, and Edward bent to kiss her softly. She looked up, and saw the mistletoe hanging above them, and laughed. “Oh! But then, you have no need of mistletoe to kiss me...”
“No, but I will take any opportunity I get to do so. Shall we retire? I believe that I have a very special Christmas Gift to give you... which requires privacy and considerable time to be fully appreciated.”
She laughed again, almost blushing.
“Just being your wife is already a gift beyond measure. But I am sure that I can appreciate any other gift that you offer. I will be certain to give it my full... attention...”
Her fingers tightened on his, and he led her from the room.
Epilogue
Ten years later
Pierce Greenidge strode into the library at Camberton Chase, where, as expected, he found his parents deep in genealogical research, arguing the implications of a paragraph in a diary they had recently found, from 400 years ago. At twenty-three, he was a fine-looking man – tall, dark-haired, with intense blue eyes and a lean strong body which was kept that way by riding and fencing. He had been away for the last week, attending a house party held by a friend. His father looked up, and a smile spread across his face.
“Pierce! It’s good to see you. How was your house party?”
Pierce considered how best to answer the question, without disparaging Lord Crosshampton, who had been the host.
“A little... predictable, shall we say? Some good conversation, and some entertaining moments, but... nothing really of note.”
That seemed safe – polite, and not too incriminating.
His stepmother looked at him, a wry twist to her lips. He suspected that she saw through his words to the likely truth.
“And did you meet any young ladies of interest, Pierce? You are reaching the age where you should begin to consider finding a wife, you know. You’ll need an heir....”
He made his expression as bland as possible.
“None of interest. I assure you, I will tell you if I find one I like...”
She sighed, and nodded, accepting his words for now. But he knew that wouldn’t last. His stepbrother, Sterling Asterwood, Marquess Hemsbridge, her son from her first marriage, had warned him that it would come to this, regaling him with rather funny tales of her determination to find him a bride – and her initially scandalised response to the woman he had chosen in the end.
He rather hoped that he would surprise her, when he finally found a woman who was the least bit interesting. His stepmother might be rather pushy about marrying him off, but she was a vastly intelligent woman. He completely understood why his father had married her. He could only hope that he found a woman as clever of mind for himself. He would not settle for one of the feather-brained young women of the ton, just because she had good breeding. He wanted love in his marriage, and intellectual compatibility.
“Perhaps we should hold a house party this Christmas...”
His stepmot
her’s voice tone told him that, mentally, she was already planning it.
“If you think you’d enjoy it, my dear.”
His father could never say no to his stepmother... But then, that was part of why they loved each other, wasn’t it? The only thing he had ever seen them argue about was genealogy texts!
Cautiously, he agreed. “That could be interesting – who would you invite?”
“Why every eligible young lady I can find, so that you have a decent number to choose from!”
He was doomed. He knew it. But he couldn’t find it in himself to object.
THE END
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How to Marry a Rake in Ten Days
By Samantha Holt
DEAR MISS MANNERS,
I have been following your column for some time since I made my debut into society some five years ago. As a young woman, I took your advice to become a well-mannered, polite young lady who would surely find herself a husband during her first season. However, it soon became clear to me that your teachings no longer have a place in this century. England is a modern place now with modern gentlemen. They do not expect us to be coy and polite. In fact, such behaviour only has the effect of turning one into a wallflower. I would wager that the eligible gentlemen of today value a woman who can hold a strong conversation and show intelligence instead of submissiveness. After all, how are we English ladies meant to hold our own against these American heiresses and French beauties?
Now, it is likely too late for me but there are many other young women out there following your advice, all of whom are likely to be consigned to spinsterhood. As an unmarried woman yourself, how are we to trust your advice?
I challenge you, Miss Manners, to prove the worth of your advice. Show myself and your readers that etiquette can win the heart of a fine prospect. Christmas is approaching and it is a time to reflect, is it not? I am sure many a man is considering the worth of a wife. I highly anticipate the announcement of your own engagement by the start of the New Year.
Your once loyal reader,
Miss Disbelieving
Chapter One
Miss Manners says...
A lady should never boast and be pretentious. One must always remain humble and modest with no air of vulgarity. Mystery, my dears, is the key to garnering the attention of a gentleman.
Angelina gaped at her editor. Then back at the paper. Then at the man again. “How could you print this without my permission?”
The man, who looked rather like an overly stuffed sausage in his too-tight waistcoat and ill-fitting shirt, thought Angelina uncharitably, simply shook his head. He leaned back from his desk and looped his fingers behind his head.
The newspaper shook in her hands. Mr Jeffries had never been the easiest man to work for but she admired his ambition and what he had done for the newspaper. Because of him, she had an excellent career as a writer for the London Chronicle. There were few women who could say the same.
But rage made her skin hot and her vision blurry. She glanced back at the letter from ‘Miss Disbelieving’. Clearly this woman had not been following her advice or she would never have written such insulting drivel. That was why she was a spinster!
“It is entertaining,” Mr Jeffries said.
“Entertaining? Insults are entertaining?” she spluttered.
“Readers will adore it, Miss Ashdown. They’ll be dying with anticipation to see if Miss Manners can live up to the challenge. We’ve already sold more papers than the entirety of last month.”
The heat in her cheeks blazed hotter as though someone was stoking a fire beneath her. To think of all those people reading of her state as a spinster and laughing at her. She’d been laughed at quite enough eight years ago, thank you very much. She did not need further humiliation.
“Miss Manners shall not dignify such a ridiculous challenge with a response.”
Mr Jeffries leaned forward. He perched his elbows onto his crowded desk and eyed her through pale blue eyes that were unwavering. A cold trickle of dread flowed down to her stomach. She knew that look.
“Miss Manners shall indeed respond, and she shall rise to the challenge.”
Angelina’s mouth dropped open. She struggled for air, feeling like a fish flapping about on land. A lady should always be graceful and ready with a suitable response at any time.
“Mr Jeffries,” she blustered.
“This reader is right, Miss Ashdown,” he said, his expression grave. “The young people of today care little for etiquette.”
“Then they are fools! Etiquette is the mark of a civilised society.”
“Be that as it may, if our readers are losing interest in your column, we must do something about it.”
She resisted the desire to clamp her clammy palms together. “Are you saying you no longer wish to continue with the column?”
“Not if we can keep people interested in Miss Manners.”
“In her private life you mean?”
“Yes.” The editor swiped both hands across his face and eyed her. “Angelina, you are a talented writer. You have a voice that readers have adored for years. Yet things are changing and so must we. I have to make a profit. I have the livelihood of hundreds of employees to worry about. Your identity as Miss Manners is well known as is your, uh, unmarried state. It is natural for people to wonder why it is this intelligent, well-bred, beautifully-mannered lady is yet to marry.”
“You know very well why I am not yet married, Edward,” she said, putting emphasis on his first name.
It was not the first time they had butted heads and if she continued in this job, it would not be the last. However, he had never seemed so weary and serious before. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Mr Jeffries really was considering giving up the column.
“Show the readers that etiquette can help one overcome anything, even ruination.”
Ruination. The word burned through her like a match to gunpowder. It hurt, singeing her deep inside. She felt the scars it left, the trails it carved through her. No matter how successful she had been as a writer, that word had always hung over her head. She would be forever tainted in the eyes of society.
And in her own. She was a failure. Her fiancé had failed to remain interested in her, in spite of her impeccable upbringing and polished manners.
“You wish for me to find a husband?”
“Let us print your engagement announcement on New Year’s Day. Think what a triumph that will be.”
Angelina considered the date. She glanced at the small Christmas tree in one corner. Twelve days until New Year’s.
“That’s impossible. Where am I to find a husband so quickly?”
“Were you not invited to Fairfax Hall for Christmas? I know the marchioness was eager for Miss Manners to be in attendance. There’ll be dozens of eligible gentleman in attendance, no doubt considering the benefits of a wife.”
“He can be no sort of gentleman if he cannot consider a lengthy courtship. Besides, who in their right mind will marry a...a woman like me? Mr Jeffries, as much as I hate to say it, I am an old maid. No one would wish to marry me, and I have no inclination to marry anyway.”
Her editor gave her a smile. “Miss Ashdown, forgive me for saying as much, but you’re attractive and intelligent. I have no doubt you can outwit any number of those men and gain a proposal within that length of time.”
“Just a proposal?”
“Far be it for me to force you into marriage with some halfwit.”
Angelina turned away and paced the office once, twice, a third time. The house party at Fairfax Hall would indeed be filled with eligible gentlemen—one in particular. She pressed her lips together. Could she possibly do this? Did she have any choice? She had a small allowance from her brother but he owed money to just about everyone in England. Who knew how much longer it would last?
The fact was, in spite of being born to a wealthy family, she would be desperately poor without her career. Without
a husband, she had little choice but to do whatever Mr Jeffries asked.
An engagement to an old friend—one whom had expressed interest in marriage once or twice would not be so bad would it?
She pivoted to face her editor. Drawing in a breath, she nodded slowly. “Very well. I shall do this. Send an acceptance to Fairfax. By New Year’s Eve, I shall have that proposal.”
Chapter Two
Miss Manners says...
A lady is never late nor early. She is always impeccably on time. Arriving late shows a disregard for one’s host and arriving early displays too much eagerness. Do not be persuaded that a gentleman likes to be left waiting, my dears. He will soon lose interest in a young lady who cannot be trusted to arrive on time.
Damnation. Benedict stepped out of the carriage onto a layer of snow about two inches deep by his reckoning. Late. Bloody late. It didn’t help that Fairfax Hall was in the bloody middle of nowhere and bloody ten miles from the nearest train station. Since his journey up north from his house in Buckinghamshire, the landscape had become increasingly white and once he’d reached the snowy borderlands between England and Scotland, he’d despaired for arriving in time.
Not that a late arrival bothered him normally. Hell, making an entrance had become part of his reputation and he’d quite like to keep it that way, thank you. It kept the mamas and little misses at bay. He shuddered and put on his hat to peer up at the hall.
At least he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone trying to dig their claws into him here. He’d seen the guest list and the majority of the female guests here were married or widowed. The rest of societies darlings were too busy celebrating Christmas in London to wish to journey all the way to Northumberland.
But today, he had longed to be on time—or even early. That way he could have spoken with Lord Fairfax before the rest of the guests had arrived. If all went to plan, he’d have the marquess’ support before New Year and his plans could go ahead.
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