The School for Heiresses

by Sabrina Jeffries

“Ah, come on then, let her have ye, lad!” a man shouted, and several people laughed.

  “Grace.” It was Lord Middleton behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and tried to draw her away. “You are creating quite a scene.”

  “I don’t care,” she said tearfully, looking at Barrett. “I don’t care if the whole of London sees me. Barrett…do you recall that you once told me that I should consider whatI want, and envision it, for surely then I would find a way to attain it? Well, I’ve done it.You are my vision, Barrett Adlaine. So youmust forgive me, because like you, I have now laid my heart and soul open to you and I won’t be able to bear it if you leave me.”

  Barrett stared at her, his eyes unfathomable, his expression grim.

  “It is none of my concern, sir, but…it sounds rather heartfelt to me,” Lord Middleton said. “And I wager it sounded as heartfelt to these good people here and those who stand behind me.”

  Grace blinked and looked around. Everyone at the public station was watching them. She bent to one side and looked behind Lord Middleton. Just beyond Ava, who was standing with her hands clasped, smiling tearfully, there were a dozen guests of the Montgomery assembly, watching her curiously.

  “OhLord, ” she moaned. She turned round again, closed her eyes, and sagged against Lord Middleton for a moment before opening her eyes and looking at Barrett, silently pleading with him.

  The barest hint of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth. “She has indeed caused quite a stir,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Barrett…”

  “I suppose I’d be made of stone if I could walk away from such a poetic display of emotion.”

  Her heart surged with hope.

  He sighed, swept his hat off his head, thrust his hand through his hair, and slowly sank to one knee, right there, in the dirt, with people crowding around him to hear. He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled and threw his arms wide. “Marry me, Grace Holcomb.”

  With a cry of joy, she lurched out of Middleton’s grasp and into Barrett’s arms as a cheer went up from the crowd, followed by polite applause behind her, which was almost drowned out by Ava’s blubbering that she’d never seen anything so endearing in all her life—with the exception of the time Phoebe, her sister, declared her love to a footman when she was twelve.

  In the days that followed, the newspapers were full of the titillating news of Miss Grace Holcomb’s scandalous public display of affection for a merchant from Leeds, and how she had turned her back on the incomparable Sir William. Many people said that they expected no less from the shepherdess, for really, good breeding came from good stock.

  Others whispered that it had warmed their hearts to see the young woman entreat the man she loved so ardently.

  Sir William, upon hearing the tale, set sail for Paris again.

  Mrs. Harris, sickened by the scandal that surrounded poor Grace Holcomb, felt much better about the situation when she received a letter a few days later from Grace.I shall forever be in your debt, Grace wrote,for had it not been for your wisdom, I most certainly would have accepted Sir William’s gift as I thought I should do, instead of Mr. Adlaine’s gift, which my heart yearned to do. Because of you, I shall marry the man I truly esteem above all others.

  Predictably, Mr. Holcomb disowned his daughter and vowed never to lay eyes on her again. Happily, that vow did not last, as he was granted a knighthood for his improvements to the sheep industry and thereby had his wish to hobnob among the Quality. And the arrival of his first grandchild—Charlotte—renewed his hope that he might marry his grandchildren into the ranks of the aristocracy one day.

  Over the next ten years, the scandal surrounding Grace Holcomb died away and the Adlaine mill in Leeds grew into a thriving regional business. Mr. and Mrs. Adlaine built a large manor house on the banks of the River Aire and welcomed four more children into their lives.

  And every year at Christmas, when Mr. Adlaine gave his wife a gift, she got down on her knees and thanked God that he’d thought enough of her to give it.

  Mischief’s Holiday

  Renee Bernard

  To Geoff, who let mischief into his well-ordered world when we met and proceeded to demonstrate just what a hero really is. I never knew love could be so wonderful. Thank you.

  One

  Miss Martin,

  Your enthusiastic and lively nature brightens the lives of those around you, but you must apply yourself to better control and decorum. I know it is your greatest desire to impress and excel amongst your peers, but you must recall yourself in each and every moment and mind your surroundings. Think before you act, my dear, and I am sure your better nature will assert itself.

  So, of all the tasks I am assigning to my students for the holidays, yours is perhaps the simplest and I fear the most daunting. Your goal is to survive the holidays without incident and prove to all that you have the restraint and manners of a true lady.

  Good luck, Miss Martin.

  Yours in sincere regard,

  Mrs. Charlotte Harris

  “Survive the holidays without incident,” Alyssa Martin whispered, eyeing the elegant handwriting yet again. She bit her lower lip and slid the folded vellum into her reticule. At first glance, it appeared a very simple assignment. But with the sage experience of eighteen years of notable mischance, Miss Alyssa Martin was not fooled. No matter how hard she applied herself to the fine and graceful arts required of a proper young lady, she’d provided more mirth and mischief to the world than anyone had a right to claim. Her brow furrowed as she contemplated her task.

  It wasn’t as if she were an ungainly thing! Taller than most of the other girls at Mrs. Harris’s School for Young Ladies, she’d been complimented for her lithe posture while learning dance figures and for her quick hands when tackling embroidery. She’d spent endless hours practicing stately strides and mastering the drills of the drawing and dining rooms until her head spun. No matter that she’d excelled in her academic studies—she shook her head. No, none of her dainty accomplishments lingered in any of her acquaintances’ memories.

  Instead, her classmates recalled with relish each wonderful misadventure and often begged her to retell them. She could hardly blame them. Who else had accidentally sewn herself to her chair cushion, mixed poison oak into the class floral arrangement or gotten trapped on the school’s roof during a simple scavenger hunt? Alyssa had no illusions about her luck. In each instance, she would have sworn she was making brilliant choices. It was only afterward when chaos had been unleashed that she’d been forced to see her mis-steps. It was hard not to laugh at herself along with her friends, especially since pouting and self-pity just weren’t in her nature.

  Fear, however, wasnot out of her repertoire.

  After all, she would be coming out soon, and society was notably less forgiving of wealthy young women from humble bloodlines who failed to keep up appearances. Her father had made a vast fortune in commerce and trade, but had started in relative obscurity. The infusion of new money was desirable to the realm’s elite classes, but there was no end of people willing to publicly cut anyone for a perceived lack of refinement. If she was going to make the desirable match her father wanted, she would have to prove that she was the equal of any blue-blooded debutante or the titled quarry they sought.

  Alyssa tucked a stray blond curl under her bonnet and sighed, making an effort to push her concerns aside as the carriage began to roll up more familiar lanes. Almost home, she smiled, cheered at the thought of being home after such a long absence. She’d missed her father, seeing him only on holiday breaks from school. But now she had finished her schooling and Mrs. Harris had sent her off with a final assignment and words of advice. Her debut was a few weeks away so there was still time to stave off the worst of her fears. Between public humiliation and the threat of romantic predators, Alyssa knew which she dreaded more. She had difficulty imagining that a man’s kissing her hand and quoting poetry could be more painful than realizing she was wearing two mismatched slippe
rs at the end of the day. The latter was a more likely disaster in her experience.

  Mrs. Harris had advised her students continually against being swept away by love and blinded to practicalities. Her graduates proudly eschewed romantic nonsense. Alyssa had decided she would simply use the utmost caution when approaching the opposite sex. Now, if Cupid’s test involved an inkwell and a misplaced bonnet, she’d have worried more. Alyssa laughed, her humor finally reasserting itself. “Survive the holidays without incident.” She straightened her shoulders. “How difficult can it be?”

  “God res’ ye, murry gennelmen!” The slurred singing of her coach driver carried back on the wind and made her smile. Her father had sent the man instead of her usual driver, and she could only assume he’d fortified himself against the cold with a nip or two. He’d seemed a cheerful sort, but she hadn’t expected a serenade of carols. Even off-key and with a notable lack of consonants, she was sure it was the spirit of the song that mattered most.

  “’Member Chriz’a saber wuz born on Chrismuz day!” he crooned.

  She tapped her foot and hummed quietly along with him; at least, until the carriage lurched and they hit a series of bumps that nearly jostled her clear off the cushioned seat. Perhaps the spiritsin the singer were more of an issue. Before she could call out the window to suggest that they slow down, another shocking jolt convinced her that the problem involved more than velocity.

  “Whoa! Ho, there!” The driver’s voice was filled with alarm.

  Alyssa gripped the seat and placed a hand against the windowsill to try to stay upright. “W-whoa, indeed,” she moaned, suddenly aware that she was too terrified to muster a scream. Though it seemed that the coachman was doing enough yelling for both of them.

  The world was a blur as the carriage lost contact with the ground and then came to a sudden halt. It took her a few seconds to confirm that aside from the alarming angle at which the carriage was resting and the odd sound of flowing water, she felt alert and well. Alyssa tested her limbs and managed to drop the window in the door, which was now slightly above her. Climbing up onto the seat, she peeked out from the opening. “Sir? Sir, are you injured?”

  “Ye wait there, mish! I-I’ll fetch help! D-don’t fret, mish!” The driver’s voice came from farther away than she’d anticipated.

  Her jaw dropped as she leaned out the window and saw that somehow the horses and her inebriated driver had remained safely on the road, while she and the carriage had fallen down the embankment and landed almost sideways in the middle of a shallow creek. Before she could protest or suggest a more immediate extraction, the man walked off, his unsteady gait making the situation all the more ridiculous.

  “Sir! Wait! Sir, you…” Alyssa bit her lower lip before finishing the sentence quietly for her ears only, “You appear to be going the wrong way. The village is east.”

  Well, so much for the holiday spirit!

  She carefully climbed back down to locate her reticule. Eyeing her bag with its assignment tucked inside, she could only hope that a carriage rolling into a bit of water didn’t count as an “incident” in Mrs. Harris’s judgment. After all, a lady could hardly be blamed for such setbacks. Could she?

  Thinking of Mrs. Harris instantly renewed her determination to stay mindful of her training. No matter what the situation, a true lady would keep a cool head. As she’d recently been lectured, a woman of breeding shone brightest where others lost their composure. Alyssa straightened her bonnet and slowly let out a breath. The creek didn’t seem too deep, and if she avoided slipping and taking an icy bath, the worst part would be wet skirts, stockings and shoes. Incident or no, she would then treat the walk to the house as simple exercise.

  Besides, she told herself with a sigh, the long walk would give her ample time to come up with a way to deflect her father’s displeasure from her inebriated driver. It was the least a lady could do for an overly “merry gennelman.”

  The day was brisk and overcast, but the clouds had so far kept their moisture to themselves. Leland Yates was not ungrateful since his penchant for fresh air was not without risks. Leland was the sort of man who braved the worst rainstorms if it meant he could enjoy an hour or two of solitude. Society made him uneasy, and even the best of company could be a trial. He was a private soul and preferred a good book to the squawk and squeals of social gatherings. He hated the posturing and endless, ambitious wrangling that accompanied most elite circles in London. As a second son of a titled lord, Leland had made his own way in the world, determined to carve out a fortune with his wits and bare hands. Although other peers looked down on men who sullied their names with the pursuit of profit, Leland was proud of his accomplishments and refused to slide into a life of fashionable ease. He’d developed a talent for keeping to himself his scathing opinions about soft-headed men who couldn’t fasten their own pants without assistance.

  He had readily accepted Reid Martin’s invitation for the holidays. He’d long admired the man’s practical approach to business; Leland was sure that if nothing else, he would manage one or two sensible and profitable conversations during his visit. Martin had promised him that the gathering would be small, and the demands on his time would be minimal.

  “Come, ride and relax, sir! Get away from London’s dreary winter streets and if you wish, you may strive to rearrange the dust on the collection of leather-bound tomes my wife insisted on collecting,” Martin had chuckled.

  The lure of a quiet country Christmas was strong but Martin’s hint at a well-stocked library made the invitation irresistible. After all, if there was one thing a man needed, it was his peace and—

  Leland reined in his mount, startled at the sight of two matched stocking-footed horses still harnessed to a disconnected pole. The bar had broken neatly at the mounting braces from a carriage, and was caught on a low branch. An odd sound carried on the wind, and Leland feared he’d happened upon a terrible accident. He rode over quickly and then gaped in astonishment at the sight awaiting him.

  The carriage sat upright in the middle of the creek bed. But the surprise entailed more than the vehicle’s unusual location. Encumbered by a skirt and petticoats, a pair of delectable legs was kicking furiously, their owner entrapped in a carriage window. Apparently, the window had fallen and latched in place to pin her at the waist. The flash of stockings and shapely ankles and calves was distracting in the extreme, and Leland marveled how such a creature could have ended up in such a position. The view offered more than passing enjoyment, and while it didn’t seem gentlemanly to linger in appreciation, he didn’t think any man in long breeches could avoid the temptation to savor the display. It was clear this female was in need of assistance, but that was the only fact he could swear to.

  He walked his horse carefully down the embankment. Rather than screaming for help, the sound of a muttered lecture of some sort drifted through the carriage’s window. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard something of a rallying speech, interspersed with grunts at her efforts to wriggle free. Was she talking to someone named Mrs. Harris?

  He cleared his throat to soften the surprise of coming up behind her. “May I offer you a hand, miss?”

  The kicking ceased abruptly and he detected one small squeak as his damsel in distress absorbed that she was no longer alone. “Oh! Oh, dear.”

  Leland’s mouth fell open for an instant, surprised at the disappointment he heard in her small muffled exclamation. It was far from the relief he’d anticipated. “You’d prefer to wait for someone else?”

  He was rewarded with a small groan and a feisty kick. “No.”

  “How in the world did you manage this?” He couldn’t resist the question as he surveyed the luscious curves of her bottom and caught another glimpse of delicate ankles and her stockings with tiny ribbons.

  “If you must know,” a calm voice carried to him, as if they were discussing her choice in bonnets, “the door was stuck, and I thought the window a logical exit. And as I didn’t want to land headfirst into the wa
ter…Well, I’m sure I’d have managed it if the carriage hadn’t shifted and the window hadn’t closed on me.”

  “I see.”

  He was treated to another small wriggle before a ragged sigh reached his ears and a more contrite damsel continued, “Have you ever wished you could be invisible?”

  Leland urged his horse closer, shaking his head. “I would guess that this would be a terrible moment to have gotten your wish. That can hardly be a comfortable position.”

  “It isn’t one I would recommend.” She gave another frustrated shimmy of her hips. “Could you help me, please?”

  “As you wish.” It was naturally his intent all along to extract her, but for a fleeting instant, it occurred to him that this wasn’t going to be the simple chivalrous act she might envision.

  Sidling his mount closer, he was able to slide his leg underneath her pert bottom to shift her weight off of the windowsill. He’d hoped to increase her comfort, but his heart rate skyrocketed at the contact. Leland’s throat closed at the surge of desire that worked through his frame. The soft swell of her round bottom against the hard muscle of his thigh was evocative enough to make him draw a quick breath as his cock stiffened. Her luscious curves beckoned his hands, but he refrained from touching her as she wriggled in protest. Even if she were some doxy, he’d prefer to negotiate an agreement before going too far.

  “Sir! I’m not sure—”

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he pulled the horse closer, ensuring her perch on his leg was steadier. “I’ll have you out in no time.”

  The window itself had latched in place, so Leland reached around her hips and marveled at the way her body felt against his. By gaining a firm but gentle grip, he was able to use his free hand to release the latch and lift the frame. “I’ve got you.”

  Within seconds, she was freed and he had his arms full of feminine curves. She squeaked as if to protest, but didn’t speak. He had to work to keep control of his mount and to keep from dropping her into the water. Leland could only repeat, “I’ve got you.”