“He’s Niall’s younger brother,” Penny informed her.
Maeve rolled her eyes to the ceiling and huddled deeper within her blanket.
The group formed a semi-circle around the library, Miss Bristol, Rory and Baird pulling up the rear. So, this was to be an ambush. If Maeve could have quelled her shivering, she would storm out. Tempers came in handy, on occasion, for red-haired pregnant women. If only she weren’t so cold. She shifted closer to the fire.
The children formed an inside circle: Mary, Stephen, Melinda, her mother holding Nathan. He had his thumb in his mouth, looking innocent as you please. This was all his fault, she thought with a testiness that took her by surprise.
Brandon stood and, with his hands clasped at his lower back, paced before the gatherers.
“Beginning tomorrow morning, I shall be instructing everyone on how to swim. These lessons will occur in shifts.”
A whoop of cheers mingled with groans went up around the room.
“Surely you don’t mean me,” her mother said in her haughty Ingleby snit. “And the baby! Why, the very idea is ludicrous.”
“Nathan will do wonderfully,” he said. “You, Lady Ingleby, may choose to decline.”
Her mother’s face paled to a chalky white.
“Harlowe.” Maeve tried speaking sharply, but her voice still quivered with cold. “Nathan is too young.”
He knelt before her. “He’s the perfect age, my darling.”
She stared at him a long time, then nodded. “Yes, all right. As long as someone is there with him the entire time. I shall agree.”
He rose to his feet and dropped a kiss on her nose. “Other basic rules I expect to be obeyed are that no one”—he stalked over to Nathan and plucked his thumb from his mouth, put his nose to his heir’s—“no one is to enter the water without another person nearby. Do you understand?”
A wave of soft assents sounded throughout.
All except Nathan. In his adorable Nathan style, he gave his father a toothy grin and held out his arms. It was a gesture no normal person could resist. Even a glowering viscount.
Brandon took Nathan on his hip and resumed his pacing.
“The first group shall meet me at the pond at eleven.” Brandon laid out four teams and dismissed the horde amidst giggles and groans. “Agnes, prepare a bath for your mistress.” He sent her, and even handing off Nathan to his grandmother, on their way.
Her mother was not yet convinced. “You cannot be serious about having Nathan learn how to swim. He isn’t yet two.”
“Bah. I wager he’ll be the fastest one to learn, Lady Ingleby.”
“Maeve is with child. Her condition is much too delicate,” Lady Ingleby insisted.
Harlowe dropped down beside Maeve. “What of you, my darling? Can you see your way to learning past your fear? How else am I to keep you safe? This is the only way I can think of, since you have no regard for your own safety. I could have lost you today. I shall have nightmares for years.”
He wrapped her in the warmth of his arms. She laid her head against his chest. “I’m sorry, my love.”
“Perhaps you are not getting enough oxygen.” Brandon leaned in. “Perhaps you need me to show you again how to breathe air into someone who is having trouble breathing.” He touched his lips to hers, and the shiver that went through her had nothing to do with the cold.
“Yes, I believe that might be wise, my lord,” she said meekly.
“I love you, my darling,” he whispered. “In the future, please have a care for my delicate sensibilities.”
“Oh, Brandon. Yes. Yes, I will, my love.” She threw her arms around his neck and let his heat warm her more thoroughly than the hot bath awaiting her. “I shall endeavor to learn too. Will that make you happy?”
“Thoroughly and completely, my love.”
****
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If you didn’t read Harlowe’s initial disappearance, here is a link to The Earl’s Error: Lorelei’s and Thorne’s story.
Read ahead for a snippet of Lady Felicity’s Feud with Christmas
Part of the Regency Christmas Kisses Anthology w/Amanda McCabe
Lady Felicity’s
Feud with Christmas
Rebel Lords of London
A short novella part of the
Regency Christmas Kisses anthology
Kathy L Wheeler
One
L
ady Felicity Moore, the Duke of Oxford’s only child, hated Christmas. She had no use for holly, good cheer, pristine snow, or yule logs on the fire. This year would be worse than most. Papa was considering marriage to one young widow by the name of Maeve Pendleton, Lady Alymer.
As if Felicity needed a mother at the ripe age of ten and nine. Especially one who was but five years her senior.
“Hello, daughter.” Papa’s voice boomed through the dining hall as if she were still in her bedchamber two floors up. His was a grand voice. She could imagine him addressing his cronies in Parliament. It was an image that usually made her proud.
Tonight? Not so much. There was but a week until the dreaded Christmastide.
“Hello, Papa. You’re late. Mrs. Tollen has already served the first course.”
He waved a hand. “Ah, well.” He settled in his chair while his wine was poured. “I have news for you, m’dear.”
Not encouraging. Felicity did not care for surprises any more than she did the upcoming holiday. “News? What sort of news?”
“I’ve decided to host a Christmas dinner.”
“Papa, what are you thinking?” Felicity’s stomach roiled, her appetite already a short memory—not an unusual occurrence for her at this time of year—and she shoved her plate away.
“Calm down, Felicity. We shall have the dinner a week prior. You shall still have Christmas day to mope about.”
Mrs. Tollen set a plate of roasted pheasant before him.
The smell nauseated her. She felt as if she were dangling out over the open sea with nothing to cling to. “Why?” she whispered. “Why now? You know how I feel about this time of year.”
His expression softened. “It’s time, poppet,” he said gently. “I can’t very well allow my prospective bride to think we don’t celebrate Our Christ Lord’s birth, can I?”
A sigh of resignation deflated her lungs. “I suppose not. Who do you plan on inviting?”
“Lady Alymer, of course. She’s close friends with Kimptons and Brockways.” He listed off others, but Felicity tuned him out. When Papa decided on a course of action, plans took off like a runaway carriage with no one manning the reins.
“You will attend, Noah.”
The earl of Lexum, Noah Taylor, did his best to block out his aunt’s latest demand. Only, it had never worked before, and it didn’t now.
“Your father—”
“Fine!” Exasperation roared through him. She never failed to bring up what his late father would do. He’d been dead for twenty years along with a mother he’d never known.
“Excellent. Lady Winnifred Gorman will be in attendance as well. She will make the perfect wife for you.”
Noah did his damnedest to suppress a flinch. He wasn’t certain at his success. “She’s a mindless silly girl, Aunt Evie. I’m not marrying her.” Noah lifted his teacup to his lips and paused, watching as his aunt, in all her countess hauteur, move before him with her hands on her hips, left foot tapping fervently against the wood beneath her.
She wanted something else. He recognized the calculating glint in her eye. A family trait.
Impatience surged through him. There would be no peace until she had her say. “What?”
Lady Parther’s hands moved from her hips to clasp softly before her. Another tactic he recognized. She lifted her chin. “As you know, I am in charge of the Foundling Home and Orphans Charity project. Don
ations have fallen off considerably in the last few years, since Lady Oxford’s death in fact.” Her jaw firmed. “I require Lady Felicity’s assistance.”
That was a surprise. Noah narrowed his gaze on her. Nothing in her demeanor changed. “I thought you didn’t care for Lady Felicity.”
“It’s not Felicity I abhor—it’s her arrogant father who’s destined to drive me mad. Unfortunately, Oxford’s name will lend a great deal to my cause.”
Noah lowered his cup and stretched out his legs. “I see. And, how am I supposed to work this magic for you?”
“Talk to Lady Felicity.”
Lady Felicity was one of the simple wallflowers he was compelled to steer away from at all costs. “She’s shy, Aunt. From my recollections of Lady Felicity, she never talks to anyone but her father.” Debutantes. He shuddered.
“Exactly why it will not kill you to do my bidding.” In a graceful glide, Lady Parther moved and lowered onto the settee across from him. “But you are a skilled conversationalist. With the opposite sex in particular, if the rumors are true.”
Surely she couldn’t mean the women with whom he routinely found company. His latest being Delfina Benedetti, a busty and superb mezzo soprano on tour from Italy. Of course, the company had just moved on. To Russia, he believed.
He let the silence grow, refusing to ask exactly what she meant.
Her huff of frustration spilled out. “All right. You win. I propose an arrangement—”
“This, I have got to hear.”
The calculating glint returned. “If you bring Lady Felicity on board with my charity home project, I shall resist pressing you into marriage with Lady Winnifred.”
Noah crossed his arms over his chest, and his legs at the ankles, and considered her proposition, an image of Lady Felicity floating through his mind. His last memory was of her standing next to her proud father at a ball Oxford himself had hosted a few weeks ago. She wore the required debutante white that had washed out her smooth, translucent complexion. She had flaxen hair though, if asked, he couldn’t say the color of her eyes.
Felicity was known for doing whatever her egotistical father put upon her. She was quiet and biddable. Handling her would be a breeze. He almost laughed—a threat she was not.
He considered his aunt’s appeal from every angle. She could be quite manipulative. Yet, nothing overt stood out from her ridiculous mandate he could construe as suspicious.
“All right, Aunt Evie. I accept your proposal.”
Click here to read more of Lady Felicity’s Feud with Christmas
The Author
Kathy L Wheeler graduated from the University of Central Oklahoma with a BA in Management Information Systems and a minor in Vocal Music.
She loves the NFL, the NBA, musical theater, travel, reading, writing and … karaoke.
Kathy recently migrated to the Pacific Northwest with her musically talented husband. They have one grown daughter who has two adorable boys (Kathy can’t quite make herself use “g” words), a sweet dog who lives up to her name of Angel!
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Books by
Kathy L Wheeler
Rebel Lords of London
Enchanting the Earl – a prequel
The Earl’s Error
The Marquis’ Misstep
The 7th Son
The Viscount’s Vendetta
Lady Felicity’s Feud with Christmas (Regency Christmas Kisses anthology)
The Weatherford Sisters Mysteries
A Bullet to the Heart – Kathy L Wheeler
Hanging by a Threat – Terry Andrews
Fatal Drip of Wisdom – Sanxie Bea Cooper
A Dagger Cuts Deep – Kathy L Wheeler
Mail Order Bride Series:
The Counterfeit
The Breakaway (IDA finalist)
The Betting Billionaires
Coming soon:
Fool’s Fortune
Fool Hearty
Fool’s Gold
Foolishness
Blooming Series
Quotable (IDA finalist)
Maybe It’s You
Lies That Bind
Martini Club 4 Series
Reckless — The 1920s and Pampered — The 1940s
Other fun novellas
Nose Job – Scrimshaw Doll Tale
The Mapmaker’s Wife – Civil War Novella (IDA Winner Historical Short)
Blood Stained Memories – A World of Gothic novella
Trust In Love – Four Holiday Shorts
Cinderella Series
The Wronged Princess – book i
The Unlikely Heroine – book ii
The Surprising Enchantress – book iii
The English Lily – book iv (Scrimshaw Doll Tale)
The Price of Scorn: Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother
The Viscount's Vendetta Page 27