Lady Joy and the Earl: A Regency Christmas Novella

by Regina Jeffers

  Even so, anxious uncertainty ran up her spine. She started to turn away, but Andrew and Michael chorused, “We will be fine.”

  “Be happy,” Michael added.

  Raw emotion seared her soul as she turned back to the earl. “James Highcliffe, my heart sees only you, and I pray yours continues to see only me. It took us longer to arrive at this moment than either of us would prefer, but I would consider it a great honor if you would make me the happiest of women.”

  * * *

  James did not answer directly. Rather, he tugged her into his embrace, before lifting her chin with his fingertips. “The answer is a definite yes.” He bent to kiss her, and Jocelyn’s eyes closed, surrendering to him. For a brief moment, ardor claimed them, until a round of polite applause shook them from their delirium. He edged her closer, permitting her a moment to disguise her embarrassment while he smiled upon his mother, whom he suspected had orchestrated Jocelyn’s proposal.

  “When will you marry?” Lady Lavinia asked, as she pointedly tugged Jocelyn from his embrace.

  Joy glanced back to him. “Obviously, his lordship and I have not discussed the wedding.” She giggled—actually giggled—a sound James had dearly missed.

  “Do you have plans for this evening, my lady?” he asked with a suggestive lift of his brows. He adored the look of astonishment upon Jocelyn’s face.

  “This...this evening?” she stammered.

  Lady Lavinia shook her finger at him, as if he was a misbehaving child. “Marrying this evening is impossible. Now, give us a serious response.”

  James circled around the marchioness to recapture Jocelyn’s hands. “Naturally, we can wait as long as you desire.”

  “Not too long,” Lady Mary called out. “The girl has a terrible habit of changing her mind.”

  James brought the back of Jocelyn’s hand to his lips. “Lady Lathrop has come to her senses,” he announced in contradiction to his aunt’s words

  “Even so, we still cannot marry this evening,” she protested.

  “We could,” he confessed. “Mr. Lesley is in attendance.”

  “But we have no license,” she reasoned.

  He brought her hand to rest over his heart. He wanted her to hear its sincerity. “Odd thing that. Before we left London, I made a visit to Doctors’ Commons. I have a special license in the desk drawer in my study that contains both your name and mine.”

  “Optimistic, my lord?” she asked with a chuckle and a shake of her head in disbelief.

  “Practical, my lady. A man never knows when the love of his life will finally agree to marry him. So what is your wish, love? Shall we begin the New Year as man and wife?”

  * * *

  James released his breath in a long sigh of satisfaction. It had all fallen into place. With a simple nod of her head in the affirmative, a whirlwind of activity released them from the past. Mrs. Effrom had spirited Jocelyn away to her daughter’s quarters, followed closely by Constance and Meredith, who saw his beloved Jocelyn decked out in her finest gown when she returned to the drawing room less than an hour later. Meanwhile, he had met with Mr. Lesley, had asked Sebastian to stand with him, and insisted that Andrew, rather than Emerson, should give Jocelyn away. Now, three hours later, they were finally ensconced in his quarters and preparing to share a bed.

  “Do not be frightened,” he told her gently. “I will not harm you.”

  She raised her downcast eyes to him and spoke with remarkable directness. “I am not afraid of you, but I do fear displeasing you. As you must surely recall from our previous encounter, under Harrison’s unnatural tutelage, I learned nothing of pleasing a man, nor of his pleasing me. The only time I have known any tenderness was at your hand.”

  “We will go slowly,” he assured.

  Tears filled her eyes. “I pray you do not find me hideous,” she brokenly whispered.

  James wrapped his arms about her. “I find you the strongest and most compelling woman of my experience.” He held her for a long moment before he suggested, “Could we not change your memories for new ones? We shared an exquisite memory once before. Could we not create new ones—ones we both can cherish? Ones to define who we are together?”

  She held very still for several minutes before she released the tie holding her silk robe closed. Dislodging herself from his embrace, she turned her back to him. “If you recall, although I was whole then, I was too unnerved, when we were at the grotto, to undress before you. Now, I am broken, but I wish again to be the Jocelyn you esteemed.” Taking a deep breath, she permitted the silk robe to slide from her shoulders and pool at her feet.

  James did not move. He realized he must allow her to set the parameters of their coming together. Jocelyn stood in the muted light of the fireplace—her thin muslin gown displaying her full figure. He drank his fill of her luscious curves. James wished to reach for her, but he knew she required the freedom to conduct this encounter in her own way, and so he waited. Her soft sobs tore at his heart; yet, he held his place behind her. At length, she bent to catch the gown’s hem to lift it slowly up and over her buttocks to expose her hips and back to his intense gaze.

  “Dearest God,” he whispered hoarsely. There were distinct ridges of raised skin across the upper parts of her legs, hips, and lower back, as well as patches across her shoulder blades. They disgusted him, not because he found them ugly—found her ugly, but because he knew he had personally failed her. Never again, he swore silently. Never again will she suffer. For now, he swallowed his self-chastisements. Jocelyn needed him to accept her as she was, not as damaged goods, but as a beautiful woman—his beautiful bride.

  He moved up to circle her with his arms, one hand coming to rest across her stomach and the other caressing her breast. He wished to kiss each of her scars, but not today. Today was for a new memory.

  Her breasts were fuller than he recalled. He kissed her neck and ear, his tongue sliding along the length of the column of her neck. He nudged his manhood against her hips, permitting her to recognize something of his desires for her. A dark, raw ache, thick with longing, filled him. “If you do not wish this, Joy, say so now, for once I begin, there is nothing on earth to keep me from you.”

  She leaned her head back against his shoulder. “I do not wish you to stop,” she murmured. “I wish you to make me clean for the first time—all over again. Make me your wife.”

  The breath hissed from his lungs. James required no second request. He released her long enough to rid himself of the last of his clothing, before catching her shoulders to turn her into his embrace. “Permit me to remind you how flawless our love can be.”

  * * *

  With infinite care, James slowly lowered his head to claim her mouth, teasing her to relax and accept the physical intimacy that would follow. He cupped her hips, lifting her against the heat of his body. Even so, she was well aware of the caution and restraint he practiced. He meant to allow her to become accustomed to the feel of his very masculine body lining her softer one. Tentatively, she ran her hands up and over his shoulders to lace her fingers together behind his neck.

  With a sense of wonder, Jocelyn realized her new husband knew her in ways Harrison had never bothered to learn. He did not necessarily know her physical desires—although he understood more of her responses than she expected—however, James Highcliffe knew her childhood dreams and hopes, and more importantly, he would revere them as being a part of her. Because he prized her, he knew what she would and would not find comfortable—was aware of her desire—even though she was not yet brave enough to articulate them.

  He touched her with tender assurances, as if he were reacquainting himself with a treasure trove of precious remembrances from the past. At length, he bent to lift her into his arms and carry her to his bed. “I adore you, Joy,” he whispered as he placed her against the pillows and followed her down.

  Without hesitation or restraint, she permitted James to touch her where he willed. What came next was absolutely faultless. The embodiment of p
erfection. Her husband worshipped her body with his. James reminded her of all the joie de vivre once filling her life.

  Afterwards, as she lay gasping for breath, she pleaded, “Was it this good when we came together in the grotto?”

  He kissed her shoulder before responding. “Every bit as perfect, but one afternoon with you only enflamed my need to know more of you.” He gathered her close to kiss her forehead, eyelids, and nose. “I mean to have you again before the morning. You should rest now, love.”

  “Again?” she asked through a heavy yawn.

  “I have gotten older, Joy, but I am not dead. I mean to ravish you on a regular basis, and you have my permission to ravish me when the inspiration moves you. We have nearly a quarter century of denial to rectify.”

  “Oh my,” she whispered against his skin. “I have released a rake.” She snuggled safely in his arms, the last remnants of their passion simmering beneath her good sense. Jocelyn did not fool herself, nor did she think she fooled James. Harrison’s ghostly legacy would not leave her so easily as all that, but with a single act of love, James had poked holes in the dark curtain draped across her past. With him by her side, her memories now had a means to escape. Good and bad could be released upon the world, and her husband would see the ugly ones vanquished and the joyful ones restored to her.

  She rose up on her elbow to study James’s features. He had drifted into sleep, and so Jocelyn bent to kiss him—the first time she had ever initiated a show of affection. Softly. Sweetly. Her mouth caressed his.

  “I love you, James,” she whispered. “I promise, from this day forward, I will not fail you. I will tell you every day of my love and admiration. If all I ever know is this one night in your arms, all I suffered at Harrison’s hand would be worth it.” Her voice broke when she realized he had opened his eyes to look upon her with what appeared to be admiration. “Knowing you for even one night would be worth more than spending a lifetime in the arms of another man. I love you, James Highcliffe. I always have.”

  “Listen to me, Joy. You are home, exactly where you belong. And I will love you until my final breath. Having you as my wife for only one night will never be enough for me.”

  He took her mouth then, sweeping her into a place where Jocelyn could feel protected and loved—a place removed from the darkness which had held her for so long—a future of light and of passion. A future designed specifically for her.

  Finis

  Other Novels by Regina Jeffers

  Jane Austen-Inspired Novels:

  Darcy’s Passions: Pride and Prejudice Retold Through His Eyes

  Darcy’s Temptation: A Pride and Prejudice Sequel

  Captain Frederick Wentworth’s Persuasion: Jane Austen’s Classic Retold Through His Eyes

  Vampire Darcy’s Desire: A Pride and Prejudice Paranormal Adventure

  The Phantom of Pemberley: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

  Christmas at Pemberley: A Pride and Prejudice Holiday Sequel

  The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

  The Mysterious Death of Mr. Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

  The Prosecution of Mr. Darcy’s Cousin: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery

  Mr. Darcy’s Fault: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

  Mr. Darcy’s Present: A Pride and Prejudice Holiday Vagary

  Mr. Darcy’s Bargain: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

  Mr. Darcy’s Brides: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

  Elizabeth Bennet’s Deception: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

  Elizabeth Bennet’s Excellent Adventure: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

  The Pemberley Ball: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

  A Dance with Mr. Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

  The Road to Understanding: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

  Pride and Prejudice and a Shakespearean Scholar: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

  Where There’s a FitzWILLiam Darcy, There’s a Way: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

  Honor and Hope: A Contemporary Pride and Prejudice

  Regency and Contemporary Romances:

  The Scandal of Lady Eleanor, Book 1 of the Realm Series (aka A Touch of Scandal)

  A Touch of Velvet, Book 2 of the Realm Series

  A Touch of Cashémere, Book 3 of the Realm Series

  A Touch of Grace, Book 4 of the Realm Series

  A Touch of Mercy, Book 5 of the Realm Series

  A Touch of Love, Book 6 of the Realm Series

  A Touch of Honor, Book 7 of the Realm Series

  A Touch of Emerald, The Conclusion of the Realm Series

  His American Heartsong: A Companion Novel to the Realm Series

  His Irish Eve

  Angel Comes to the Devil’s Keep, Book 1 of the “Twins” Trilogy

  The Earl Claims His Comfort, Book 2 of the “Twins” Trilogy

  Lady Joy and the Earl: A Christmas Novella

  Second Chances: The Courtship Wars

  One Minute Past Christmas, A Holiday Short Story

  Coming Soon…

  Lady Chandler’s Sister, Book 3 of the “Twins” Trilogy

  The Heartless Earl

  Indentured Love: A Persuasion Vagary

  Letters from Home: A Christmas Novella

  About the Author

  Writing passionately comes easily to Regina Jeffers. A master teacher, for thirty-nine years, she passionately taught thousands of students English in the public schools of West Virginia, Ohio, and North Carolina. Yet, “teacher” does not define her as a person. Ask any of her students or her family, and they will tell you Regina is passionate about so many things: her son, her grandchildren, truth, children in need, our country’s veterans, responsibility, the value of a good education, words, music, dance, the theater, pro football, classic movies, the BBC, track and field, books, books, and more books. Holding multiple degrees, Jeffers often serves as a Language Arts or Media Literacy consultant to school districts and has served on several state and national educational commissions.

  Jeffers’s writing career began when a former student challenged her to do what she so “righteously” told her class should be accomplished in writing. On a whim, she self-published her first book Darcy’s Passions. “I never thought anything would happen with it. Then one day, a publishing company contacted me. They had watched the sales of the book on Amazon, and they offered to print it. The rest is history.”

  Since that time, Jeffers continues to write. “Writing is just my latest release of the creative side of my brain. I taught theater, even participated in professional and community-based productions when I was younger. I trained dance teams, flag lines, majorettes, and field commanders. My dancers were both state and national champions. I simply require time each day to let the possibilities flow. When I write, I write as I used to choreograph routines for my dance teams; I write the scenes in my head as if they are a movie. Usually, it plays there for several days being tweaked and rewritten, but, eventually, I put it to paper. From that point, things do not change much because I have completed several mental rewrites.”

  Every Woman Dreams

  Regina Jeffers’s Website

  Austen Authors

  Discover Regina on…

  Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter, LinkedIn, Goodreads, and Amazon Author Central.

  Angel Comes to the Devil’s Keep: Book 1 of the Twins’ Trilogy

  excerpt from Chapter 1

  The slow carriage procession drove Angel nearly to Bedlam, but she kept the smile upon her lips. She had agreed to the craziness of the “Marriage Mart,” as her Uncle Lancelot termed it, but she preferred to be anywhere else. The baron’s gig crawled along behind a Stanhope. Every few feet, the man would slow the carriage to acknowledge another member of the beau monde before introducing her to his acquaintances. The ton practiced their pompousness with prescribed efficiency, and Angel found it blatantly boring. With amusement, she wondered what her devil would say to such pretentiousness. Mayhap he would use it as a prime argument
in defense of passion ruling the world. Not that Angel knew anything of passion. In fact, she had never known even the most faithful of kisses.

  “Woolgathering, Miss Lovelace?” a brittle voice broke through her thoughts.

  Angel flushed as she looked up into the countenance of a frowning earl. “I beg your pardon, Lord Townsend, I was simply enjoying the park’s splendor on a spring day.”

  “You should always carry a parasol, Miss Lovelace,” Lady Townsend warned. “We would not wish to see you become too brown from the sun.”

  Angel doubted the woman’s sincerity. She was certain the ton would celebrate any flaw Angel sported. She despised the British standard for unblemished skin. White pasty skin. Virginal white gowns. Proper manners, which hid prejudice and censure. A bland lifestyle wrapped in formality. She missed her American friends and her home in the picturesque Virginia mountains, and she missed riding at break neck speed across her father’s land.

  “I am grateful for the suggestion, ma’am, and honored by your attention.” The carriage nudged forward, and Angel prepared to greet the baron’s next acquaintance. “What a crazy tradition!” she observed. “Would it not be wonderful to give the horses their heads?”

  “A proper gentleman would never place his cattle in danger,” Arden said in chastisement.

  Angel stiffened. His tone increased her often-quick ire. The baron’s first thought was of his team. Should he not think of the park goers or of her position in the high backed gig if safety was his true concern?

  “I never suggested you turn your team free. I simply made the observation it would be a pleasant experience to feel the wind upon one’s cheeks.”