A Cotillion Country Christmas

by Carolynn Carey

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  A Cotillion Country Christmas

  ISBN 9781419918742

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  A Christmas Surprise Copyright © 2008 Cynthia Moore

  A Tradition of Love Copyright © 2008 Carolynn Carey

  Christmas Mishaps Copyright © 2008 Amy Corwin

  Country House Christmas Copyright © 2008 Barbara Miller

  Edited by Helen Woodall.

  Cover art by Lissa Waitley

  Electronic book Publication December 2008

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  A Cotillion Country Christmas

  A Christmas Surprise

  Cynthia Moore

  A Tradition of Love

  Carolynn Carey

  Christmas Mishaps

  Amy Corwin

  Country House Christmas

  Barbara Miller

  A Christmas Surprise

  Cynthia Moore

  Dedication

  This story is dedicated to my grandmothers, Margaret Lucile and Elaine Genevieve. They both loved the Christmas holidays and they each enjoyed reading sweet, romantic stories.

  Acknowledgements

  The authors of this anthology would like to acknowledge the enthusiastic support we received for this project from the following Ellora’s Cave/Cotillion authors—Kate Dolan, Saralee Etter, Georgie Lee, Sharon Milburn, Jeanne Savery, Hetty St. James, Elaine Violette, and Phylis Warady.

  We would also like to thank Saralee Etter for her written contribution which appears on the back cover of this anthology.

  Chapter One

  “Excuse me, my lady.” Warner appeared in the doorway, walked slowly into the room and then bowed before her. “A special messenger has arrived from London with a note addressed to you.” He handed her a tray upon which a folded missive lay.

  A boldly scrawled Viscountess Bentley appeared on the front of the missive and the letter was sealed with a wax imprint of the Bentley family crest. Clara’s hand shook as she broke the seal. The enclosed message was brief.

  Madam, I expect to arrive at Bentley House a few days after you have received this communication. Please make any preparations necessary for my arrival as well as for a five-year-old child who will be residing with us. Until then,

  Bentley

  Clara sat and stared at the note in silence for several seconds. Unconsciously, she reached for the turquoise pendant, fastened with a thin, silver chain around her neck. The stone rested on her chest just above the lace trim on her morning gown. The necklace was a wedding present from her husband, Julian, Viscount Bentley. She had faithfully worn the necklace ever since her wedding day. Clara rubbed the turquoise between her thumb and forefinger until the heat from her body made the stone become warm. The sound of someone clearing their throat reminded Clara that the butler was still present.

  “Will there be any answer, my lady?” inquired Warner.

  Clara started to reply but then had to stop and sort out her dazed thoughts before beginning again. “There will be no reply, Warner. Please be certain that the messenger is given food and drink before he begins his return journey.” She looked down to study the message once again and did not notice the brief look of concern which appeared on Warner’s face as he bowed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  Clara stared out of the window of her cozy morning room at the bleak, wintry landscape as she continued to nervously rub the turquoise pendant. The note had brought all the memories back to her.

  Christmas was only a fortnight away. It was hard to believe that she had lived here at Bentley House for almost one year. It was even more unbelievable that on Christmas Eve of the previous year she had arrived here accompanied by her father, Sir Henry Seaford in order to be married to Viscount Julian Bentley. Now it appeared that Julian was on his way home again. Clara would see him for the first time since the evening of the day they were married.

  Julian was the love of her life. She had first gazed upon him in the crowded room of a debutante ball in London. He was the one who stole her heart with a single passing glance on that night. She remembered how she had stared at him as he stood at the top of the stairs. He stood with a proud and haughty stance, jet-black hair pulled back from his forehead and tied back neatly with a leather strap. As he had surveyed the ballroom with his quizzing glass, Clara had felt a fluttering in her chest and a sudden short-winded feeling seemed to affect her breathing. She had reached up to pat her wayward, auburn hair to make certain that none of the heavy strands had escaped from their fastenings.

  “Who is he?” Clara remembered questioning a young lady at her side who was also eyeing the newcomer with interest.

  “Julian Astor, Viscount Bentley,” the lady replied with a wistful sigh. “He is so very handsome, is he not? But alas, they say he has a broken heart and will never marry.”

  As Clara continued to stare at Lord Bentley she suddenly became aware that his piercing gray eyes had focused on her. Instead of allowing the news of his broken heart to dissuade her, she promised herself at that moment that she would be the one to repair any damage that had been done to it. So she had shamelessly raised her fan to her chin and smiled back at him with her heart in her emerald-green eyes. But beyond a slight rising of his eyebrows, Viscount Bentley had shown no interest in her person or in her silent declaration. She had continued to observe his every movement while she danced the next set but after greeting a few acquaintances, the Viscount had hurriedly left the ball.

  The sudden death of the spinster aunt who had been her chaperone in London caused Clara to leave for her father’s estate in the country the following week. There she had lived quietly for several years. Two unmarried sisters who lived in a small cottage close by her home agreed to become her companions and the cook’s daughter served as her lady’s maid. Clara looked forward to infrequent visits from her father who spent most of his time in London when not traveling to oversee his business interests in India.

  Many lonely days were spent dreaming of the Viscount. As she took walks around the estate, Clara found herself reliving the night of the ball and imagining that he would stride downstairs, clasp her hand to his chest and then place a warm kiss on her palm. He would stare into her eyes, tell her how beautiful she was and ask her to waltz with him. She would eagerly nod in acquiescence, then he would place his hand on her arm and lead her to the dance floor. From there she would dance as if she were on a cloud, aware of nothing but his warm gaze upon her.

  And then the unthinkable happened. During one of h
is visits to London, her father had played high-stakes hazard with Viscount Bentley. The Viscount had suffered heavy losses. Her father had struck the Viscount a deal. He would not collect on the debt owed if the Viscount would agree to marry his spinster daughter, then travel with him to India and eventually take over his business interests there.

  “I am getting older, my dear. I want to make certain that both you and my business are taken care of when I am gone,” her father had explained to Clara when he broke the news to her of Viscount Bentley’s agreement to the deal.

  When Clara eventually realized what the two gentlemen had agreed to she felt a nervous excitement. The entire situation was almost hard to imagine. She would be Viscountess Bentley. She would be married to the man of her dreams. But after careful consideration, Clara began to feel concerned instead of excited. Surely the Viscount would be resentful of the fact that he was being forced to marry because he lost his head while gambling? Was this the way Clara wanted to become tied to the man who had captured her heart? If he was forced into this situation could he ever look at Clara other than as the wife he had never wanted?

  Clara pleaded with her father to change the agreement but he had only chuckled and reached over to rub the tip of her freckled nose with his index finger. “I cannot change a gentlemen’s agreement, my dear. It is a matter of honor and to make any changes now would call my honor in question.” Her father had studied her concerned expression. “I don’t understand why you are fretting so, Clara. Many of society’s ladies would tell you that Julian Astor is a prize catch on the marriage market.”

  Sir Henry continued to make light of Clara’s concerns. Eventually, Clara knew her father would never call off the wedding and she resigned herself to the situation, hoping against hope that Viscount Bentley would be as content as was possible with the arrangement that was forced upon him.

  A little over a fortnight later, Clara and her father arrived at Bentley House on Christmas Eve. Their reception by their host could be described as tepid at best. The Viscount was certainly courteous. He had invited them to tea in the morning room. There the three occupants of the chamber had made somewhat stilted conversation with one another. The topics had ranged from the current weather forecast, to the value of crop rotation, to stories of Prinny’s latest escapades. Within a few hours of their arrival, Clara was looking into the cool gray eyes of the man she loved and agreeing to be his wife in a very private marriage ceremony.

  Clara once again picked up the note from her husband and rubbed her thumb across the wax imprint on the envelope in an absentminded manner. She struggled to make her suddenly wayward thoughts become clear. Julian had chosen this moment to abruptly reenter her life. It appeared that the day she had waited almost one year for was upon her. Perhaps now she could learn to become a true wife to Julian.

  Clara nodded her head in frustration as she recalled her disaster of a wedding night. She had been so anxious to please him. It was so important for everything to be right. Clara had followed exactly what the vicar’s wife had advised her to do and she had lain perfectly still as Julian had stood next to her bed in his dressing gown and looked down upon her. He had bent over, placed one hand under her head and kissed her. Clara remembered that it was a heart-stopping sensual kiss which sent a wave of delicious warmth throughout her body, all the way to her toes. But somehow when Julian had stood up once more and eased his hand out from beneath her head, his signet ring had become caught in a strand of her hair. She had grimaced at the sudden pain. Julian had seen her pained expression. He had muttered a curse, gathered his dressing gown more tightly around his body and had stared down upon her with an angry expression on his face in the wavering candlelight.

  “Is my touch so very revolting to you? I will not bother you further with my attentions, my lady,” he had told her in a hard, formal voice. Julian had then noticed that she was clutching the turquoise pendant as she lay staring up at him. “Mayhap the necklace will keep you warm at night.” He had turned away, walked to the connecting door and entered his bedchamber, firmly shutting the door behind him.

  That was the last time she had seen her husband. The next day was Christmas Day. Julian had announced the evening before that he would be spending the entire day at his brother’s home a few hours’ ride away. Clara and her father had spent a quiet day on their own in Bentley House. They opened gifts to each other in the morning. Later in the day, the housekeeper, Mrs. Burnby had taken them both on a tour of the entire house when she had returned from spending the morning with her own family. That evening, Sir Henry and Clara were treated to a delicious Christmas goose with all the trimmings especially made for them by the Bentley House cook, Mrs. Dixon. Just before Clara had retired to bed, her father had told her of his intention to set out on the long journey to India the following day and that Julian would be accompanying him.

  Clara had said a tearful goodbye to her father the next morning. He had not understood her tears. “There is no reason to cry, Clara, my dear. You are married now and are well provided for. We will not be away many months. Do not fret so.” He had smoothed back her hair from her forehead and placed a quick kiss on her brow. “Enjoy being the mistress of Bentley House while we are gone, Clara.”

  She had squeezed her father’s hand in reply and had turned to flee into the house before she disgraced herself further in front of Julian.

  Clara had received a short note from her father three months after his departure. In it, he stated that he and Julian were well but unable to return to England for several more months because of a fire that had swept through a warehouse where many of the business’s goods were stored. Several items had been damaged or destroyed. The letter ended with a short sentence which expressed his hope that Clara was well and happy.

  Six months later another letter had arrived from India. It bore the name of a hospital on the stationery. It had simply stated that her father had succumbed to a fever which had taken the lives of many people in the area over the past few months. The letter also assured her that her husband had escaped the fever and would stay in India to bury her father, as was his request before he had died.

  Clara had grieved for her father in the following weeks but she had also come to acknowledge that, although he had always been concerned with her welfare, the time he had actually spent with her during his lifetime was quite small. She now thought of her father only with regret that he had not seen fit to spend more time with her instead of constantly working on furthering his business interests.

  Her father had told her, during one of their rare personal discussions, that upon his death she was not to mourn him. “I cannot abide the thought of you in blacks and missing out on any amusements, my dear,” he had told Clara in a rueful manner one day. “It is enough to know that you care for your less-than-perfect father while I am alive.”

  Clara had been too shocked at the turn of the conversation to reply. Nothing more was ever said on the subject. So here she was, at present planning a small holiday party in her home for the tenants and staff on the estate and not in mourning for her father.

  And now Julian was returning. She pushed a wayward curl off her brow as her forehead furrowed in thought. Who was the child he brought with him? Clara could feel the blood rushing to her face as an unhappy thought entered her consciousness. Surely Julian would not bring a child from a previous mistress to his home? Was there any truth to the story that she had heard at the ball so many years ago? Did Julian still have a broken heart? Was this child an illicit product of that love? She shook her head in exasperation. She wished that Julian would come home and stay for good. They could talk about their lives and begin to know one another. Perhaps then he could learn to love her as much as she loved him.

  “I will be a good, comfortable wife and I will trust him to tell me the truth about the child,” she vowed.

  This decision made, Clara hastened to the corner of the room where she rang the bell for Warner. The butler must be forewarned of her husband’s imp
ending arrival and arrangements must be made to obtain the services of a governess.

  When Warner answered her summons a short time later, Clara was able to communicate her wishes to him in a relatively calm manner.

  “Warner, I wish to inform you that Viscount Bentley will be arriving here sometime within the next few days. Please make certain all necessary preparations are made for his arrival.”

  Warner bowed stiffly and moved to leave the room.

  “Before you go, Warner, I must also inquire if you know of any woman in the village who could be employed as a governess? Viscount Bentley has informed me that he brings a five-year-old with him from India. The child will be residing here with us.”

  The always stern-faced butler showed no outward emotion at this singular request. “If I might suggest, my lady, Mrs. Copley has recently been relieved of her governess position by her employers because her charges have all grown up and been sent to finishing school. She lives just off the main road in the village. I will send a footman to request her to wait upon you at your convenience, my lady.”

  “That would be fine, Warner. Please request that Mrs. Copley call upon me for a brief interview tomorrow afternoon just before tea.” Clara suddenly remembered the holiday party and the invitations. “Oh, yes Warner, I have finished the invitations for the holiday party on the twenty-third of December. They are ready to be delivered.” Clara handed the neatly addressed invitations to Warner and then put her fingers to her chin in thought. “We also need to begin gathering greenery to decorate the house the day after tomorrow.” Suddenly there were so many things to be accomplished.