Yuletide Happily Ever Afters; A Merry Little Set Of Regency Romances

by Jenna Jaxon

  “To a fallow field, encircled by trees. Very secluded.” Hawkenberry’s gaze hardened. “Ride like the very devil. I pray you are in time.”

  Before the man had stopped speaking, Will had turned his horse and touched his flanks. The big stallion shot away, easing quickly into a gallop, back the way they’d come. The horse’s grunts and his own labored panting filled his ears. They took a jump, Will scarcely registering it, his mind focused solely on finding Tamworth and beating him into a bloody pulp.

  “Hold on, Marianne. I’m coming,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

  They reached the wide avenue and Will slowed Mars to a canter so they didn’t miss the turning. There it was, a single file path between the trees. They quickly arrived at the open field, and Will scanned the tree line opposite for some sign of life. The couple could be anywhere, doing…anything. Frantic, Will headed the horse straight across the field, looking for something, anything to indicate where they might be. A sharp whinny to his left had him turn Mars with a slight twist of the reins and urge him into a gallop once more.

  Two horses standing just beyond the tree line made Will heap every curse he could think of on Tamworth. He pulled Mars to a halt, narrowly avoiding crashing into a tree. Out of the saddle before the horse had even stopped, Will ran along a path into the brush and stopped, the sight of Tamworth clutching Marianne to him, his hands cradling her head, his lips fastened on hers quite took his breath away.

  Marianne opened her eyes and jumped back. “William. What are you doing here?”

  In two strides, he reached Tamworth and planted him a facer with such force the man flew backward, landing in a patch of mud.

  “William! How dare you do such a thing?” Marianne ran toward Tamworth, but Will snagged her skirt and pulled her to his side.

  She beat at his hand, but he ignored her, focusing his attention on Tamworth, whose nose had begun to swell. “I am saving you from ruin, Marianne.”

  “What?” Jerking at her skirts, she grunted then raised her booted foot and kicked him in the shin, causing him to wince. “I was only kissing him, you idiot. That’s hardly going to ruin me, especially if there’s no one to see us.” She glared at him. “I thought you introduced me because you wanted me to marry him.”

  “He can’t marry you. Can you, Tamworth?” If only he didn’t have to hold Marianne back, he’d give the cur another drubbing. Make certain that nose would never be aristocratic again. “I’ve just had it from Lord Hawkenberry that Tamworth’s awaiting a rich Italian fiancée he’s been wooing for the past two years.”

  “He’s what?” Marianne turned her gaze on Tamworth. Her face paled then flushed and her eyes widened as her fists clenched. “Is this true, Tamworth?”

  The blackguard spat blood and gingerly tested his nose. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Signora di Fiorni is due to arrive in about a month for the nuptials.” He rose, the mud making a sucking sound as his breeches came out of the puddle.

  Marianne growled deep in her throat.

  About to let go of her skirt, Will clutched it tighter for fear she’d kill the man. “Marianne, this will be fine. Nothing very inappropriate occurred and of course, there are no witnesses, thank God.”

  Although if he hadn’t arrived, Will shuddered to think what might have transpired.

  With a screech, Marianne tore out of his grasp and leaped toward Tamworth. “You dastard!”

  The marquess skittered backward, struck the mud puddle again, slipped, and fell on his bottom once more.

  Will grabbed Marianne around the waist and pulled her back. “Tamworth, get on your horse and ride far, far away. Or I’ll loose her on you and you’ll be lucky to escape with your skin.”

  “Try to ruin me, my lord? I’ll ruin you!” Marianne lunged at the marquess.

  Scrambling out of the mud again, Tamworth winced then wasted no time mounting his horse. Sliding around the saddle, he careened from one side to the other until he finally managed to aim the horse and urge it into a quick canter.

  Will released Marianne, who straightened her skirts, the whole time muttering under her breath until she turned to face him. “This is all your fault!”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” What a mess. How could he have been so stupid as to trust Tamworth’s word? “I’ve known him for years, but he’s not been around for a while. No one apparently knows about the betrothal besides Lord Hawkenberry.”

  “Tamworth knew! How could he do such a thing?” She scrubbed her gloved hand across her mouth. “I had quite convinced myself I liked him. A lot.” She stomped over to her horse. “Are you going to stand there or are you going to help me back on this horse?”

  Will ran to assist her then remounted Mars and they began the ride back at a brisk trot. After a time, they turned into the wide avenue. “I really am sorry, Marianne. Especially if you think you had some affection for him.”

  Marianne shrugged and urged her horse faster. “I only tried to convince myself I was fond of him. Mostly because he seemed so keen on me. I’ll certainly get over him.” She cut her gaze toward Will. “But I warn you, William, if you fail in such a spectacular fashion again, I shall shove the mince pie down your throat myself.” With a tap of her heel on her horse, she shot away toward the pavilion that had been erected for the hunt luncheon.

  Will pulled Mars up, his attention fixed on the slender form with the excellent seat. Marianne could outride anyone he cared to name. It would be fun if they could ride together more often. If she’d ever speak to him again. He must be more circumspect with his next choice for a husband for her. At least he had some time to find the truly right gentleman. Which was good, because he had no idea whatsoever who to propose.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Mother, who do you think would be a good suitor for Marianne?” Will sipped his coffee in the cheery drawing room and tried to act nonchalant. He’d agreed to help his mother with preparations for her annual Christmas house party and ball. What he’d not counted on was her insistence that he address the invitations. So far he’d not taken up a pen; however, his mother was peering at him with an ominous glare, hence his attempt to distract her.

  “Other than yourself, William?” Mother folded the invitation carefully and dropped red sealing wax onto the edges then stamped it with her signet.

  “Me?” The coffee went down the wrong way and William sat up quickly, coughing violently, certain he was drowning. “Do not jest about such things. People might take you seriously.”

  “I am serious, darling.” Attired in a frilly morning gown of pale blue, his mother reached for a fresh printed sheet, consulted her list, and wrote a new name down. “You would make a marvelous husband for dear Marianne. You suit so well together.”

  “Mother, please.” Will set his cup down and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve known her all my life.”

  “A wonderful way to start a marriage. You already know so much about one another.”

  “We fight like cats and dogs, and I’m usually the one who gets scratched.”

  His mother laughed and handed him the invitation. “Please address this one to Lord and Lady Grandwell, dear.” She set an inkpot and several pens in front of him. “The pens are all mended, so you can just have at it.” Beaming at him, she pulled another invitation toward her. “Sometimes a quarrel is an excellent way to air your differences. And making it up afterward can be particularly satisfying.”

  “Mother!” The thought of his parents as much as kissing made him slightly queasy. “Do not pursue that line of thought, please. Neither should you try to leg-shackle me to Marianne. For one thing, she wouldn’t have me presently. That debacle with Tamworth, you know.” He’d confided it to his mother, who’d shaken her head and tsk tsked. “What other gentleman of our acquaintance would make a good husband for her?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Mother paused, pen poised over the inkpot. “There’s the Earl of Sherston. He’s just come out of mourning for his late wife. Such a pity she died so young. It was quite a l
ove match, but I’ve heard he wishes to remarry as soon as possible.”

  Frowning, William dipped his pen in the ink and concentrated as he scratched the name on the invitation. “Why the rush? If he loved his wife, would he not wish to mourn her longer?”

  “All gentlemen are different, William. They must have a companion or someone to run their house, or mother their children.”

  “Huh. I think I’d jolly well mourn a wife longer than…what is it, three months?” If he’d been married to Marianne and anything had happened to her… A chill raced down his spine. He shouldn’t think such things. Shouldn’t think his friend dead. Should never think of them married. That was too absurd. “Still, do you think she and the earl might suit?”

  “Why don’t you introduce them at Lady Capri’s winter costume ball? It should be a lovely affair. Her theme this year is Ice Castle.” His mother chuckled. “You could go as Ullr, the Norse god of snow and ice.”

  “Ullr?”

  “I have a drawing of him. Quite handsome, though you’ll have to wear a false beard.” She laughed and handed him another invitation. “He carries a bow and wears skates. Very dashing.”

  “As long as I’m not too dashing, Mother.” He glared at her. She’d not tried her hand at matchmaking before, however, the seed had been planted in her mind. Quite likely she’d now campaign for his marriage to Marianne. “I would not want to encourage any marriage-minded young women at the moment.”

  His mother smiled, and her eyes flashed a brilliant blue. “Then make your beard long and gray, dear. You won’t have to worry at all then.”

  * * * *

  Marianne smiled pleasantly into Sir Richard Halberton’s face as she bowed at the end of the first set of country dances. Lady Capri’s winter ball had begun with lively music and Sir Richard had been an agreeable, if silent partner. They’d spoken briefly of the weather when the figures allowed a moment, and he’d asked after her health when he’d requested the dance. Other than that, he’d remained as mute as a fish. As heir to the Viscount Warne, Sir Richard was a very good catch, according to her mother. That was the danger in dancing with all these gentlemen. Mama could envision her married to any one of them.

  She stared up at Sir Richard’s noble profile and sighed. This one was not in her books, however.

  “Thank you, Sir Richard. Would you escort me to my mother, just there, please?”

  “Of course, Miss Covington.” He smiled and led her to the pillar where Mama was chatting with some of her friends.

  Sir Richard bowed and, with as few words as possible, took his leave.

  “You and Sir Richard were quite a charming couple in the dance, my dear,” Mama began, turning away from Lady Dalrymple. “What objection do you find with him as a suitor?”

  If she could’ve rolled her eyes at her mother, she would’ve done so. “His conversation, for one.”

  “It was objectionable?” Her mother raised her lorgnette to the retreating figure, a frown brewing on her face.

  “It was non-existent, Mama. I could count the words he spoke to me on the fingers of one hand, I believe.” An exaggeration, perhaps, but she must nip this line of questioning in the bud. “I desire a husband with whom I can speak at length on a variety of topics for more than a minute a day. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Some gentlemen require time and coaxing to bring them out of their taciturn ways.”

  “I’d prefer one who would speak with me now, so I might know his mind about a range of topics and not just the weather.”

  “Someone more like William Stanley?” Her mother gave her an arch look.

  “Well, yes, if you want to look at it that way.” Odd her mother would bring William up, but perhaps she had a point. “William and I talk constantly when we are together. It is most refreshing to be able to air my opinions with him because he will at least listen, even if he quite often then scoffs at what I’ve said.”

  “And you do seem to be speaking to one another quite a lot recently.” Mama looked innocently away.

  Oh, no. Her mother could not think… “Yes, we have. Because William has been assisting me in my search for a husband.”

  “Indeed.” The knowing tone of voice irked Marianne to no end.

  “That’s all it is, Mama. I am not in any way interested in William.”

  “But is he at all interested in you?”

  That brought Marianne up short. Had William developed a tendre for her? But then why would he agree to help her find a husband? To sabotage her efforts perhaps? That would explain the debacle with Lord Tamworth, although Will had sworn he hadn’t known about the marquess’s betrothal.

  “I don’t think so.” The doubt in her voice was clear, however.

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Marianne, even if you have not.” Mama nodded toward the figure heading toward them, attired in rough garb, carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows, and wearing a very false-looking brown beard.

  Will’s gaze did seem to be fastened on her, although maybe he was trying to discern who her costume represented. She’d decided at the very last minute to change from the snow maiden, with fluffy white feathers sewn into the hem and sleeves of the white gown, to an ice princess in a similar white gown but with an overlay of lace embroidered with hundreds of tiny glittering paste icicles and a sparkling tiara that matched. Other than confusion, she didn’t see any particular regard in his face.

  “Good evening, William.” Mama beamed at him. “You are looking ruggedly handsome tonight as…?”

  “Ullr, the Norse god of snow and ice.” Grinning, he shook the bow in the air. “I’m supposed to have on skates as well, so Mother said, but I opted for boots instead. I’d never balance on ice skates in this room.”

  “A wise decision.” Marianne peered up at him, still trying to see if anything lurked in his eyes. The idea that Will might have feelings other than friendship for her jolted her sensibilities. “You definitely would’ve been on the floor looking up at your partner most of the time had you done so.” She sniggered at the thought. “Like the time you and I went skating on the pond at home.”

  “I only fell twice, and I still say you tripped me the second time.” He made a face at her, which sent her into peals of laughter because it pulled his beard askew. Odd but that beard made him more handsome somehow.

  “I would never have done such a thing.” She smothered her giggles and tried for a more solemn countenance. Never would she admit it, but he was right: she had tripped him. Of course, she’d only been ten at the time, but she still cherished the memory.

  “Children.” Her mother looked down her nose at her, and Marianne sobered.

  “I would like to introduce you to Lord Sherston. He’s waiting over in the corner there.” He nodded toward a dim corner, where a gentleman stood in a white cloak with bejeweled trim.

  Pursing her lips, she flashed an irritated look at William. “I assume you’ve already determined that he is neither a fortune hunter nor currently betrothed?”

  “I assure you, he is neither of those things.” He drew himself up stiffly. “According to my mother, he is just out of mourning for his wife. And other sources I’ve made inquiries of have assured me his finances are extremely sound.”

  Somewhat mollified, she twitched her gown, making the crystals glimmer. “After the last time, you’d better be certain.”

  “I can assure you of that, Marianne.” Mama smiled at her serenely. “I’m acquainted with Lord Sherston and can vouch that what William tells you is the truth.”

  Cutting her eyes at her mother—for her parent’s tone had taken on a strange timbre—Marianne was on the verge of asking if there was something more Mama had to say when Lord Sherston suddenly appeared before them in a swirl of white.

  “Lady Dalkey, Miss Covington, may I make Lord Sherston known to you?” William beamed as the earl bowed.

  “My lord.” Her mother dipped a curtsey. “How pleasant to see you again.”

  Gazing at his dark good
looks, Marianne quite forgot to curtsey until her mother touched her arm. “Lord Sherston.” She dipped before him, head bowed to conceal her blush. “How do you do?”

  “Very well, Miss Covington.” His slow smile reached all the way to his eyes, making her stomach flutter. “I wondered if you would do me the great honor of partnering me for the supper dance?”

  “I would love to, my lord.” She returned his smile and the heat rose in her again. Lord Sherston was the very picture of a handsome hero from a Minerva novel: tall with broad shoulders, dark curly hair, and chestnut eyes that seemed to glow in the candlelight. Her heart beat just a bit faster when those eyes met hers.

  “Splendid.” The warmth in the single word sent a thrill twinging through her. “I am engaged for the next set, but will return later for our dance.”

  “I look forward to it, my lord.” Fluttering her fan, Marianne curtsied once more. The evening had taken quite a turn for the better. As the earl strode away to claim his next partner, she turned a genuine smile on William. “I must say thank you, Will. Lord Sherston may just prove to be my perfect gentleman.”

  Brows furrowed, William broke his silence. “You can tell after three minutes’ acquaintance?”

  The hard edge to his question took her by surprise. “One never knows how quickly affection may strike.” She sniffed. “I am certain the young lady you finally marry will have to look long and hard at you before accepting you.”

  “Marianne!” Her mother rapped her hand with her lorgnette hard enough to hurt.

  “Ouch, Mama. Why did you do that?” she asked, rubbing the abused spot.

  “You will not disrespect anyone, but especially not William, who has so kindly been assisting you in what I’m certain is a very tiresome task for him.” Her mother narrowed her eyes. “You will apologize immediately.”

  Why did William have to spoil an evening that had started so promisingly? He always knew how to needle her in the worst manner possible. With a sigh, she faced her friend. “I do beg your pardon, William. I should not have spoken so.”