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

by Jenna Jaxon

  Standing at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by friends and family, Marianne glowed with happiness as she and William became man and wife, thanks to the special license her father had procured before they’d left London.

  “Cannock and I have been planning this almost as long as your mothers have.” Her father had chuckled. “Before we left London, I paid a visit to the archbishop’s office. We weren’t certain when we would have need of this,” he’d held up the sheet of paper affixed with the archbishop’s signature and seal, “but your mother assured me we would need it.”

  “So your wager is won, sir.” She laughed up at William. “I suppose now I will not need to stand over you and force-feed you mince pie.” Marianne laughed as she surveyed the plethora of dishes at the wedding breakfast, noting a large mince pie in the center of one table.

  “Thank heaven you will not.” William came to her side, bearing a plate with several delicacies on it. He picked up a lobster patty and held it out for her to eat. “This is much tastier, don’t you agree?”

  She dutifully bit into the patty, enjoying the delicious lobster in cream sauce, until William whispered, “I can think of many more pleasant ways to pass the time, can’t you?”

  Marianne choked, coughed, and punched William in the arm. “Are you trying to choke me half an hour after we were married?”

  Grinning, William shook his head. “When I said we had more pleasant ways to pass the time, I meant it.” He set their plates down and drew her out of the dining room and into the deserted ballroom. “We shall begin by finishing the accounting for all those mistletoe berries the other morning.” He drew her to him, gazing into his eyes. “Do you remember the count?”

  “No.” She lifted her lips to his.

  “I believe I lost count as well.” He cradled her head and lowered his mouth to hers. “Therefore, we’d best start with one.”

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical romance in all time periods because, she says, “passion is timeless.” She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, Jenna has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these elements into her own stories. She’s a theatre director when she’s not writing and lives in Gloucester, Virginia with her family, including two very vocal cats.

  A PAN member of Romance Writers of America, Jenna is also an active member of Chesapeake Romance Writers, her local chapter of RWA. She has four series currently available: The House of Pleasure, set in Georgian England, Handful of Hearts, set in Regency England, Time Enough to Love, set in medieval England and France and most recently The Widows’ Club, also set in the Regency. The first two books of the series, To Woo A Wicked Widow and Wedding the Widow were released this year in both print and e-book by Kensington Publishing. The third book of the series, What a Widow Wants, will release mid-December.

  Jenna currently writes to support her chocolate habit.

  Sneak Peek…The Widow’s Club

  The war years are behind them.

  The future is before them.

  And one by one, the widows of Lyttlefield Park are getting restless …

  Lady Charlotte Cavendish is still the spirited girl who tried to elope in the name of love. That dream was thwarted by her father who trapped her into a loveless, passionless marriage. But now widowed, Charlotte is free to reenter the giddy world of the ton—and pursue her desires. For hardly your typical widow, she remains innocent to the pleasures of the flesh. Yet her life is finally her own, and she intends to keep it that way …

  Nash, the twelfth Earl of Wrotham, is beguiled by Charlotte at first sight—and the feeling is mutual. When he receives her intriguing invitation to a house party, the marriage-minded lord plans to further their acquaintance. But even he cannot sway her aversion to matrimony, and only with great restraint does he resist her most tempting offer. For unbeknownst to Charlotte, the misadventures of the past are revisiting them both, and bedding her could cost him everything—or give him everything he ever wanted…

  Widowed by the Battle of Waterloo, the ladies of Lyttlefield Park are returning to London society—with their futures in their own hands …

  The widowed Lady Stephen Tarkington, Fanny to her friends, has finished mourning her cad of a husband and is ready to enjoy her freedom. The kind of freedom neither a gently bred miss nor a close-watched wife is permitted: dressing up as Aphrodite for a masquerade, drawing gentlemen away from the party, and hinting at late-night assignations with her dance partners. All is going pleasurably according to plan—until the Roman god Fanny kisses during a masquerade turns out to be Matthew, Lord Lathbury, whose proposal she refused years ago …

  Lathbury is charming, passionate, inventive, everything Fanny wants in a lover—but unfortunately, he’s on the hunt for a wife. He’s more than willing to use all his wicked skills to persuade her back to the altar, but he can’t wait forever. And now Fanny’s position is more precarious than she once thought. If the tongues of the ton set to wagging, it’s possible no offer in the world will save her from ruin. But does she want to be saved? …

  The Christmas Wager

  Angelina Jameson

  The Christmas Wager

  Lord Chastain, darling of the gossip sheets, has seven days to turn a lady’s head.

  Lady Iris, aware of the wager, finds the earl hard to resist.

  As the pair spend the holidays together, Chastain finds his own head turned and Iris discovers you can’t believe everything you read.

  Other Titles by Angelina Jameson

  Upton Family Series

  The Marquess’s Christmas Lily

  Christmas at Kilmeade Hall

  A Bride for Lord Albany

  Addiction Series

  A Lady’s Addiction

  The Christmas Wager

  Copyright © 2018 Angelina Jameson

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION:

  To my husband, the most patient man in the world.

  ******

  To my beta readers Natalie Anderson and Yvonne Radacy. Your input is invaluable.

  ******

  And to Thomas and Tyler, with love.

  CHAPTER ONE

  December 1822, Norfolk

  Lady Iris Blevins stood outside the study frozen in disbelief. She’d heard her name quite clearly from inside the room and her inquisitive nature won out over propriety. Looking about to ensure there were no bystanders nearby, she crouched down to press an ear against the keyhole of the mahogany door.

  “You want me to court your sister?” Lord David Chastain asked, his tone incredulous. “Good heavens, Ambrose, the woman can barely tolerate me.”

  The laughter she heard follow Chastain’s accurate assessment of her feelings for him came from the third man present, the normally dour Lord Peake. “Lady Iris is a serious young woman and considers you to be ‘a loose fish,’ or so I’ve overheard her say on more than one occasion.”

  “You did tell us you could turn any woman’s head, did you not?” Ambrose asked, a challenge in his voice. “I recall you boasted of your power over the fairer sex not a fortnight ago at White’s.”

  “Hear, hear!” Lord Peake chimed in again. “I too remember your declaration of the universal appeal you hold for women.”

  “I have no desire to marry at this time so having your sister fall in love with me would be most inconvenient,” Chastain replied.

  Iris couldn’t be sure who she felt angrier at: her brother for suggesting a rakehell court her or Lord Chastain for assuming she would fall in love with him. Her brother’s friend appeared under the impression his handsome face outweighed his boorishness.

  “You need only distract my sister from her attachment to Sir Thomas Childs, a young man I deem objectionable. You did accept my invitation to stay at Marcourt for the next seven days; more than enough time for you to turn Iris’s head.�
�

  Ambrose’s mention of her ‘objectionable’ friend brought to mind her childhood companion. Iris suppressed a giggle. Although she admired Sir Thomas’s keen intellect and they shared a love of antiquities, she did not harbor any of the finer feelings for their neighbor.

  “Aren’t you afraid I might break her heart?” Chastain asked.

  Iris snorted softly as she concentrated on the man’s pompous words instead of the tremors of awareness she felt whenever she heard the rich timbre of his voice. Her ears pricked to hear her brother’s response.

  “Better her heart is bruised for a short time than I have a fortune seeking baronet for a brother-in-law. Once she is well and truly enamored of you, revert to your usual habits in shaking off females. I will find her a suitable husband in my own good time.”

  Iris was both alarmed and confused by her brother’s cavalier reply to Chastain. Although he had not seemed himself of late, did Ambrose really care so little for her feelings?

  “Approaching Lottie would be a far easier task,” Chastain replied. “She endeavors to be pleasant to all.”

  “The girl is too gay,” Peake said, his voice stern. “Lottie is a pretty girl, but quite the opposite in temperament to her older sister. Iris has more sense than most men I know. She will never succumb to your charms.”

  Ambrose chuckled. “My sisters are like any other women; highly susceptible to a man’s flattery.”

  Upon hearing the three men laugh roundly in reply to her brother’s statement, Iris decided she could bear no more. She would seek Lottie out and ask her opinion of Ambrose’s strange behavior. She hurried away down the corridor, headed for the conservatory in the east wing of the house.

  Chastain and Peake, both viscounts, arrived at Marcourt yesterday afternoon. Ambrose had never invited his friends for a visit to the family seat in Norfolk. Their youngest sister Rose asked Chastain about it over dinner that night.

  “You ask why your brother has never seen fit to have his friends at Marcourt.” Chastain repeated Rose’s question, his eyes on Ambrose. “I do believe he thinks Peake and I are unsuitable company for well-bred young ladies.”

  Her brother frowned from his place at the head of the table. “I preferred to keep my family life and social life separate.”

  “And what has changed?” Lottie asked from her seat beside Chastain.

  Iris noted a surprised look on Lord Peake’s face after her sister’s thoughtful query. She didn’t wonder at the man’s amazement as Lottie behaved in quite a carefree manner in Peake’s company. Almost as if she sensed his disapproval of her exuberance and meant to needle him.

  “Ambrose?” Rose asked with an arch smile.

  Her brother sighed. Iris wondered if he regretted allowing his youngest sister to eat in the dining room rather than the nursery upstairs. “We were all thrown together quite a bit near the end of the season; your sisters appear to have suffered little from prolonged exposure to my friends.”

  “Thank heavens for such a positive outcome,” Peake said dryly as he reached for another dish of trifle from the platter in front of him. “You have a brilliant cook.”

  The conversation turned to a discussion of the exceptional meal. Soon after, the women excused themselves so the gentlemen could enjoy their requisite brandy and cigars.

  Although currently indisposed, Aunt Abigail was also in the house for Christmastide. Their mother’s sister arrived at Marcourt in October. Iris had been unable to shake the feeling there was more to her brother’s decision to not only invite Abigail to the estate but his friends as well. Now she’d been presented with proof. Her widowed aunt was at the house to be a chaperone during Ambrose’s machinations.

  Lottie looked up from her task of tending a large pot of Winter Flowering Pansies to smile at her sister. “Come see my darlings.”

  Iris walked to where Lottie stood in the watery sunlight pouring through the large glass panes on three sides of the room, admiring several assorted containers of flowers. Her fair-haired sibling, one year younger than her own nineteen years, looked as pretty and fresh as the blossoms surrounding her.

  “The flowers are beautiful.” The pansies were a riot of color. Iris felt her mood lift.

  “I instructed the gardeners to plant these pots in addition to several beds in the corner of the walled garden while we were in town,” Lottie replied. She smiled sheepishly. “I know you don’t understand my love of gardening. I feel as passionate about my flowers as you do for those antiquities you dig up.”

  “Lucky for you, society doesn’t see your favorite activity as an aberration,” she said, her tone light.

  Lottie frowned as she pulled off her gardening gloves and dropped them into a straw basket at her feet. She took one of Iris’s hands in her own. The girls walked around the perimeter of the room.

  “Something is troubling you.” Lottie squeezed Iris’s hand. “I know you don’t give a jot what the ton thinks about you.”

  Iris looked about to see if they were alone. “Most people don’t see your hidden depths.”

  “I have our mothers’ looks and personality so it is naturally assumed I am a feather-brain,” Lottie replied with a shrug. “It does not signify; tell me what has upset you.”

  The girls paused near a garden bench situated to allow one to see not only the center of the room with its multitude of potted plants and trees but also the entrance to the conservatory. Iris released Lottie’s hand and took a seat. Her sister followed.

  “I just now overheard a very peculiar conversation between our brother, Lord Peake and Lord Chastain.”

  “Were you eavesdropping, Iris?” her sister asked with raised brows.

  “I merely walked past the study and heard my name mentioned.”

  Lottie’s delicate harrumph turned Iris’s attention from the flowers before her to her sister’s heart-shaped face.

  “Nothing good is usually heard about oneself when eavesdropping,” Lottie said severely before softening her words with a dry smile. “What were the men saying about you?”

  “Ambrose asked, nay implored, Lord Chastain to turn my head.”

  The momentary silence that followed assured Iris her sister was as every bit confused as she.

  “Turn your head. Whatever for? Lord Chastain has shown no desire to wed. Ambrose knows you dislike the man.”

  Iris shrugged. “Our brother is under the impression I have an understanding with Sir Thomas. He sees the match as untenable.”

  “Ambrose believes you want to marry Thomas?” Lottie asked with a shake of her head. “The man only has eyes for his treasures.”

  Iris nodded. “The idea is absurd, but there it is.”

  “Why would Chastain agree to such a scheme?”

  “Who understands the minds of men? Ambrose asked. Chastain agreed.”

  “Iris…” Lottie said with some hesitation, her eyes fixed on her sister’s face. “What if by chance you succumb to the charms of Lord Chastain and fall in love with him?”

  Meeting her sister’s gaze, she laughed in response, although not as convincingly as she would have liked. “I have no concern about becoming Lord Chastain’s latest conquest.”

  “There was a moment at Lady Cair’s ball…”

  “I felt a fleeting attraction to the man,” she rushed to reply. “An interest quickly extinguished when I learned who he was.”

  Lottie did not look persuaded. “You’re sure you have no feelings for Lord Chastain?”

  “None,” she replied firmly.

  “Will you confront Ambrose?”

  She shook her head. “My first thought was to berate our brother for his callous treatment of my feelings. Now I believe I have thought of a way to punish both Ambrose and Lord Chastain.”

  “Do tell,” Lottie whispered, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

  “I will not show the least bit of interest in Chastain as a man, and in addition, will make sure his seven days here at Marcourt are a torment.”

  Lottie
laughed out loud. “It is unfortunate this is the month of December. You can’t take him digging with you and Sir Thomas.”

  “That is a pity. There is an assembly ball tomorrow. Can you imagine Lord Chastain surrounded by eager country lasses wanting to dance with him? In a few days our brother will be so tired of the viscount’s complaints he will beg the man to leave the county.”

  “You did promise to take Rose into Braxton for writing supplies,” Lottie said. “Although it can be a chore to shop with our youngest sister, such an outing will afford the opportunity to have Chastain join you.”

  She clapped her hands. “You are a genius!”

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Lottie replied with a sigh. “I would not wish to ruin my reputation as mere window dressing.”

  Lottie’s words gave Iris pause. Did the girl know how Lord Peake and other gentlemen viewed her? She’d never noticed her sister care for anyone’s opinion other than that of her family. In the conversation Iris overheard earlier, Ambrose uncharacteristically allowed Peake to paint their sister as silly although her brother was aware Lottie used gaiety as a shield to hide her shyness.

  “Will you join us?” she asked her sister.

  Lottie stood. “I really must speak to the head gardener about an ornamental border I want planted near the Royal Oak. I should like to see more color there in spring.”

  Although the tree Lottie referred to wasn’t nearly as old as the famous oak in Boscobel, their youngest sister had given the name to the tree and fashioned her own fairytale around the largest oak at Marcourt.

  “Aunt Abigail told me she should feel well enough to join us for dinner,” Lottie said distractedly. “As far as Lord Chastain and Lord Peake… The road from London was quite muddy. I’m not sure how our brother convinced them to travel during winter.”