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

by Jenna Jaxon

  Before she could speak a single word, the shorter of the two girls rushed forward and threw her arms around Loretta. “I was so very worried, your grace.” Sophia squeezed her tightly, trembling, before stepping back and smoothing her gown and coat in some embarrassment.

  Inexplicably, Loretta fought back tears. She and her daughter-in-law had been through many trying times together, but never showed one another outward signs of affection.

  Of course, Loretta admired her greatly.

  And of course, she loved Sophia like a daughter, but she’d never thought the younger girl would welcome such physical displays from her. Loretta had watched over Sophia closely when she’d been married to Harold — too closely. She’d meddled too much and Sophia had eventually, firmly but delicately, but her in her place.

  The mother-in-law — daughter-in-law relationship was one often rife with landmines.

  “Sophia has been frantic with worry for you, your grace, even though I assured her that my father would take good care of you.” Thomas’ daughter laughed and filled in what could have easily become an uncomfortable moment. She glanced around and gestured at the expansive foyer. “It is not as though the two of you have been stranded on the side of the road, however. The house is beautiful. Do you know if my father has decided to purchase it? He thinks I’ll stop worrying, you know, if he purchases a property and appears to settle down. I know better, though. He’s wandered the world for my entire life. I doubt seriously he’ll suddenly find himself content to live in the country alone.”

  These words brought a rush of heat to Loretta’s face for some unknown and ridiculous reason. Flustered, she turned away and walked toward a window.

  In her mad dash to the manor, she’d not truly taken in the white wonderland outside. “He has not said yet what his plans are. I find the design to be lovely, though, as far as estates go. And, much like travel from Eden’s Court, it is not an overly long trip to London.”

  A tumult of emotions spun around inside at the notion that Thomas Findlay might choose to remain in England rather than sail off to some unknown land.

  A sinking of her heart ensued at the thought that he would not.

  Ridiculous.

  One night did not change a man’s wandering ways. And she’d not expect him to. She’d not given him indication that she would wish to extend their affair. Because she didn’t want that either.

  Did she?

  Might she?

  “Prescott assured me you would be safe,” Sophia explained behind her. “But I hated the thought of you having to do without Millie. And Millie was beside herself as well. She’ll not rest, I’m sure, until we have you safely home.”

  Sophia was not meaning to insinuate that she could not do without the services of her maid for even one night, but the fact that she wasn’t so very far off pricked at Loretta. And, ah, yes. Millie would have been quite overwrought. Even more so in light of her opinion of Thomas.

  Of Mr. Findlay.

  A distant opening door and masculine footsteps halted the conversation. “Ah, Aunt. There you are. And you look none the worse for wear.” Prescott, her nephew approached and dropped a kiss on her cheek.

  Loretta touched her hair self-consciously. She wondered what Dev really thought. Thomas’ daughter seemed to watch her carefully, although Sophia merely appeared relieved to have found her safe.

  “Did you ladies wish to see the estate, or ought we to travel back to Eden’s Court right away?” This from Mr. Nottingham. Thomas entered lastly. Although he stood slightly behind his son-in-law, Loretta felt his gaze upon her.

  She swallowed hard, remembering the activities they’d participated in only a few hours ago. The intimacies she’d shared.

  And she’d told him about Prescott and Harold! Why had she done that?

  “The sky is clear now, but let’s not take any chances on another storm moving in. Besides that, Rhoda and Carlisle are expected any day.” This from Sophia.

  Loretta refused to meet Thomas’ eyes.

  She could not.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Three days passed since returning to Eden’s Court, and Thomas had yet to cross paths with his duchess even once. And when he’d taken it upon himself to visit the dowager house, he’d been promptly sent away. The duchess was not in, he’d been told.

  And so, on this afternoon, he took it upon himself to restlessly wander about the endless foyers in Eden’s Court.

  She’d been embarrassed that morning at Talon’s Gate. If only she’d speak to him, he could set her fears to rest. None of her family members suspected anything untoward had occurred. He’d given Prescott the impression that the duchess had spent the night alone in the guest house, as that had been more practical to heat, and that he’d spent the night with the animals.

  Prescott had merely nodded and then Thomas had sent Cecily and the younger duchess inside the main manor to have a look around.

  The only person who suspected anything, he’d guess, was his daughter.

  Although one part of him was frustrated at the duchess’ notable absence, another part of him was slightly relieved.

  For surely when he did see her again, he’d experience the sting of rejection. Because God help him, he had fallen in love with the blasted woman and she likely could never see past his low birth.

  She’d allowed him to bed her, but he doubted she’d want anything more.

  Thomas would make his departure on Boxing Day.

  He needed to speak with her, though, because despite their ages, he supposed he could still possibly have gotten her with child.

  Certainly not a conversation he’d foreseen having at this stage of his life.

  He turned the corner, and where an iron gate normally blocked passage, he discovered it slid open. He’d follow this route, as he was growing bored with most of the others.

  Ah, yes, the gallery.

  Centuries of paintings, artist renderings of the Prescott ancestors preserved for all eternity. He stopped to examine a few of the more interesting ones, but preferred to keep moving.

  Until he arrived at hers.

  Damned fool that he was. Good God, she was even more beautiful now than when she had been a girl. Studying the likeness, he could almost smell her perfume. Roses, warmth.

  “I was barely sixteen when I sat for it.”

  He should have known the moment he was no longer alone. The painting had thrown off his senses. She’d crept up beside him. Shifting his gaze toward her, his heart felt lighter all of a sudden.

  “You’re even more beautiful now.” Having her here beside him, and having had a taste of her, all his instincts demanded more.

  But she held herself stiffly and took two steps away at his words.

  “You are a flatterer.” She scoffed. She held her hands behind her back. “But thank you.”

  This woman. Damn his eyes, but he wished she didn’t affect him so.

  Even now, pinched lips, hair pulled back into an austere knot. But she had not donned her black gowns again. She wore a pale blue instead.

  He held her gaze intently, reminding her with his eyes that she could no longer hide from him.

  “I don’t waste my time with flattery.” Thomas would not play games.

  She dropped her lashes, but nodded. As though she ought to have expected nothing less from him. “Thank you.” Her voice lacked its normal haughtiness, coming out nearly a whisper.

  Thomas stepped forward and winged an arm for her. “Will you walk with me?” In almost all aspects of his life, he controlled, directed, ordered. He couldn’t impose his will in this case.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she relented, slid her hand in the crook of his arm, and directed them further along the gallery. “I always loved strolling through here. One would think it would be depressing, the constant reminder of what is now gone. But it always comforted me somehow. Made me feel… not so very alone.”

  He noticed she used the past tense. “And now?”

  She exhaled l
oudly. “I have lost my sense of belonging. Prescott is gone.” She stopped and pointed at her deceased husband’s portrait and then two others. “As is Lucas…and Harold…”

  Thomas examined her eldest son’s painting and then the one of her son who yet lived.

  Thomas could not remember any particular occasion where he’d met the man, and yet his eyes seemed familiar. And the set of his jaw.

  “I cannot help thinking, as Sophia and the others prepare for Christmastide, that the season is supposed to represent hope.” She shook her head and pressed her free hand to her chest. “I cannot seem to shed this hopelessness inside.”

  His own heart weighed heavy upon her words. “Why do you think that is, Duchess?” He’d hoped for more than he ought. Hope was a fickle friend indeed.

  Releasing his arm, she stepped closer to the painting of Harold. “Harold loved the Christmas festivities more than any of us. It was his enthusiasm that drove the decorations and the feasts and the gift giving. I ought to have appreciated him more. I ought to have appreciated him for who he was.”

  Thomas held his peace. No one had the ability to draw guilt from a person like one’s children could.

  “I was so happy when he married Sophia. Ecstatic when I believed he’d changed his ways and fallen in love with her. So very foolish of me. He’d loved his valet for years. I refused to accept that part of him.”

  “You were afraid for him, I’d venture.”

  “Terrified. There were rumors. Prescott knew what was required to hush them.”

  “A wife.”

  “Oh, yes. Sophia. I think she was a great friend to him in the end. But nothing more.”

  “So, he did not perish off the cliff. He must have had conspirators then.” She obviously needed to speak of this with another person. It had been festering in her for over a year now.

  “Prescott and Sophia.” At his raised brows, she rushed to add, “They would not have encouraged him. I believe Sophia did her best to stop him in the end. She was quite distraught, so much so that I truly believed she grieved his death… when in fact he’d gone to the docks. I do not know his destination. I only know that he is safe and content.”

  Thomas studied the portrait with narrowed eyes.

  The docks… A vague recollection gnawed at him.

  ***

  She’d wanted to seek Thomas Findlay out and yet at the same time hoped never to see him again. If he had departed, then she wouldn’t have to turn him away. If he wanted to continue their affair, that was.

  She couldn’t bring herself to wish for more.

  How could she, herself, pursue happiness, when her one living son had been denied the same? Not that she could change public matters, but she could have done something.

  Couldn’t she? Something to keep him at home, something to keep him from giving up his birthright. Perhaps if she’d loved him better, unconditionally.

  If there was such a thing.

  Thomas watched her intently with those stormy eyes of his. Ah, but she craved his touch already. She’d craved it every night since returning to Eden’s Court.

  He’d introduced her to her own needs, and then fulfilled them one by one. Such a man deserved a woman who would love him wholeheartedly.

  She didn’t believe that woman could be herself. She’d already failed at love dismally.

  Her nature was too tied into the aristocracy.

  He was of low birth. He had not an ounce of nobility to him. Loretta didn’t trust herself to accept him for who he was.

  And yet she wanted to walk into his arms.

  Who was she now?

  The question that had been haunting her for months reared its ugly head again. Was she only part woman? Must she sacrifice feminine wants for the title she’d taken on years ago? She was still the Duchess of Prescott, and yet she was also an imposter.

  Her Prescott lay in the ground.

  “Duchess.” The low timbre of Thomas’ voice reached into her core and sent warmth flowing through her veins. “I’ve missed you.”

  Oh, dear God, but she’d missed him too. Forcing herself to meet Harold’s painted gaze, Loretta hugged her arms in front of her.

  She could not stop herself from recalling the feel of Thomas’ naked body tucked around her, cradling her in sleep. Nor the taste of his kiss. She’d missed him too.

  How could that be?

  Yes, she’d been aware of his masculinity since they’d first met, at Sophia and Dev’s wedding, but she’d been in a fog then. She’d barely spoken with him until this week.

  And she’d known all along they would not suit.

  How could he have come to mean so much to her?

  She bit her lip to keep from responding with the same. Instead, she merely nodded, and then felt all kinds of a fool for the inadequacy of her response.

  Had she forgotten how to be a woman?

  She hadn’t forgotten when he’d taken her to bed.

  “Are you going all duchessy on me again?” His question drew the briefest of smiles to her lips.

  “Mr. Findlay, have you forgotten that I am a duchess and that you are a man of the merchant class?” She cringed at her own words.

  And then his arms wrapped around her from behind. Her body’s wants warred with everything her brain insisted upon. “How could I forget that?” he growled, holding her tight to him, his desire apparent enough.

  Not only her body, but her heart.

  She could not help herself. Raising her hands, she covered his arms with hers and relaxed into his warmth. “Would be best for us to forget all of this. I am afraid…”

  But what was she afraid of?

  Change?

  Guilt?

  Gossip?

  His chin rested atop her head heavily. All those years she’d been married, and she’d not realized how badly she needed this: affection, tenderness, touch.

  “What are you afraid of?” His question echoed her thoughts.

  She shook her head. “Too much. And I’ve no courage to face it all.” As a girl, she’d been matched to a duke. She’d used up all of her courage then.

  “No courage even for love?” Was that what this was? He’d not mentioned the word before. And she had not expected him to…

  She swallowed hard. “Especially not for love.” Because she’d break eventually. The two of them were too different. They’d lived such very different lives. He’d eventually decide she was too pampered and aloof and she’d tire of his uncouth habits.

  She nearly had herself convinced.

  And she did not think she could manage an affair without experiencing an abundance more guilt.

  “Ah, so I should keep my offer to myself then?” Offer? Whatever was he going on about?

  He couldn’t mean… Of course, he couldn’t. He’d meant to suggest they have an affair, surely. “Perhaps that would be best.”

  He squeezed her tighter.

  “I cannot, Thomas. I am past my time.” She voiced the words to persuade herself, at the same time leaning into his strength.

  “Nonsense.”

  Loretta dropped her lashes, closing her eyes against his protest. Even if he thought he loved her now. He did not know her. He would leave England again and remember her only as the pathetic duchess she’d become. A woman who’d failed at love time and time again.

  ***

  The next morning, as the sun barely crept above the horizon, Loretta Brookes, Duchess of Prescott, stood and watched out her window as Mr. Thomas Findlay mounted his horse. She presumed his luggage and valet would follow him shortly.

  Or perhaps they’d departed earlier.

  Frost hung in the air, hovering over the dormant meadows, but most of the snow from earlier had melted.

  He’d miss spending Christmas, only five days away, with his daughter and grandson, presumably because of her. Because she’d been a coward.

  He’d not told her goodbye. When she’d finally mustered the courage to push his arms from around her, he’d gone silent for a
ll of a minute.

  He’d not pushed for her love.

  Her heart flinched, feeling nearly as cold as the window pane.

  What had she done?

  CHAPTER TEN

  He’d awakened something inside of her. And although she’d wanted to ask his daughter of his destination, or why he’d chosen to make an early departure, she’d felt too foolish to do so.

  Instead, she would assist Sophia in planning all the upcoming festivities. With just two days until Christmas, Loretta had promised to meet Sophia to go over the meals and decorations that would be put out on the following day, on Christmas Eve. It was considered bad luck to put them up sooner, and the Prescott family did not need any more bad luck.

  She wrapped her scarf twice around her neck and embarked on the brisk walk to the manor. She ignored the section of the path she’d taken with Thomas just over one week ago, choosing a slightly longer route instead, and concentrated upon the task ahead of her today.

  The elaborate family dinner would follow Christmas Eve services. Although most gentry families preferred venison, Prescott had favored turkey. Loretta wondered if she ought to mention this to Sophia. Did it even matter anymore?

  They had not celebrated last year.

  Sophia had scheduled an outing for tomorrow morning, on Christmas Eve. They were all to go in search of evergreens and holly and rosemary. Surely, the babies were too young to participate.

  All the young people would don their warmest coats and hats and mittens for the brief outing. It was a shame the snow had mostly melted, or they could have made gone sledding down the hills or ice skating on the pond.

  They would bring greenery back and hang bows and garlands throughout the house. Wassail must be prepared for the carolers who would surely come visiting.

  An even larger party would be held on Christmas night. Many neighbors and villagers would be invited.

  She wondered what Thomas would be doing on that magical night. Had he already made plans to sail away? If he did, she hoped the weather was not too violent.