by Cheryl Bolen
“Most certainly.”
* * *
The ladies with their mussed hair and wrinkled dresses were most happy to see the men from Hedley Hall. Alfred’s cousin flew into the duke’s arms, covering him with kisses and lavishing him with profuse endearments.
Mrs. Twickingham gushed at Twigs. “Oh, my dearest husband, how very wonderful it was to see you flicking those ribbons! I was just saying to Mama that I hoped my dear husband would be coming to collect me for I could not bear to be apart from him on Christmas Day.”
“Couldn’t be apart on Christmas,” Twigs responded.
Alfred moved to his mother. “Come, Mama. I’m taking you back. I’ve news. . .” He handed her up on the box.
She whirled at him. “Don’t tell me Emily’s . . .?”
He hoisted himself up beside her and took the reins. “Yes. She is mother to a fine son. He was born just after two this morning.”
Tears began to stream down her face. “And I could not be there for the birth of my first grandchild.”
Alfred cleared his throat. “Actually the lad is not your first grandchild.”
She drew an impatient breath. “Don’t you start sounding like your sister. It’s all good and well that Emily and Dunsford take their role as foster parents so well, but. . .”
“Mother, Emily gave birth to Harriett.”
Dead silence met his comment.
Several moments passed before his mother spoke. “You mean when Emily was in the Peninsula with her aunt?”
Alfred nodded.
“Now everything is so clear,” she whispered. “Now I understand why she was so forlorn when she returned, why she did not want to go to assemblies, why she resisted the notion of marrying.” Lady Landis began to weep. “How she must have suffered. Dunsford’s dead brother must have been the father?”
“I believe so.”
“I should get down on my knees and thank Dunsford for loving her as he does.”
“He’s a good man. A fine husband. A fine father. And today he’s the happiest man in the kingdom.”
“How wonderful. My poor, dear daughter deserves happiness.”
A moment later, she added, “And my poor, sweet granddaughter deserves all my love.”
* * *
When they got back to Hedley Hall, the scent of the Christmas goose was permeating the house. “Before we eat,” Twigs said to his wife, “I should like to speak to you in private.”
He took her to the library, closed the door for privacy, and walked with her to stand in front of the fire. Even though the snow had stopped falling, it was still bloody cold. “Must apologize. Don’t have a present for you,” he said. “Since the fiasco of your birthday—though it wasn’t really your birthday as I found out later. I’m afraid to pick out something you’ll hate.”
His little blonde-haired wife nodded.
Thank God she hadn’t thrown something at him.
He drew a breath. “Was wondering if . . . if having a little Twigs . . . or a little Cressy was something you’d like to possess.”
His wife’s pretty little face lit up. To his pleasant surprise, she threw her arms around him and kissed him rather . . . well, rather passionately. It was a while before she spoke. “That would be the best Christmas present I could ever receive. Can we, can we please go upstairs right now and start working on this most wondrous present?”
“But. . . but it’s daytime.”
She pressed up against him and spoke huskily. “Dinner won’t be served for another hour. No one will miss us.”
He became suddenly too winded to respond. Marriage had taught him it was always best to defer to wives.
* * *
Alfred stood back and watched as their mother entered Emily’s bedchamber. On the settee near the fire, Harriett sprawled out with her baby brother on her lap, their father sitting beside her. Once again, Lady Landis cried. “Oh, look! My two precious grandbabies! I’ve never had a happier Christmas.”
“Would you like to hold him?” Lord Dunsford asked.
“Oh, yes!”
It was an emotional scene, and Alfred had never heretofore considered himself much into emotions. Is that what came from falling in love? Or was that what came from being hopelessly in love?
Holding her grandson close, his mother strolled over to Emily. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here with you last night, my darling. How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful. I was in very good hands with Lady Sarah and my brother.”
Lady Landis’s eyes widened. “Your brother?”
“My brother was a great comfort—and he gave our son his first bath.” Em lowered her voice. “Did Alfred tell you about Harriett?”
Their mother nodded. “Forgive me for the past. She is a precious child. I will be THE best grandmother.”
Em’s eyes watered. “Thank you. What a perfect Christmas this is.”
Alfred was happy for his sister, happy for his mother, but he was wretched. And he knew Potts must be, too. He almost wished he’d never come here, never met Lady Sarah Milton, but then he would have missed the birth of his nephew, and he had to admit last night had been remarkable.
* * *
Christmas dinner was torture. Except for Potts and him, all the others were blissfully happy, and he’d never been so miserable. Sitting next to Sarah was agony. From the melodious tones of her sweet voice, to the rise and fall of her voluptuous breasts, to her pretty face, everything about her drove home how much he wanted, how much he had missed. He longed to touch her, to kiss her, to declare his love for her.
But all he did was refill his wine glass and drink. He did not have any appetite. He spoke to no one. Christmas could not be over soon enough. He wanted to put Hedley Hall—and one beautiful lady—behind him.
The duke touched the tines of his fork to the crystal of his glass to garner the gathering’s attention for a toast. “Bonny and I wish to thank all of our guests for sharing this most happy of Christmases with our family. We are exceedingly honored that Lord and Lady Dunsford’s son was born here at Hedley and look forward to all of our children and the children yet to be born sharing many more Christmases together here.” He held up a glass, and they drank a toast. “May all your Christmas wishes be fulfilled.”
Alfred touched his glass to Sarah’s and met her somber gaze. If only.
* * *
Before they went into the family parlor after dinner, Potts called him aside. “Need to speak to you, old fellow.”
Alfred wasn’t about to go to the library. That’s where Potts and Sarah had spoken in the wee hours of this morning. He nodded and led his friend to the now unused billiards room that was lighted by a single wall sconce.
Potts closed the door. “I suppose you know Lady Sarah turned me down?”
Alfred nodded.
“She told me her affections are engaged.”
Alfred felt as if he’d fallen from a great height.
“She admitted that the man she cares for is spoken for.”
“I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Alfred glared at his friend. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. About her. She believed me when I told her you had an understanding with an actress.”
That was true. She had indicated as much to Alfred. The very realization sent his pulses accelerating.
“I’ve also been thinking about how all the ladies always fall for you. And I’ve been thinking about your mother playing matchmaker, and about why Lady Sarah would have bothered even coming here to Hedley Hall at Christmas. It wasn’t as if she was related to the Duke or Duchess of Radcliff like you are. She must have come here because she was attracted to you.”
Now Alfred’s heart was pounding nearly out of his chest. Dare he give credence to his friend’s words? And what a spectacular friend Potts was! He was handing the woman he loved on a platter to Alfred!
“And I’ll tell you something else, Wick. I think you
’ve bloody well fallen in love with her. I’ve known you too long. You’re different around her. I wouldn’t be telling you these things if I didn’t think you’d treat her like she deserves.”
Alfred slowly nodded as he clasped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re the best friend a fellow ever had. I cannot believe such a paragon as Lady Sarah could care about me, but with your blessing, I’ve got to try . . .”
With that, he raced from the chamber.
Chapter 11
Potts probably had it all wrong. A woman with all the attributes of Lady Sarah Milton could win the heart of any man in the kingdom, but Alfred had always been a gambler, and he would never forgive himself if he didn’t risk everything in the hopes of winning her heart.
He raced to the parlor where everyone, save his sister, who was still in bed, had gathered to celebrate the Yule. The children were playing with their new presents, and everyone seemed jolly, but there was no sign of Sarah. It was impossible to mask his deep disappointment.
“Where’s Lady Sarah?” he asked.
Her mother answered. “She was very cold, so she went to her bedchamber to fetch a shawl.”
“I told her to have a servant bring it,” her father said, “but she wanted to stretch her legs after the long dinner.”
Alfred eyed his mother, smiled, and left the room without a word to anyone. His mother would know what was going on. He only hoped the outcome would be as his mother had hoped.
* * *
Sarah felt beastly for being so selfish. This Christmas had brought so much joy to so many people here at Hedley Hall. She had no right to be so melancholy. But she was utterly miserable. She and poor Lord Pottinger. Perhaps she should have accepted his suit. Then there would have been one less miserable person. It wasn’t as if she could ever be happy in love.
In all these years since she had left the school room she had never been attracted to any of the many men who had courted her. For years now only one man had ever appealed, and not only was he not attracted to her, but he was also promised to another.
No one else would ever do for her. She was destined to be a spinster. She had almost accepted spinsterhood as her fate, but after holding Lady Dunsford’s babe in her arms, she now knew how much she wanted the love of a husband and babes of her own. Coming here for Christmas made her more miserable than she had ever deemed possible.
Sitting in that parlor with those disgustingly happy couples accentuated the hopelessness of her situation.
She gathered her Kashmir shawl around her as she descended the broad marble staircase, dreading reentering the parlor. Movement below caught her eye. Alfred Wickham stood at the landing looking up at her with a strange look on his face. Had he drunk too much at dinner? It had not escaped her notice that he’d preferred the wine to his food.
“You look beautiful, Sarah.”
He’d called her by her Christian name. No lady in front of it. Very intimate. He must be drunk. Still, she was pleased over his words. “Thank you.” She decided she could give tit for tat. “Alfred.”
His eyes flashed with mirth.
He moved up the stairs and came to take her hand. “I liked it when you touched my hand last night,” he said in a husky voice.
“This morning, actually.”
“I would have kissed you if it weren’t for Potts.”
She stopped dead still and spoke in a husky voice herself. “Potts is no longer in the way.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned. Then he pulled her into his arms for a crushing kiss.
It was quite unlike any kiss in which she had ever been a participant. It wasn’t just her mouth that was engaged but every single cell in her body throbbed. It was also of much longer duration—and it involved tongues—something that would formerly have shocked her but that now brought her unimagined pleasure that she did not want to terminate.
Eventually it did terminate. “Will you come with me to . . . a quiet place where we can talk?” he asked.
She realized he must not want to go to the library where Lord Pottinger had asked for her hand. Trembling, she drew a deep breath. Was he going to ask for her hand? “The morning room on the ground floor?”
He kissed her hand and nodded, squeezing her hand as they walked downstairs together. He didn’t take her to the marble-floored morning room she had in mind but to another, older wing of the house where the floors were of wood. He’d taken a candelabra and led them there.
In the cozy chamber, they sat together on a settee. “I must beg your forgiveness,” he began. “When I learned my mother meant to foist a woman on me, I persuaded Lord Pottinger to lie to you and make you despise me—all of this before I ever met you. I am not promised to an actress, nor do I have any kind of understanding with any woman, nor have I ever. There’s only ever been one woman with whom I’ve ever wanted to spend my life, and I’m sitting beside her right now.”
He drew a deep breath and continued. “I have no right to expect a perfect being like you to consider my suit, but I’ve always—and this much that Potts told you was true—I’ve always been a risk-taker. I’m willing to risk humiliating myself on the chance of winning your hand. Could you possibly make me—and my mother—impossibly happy by consenting to become my most cherished wife?”
She felt as if she were in some joyous, celestial dream. It was a moment before she realized he was awaiting a response. “Alfred Wickham, I don’t know why I should consider marrying a man who gambles foolishly, rushes off to the races at Newmarket whenever the mood strikes, and fences without a mask, imperiling that devilishly handsome face, but I suppose I shall have to consent.”
He drew a deep breath and pulled her to him. “This is where I tell you I love you deeply, Sarah mine.”
“And I may always have loved you, my darling Alfred.”
He dropped a soft kiss into the crown of her head. “No Christmas could ever be happier. Even if I have just agreed to be tied down.”
“I don’t know why I love you, you odious man.” Then, smiling, she lifted her face to his for an incredibly tender kiss.
The End
Cheryl Bolen’s Books
Regency Historical Romance:
The Deceived Series
A Duke Deceived
His Lady Deceived
The Lords of Eton Series
The Portrait of Lady Wycliff
The Earl, the Vow, and the Plain Jane
Last Duke Standing
The Brides of Bath Series
The Bride Wore Blue
With His Ring
The Bride’s Secret
To Take This Lord
Love In The Library
A Christmas in Bath
House of Haverstock Series
Lady by Chance
Duchess by Mistake
Countess by Coincidence
Ex-Spinster by Christmas
Brazen Brides Series
Counterfeit Countess
His Golden Ring
Oh What A (Wedding) Night
Miss Hastings’ Excellent London Adventure
A Birmingham Family Christmas
The Regent Mysteries Series
With His Lady's Assistance
A Most Discreet Inquiry
The Theft Before Christmas
An Egyptian Affair
Pride and Prejudice Sequels
Miss Darcy’s New Companion
Miss Darcy’s Secret Love
The Liberation of Miss de Bourgh
My Lord Wicked
Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas)
Marriage of Inconvenience
Romantic Suspense:
Falling For Frederick
Texas Heroines in Peril Series
Protecting Britannia
Murder at Veranda House
A Cry In The Night
Capitol Offense
World War II Romance:
It Had to Be You
American Historical Romance:
A Summer To Reme
mber (3 American Romances)
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Cheryl Bolen