Finished, Penelope straightened and smiled down at her precocious son. “And perhaps, you will be the one to come up with it.”
Arcas nodded, his brow furrowed with consideration. The look was a direct mirror image of the one his father gave while reading a particularly interesting new history book.
Penelope set aside the bottle of vinegar, applied a sticking plaster to the wound and helped him from the table. “I’m finished. Now tell me about that trifle.”
“It has biscuits in it and a custard—that’s my favorite part.” He led her outside where James was waiting with Gemma and Penelope’s mother.
The women rushed to Arcas as though he was a soldier returned from battle, and Penelope went to her husband.
“Thank ye for saving his life.” James kissed her and put his arm around her. “Now we’ll just need to keep an eye on those two to make sure they dinna fight over him.”
Gemma took one of Arcas’s hands and Lady Bursbury took the other. The three began the short walk to the manor house.
“I think they’ll be well-behaved,” Penelope said.
“For now,” James muttered as they strode together behind the trio.
Their shoes whispered over the dry grass and a balmy breeze blew at their faces. “I love these summer days,” Penelope confessed.
“As do I.” James squeezed her closer. “And I love seeing ye so happy here.”
“I’m always happy with you, James MacKenzie.”
“And I’m the luckiest man alive because of it.” He positioned himself to block the bright sun from her eyes.
“You’re about to be all the luckier.” Penelope glanced up at him.
“Page thirty-five?” He grinned.
Page thirty-five was their favorite.
She lifted her brows at him to let him know she was most certainly amenable to page thirty-five, but then took his hand and put it to her lower abdomen. “It’s been over eight weeks.”
James sucked in a breath. “Penelope.”
God, how she loved her husband. How simply stating eight weeks was met with understanding rather than questioning.
A smile blossomed on his face. “If it’s a girl…”
“Yes,” Penelope replied, fully expecting the question. “She will be named Athena.”
His smile widened. “I love ye more than life itself.”
“And I you, Husband.” She stopped and rose on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his mouth.
“Keep that up, and page seventy-six may come into play as well.” His expression turned wicked.
Penelope shivered with delight. “Promise?”
“Always.” He glanced ahead where the trio were swiftly leaving them behind. “Did ye tell yer mother and Gemma yet?”
Penelope lifted her brows in skepticism. “As if they would keep it a secret from you.”
He held his arm out to her. “Are ye ready to make them even happier than they already are?”
Penelope slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, marveling as she always did how perfectly well that they fit together. “Most certainly.”
Together they caught up with Arcas, Gemma and Lady Bursbury, and all sat down to a lovely dinner, a sweet dessert, and even sweeter news to follow.
For certainly, their life was one of great joy, filled with the richness of intelligent discussion, unconditional acceptance and, most importantly, that irrational, totally unexplainable emotion called love.
Thank you for reading EARL OF OAKHURST! Please know that I read all of my reviews and would love to know how you enjoyed the story, so please do leave a review.
* * *
I’ve written several books with matches Lady Bursbury has made - you can find them here:
* * *
Noah and Helen in MESMERIZING THE MARQUIS where a reclusive marquis finds a woman who just might soften his hard heart…
Grab your copy of MESMERIZING THE MARQUIS
* * *
The Duke and Duchess of Stedton in DISCOVERING THE DUKE (Part of the DUKES BY THE DOZEN anthology) where the pair are reunited at a house party after a lackluster start to their marriage. Will a sizzling wager be enough to melt the frost between them, or will it truly remain the coldest winter in London?
Grab your copy of DUKES BY THE DOZEN
* * *
And learn more about Alistair and Emma’s story in EARL OF BENTON when a whisky smuggling earl does one last whisky run while trying to save an heiress whose uncle is determined to see her dead.
Grab your copy of EARL OF BENTON
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* * *
Ready for more Wicked Earls? Keep reading for an exclusive excerpt from Aubrey Wynne’s EARL OF DARBY:
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Chapter One
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Pendleton Place
Northern England
Early November 1819
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Hannah glared at the array of clothes scattered across her rooms. Nothing seemed right, and she had to look perfect. Dresses and jackets spread across the counterpane, hanging from the bed posts, or draped over her dressing table. In the next room, petticoats, stays, and stockings were strewn over chairs and her traveling trunks. One table held shoes, slippers, and boots. There would be walks during the day, dances, and riding in Hyde Park. It would be her first extended visit away from home. She could be in London for up to six months, except the a trip home for Christmas and Twelfth Night celebrations, which her country neighbors still practiced with exuberance.
She fingered the pale pink muslin with tiny roses embroidered across the satin ribbon at the waist. The delicate flowers were repeated again across the hem and cuff. Would it make her appear too young? Would she look a total dolt against the backdrop of the elegant and polished beau monde?
Stop it! she scolded herself. Hannah was known for her poise and self-reliance. Why should her confidence falter over a trip to Town? Because Gideon would be there. Her stomach did a flip, her lips curving into an instantaneous smile. She closed her eyes, and his deep blue gaze, raven hair, and broad shoulders filled her vision.
Piffle! She needed to cease daydreaming about the earl. If only she could so easily quit a habit that had become second nature to her—since the day he’d stolen her five-year-old heart.
“A penny for your thoughts,” whispered Eliza from behind.
She twirled around to find her sister-in-law with a hand over her mouth, surveying the windstorm that had come upon Hannah’s rooms. “I’m selecting my clothes and having an odious time of it. I need to look sophisticated and show off my best features, yet young enough that I don’t attract any vile old men.”
“Of course, though I don’t believe that’s where your mind was just now,” argued Eliza, rubbing her swelling belly. She looked lovely in the creamy morning dress, delicately embroidered at the cuffs and hem with a pale yellow that matched her flaxen waves. “What do you consider to be your greatest qualities?”
“That’s the problem. They aren’t visible. Intelligence, wit, common sense—”
“Humility…” Lady Pendleton’s violet eyes shone with mischief.
“Merciful heavens, I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of that, though I only believe myself to be passible pretty.” She laughed and gave Eliza a hug. “How I will miss you, sweet sister.”
“You’ll be home before the new year. Perhaps even betrothed, for I don’t think it will take long for someone to fall madly in love with you.”
“But I only have eyes for one, and I hope this season will make him loony with jealousy and realize we are the perfect match.” She sighed. “My first waltz shall be with Gideon. His strong hand on my waist, my palm against his. He will pull me close, our bodies in perfect harmony as he twirls me about the room.”
“About Lord Stanfeld…” Eliza trans
ferred a deep green riding habit from the bed to the post and sat. She patted a space next to her, waiting for Hannah to sit before she continued. “Nathaniel has returned with news.”
Hannah’s brother had gone to London on some business and to arrange for the townhouse to be opened. He most likely had seen his friends. “Is Gideon in good health? Has something happened to his mother, Lady Stanfeld?”
“Everyone is fine.” Eliza paused. “Do you remember when he took his mother to Scotland?”
A knot began to form in Hannah’s stomach. “Yes, his cousin was killed in that political demonstration, and the Stanfords went to offer their condolences.” She didn’t like the pitying expression in her sister-in-law’ eyes. “He didn’t marry?”
She shook her head. “No, but it seems he met someone, who Lady Stanfeld was also quite taken with, and she has returned with them.”
A rock plummeted to the bottom of her belly, her chest tightening as she stared blindly at the Axminster carpet under her feet. He’d found another? She was just coming of age, and he couldn’t wait a few more months? The selfish, thoughtless scoundrel. Horse feathers! Why she’d…win him over, of course. Hannah Pendleton was not one to give up easily.
“You say, he’s not married?”
“No, but Nathaniel thought he sounded quite smitten.” Eliza took Hannah’s hand, sympathy darkening her eyes to a deep plum. “Stanfeld told your brother he plans on asking her as soon as the mourning period has passed.”
“Mourning period? For a cousin?”
“The young lady is his cousin’s widow.”
Hannah let out a long whistle. “The proper Earl of Stanfeld wants to court the widow of his dead cousin?” She laughed then, relief untying the knot and disintegrating the rock in her stomach. “He must feel some kind of obligation toward her, and being from the Highlands, she is sure to have a certain charm. He will come to his senses.”
She kissed her sister-in-law on the cheek and resumed her packing. Althea, Eliza’s daughter from her first marriage burst into the room. “Oh, the pwetty clothes,” exclaimed the toddler. “Are you putting them, Aunt Hannah? Can I watch?”
Hannah squatted down, her face level with the almost-four-year-old. “I’m so glad you’ve arrived. I want your opinion on each dress. Your mother and you will vote on which ones I shall pack and which shall stay behind. Can you help me?”
Althea clapped her hands, her blue violet eyes dancing with excitement, the black curls bobbing furiously as she nodded her head. “Oh, yes! Mama lets me pick out her dwesses when she’s going some vewy important.”
Hannah gave the little girl a hug. “I’ll miss you so much, Thea.”
“You will be back in two blinks, Mama said.” Althea returned the hug and climbed onto the bed, leaning against her mother’s swollen belly. “Nathaniel, it’s me again, your big sistah.” She kissed Eliza’s stomach, then settled back against it.
With the help of her audience, Hannah finished packing. It took a bit longer than expected, with Althea piping in with opinions, trying a few articles on herself, and inviting her basset hound, Cyrano, to join the party. The dog didn’t seem quite as happy as his mistress when a bonnet was wrapped around his head. When he began a long, soulful howl, Eliza packed up both dog and girl and bid Hannah good night.
Sleep did not come quickly with so many plans and thoughts of Gideon in her head. She dreamt of a prince, dark and handsome with smoldering dark blue eyes, and a princess with sepia hair and a gilded tiara sparkling with gems. They danced until she was breathless, and as he bent to kiss her, Hannah woke.
London
Mid-November 1819
The trip was uneventful, the weather pleasant, and the coach ride dull, dull, dull. Hannah had forgotten to pack her latest novel. Her brother, dear sweet Nathaniel, had unearthed an ancient magazine from an innkeeper’s wife . She’d exhausted the pages of La Belle Assembleé. Thrice. She was now a fountain of knowledge concerning a wide variety of no-longer-pertinent subjects.
Masques, popular during the reign of James I, were at once a ball and an opera. But a masquerade might be titillating, she thought. All those hidden faces identified only by the gleam in one’s eyes or the devilish smile below the guise. She’d found the Turkish tale of Jahia and Meimoune interesting the first read, the true story of George and Sophia better the second time, and never should have attempted the Fugitive Poetry section a third. The humorous anecdotes of famous French women had instigated a fierce bout of yawns. She knew what performances had been seen at Covent-Garden or the Cobourg Theater and what mourning fashion had been prevalent when Queen Charlotte died this time last year.
Hannah was not accustomed to being idle. She kept busy throughout the day, either practicing the pianoforte, embroidery, painting, walking, or riding her mare. Never sitting. Just sitting. Thank goodness there was a library at the townhouse. She would remember to bring several books for the journey home. She listened to her maid’s soft snore and wished she could sleep in the dratted rocking vehicle. She should have brought her mare and been outside with her brother, but her mother had stomped her foot and forbade it.
The coach slowed as they finally encountered city traffic. The farther in to the town center, the more congested the streets. She flicked open the wooden slats and looked out at the clamor and overcrowded walkways. Parliament would assemble in another week or two, and the ton were gathering. The smells of the city assaulted her nose but she breathed in deeply, anticipating the coming adventure. The curses of coachmen, chatter of those on foot, and calls of vendors all combined into a background of chatter. The streets were still dry as the weather had been clear and no snow had fallen yet this season.
“How do you fare, sweet sister, with two days of inactivity?” Stanfeld’s question floated through the narrow openings of the window. She could see strips of his dark great coat and black riding boots as he pulled up next to her. “One magazine and two days of nothing to do but look at your lady’s maid.”
“Which was why she chooses to ride in the rumble seat with the footman for the last leg of the journey. She’d rather face the chill than my sour countenance.” Hannah chuckled. “Not that I blame her. I think that last accidental kick from my jiggling foot did her in.”
“Aunt Bertie arrived ahead of us and, according to her note, has everything order.” He winced. “I am sorry about being unable to stay and chaperone you myself. The timing couldn’t be worse with Eliza.”
“Don’t be a ninny. I enjoy Aunt Bertie’s outrageousness and am looking forward to it. Besides, I’d be disappointed in you if you weren’t by Eliza’s side. And Althea would be lost without at least one of us present.”
“We’ll have dinner with Stanfeld and Darby once we’re settled in. They have been instructed to keep an eye on you and your chaperone. At least Darby’s sister is also coming out, so you’ll know someone before your first formal event.”
“How old is Lady Matilda?” Please don’t let her be stunningly perfection.
“Seventeen, I believe. Close to your age, of course.” He grinned. “And she and Lady Darby will be a voice of reason, or a shield, when Aunt Bertie makes a sham of things.”
“Perhaps our aunt has matured.” Hannah rolled her eyes when her brother guffawed. “I mean, in actions rather than years.”
The coach rolled to a stop in front of the townhouse, located at the end of the long brick terrace. The brick had been covered with a plaster stucco and painted a creamy pale salmon with maritime blue door and trim. To the left of the entrance, a bow window shone with a warm welcoming light and a pair of pilasters on each side of the three steps leading up to the door. Above, miniature wrought-iron balconies graced the windows of the top three stories, which would hold baskets of flower in the summer.
The door opened and a butler appeared with a stiff bow and a bewildered expression. The look was explained as Lady Roberta pushed her ample bulk through the doorway, sending the poor man in a forward spin. Bertie grabbed his arm with
her beringed fingers, her brown eyes slanted with merriment, and pulled him from mishap.
“You almost went tumbling down the stairs, Smith! Really, you should be more careful. I don’t know what we’d do without you.” She floated down the stairs, always a remarkable sight due to her plump figure, and informed the neighborhood that they had arrived. “My lovelies,” she said in a booming welcome, “I’ve been waiting forever and a day! Come give me a hug. It’s been monstrous long since I’ve seen you both.”
The attendant opened the door and helped Hannah from the coach. The weak streetlamp cast a golden glimmer on Aunt Bertie’s face that made her appear years younger as she met Hannah at the pavement. She grabbed her niece in a tight hug before she could say a word. After an air-sucking welcome, Hannah managed, “Goodness, it is good to see you too, Aunt.”
She gave her brother a sidelong glance and saw Nathaniel maintaining a polite expression while preparing himself for the forthcoming attack. Her brother had always been slightly intimidated by their independent aunt. While their father had been cordial and compliant, his sister had been full of life, pushy, and vocal in her opinions.
At seventeen, Lady Roberta had wed a wealthy baronet’s second son. The father had wanted to move up in society, and Bertie had wanted his handsome son. “It may not have been love at first sight, but it was certainly lust at first touch,” she’d confided to those present on her niece’s sixteenth birthday. It was the first time Hannah had seen her mother blush.
Lady Roberta’s robust husband, however, had one major flaw. He could not swim. While on a business trip, his ship had encountered a storm and sank. The marriage contract had provided well for the widow, including a substantial jointure until she remarried or died. Finding herself plump in the pocket and independent, she shunned all future marriage proposals. At fifty almost fifty years of age, she was still dogged by a reputation of bold flirtation and speaking her mind.
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