“Indeed?” She raised her eyebrows, all the time dying on the inside.
He cupped her chin. “Miss Chambers, I am requesting you do me the honor of becoming my duchess.”
Her heart pounded in righteous indignation. She reared back. “How dare you? You think because…” She stopped and stared at him wide-eyed. “What?”
“I’m asking you to marry me, sweetheart.”
Merry stared at him in shocked silence, then shook her head. “Marry you?”
“Yes.”
“What about Miss Jennings?”
“Who?”
“Miss Jennings. The perfect governess who would be the perfect duchess.”
“What are you talking about?” He cupped her cheek. ”You, my love, are the perfect duchess. For me.”
When what he’d said finally sunk in, Merry realized she’d misunderstood the entire conversation she’d overheard between Penrose and Lord Brandon.
“You wish to marry me?” she whispered.
“More than anything.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Sweetheart, please save me from the torture I’ve been going through all day and say yes.”
She moved back, hand on her hip, her eyes narrowed. “Is this to be a business arrangement, Your Grace?” She tapped her foot.
He grinned and tugged her back. “No, my love.” He tapped the end of her nose with his finger. “And no more ‘Your Grace.’ I want to be your husband, your lover, the father of your children. And if you feel about me the way I feel about you, this will be a love match.”
Tears of relief and joy gathered in her eyes. This man, who she’d fallen so deeply in love with, would be hers. No matter to him that he was the duke, and she a mere American, he loved her. Her chest swelled with happiness. “Oh yes, this will definitely be a love match.”
“Miss Merry!” Charlotte and Clare called from one of the upper windows.
Both Merry and Penrose sprang apart and look upwards. Merry gasped. “Girls, what are you doing hanging out the window in your night clothes?”
“It’s midnight, Miss Merry. Christmas Day.” They grinned at her, their beautiful young faces aglow in the moonlight.
She tried unsuccessfully to hide her smile. “Return to your room, I will deal with you in the morning.”
Penrose threw back his head and laughed.
Merry attempted to glare at him, but lost the battle. “Don’t laugh. They are in big trouble.”
As the first snowflakes fell, he gathered her close yet again, then leaned his forehead on hers. “Merry Christmas, Miss Merry.”
“Look, His Grace is kissing Miss Merry,” Charlotte sighed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Epilogue
One Year Later
“Your Grace, what are you doing out of bed?” The young servant hurried to Merry’s side, gripping her elbow as if she were an invalid.
“I am finished with lying about in bed. My son is two weeks old, and I refuse to spend another day staring at the ceiling.”
“I don’t know, I’m afraid His Grace will be furious.”
“Indeed he will be.” Penrose strode down the corridor, scooped Merry up into his arms, and started up the stairs.
“For heaven’s sake, put me down. I can walk.”
“No. The accoucheur distinctly said you were to remain in bed for three weeks.”
“I would love to see how you would behave if someone told you to stay in bed for three weeks.”
“I did not just deliver a baby, madam.”
“But I feel fine. I need some exercise. I can help with the preparations for Christmas.”
“No. I will settle you in bed, and have tea sent up. You must re-gain your strength so you can properly care for my son.”
She glared at him. “My son, too.”
“My goodness, what is all the bickering about?” The dowager duchess stood at the end of the corridor, her hands planted on her hips.
“Penrose insists I must return to bed.”
“Where she will remain for another week.”
With a shake of her head, the dowager opened the door to the duke’s apartments and Penrose marched through, and headed directly to the large canopied bed in the middle of the room. He deposited his wife onto the mattress and pulled up the covers. “Stay here.”
To Penrose’s dismay, Merry covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
“Oh, my dear,” the dowager soothed as she hurried forth and sat next to Merry on the bed. “It is difficult, I know.” She glared at her son.
He stretched out his palms in supplication. “What did I say?”
“Miss Merry, guess what? Lord Brandon said we can all go ice skating this afternoon.” Lady Charlotte entered the room, buttoning her pelisse.
Merry rolled over and cried harder.
“What’s the matter with Miss Merry?” Clare followed Charlotte’s footsteps.
They all stood staring at the woman sobbing on the bed. The dowager cupped her jaw in her palm and shook her head. The girls clutched each other’s hands.
“Everyone out!” Penrose’s decree had the dowager and girls scurrying to the door.
Once the door closed, he stood, his hands clasping open and closed as he walked slowly to the bed. “Sweetheart?”
She didn’t answer, just took a shuddering breath.
Sighing, he sat next to her and pulled her into his arms. “I am so sorry, my love.”
She hiccupped and curled into his chest, almost as if she could crawl under his skin. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” She took the handkerchief he handed her and blew her nose. “I have a beautiful, healthy baby, and I feel fine. There is nothing to be unhappy about. Is there?”
He smoothed the hair back from her forehead. “Mother tells me all women have these ‘spells’ after childbirth. It will pass.”
“If only I could feel useful. Nanny brings the baby to me a few times a day, but then whisks him right back after I feed him. She says he needs to be bundled in his bed all the time.” She looked at him, tears clumping her eyelashes. “I want to hold him, play with him, count his fingers and toes. Maybe sing him a lullaby.”
Gently, he rubbed the back of her neck until he felt her tightened muscles relax. Apparently the way Polite Society dealt with its children by handing them off to a nanny, then a governess, was not going to work for his wife. Thinking back, it rarely worked for his mother, as well.
“All right, let’s go.” Once more he settled her into his arms and strode to the door.
“Where are we going?”
“To make you useful.”
“Bess, fetch Her Grace’s bedding and bring it down to the drawing room.” He barked his orders at the young maid which had her scurrying to do his bid.
Once they reached the drawing room, Penrose deposited Merry in a chair next to the fireplace. She inhaled deeply of the pine scented room, smiling warmly at the tree the footmen had brought into the house yesterday. The girls had been busy making decorations and placing them on the branches.
With his wife in confinement, there would be no Christmas Eve Ball this year, but he needed to work harder to make this a pleasant Christmas for her.
“Make up the settee so Her Grace can recline there.” He motioned to Bess as she entered the room, with a footman following holding sheets, blankets and a pillow.
Once the bed was made up, and assured that Merry was comfortable, Penrose left the room. “Don’t go anywhere, I will be right back.”
Merry grinned as Penrose kissed her on the forehead and strode from the room. How her opinion of him had changed since the day she had arrived with the girls in tow. At that meeting she would never have guessed what a caring, tender husband he would be. Of course, he was still arrogant and overbearing at times, but he more than made up for it in the way he tried so hard to please her.
“Well this is certainly a nice compromise.” Kitty placed a bowl of pine cones on the table near the door and surveyed the area. “This is a much more pleasa
nt place for you to recuperate.”
“I don’t need to recuperate. I feel fine.”
“Yes, I know dear, and when I had my sons I felt fine as well, but to keep my husband happy I stayed in bed for weeks. Longer than three, it seems to me.” She tapped her lips with her index finger. “Or maybe it just seemed so much longer.”
“Miss Merry we decided to stay with you instead of skating.” Lady Clare skipped into the room.
Lord Brandon followed. “Can I tell you, dear sister, how happy I am to be forced to stay in the nice warm house instead of freezing my—“
“Brandon!” the duchess warned.
“Sorry, Mother. But I wouldn’t have said what you think.” He winked and took the seat across from Merry. “Feeling lonely, were you?”
“A bit,” she sighed.
“Perhaps we can have a game of charades later. Watching Penrose make a fool of himself will certainly entertain you.”
“Well, look who we have here.” Penrose strolled through the doorway with a small bundle wrapped in a soft white blanket. “I found this tyke lying around up in the nursery. Thought I would put him to good use.”
Merry held her arms out, her fingers flexing to hold her child.
Penrose placed the baby gently in her arms. “Here you are, Your Grace. Just as you requested. William Thomas, the Marquis of Burlington.” Penrose settled alongside his family. His large finger traced the softness of the newborn’s skin. “Merry Christmas, my son.”
“This is such a wonderful Christmas,” Merry choked. Then the tears fell as she hugged her baby close.
The End
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If you enjoyed reading these stories, you might enjoy For the Love of the Viscount, book 1 in the Noble Hearts Regency Romance series.
Bluestocking Lady Elise Smith is a very content spinster. She holds intellectual gatherings and attends poetry readings, mind-improving lectures, and art shows. She runs her father’s household with quiet and determined efficiency, which is why she is absolutely stunned when Papa informs his three daughters that until Lady Elise is happily settled with—gasp—a husband, he will not consider offers for his two younger daughters.
Lord Simon St. George has happily watched one friend after another become leg-shackled, taking pride in the fact that his title is secured by a brother and nephew, so there is no reason to seek a wife for himself. When he sees a woman previously unknown to him at a ball, who seems to be hiding from the rest of the attendees, he is intrigued enough to introduce himself.
Simon sees a lovely, intelligent woman to pass the time with. Elise sees a man who can help her thwart her father by pretending they are courting. But even the best plans can go awry…
If you’ve already read For the Love of the Viscount, you can find a list of all my books on my website: http://calliehutton.com/
Excerpt from
For the Love of the Viscount
Prologue
March, 1818, London, England
The Right Honorable, the Earl of Pomeroy, sat at the head of his dinner table and smiled at his three lovely daughters, who smiled back at him. Three unmarried lovely daughters. Each one was charming and pretty in her own way. And each one needed to find a husband and remove herself from his benevolence before he went broke.
The bills continued to pile up on the desk in his study. Bonnets, gowns, gloves, slippers, ribbons. The list was endless. While he had no doubt his two youngest daughters, Lady Juliet and Lady Marigold, would one day find their way to the altar, he had no expectations that his eldest, Lady Elise at three and twenty, would ever wander in that direction. Without a little push, that was.
Which he was about to give.
“My dears, I would like your attention, if you please.” He smiled at the loves of his life. Obedient as ever, they all gave him their utmost attention. One pair of blue eyes, two hazel.
“Yes, Papa?” Elise, one of the pair of hazel eyes, said.
He cleared this throat. “It has come to my attention that perhaps I have been remiss in assuring all of you secure the best in life. Everything that your blessed mother—“ he made the sign of the cross “—and I, had together. Love, marriage, children.”
Julie and Marigold continued to smile, but Elise stiffened and a frown marred her comely face. Ah, yes. That was expected.
“Of course we wish that for ourselves as well,” his youngest darling, Lady Marigold, said. A true treasure, and the image of her exquisite mother.
“Indeed.”
“Papa, I believe we spoke of this before.” Elise patted her mouth with her serviette and laid it alongside her plate. “Marigold and Juliet are well suited to marriage, but I thought we agreed I would continue on here with you. You know I do an excellent job of managing your house.”
“And my life as well, my dear.” He gave her a well-rehearsed fatherly smile.
“What did you have in mind, Papa? The Season is just starting, and I hope to find my true love this year.” Juliet, at nine and ten years, brought sunshine and happiness to his life. Along with a pile of bills for jewelry and shoes. Lord, the girl loved shoes and dance slippers. She must dance every dance at every ball since she went through two pairs at each event.
“I believe the best way to assure each of you has what every woman dreams of is a sensible method I have spent many a night deciding on.”
Two of his daughters stared at him with excitement since it sounded as though this was a plan to help them obtain their wishes and hopes. Alas, Elise apparently found the conversation disturbing. She did not look in his eyes when he gazed at her. He was aware his normal look of adoration had a bit of determination in it.
“What have you decided, Papa? Since I have no interest in marriage—as you well know—this plan is most likely for my sisters. I want to be sure it will be the best idea for them.” She wagged her finger at him. “You do come up with a scheme that is less than ideal on occasion, in which case I have needed to direct you toward another avenue.”
Yes the love of my heart, you spend a great deal of time directing.
The moment had arrived. “It seemed fair to me that you should all find your husbands in order.” He sat back and beamed as if he’d discovered the secret of longevity.
His beloved Elise frowned. “In order of what?”
“Birth.”
Elise continued to stare at him, her mouth agape.
Juliet asked, “Birth?”
“Yes, my dear hearts. We will spend the next weeks seeing that our darling Elise finds her perfect match, as she is the firstborn of my delightful progeny.”
Juliet and Marigold gasped in horror and looked at their sister. Elise had made it known quite loudly, and often, that she had no intention of marrying. Ever.
Elise cleared her throat. “Papa, I assume you are joking with us.”
He turned his attention to her, forcing his steely determination to overwhelm the adoration. “No, my precious. It came to me in a dream where I saw your beloved mother who took me to task for allowing you to flounder when I should be guiding you.”
“Flounder? Guiding?” His poor girl’s face was pale, her breathing rapid.
She seemed to steady herself and put forth her brightest smile. “Oh, Papa. While I appreciate your concern for my future, I believe we can turn our efforts and attention to Juliet.” Her lips tightened, and she glared at her sister, apparently looking for support.
“I agree, Papa. I would love to have help from all of you in securing my future.” His sweet second eldest nudged Marigold with her elbow.
“Ouch. Yes, Papa, I think Juliet is definitely the one we should be focused on. My turn will be next year.” Marigold rubbed her side and cast a reproving glance at her sister.
“Oh, my enchanting offspring, how I love you so. However, my mind is
made up. We will see Elise a happy bride this year.” He beamed at them, looking from one cherished daughter to the next. ’Twas time for others—with hefty bank rolls—to cherish them as well.
“Papa, suppose I refuse?” Elise had never gone against his wishes in her entire life. She had always been able to persuade him to see things her way. Which was another advantage to his plan. She would be directing someone else’s life.
“Then, my dear, I am afraid it will take longer for your sisters to find their own true loves. You see, I will be unable to accept suitors for them until you are safely settled in your own little love nest.” With that pronouncement he stood and gave them a slight bow. ”Now if you will excuse me, I will retire to my library and enjoy a brandy before bed.”
Three girls sat opened-mouth as he smiled at them and left the room. He strode down the corridor, lighthearted. He’d put his plan into action, and soon he would be free of bills. Not that he begrudged his treasured daughters their fribbles, but a man could not watch his fortune dwindle every day without concern.
Although he had no son to whom he would pass along his title and money, it still disturbed him to watch his balance shrink monthly.
Grinning to himself, he poured a brandy and sat by the fireplace, raising a toast to freedom.
Chapter One
Elise stood in front of the full length mirror in her bedchamber and stared at herself. The deep green silk gown with gold trim looked stunning on her. Charlene, the lady’s maid she shared with her sisters, had managed to fix her usual unruly hair and arranged it in some sort of topknot type thing.
Long white satin gloves covered her hands and arms, and lovely green satin slippers peeked out from under the hem of her gown. Her mother’s pearls surrounded her throat, with the matching earbobs dangling from her ears.
She felt utterly ridiculous.
This woman in the mirror was not Lady Elise Smith, accepted bluestocking, sworn spinster, and hostess of well-respected gatherings of the intellectual elite of London. This woman was on the prowl for a husband. Something she never, ever wanted.
Merry Christmas, My Love Page 31