She chewed her lip but then she smiled. “I think I can do that. I’m good at love and laughter.”
He kissed her smile and then they hurried and returned to the drawing room.
When they entered, Bella wasn't wearing her veil and she’d washed off the paint. Her hand was clasped tightly in his, and she looked every inch a blushing bride and a bit ravished too.
The four parents turned to face them in unison.
Calvin stood by the mantle, sipping his drink with a smirk.
“I told you he knew,” Sebastian whispered to her.
“Then why didn’t he stop us?”
“There is no stopping you,” Calvin said as he strolled forward. He stopped and bowed. “My congratulations and…best of luck.” He clapped Sebastian on the shoulder and left the drawing room.
“We have something important to tell you,” Sebastian said, squeezing her hand for reassurance. “I didn't marry Carina today. It was Bella the whole time.”
“Where is Carina?” his mother asked.
“At home,” Bella answered.
“I won't stand for this,” Lord Drummond ordered. “It's not your name on the contract.”
“We don't care about your contract,” Sebastian said. Heat climbed his neck as he stared his father down, but his nerves were rock steady. “It's too late.”
“It's not too late. I will have this travesty annulled—”
“It’s too late,” Lord Holden broke in. Lord Drummond and Lord Holden glared at each other.
“It's obvious your son was complicit in this scheme,” Bella's father said. “We will draw up another contract, and I’ll parcel the land to Bella. You will still have the mining rights to the iron ore and will salvage your estate. As I promised you.”
Sebastian blinked in confusion. “Why does the estate need salvaging?”
“I don't understand what's going on,” Lady Drummond said.
“Mother,” Sebastian addressed her with a soft voice. She was the kindest, most compassionate person he knew and whatever his father had orchestrated, she was likely as innocent as he. “Today I married Bella and that marriage is final.” He glanced at his father with a forbidding glare. His father studied Bella, apparently catching his meaning at last.
“I made some poor investments, and your father backed me financially,” Lord Holden said to Sebastian. “I lost, but he lost more. I promised him I’d help him recuperate the loss through marriage to Carina. She was dowered with a parcel of land that is rich with iron.”
“But what of Carina?” her mother asked. “That is her dowry.”
“She can’t marry. Ever,” Bella replied. “Let her live out her life in peace.”
Her mother choked on a sob and turned away.
“Father?” Bella caught him in her sights. “Swear it to me.”
He nodded. “I’ll settled an allowance on her, and she will be independent from now on.”
So, it was never about legacy but greed.
Sebastian may have been gone, but he was a dutiful heir. He knew the estate was flush, even with the sudden liquidation of some remote properties. He’d thought his father had been economizing. They had more wealth than they would ever need.
“When I inherit the land, it will go back to Carina to support her,” Sebastian said. “I don’t need it.”
His father turned beet red but said nothing.
And Sebastian regretted nothing. He looked to Bella. “Shall we retire to our bridal suite and breakfast in private?”
“That sounds lovely,” she said.
Epilogue
The breeze of a new summer washed through the open window, bathing Bella’s sweaty skin as she rolled her hips, letting out a soft cry as sweet release undulated through her.
She collapsed onto Sebastian’s chest, careful of her growing belly and the wiggly babe inside her.
He gently rolled them until they were on their sides, facing each other.
She opened her eyes to find her husband smiling at her.
“What?”
“I love you,” he said. “And I love how insatiable you’ve become.”
“I love you, too, and I’m feeling very satiated right now.”
He chuckled. “But then you’ll fall asleep. Wake up hungry, and then once you’ve eaten…” He cupped her full breast. “You get hungry for me.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Never. I’m reveling in my good fortune.”
Bella giggled. “I don’t know why pregnancy has made me this way. I can’t get enough sleep, food, and—”
“Did you hear that?”
Bella stilled. “What?”
“That was the sound of me falling in love with you all over again.”
She shook her head and grinned. “I don’t believe you,” She hitched her thigh over his hip. “You’ll have to show me.”
“My pleasure.” He kissed her lips but then paused. “Would you mind returning to Drummond for Christmas? It would please my mother to no end.”
“And mine, though I care not about pleasing her. Carina misses her, though I can’t understand why.” She chewed her lip in thought.
Sebastian’s mother was a veritable saint compared to her own mother. But in the time they’d been away since last Christmas, honeymooning in different locales. They’d taken Carina back to Bath and remained here in a leased home of their own.
But now that Bella had started her own little family, she found herself sentimental about her former one. She hadn’t forgotten, or forgiven, but she was willing to extend an olive branch and make amends.
“I think we ought to. For your mother, at least. The others we can tolerate for a short time.”
He chuckled. “We can make it a tradition. Christmas in Fox Glen, the rest of the year in Bath.”
“No. You promised me a Grand Tour.”
“I did, but we’ll have to wait until the babe is grown.”
“But there will just be more children following. As you said, I’m insatiable.”
He grinned and rested his head on his hand, staring at her adoringly.
And Bella fell in love all over again. She never dreamed that in stealing her sister’s groom, she’d end up with her own fairytale ending. A love so brilliant, she could barely contain it inside herself.
She stroked his cheek. “I want to stay like this forever. I wouldn’t change a single thing about our past or our present,” she said, her throat growing thick with emotion.
“We have forever, and we have quite a story to share with our children and grandchildren.”
“Tell it to me.”
He pulled the covers over them, tucking them around her shoulders in his caring worshipful way.
“Once upon a Christmas wedding…”
About Dayna Quince
Dayna Quince was only fourteen when she developed a serious addiction to romance novels. Dayna and her husband live in Southern California with their two children and two fur babies. Dayna is happiest at home where she can be with her family and write to her heart’s content.
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Wassail, Wagers and Weddings
by S. Cinders
Prologue
York, England
Summer of 1805
Viscount Cavendish raised his chin, imitating his rather imposing father, and stared stubbornly up at his grandfather's butler. Despite his blackened eye and torn breeches, Jack was still a peer of the realm and he refused to allow any physical discomfort to outwardly show.
Staines, having been present at the young Lord’s birth, was rather unimpressed by Master Jack’s show of determination to keep a tight lip. The tell-tale sign of tear tracks as well as the fat and bloodied lip spoke volumes as to what the young viscount had been up to that afternoon.
The old retainer knew that it was only a matter of time before the entire story would come tumbling out of the lad. It had been much the same with his father all of those years ago when he was a boy of nine. Staines noticed the smallest amount of tremble of the boy’s mouth. It would seem that Jack hadn’t quite mastered the ability to withstand the knowing stare of an adult he knew and trusted.
Staines’ demeanour never changed as he noted that there was a dark bruise just beginning to form under the lad’s left eye. Master Jack’s breeches had a jagged hole at the knee, and it looked as if the scrape underneath might be bleeding.
“Let me see if I understand this correctly.” Staines’ tone was even and polished as he asked, "You were climbing in the oak tree?"
Jack’s cheeks pinked. “Yes, I know that I used to be afraid of heights, but that was a long time ago. I climb trees all the time.”
Staines nodded. “Yes, of course. So, forgive my stupidity, I am sure the answer is right in front of my nose. But how does your love of climbing trees equate to the injuries on your person?”
Jack averted his gaze and he scrambled to find a sufficient answer. He had no idea that as he scuffed the toe of his boot into the dirt, he was giving away far more than if he would have just lied outright. Jack cleared his throat. “Well, I do not precisely love to climb trees it was only that…” his lips twisted in consternation. “Dash it all! It is not like I wanted to climb the blasted thing!”
Ignoring the boy’s profanity, Staines replied, "I would not dream of implying you of all children would climb the oak tree for your own personal entertainment."
Jack scowled. “I was told that Peaches was in the tree.”
Staines didn’t even lift a brow. “I see. So, it was a rescue mission, was it? Well, were you able to save the cat?”
Jack’s expression turned to thunder. In truth, he looked rather like his grandfather, the old duke, with his body held rigidly tight and his nostrils slightly flaring. “As a matter of fact, Peaches was never even near the tree. That…” he broke off taking a deep breath, fingers trembling. “It was that monster! She told me that Peaches was stuck! She knew that it would be the only reason to induce me to climb that blasted old tree. I hate her! I truly hate her!”
Staines took a half a second to compose himself. Despite the numerous years of dealing with disgruntled little boys, there had never been anything quite as entertaining as ‘the monster’ that plagued Master Jack. “I am assuming you are speaking of Miss Rotherford?”
Jack’s look was murderous. “Then, once I was in the tree, she said that I could not come down unless I gave her… Ugh, I can hardly say it—a kiss!”
Stained swallowed—hard. Desperate to keep the laughter out of his voice he coughed. “Clearly she was completely out of line.”
Jack’s expression began to clear. “Yeah, that is what I thought. She has no sense of decency! As if I would ever wish to kiss a girl? Honestly, I would have waited her out, but she started singing. It was the worst form of torture. I thought my ears were going to start bleeding.”
Staines bit his lower lip to stop the smile that tried to form. “A fate worse than death, to be sure.”
Jack sighed and decided to make a clean breast of the whole story. “I plugged my ears to keep the horrible sound out. It would have worked, but that meant that I had to let go of the tree. I fell, just like a rotten plumb with only a branch or two to break my fall. To make matters worse, that monster was there waiting.”
Staines knew better than to ask Jack if Miss Rotherford had gotten her mark. The little girl had excellent accuracy and the determination of a bull hound.
“I hate her!” The words burst from Jack as if he couldn’t hold them back another moment. “You have no idea how humiliating it was to lie there, bleeding to death, only to be laughed at. She had the nerve, the audacity, to imply that the whole event was my fault! Can you believe it? She said that it was my fault for not doing what she wanted in the first place! I could have happily knocked her block off.”
Staines was used to Master Jack’s violent feelings toward the young Rotherford girl. Rather than scold he simply shook his head in commiseration.
Jack sighed. “At least Ellie was there too. I do not know how two identical bodies can be so vastly different. Ellie might be a girl…”
“Clearly a capital offense,” Staines quipped.
Jack nodded in agreement. “She cannot help that. But at least Ellie does not try to make love to me. Ellie also told Lizzie that she was going to tell her papa that she was bothering me again.”
“Well, it sounds like you got it all sorted on your own.” Staines praised the boy and gave Jack a rare smile.
Jack beamed. “I had not thought of that. But I did, didn’t I?”
Staines eye’s twinkled. “Why don’t you run along now to the kitchen and cook will get you fixed up before tea? I think she mentioned that she might make some tarts.”
Jack's eyes brightened at the thought of the flaky pastry. But before he turned to leave, he asked in a low voice. "Do you think that we could just keep this between us?"
Staines nodded gravely. "Of course, Master Jack, my lips are sealed."
Chapter 1
York, England
Christmas of 1825
At the last posting inn, Jack had forgone the comforts of his well-appointed coach in order to ride his favourite mount, Satan, the rest of the way home. It had been far too long since Jack had spent Christmas at the Ducal country seat with his parents and ailing grandfather. Memories assailed him as he thundered up the drive.
The country estate looked every bit as grand and majestic as it always had, and Jack couldn’t help the twinge of nostalgia that washed over him. His birthday was on the twenty fourth of December and he would be eight and twenty. No longer a lad, Jack smiled as he passed the large oak that had once been his downfall.
The memory of a dark-haired little girl grinning over him as he lay sprawling in the grass flashed into his mind—Lizzie.
Lizzie. Or rather, Miss Elizabeth Rotherford was a large part of why he had stayed away all of these years. She was an even larger part of why he had returned. It was high time that Jack right the wrongs of the past.
Shaking those thoughts away, Jack watched as a boy of eleven or twelve came running from the stables to take his horse. “They will be expecting you, Milord.”
The horse’s nostrils flared while his hoofs danced. Jack took a moment to calm Satan before turning to the boy. “Thank you, err… What is your name lad?”
“Jeremy, Milord.”
Jack smiled at the way the boy was handling the large steed. “Jeremy, it would seem that you have the touch. Satan is not known for his friendliness.”
The boy admired the fine stallion before turning to beam up at the Jack. “He is bang up to the nines, Milord!”
Jack, always happy to converse about horses, grinned at Jeremy as they began a short but heated conversation. “Well, Jeremy. Perhaps you could brush him down for me? I need to be sure he is in the best hands.”
“Would I ever? Thank you, Sir!” Jeremy beamed at Jack before leading Satan into the stables.
“You will likely give the boy an apoplexy,” a deep voice said from the main house.
Jack turned to see his father, the Earl of Saxton, standing in the doorway. A few errant snowflakes dusted his father’s greying hair.
Jack made a short bow in greeting and then thundered up the steps. His deep blue eyes sparkled, and there was one dimple that appeared in his right cheek. “It is dashed good to see you, Sir.”
“Looking in fine health, my boy,” Saxton boomed as he embraced his son.
Nostalgia warmed Jack’s belly as they clapped each other on the back. “It is good to be home, Sir.”
The new butler, a nephew of the infamous Staines, fairly ran to greet them. “I do beg your pardons. Please, let me take your things, Milord.” Still wet beneath the ears this new butler was trying to fill some r
ather large shoes. He hadn’t quite mastered the art of appearing unflappable regardless of the situation. But he would learn, they all did. His uncle, getting on in years, was now permanently situated at the duke’s London town home.
Soon Jack and his father were safely ensconced into the warm library where a blazing fire crackled merrily. A man of excellent intelligence, the earl noted the worried look on his son’s face and rigid set to his shoulders.
It pained him some to see Jack at odds with himself. However, the earl couldn’t have been a prouder parent of the man Jack had become. Pouring them both two fingers of whiskey, they settled into the two wing-backed chairs that were placed near the hearth.
The liquid did much for helping Jack relax after his long journey. Soon they fell into conversation about the family and the house party that would soon be commencing. No fewer than forty-eight invitations had been sent out.
It was one of the most sought out invitations of the holiday season, a real testament to the crème De la crème of the Ton.
“My boy, why on earth did you not finish your journey in the coach?”
Jack made a face. “I had quite enough of being shut up in that contraption. Although it is well appointed, one needs fresh air and new scenery once and a while.”
The earl laughed. “You were always thus. I remember as a boy you begged your mother to sit with the coach man. I dare say you would still prefer it now.”
“I would!” Jack’s eye crinkled with happiness. “I must admit I was impatient to be home.”
“Glad to hear it, we missed you, boy! It has not been the same without you, I don’t think we have had you home for Christmas in ages.”
Jack shifted uncomfortably. It had been ten years.
Saxton seemed to sense his son’s discomfort and decided that it was time to breach the subject that neither had touched on. “Jack, your mother is insistent that you do something about the, erm—situation. And the duke wishes to speak with you right away.”
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