Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  The kittens were becoming extremely rambunctious in their play. Rather than wait until Boxing Day to give them to the children, as was the norm for the giving and receiving of gifts, Gregory decided the kittens would be revealed to the girls after luncheon. Boxing Day was often taken up with handing out Christmas boxes with bonuses for the staff, which could be time consuming and might cause him to miss seeing the girls receive the gift of their kittens.

  The gong sounded, announcing luncheon, and they all filed into the dining room.

  The dressed table could only be called magnificent. Cut glass and silver cutlery twinkled under the candlelight. At the centre, bright crystallised fruit formed a pyramid, surrounded by brackets of scarlet holly berries. It was very festive.

  Holly had placed a small package beside each of her stepdaughters’ place settings.

  “What are those?” Gregory asked.

  Clemmy was already undoing the ribbon on hers.

  “Girls, these gifts are from your mother,” Holly informed them.

  Silence fell, and Clemmy quickly put her package back down.

  “I found them when I was tiding your mother’s things. She bought them for you and would want you to have them.”

  The girls glanced worriedly at Gregory, obviously seeking his approval and permission to open them. He nodded, smiling reassuringly.

  “Go ahead,” he encouraged when the girls still hesitated. He caught Holly’s eye.

  She smiled nervously back at him, hoping he would not be annoyed with her over not consulting him about the gifts. The girls opened the necklaces. There were exclamations of joy as each slipped from their seat and ran around the table to ask their parents for help with the clasps.

  “Thank you,” Gregory mouthed at Holly, and she sighed with relief, thankful that he understood.

  The goose was superb, while the fruited Christmas figgy pudding, so rich and dark, was declared the best yet. Mrs Hicks was sent for, and Gregory praised the cook while the family all clapped in gratitude. Cook went pink with pleasure then hurried away, for she now had the downstairs luncheon to serve.

  Replete, the family retired to the drawing room.

  “Have I told you that I love you?” Gregory whispered and slipped a proprietorial arm about Holly’s waist.

  “Have I told you how much I love you?” she replied, snuggling into him.

  They asked the children to remain out in the hallway while Holly and Gregory went into the room to round up the kittens. They needed to replace a number of Christmas decorations after the playful cats had dislodged them climbing through the tree.

  Libby was invited inside first and allowed to choose from the litter. She homed in on the tabby with a cry of delight. Gathering her close, she declared the little bundle of fur’s name was Figgy because she reminded her of delicious Christmas pudding.

  Kitty came next and went straight to the ginger and picked him up. Cooing over the pretty thing, she named him, rather predictably, Ginger. This left the tortoiseshell for Clemmy, who went into paroxysms of delight when she saw her gift, kissing the cat’s tiny head over and over with excitement.

  “What will you call your puss-cat, darling?” Holly asked, kneeling beside her youngest stepdaughter.

  “I want to name her after you but I can’t call her Holly, becoth we will all get muddled. Tho I thall call her Lathy, after the pretty old lathe you had on your wedding dress.”

  Holly pulled her youngest stepdaughter into her side and kissed her.

  One year on…

  “Be careful to support your brother’s head, Clemmy,” Holly advised her stepdaughter, settling baby Anthony into his youngest sister’s arms.

  Clemmy leant back amongst the cushions on the settee, clutching her brother, her two sisters seated either side. Libby leant in and kissed his downy cheek. Kitty pushed her finger into the tiny fist.

  “This Christmas has been even better than last Christmas, when I got Lacy,” Clemmy declared.

  Her sisters voiced their agreement. Holly noticed that Clemmy had lost her endearing lisp.

  “I never knew you could love a baby more than a kitten,” she added earnestly.

  Hilarity erupted about the room. Holly wiped her eyes and met her husband’s indulgent gaze. He winked.

  Could life be any more perfect than this? Holly wondered. She thought not.

  About Vanessa Brooks

  International bestselling author, Vanessa Brooks, lives in the heart of Sussex. Her passion is history and when she is not writing steamy romances, peppered with strong, sexy heroes, she spends her time out and about with her husband, eating cream teas and exploring Britain's many castles and stately homes; absorbing the past and dreaming up her next romantic plot!

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  December Debauchery

  by Em Brown

  Chapter 1

  Settled into his seat, the Viscount Carrington stretched his legs as far as he could in the confines of the carriage and observed the only other occupant in the vehicle seated across from him. Adeline, a young woman and his ward, had not spoken to him the whole of their ride to the first of many Yuletide gatherings and stared rather anxiously out the window. He would have much preferred to skip the festivities in favor of spending a sennight at Château Follet, his favorite den of debauchery where guests indulged in taboo proclivities. But as Lady Bettina, their grandmother, nursed a cough, it fell to him to accompany Adeline to the Moorington ball.

  “Am I such tiresome company these days that you cannot find two words to speak to me?” Arthur tried in a teasing tone.

  Startled, Adeline turned her large blue eyes toward him. With her dark golden curls and petite frame, she presented a contrast to him.

  “You? Tiresome? Never!” she assured. “I was preoccupied—worried that the snow might make us late to the ball.”

  She glanced out the window once more. He followed her gaze and noted the ground bore a light coat of white beneath the bright moonlight, but the carriage continued easily upon the road. He looked back to Adeline, who continued to look silently out the window, unsure what to make of her taciturn mood. Perhaps it was customary for young women of her age, seven and ten, to vacillate between reticence and loquacity. He had assumed guardianship of her just prior to her come-out, and though she spent more time in the company of Lady Bettina, than in his, he felt he knew Adeline well enough to detect that something was amiss. Adeline had been distracted ever since returning from Bath with Lady Bettina.

  “If anything, I think we shall be early,” he told her.

  She seemed not to hear him and made no response. He eyed her more keenly, looking for signs that she might be unwell, but she had a healthy glow to her countenance. Beneath her coat, she wore a gown of silver and white that perfectly displayed her slender arms. Her hair was perfectly coiffed with just the right amount of tendrils curling loosely about her physiognomy to provide a diaphanous appearance. Were he not seven years her senior and her guardian, he might have considered her worthy of conquest.

  His observation took in the small but simple necklace with a single opal solitaire, and he was rather surprised that she had not chosen to wear the diamond and sapphire he had gifted her for her birthday.

  “Is that new?” he asked.

  She turned to him with raised brows.

  He pointed to the necklace.

  She put a hand to the opal and flushed. “Oh. A trinket from a…friend. In honor of St. Nicholas Day.”

  The scenery outside the window seemed to captivate her once more.

  He raised his brows. “A friend?”

  She glanced briefly at him, nodded, then returned to the window.

  “What friend is this?” he prodded.

  “I can se
e the Moorington estate!” she cried.

  Either she had not heard him or she needed a diversion. He wagered it was the latter.

  “Do you think they will serve apples a la parisienne?” she continued, her earlier reticence gone in an instant. “I found it such a wondrous dessert when they had it for Twelfth Night last year. As much as I love plum pudding, it was quite exciting to try something new.”

  He allowed her to prattle on, but as the carriage drew nearer to their destination, she fell once more into silence. Her body, however, was hardly quiet. Her hand tapped her fan against her reticule. Her feet shifted restlessly.

  Something was afoot with Adeline, Arthur decided. Something having to do with the Moorington ball. And he determined that he would uncover whatever it was she was keeping from him before the night’s conclusion.

  Philippa Grayson nearly toppled over in her attempt to look around the gentleman standing in front of her, blocking her view of her son, George, who stood on the other side of the ballroom with his twin sister, Honora. Her children were speaking with the Moorington girls, Emily and Jane, and though Emily giggled often at what George had to say, the interest seemed to flow primarily in one direction. It would not be Jane Moorington who had captured her son’s heart for she had a beau. Though Philippa supposed it was possible for George to have fallen for the flaxen-haired beauty, she prayed he had enough sense not to pursue a woman already spoken for. But the fact that George would not reveal the name of his lady of interest did give Philippa pause.

  “La! I suppose you have been here all night,” mused Melinda St. John as she took a seat beside her friend and fanned her ample décolletage with an ornate fan. “I have been thrice down the dance floor despite being a full ten years your senior. You cannot claim to be forty years yet but sit about as if you were an eighty year old widow.”

  “I am indeed a widow,” Philippa replied as she watched George greet and smile at a redhead. Was this young lady the one?

  Melinda followed Philippa’s gaze. “Who are you staring at? A handsome rogue, I hope.”

  “He has asked her to dance,” Philippa murmured to herself. To her friend she asked, “Who is that dancing with George?”

  Melinda frowned. “Have you only eyes for your children?”

  Philippa made a face. “Who else would I have eyes for?”

  Melinda poked her in the arm with her fan. “Yourself, of course.”

  “Me?”

  “La! Why not?” Melinda looked Philippa over. “The years have been kind to you. You have a decent figure. No one would condemn you as it has been years since your husband passed. God rest his soul, but you are a living woman, with, dare I say, needs. La! I have needs, and, alas, my husband is very much alive.”

  “I should see my children settled first. They are both of them twenty and, till they are married, they are in my care.”

  “Why do you worry? Honora has more suitors than she needs. I thought it quite grand that she had the eye of an Earl last season.”

  “While there are many men who seek her attention, not all of them have matrimony in mind. They cannot for we have not breeding, and our wealth is not what it once was. But if George were to make a good match, I think his sister’s might improve. And he is besotted. He confessed that he has never been more in love. In love. My George has never used the word before, and I have never before seen him in such gay spirits. But he will not tell me who she is. Of course I was quite disappointed that he would not, but he assured me that it was not because he was critical of me and that he would provide her name as soon as he had permission to grant it.”

  Melinda furrowed her brow. “And why would she not grant it?”

  “I know not. But young people these days prefer their independence. They are not as accustomed as we were to being watched and scrutinized. Honora knows her name but is sworn to keep her brother’s secret.”

  “That is what comes of having twins.” Melinda tapped her fan on Philippa. “Look! There is Sir Tallmadge. What do you think of him? Not bad for a widower of fifty, eh?”

  “I could hardly aspire to someone of his stature,” Philippa dismissed, keeping her gaze upon George and his dance partner as they came down the line. Her late husband had come into wealth through trade and, thus, considered common stock.

  “I would agree if you were seeking courtship with him, but for a lover, I think he would as likely take you to bed as anyone.”

  Philippa blushed to the roots of her hair.

  “Or, look there, Mr. Gregory. Always proper. A bit dull for my taste, but he might suit you. He’s not married as yet, though I wonder why. He has property that brings him five thousand a year.”

  “Mr. Gregory is but thirty years of age!”

  “For a lover, the younger the better! Now there is one whom I should very much like in my bed. I should not care if he had any skills in lovemaking but would be content to stare at his naked form for most of the night.”

  Philippa looked across the room for this Adonis. It was a gentleman she did not recognize. He had raven locks and a charming smile that had both the Moorington girls flushing and twittering. His coat tightly hugged a broad chest and wide shoulders while his trousers molded a tapered waist and long legs. She understood why Melinda might be content with ogling the man in the buff.

  Goodness! Why was she contemplating a naked man? She was spending far too much of her time with Melinda.

  “Though I suspect Lord Carrington could not be so very bad in bed or he would not have had as many lovers as he had, including that courtesan Harriette Dubouchet.”

  “You wish to consort with a rake?”

  “La! Of course! I am not seeking a husband—I have one of those, and he is about as exciting to make love to as beefsteak. I want a man to satisfy my carnal desires. And I think the Viscount Carrington would do quite nicely.”

  Philippa stared at Melinda. For the most part, she chalked her friend’s ramblings to an amusement Melinda derived from shocking her friend with such talk, but Melinda was practically drooling.

  Melinda snapped her fan open and waved it furiously. After a moment, she turned to Philippa. “Why do you look at me like that? You cannot pretend you have no fantasies of your own.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “La, Philippa! You need not be ashamed when speaking to me. You know that I will not censure you for your honesty. The younger generation has a much better appreciation of such matters when it comes to the gentle sex. Not like our husbands who came of age in the last century and still hold to the belief that women have none of the same desires that men have.”

  “But perhaps they have more of those…desires. It is more in their nature.”

  “La! My eros could run circles around my husband’s. Men may come into it with greater verve and fire, but their flame dies easily whereas ours continues to burn. Hence, it is quite reasonable to seek a younger man as our appetites are better matched.”

  Philippa was surprised that she could not fault Melinda’s reasoning. Nevertheless, she was hardly won over.

  The dance having concluded, George made his way to his mother.

  She could hardly wait for him to finish greeting Melinda when she inquired, “Is that the young woman who has captivated my son?”

  “No, mama,” he replied with a broad smile.

  “Is the object of your affection not here tonight?”

  “She is here, but I have not had a chance to speak with her yet.”

  “I pray you will do so soon as I am quite eager to meet her.”

  “I pray it will happen as well.”

  Melinda interceded, “Let me try with your son. I will know his mystery lady as there is hardly anyone here I do not know. Come, young man, escort me to the refreshment table.”

  Philippa watched Melinda take George’s arm and lead him away. As she rose to her feet to stretch her legs, she spotted Honora, who, not minding where she walked, bumped into a gentleman and dropped her packet of lemon drops. He turned
around, and Philippa saw that it was the Viscount Carrington. He picked up Honora’s confections and handed it to her. They exchanged pleasantries. Honora’s cheeks colored, and she lowered her lashes demurely. Philippa had never seen her daughter respond in such a fashion. What had the man said to her?

  This would not do. Philippa made her way to Honora.

  “Your pardon, I have need of my daughter,” Philippa said to the man as she grabbed Honora’s arm and led her daughter away.

  “What is it, mama?” Honora asked.

  “Hm? Oh, well,” Philippa stammered. “What was it that Lord Carrington said to you?”

  “You know the Viscount?”

  “Only by name. Melinda warned me of him.”

  “Is that why you came to get me?”

  “What did he say to you? Nothing inappropriate, I hope.”

  “He quoted Shakespeare when returning my lemon drops: ‘sweets to the sweet.’”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, mama.”

  Philippa looked over her shoulder and noted that the Viscount now spoke with another young woman of beauty.

  “You fibbed to Lord Carrington,” Honora accused but without anger. “You had no need of me at all.”

  “I have a need for my daughter to be safe from rogues.”

  Honora laughed. “You have no proof that he intended anything with me. And while I understand Mrs. St. John is your dear friend, I wonder that she is always correct?”

  Philippa had to agree with Honora’s assessment. Melinda tended to enjoy gossiping and reveling in the scandalous.

  “Do you think I cannot fend for myself?” Honora asked.