by Platt, Meara
The Hope of Love
Book of Love, Novella
Meara Platt
Copyright © 2020 Myra Platt
Text by Meara Platt
Cover by Dar Albert
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
[email protected]
Produced in the United States of America
First Edition July 2020
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notes:
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
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Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Meara Platt
The Book of Love Series
The Look of Love
The Touch of Love
The Taste of Love
The Song of Love
The Scent of Love
The Kiss of Love
The Hope of Love
The Chance of Love
Dark Gardens Series
Garden of Shadows
Garden of Light
Garden of Dragons
Garden of Destiny
The Farthingale Series
If You Wished For Me (A Novella)
Also from Meara Platt
Aislin
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Meara Platt
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Also by Meara Platt
About the Author
Chapter One
Wellesford, England
December 1815
“Will you join us for Christmas supper, Miss Billings?” Lady Poppy, Countess of Welles, asked, clutching the books she’d just purchased from Felicity’s bookshop.
Felicity smiled at the newlywed countess, genuinely touched she’d come to the bookshop in person to make the request when she could have merely sent a footman to deliver the invitation or not invited her at all. What other humble shopkeeper could boast of friendship with a countess? It still amazed Felicity that she was also friendly with Olivia, the Duchess of Hartford, and Penelope, sister to the Earl of Welles.
Those three lovely ladies seemed to have taken her in as one of their own, and she truly adored all of them. She shook her head and laughed softly. “I would love to.”
“We’ll see you at Sherbourne next week then. I was hoping you weren’t otherwise engaged. It will be a small gathering, only about thirty friends and family. Don’t lace your corset too tightly, for there’ll be plenty of food.” Poppy gave her a quick hug and hurried out, climbing into her waiting carriage, a sleek, black conveyance embossed with the Welles family crest. “I’ll send our carriage around to pick you up. It won’t do to have you walking through the snow. Feels like a big storm brewing, doesn’t it? I can feel it in the air. I don’t want you ruining your gown and slippers. You’ll stay over, of course, if the festivities run late.”
Felicity had followed her to the door and waved as the carriage rolled off, laughing with pleasure when Poppy stuck her head out the window and continued to chatter about the party even as the driver turned the corner and her conveyance rattled out of sight.
Now alone, Felicity inhaled the chill air, letting it out in a soft breath that formed a vapor in front of her lips. Snowflakes were beginning to fall, and the scent of freshly baked raisin cakes from Mr. Holland’s bakery across the street carried in the air.
For the most part, she enjoyed this time of year, loved the bite to the air, the scent of chestnuts roasting on the fire, and the smiles on everyone’s faces as they hurried past on one errand or another. The festive suppers were also a treat. Her favorite dish happened to be roast goose, but it wasn’t something she ate other than at Christmas.
Often, she ate alone. This was the part she enjoyed least, for holidays were a time for family and she had none. Sometimes she would return to the Birdsong Orphanage to share the holiday meal with the other orphaned girls, but she hadn’t been able to visit much lately. Her bookshop, The Bee Hive, had become a favorite meeting place for the ladies of Wellesford.
Duchess Olivia often jested that the place was abuzz with activity. Felicity hadn’t wanted to suddenly close up shop and leave for a week to travel to the orphanage when everyone was counting on her to be here. Besides, as a businesswoman, she knew it was folly to close her shop the week before Christmas when it was always the busiest time of the year.
“Miss Billings!” the vicar, Adam Carstairs, called to her as he ran by on his way to the vicarage. “Did you just get your invite to the big house?”
She waved to him. “I did.”
Although she kept her voice cheery, she could not hold back the bittersweet feeling now taking hold of her. She’d been raised in the orphanage, had never known her parents or ever been told who they were. So, while everyone rushed about town purchasing little gifts and making preparations for their family celebrations, she had only herself and the books on her shelves to keep her company.
She had just sent off a box of woolen mittens, hats, and a few books for the orphans, and knew she would receive a note of appreciation in response. It would be enough to sustain her until next year. She supposed it was not in the spirit of the season to wish, just once, that she’d be the one receiving a gift.
It wasn’t for the gift, but for knowing someone was thinking of her.
The vicar paused beside her, his breath short. “I’m glad you were invited. I was hoping the Sherbournes would think of you. I’ll be there as well. They’ve invited the Plimptons and the doctor, of course. He’s everyone’s favorite. And I hear the dowager duchess Matilda will attend as well.”
He tossed off the names of a few more lords and ladies. Felicity’s eyes widened in surprise. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to ward off the icy wind, too
curious to end the conversation and retreat into the warmth of her shop. “I’m not certain how I fit in with such exalted company, but they’ve always made me feel most welcome. Oh, dear. I’ll have to find something suitably fine to wear.”
“You’ll look lovely in whatever gown you choose.” He arched a devilish eyebrow, drawing her gaze to his exquisite blue eyes. They stood out, but were a perfect complement to his dark hair and boyishly appealing features. It struck her as quite odd that a man as pious as this vicar should also look so wickedly tempting.
All the women in town fancied themselves in love with him.
She didn’t, of course.
He was too young for her.
Not that she was old, but…well, a spinster of nine and twenty years was considered old by most standards. Certainly on the shelf. What man would desire an old maid like her? The vicar could not have been more than twenty-six or twenty-seven years old. Everyone suspected he had secretly been in love with Lady Poppy and was bereft when she’d married Nathaniel Sherbourne, the Earl of Welles.
He bid her good day and continued on his way.
Once he was out of sight, she hurried back into her shop and firmly shut the door. The place was empty now, the last of her customers having hurried off before nightfall. The sun disappeared early at this time of year.
Since she lived in a set of rooms within the same small house that contained her shop, she had no need to travel any distance to reach home. All she had to do was step behind the floral curtain separating the shop and her kitchen. She crossed into the kitchen to warm her hands over the brazier.
A chill had seeped deep into her bones, but the weather had nothing to do with this particular ache. As the holidays approached, it marked yet another year coming to an end for her. Another year she’d be alone without family.
Another year she’d be alone without the prospect of marrying or having children of her own.
She was so lost in thought, she failed to hear the bell above her door tinkle.
“Miss Billings? Are you all right?” A man’s deep, rumbling voice startled her out of her idle musing.
She turned, recognizing Wellesford’s handsome doctor, Angus Carmichael. His voice carried just that lilting hint of a brogue. Only a hint, however. Although he’d been born and raised in Scotland, he’d lived in England for many years and had acquired a cultured smoothness to his accent. “Oh, Doctor! I do beg your pardon. I was woolgathering and hadn’t noticed anyone come into the shop.”
“Then I apologize for startling you.”
“No need. Um, I suppose you came for the medical book you ordered last week.” She clasped her hands together, fighting the urge to pat her hair or bat her eyelashes at him as though she were a love-struck schoolgirl.
What was it about this man that made her heart flutter whenever he was near?
She tried to gather her scattered thoughts before he noticed they were on him and no longer on the brazier or on restocking her shelves with the new books just arrived from London and still sealed in their packing box.
She had meant to attend to those tomorrow.
Entering the day’s earnings in her ledger could also wait until tomorrow, she decided. How could she count her receipts now or concentrate on anything important while he stood in front of her, turning her brain to pudding? “I received a delivery just this afternoon, but I haven’t had a moment to open the box and inventory its contents.”
“Ah, then I won’t disturb you now. I can come back another day.”
“Not at all. I will open it now.” She hadn’t planned on it, but there was no need to put it off. She strained for any excuse to keep him beside her. In truth, she’d hoped to close up early in order to go through her wardrobe and decide what to wear for the Christmas supper, but there would be time enough to attend to that chore this evening.
She only had one elegant gown anyway, a green silk she’d purchased two years ago on a whim because it brought out the chestnut brown of her hair and the emerald green of her eyes. The gown was quite pretty, but she hadn’t any place to wear it until now, and it needed some alteration to bring it up to current fashion.
“You are nibbling your lip, Miss Billings. It is obvious I’ve come at a bad time.” He turned to leave, but she stayed him by placing a hand on his arm.
“Dr. Carmichael…” She quickly let go of him, surprised by the tingle in her fingers as they touched the wool of his coat sleeve, and went to her desk to uselessly shuffle the papers atop it in order to keep her hands busy. “You see, I’ve just been invited to dine at the manor house.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Ah, for Christmas supper next week?”
She nodded.
He grinned. “I’ve been invited as well.”
She nodded again. “I know. The vicar mentioned it to me as he ran by a few minutes ago.”
“Ran by? On his way to the vicarage?”
She smiled. “I think so.”
“Figures he was late to the Tyrell christening. I vow, that man will be late to his own funeral,” he said with a chuckle. “But it makes sense that we three should be invited to Christmas supper at Sherbourne Manor. They’ll want the vicar for the blessing. No doubt, they want to keep me close at hand when their guests begin to suffer from indigestion. Not that the food will be bad. Quite the opposite, their cook is the finest in the Cotswolds. We’re all bound to overeat.”
“Shamelessly stuff our faces.” She bobbed her head in hearty agreement. “Without doubt.”
He moved closer and casually leaned his hip against her desk. “I’m going to inhale the roast goose. I don’t know what she puts on it…or stuffs in it, but there is nothing finer in all of England.”
“You’d better be quick if you’re going to steal the drumstick,” she teased, “for I aim to grab it first.”
“Ah, then I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of the pleasure.”
There was something quite lovely about this man, in a rugged, masculine way. He knew just how to put everyone at ease and at the same time, he exuded an aura of power and authority. Anyone who crossed him would quickly regret it. But any friend of his would have his loyalty and support forever.
She hoped they were friends. In truth, she’d long hoped for more.
His gorgeous dark eyes were gleaming as he continued to jest. “But there are two legs. I think we must form an alliance to block the others from grabbing the spoils. Can’t let these Sassenachs get their hands on our goose. What do you say, Miss Billings?”
She shook her head and laughed. “Our goose? I think the Earl of Welles will have something to say about that. However, I expect there will be more than one goose set out, so there’ll be no need to brawl at the table.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s no fun.”
“But more in the holiday spirit, I should think. I shall still be your ally, Dr. Carmichael. Even though I am one of those Sassenachs, I can always use a Scottish warrior on my side.” He stood quite close beside her now so that she felt the heat radiate off his body. Her heart began to flutter again. “You mentioned the reasons why you and the vicar were invited. Why do you think they invited me?”
His expression turned surprisingly tender. “Because you are someone quite special, Miss Billings. They see your worth and invite you for the best reason of all, because you are their friend.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t certain why hearing him say the reason aloud affected her so much. Yes, she adored Poppy, Penelope, and Olivia. She could not think of them as countess or duchess, for they never put on airs around her and did not want her using their titles when addressing them. She would when in public, of course. “I do like them very much. If ever I had sisters…which I don’t and never will, but if ever I had any, I’d wish for them to be just like those three. They are the loveliest, kindest…”
“Damn,” he mumbled, “are your eyes tearing?”
“No.” It was an obvious lie. Why had she suddenly lost her composure? This was
n’t like her at all. She didn’t want the doctor to think of her as just another silly woman who turned into a watering pot at the slightest provocation.
“If those are not tears, then it must be your roof leaking onto my coat.”
She found herself somehow drawn into his arms and weeping into his lapels. He wasn’t holding her in any romantic way, of course. He was merely being protective and comforting. “Perhaps a few tears fell,” she admitted. “Do forgive me, Dr. Carmichael. I don’t know why I’ve been like this lately.”
She tried to ease away but it was his turn to stay her hand. “Angus,” he said, gazing down at her with concern. Perhaps it was the Scottish in him. They were known for their adherence to a code of honor. He was merely fulfilling a duty to come to the aid of his ally. After all, they were plotting to grab the goose for themselves.
“What?”
“I want you to call me Angus. May I call you Felicity?” He pressed on before she had a chance to consider his request. “I knew another Miss Billings once. A crotchety old bat with a perpetual sneer on her jowly face. She was my governess when I was a lad. She detested me. Used to come after me with her cane whenever I mouthed back at her.”
“Which you did often?”
“Of course. It’s what we Scots do best.” He nodded. “Couldn’t help myself. She considered me lower than the dirt under her boots, and I wasn’t going to stand for it.”
Felicity’s eyes rounded in surprise. “That’s awful!”
He shrugged. “But all Scots were that to her. She was English and therefore of superior blood. She never let me forget it. I have no quarrel with the English, mind you. Only those like her. I’d quarrel with a Scot, too, if he spouted such drivel. I’d quarrel with any man who–”
“Dr. Carmichael, I had no idea you were so quarrelsome,” she teased, liking him all the more because he was the sort of man who would not hesitate to come to the defense of the weak and defenseless.
“Angus,” he insisted. “Call me Angus. It’s only right if I’m to call you Felicity.” He still held her in his arms, their bodies scandalously touching. She ought to have drawn away, but she rested her head against his broad, solid chest instead. She could not resist burrowing a little closer, needing to absorb his heat and strength. “Frankly, I’m surprised we’ve kept up the formality till now.”
