The entire party had gone out to gather greenery this morning and with a great deal of laughter and teasing had returned to the house with half the forest. Minerva had been bundled into a landau under a mound of lap rugs and blankets with half a dozen hot bricks at her feet. From there she had supervised the gathering of holly, mistletoe, and other assorted greenery. Each time his brother came to ask her approval, Minerva noticed Sebastian watching him, wary and confused all at once.
Now from her spot on the most comfortable sofa in the upstairs parlor, Minerva surveyed the room as everyone save Sebastian set about creating kissing boughs, holly sprigs and swags of greenery to bedeck the parlor. The servants had taken care of the rest of the house and done a beautiful job. And Cook had undone herself both with dinner and with the buffet of Christmas delicacies set up on the sideboard across the room. Fitzhugh divided his time between there and helping Edward to tie kissing boughs over the doorways.
It was not perfect, but it was not the disaster she’d feared. Perhaps this year she would settle for that. There was always next Christmas.
A quiet knock announced the arrival of Figgs who ushered in two footmen bearing what appeared to be a large painting in an ornate frame. A holland cover was draped over it, obscuring the painting from view.
“It arrived only moments ago, my lord.” Figgs addressed Lord Haddonfield, whose expression might only be described as one of utter trepidation. “Was this where you wanted it?”
“Yes, Figgs. Here will do.”
“What on earth is it, Lord Haddonfield?” Aphrodite settled herself on the arm of the sofa next to Minerva.
“It is a gift, my lady. For my brother and his lovely wife. Would you like to do the honors… Sebastian?”
With deliberate care, her husband placed his glass of brandy on the mantelpiece. He and Creighton exchanged a look. Sebastian crossed the room and stopped before the covered painting.
“Happy Christmas, brother,” Lord Haddonfield said softly.
Sebastian tugged at the cover, which slid to the floor with an audible shush. It was a portrait. A Gainsborough by the look of it. The subject was an exquisite dark-haired lady, dressed in a vibrant blue riding habit. One arm propped on the withers of a magnificent grey her smile was breathtaking. The front façade of Chesnick Wharton stood in the distance.
“Who is she?” Fitzhugh asked. “She is a diamond and no mistake.”
“My mother,” Sebastian murmured. “It is a portrait of my mother.” He turned on Lord Haddonfield. “Where did you find this? Where has it been all these years?”
“I found it here. I had it removed to the estate in Wales for safekeeping.”
“Safekeeping? This was mine. My father left it to me, but no one could find it. You stole it. After what you did to her you had no business keeping her portrait from me.”
“Sebastian, stop this,” Minerva took three tries to rise from the sofa. “It doesn’t matter where it was, it is here now.”
“It matters to me dammit. It wasn’t enough you sent her to her death, you had to take the only thing I had to remember her by too?” Sebastian stood, chest heaving and fists clenched. It broke Minerva’s heart. Would he ever forgive himself for his mother’s death? For that is what his rage was all about. How could he forgive his brother when he could not forgive himself?
“I cannot do this,” he muttered and strode towards the parlor door.
“Stop. Sebastian wait,” Lord Haddonfield said. “This is your home, your family, your friends. You stay. I’ll go.” He reached the door before Sebastian and raised the latch.
“Anthony, no. There is no need for anyone to leave,” Minerva blinked against the hot tears pushing at the backs of her eyes.
He turned to face Sebastian. “I took the portrait because I knew Grandmama would destroy it. I ordered Old Foster and two footmen to load it on a cart and take it to Wales because I knew she’d never visit the estate there. She hates Wales.”
“When did you take it?” Sebastian asked softly.
“The day after she made me send you away. I wrote out orders for the servants who took it to serve the estate in Wales for the rest of their lives. I knew she’d punish them if they returned. She was my mother for eight years, Sebastian. She is the only mother I have any memory of and I loved her.”
“You chose to live with grandmother. After grandfather died and you became Papa’s heir you chose…”
Lord Haddonfield shook his head.
“She had control of the money,” Creighton half-asked.
“She did, Lord Creighton. To a certain degree she still does.”
“I don’t understand,” Sebastian turned towards Minerva, his face a mask of confusion. Always in command—of himself, of his life, of what he knew to be true. Her strong and stubborn husband had no idea what to say or do.
“I know now she blackmailed them, but then I didn’t understand. They sent me away with a cold-hearted fiend of a woman and I blamed them. I blamed her, Sebastian, our mother. In my mind she chose to keep you, her real son, and she sent me away. When Father died I was still angry. I was angry at her for leaving me and angry at you because she chose you. I had no idea it would end the way it did and there was nothing I could do until it was far too late. I should have been stronger. You survived. You made your life on your own. You beat Grandmama, when I never could. And I am so very sorry.” He bowed in Minerva’s direction. “Thank you for inviting me, Minerva. My brother is lucky to have you.” With a quick glance at Aphrodite he quit the room.
Sebastian returned to the portrait, staring at it as if some answer lay there. Minerva came to stand beside him. She rubbed her hand along his back. Sometimes the only thing worse than believing a horrible lie was to finally hear the truth.
Edward was asking one question after another. Minerva wanted to be the one to answer them for him, but in this moment, Sebastian needed her more. She smiled as she heard Fitzhugh’s attempt at answers and Aphrodite’s derisive assessments of those answers.
“Sebastian,” she finally said, stilling her hand against his back.
“I really hate it when you are right, Mrs. Brightworth. It happens so often, however, I should be used to it.” He took her in his arms and kissed her. His lips seared hers in a kiss so fiery and passionate she wanted to melt into the floor.
“There is no mistletoe there, Papa. That isn’t fair.”
Sebastian laughed against her mouth and rested his forehead against hers. “I shall have to remedy the mistletoe situation, but right now I am going after my brother.”
This time she kissed him, but only for a moment. “Go. Go and find him.”
“Someone keep Fitzhugh away from the food,” Sebastian said as he left the parlor. “My brother and I might like to eat when we return.”
Minerva pressed her fingertips to her mouth and ceased fighting her tears. Creighton strolled over and handed her his handkerchief.
“Well done, Mrs. Brightworth. Very well done indeed.”
“Ouch! What the hell!”
Sebastian dashed into the stables to find his brother shrugging out of his coat to inspect a nasty bite on his arm.
“I see you’ve met, Lovey,” he said with a grin.
“Lovey?” Anthony shook his arm and checked it again. “She nearly broke my arm. Yours, I take it?”
“I had her at a very good price.”
“Someone should have paid you.”
Sebastian laughed.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“I owe you an—”
Sebastian dropped his head and shoved his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat. When he looked up Anthony had done the exact same thing.
“I remember you, Anthony. You looked out for me. You never ran out of patience. I remember that now. I don’t know how I could have forgotten.”
“Our grandmother knew exactly what she was doing. She knew you’d hate me and that is what she wanted. She didn’t give us any choice. She knew I loved your mother.”
>
“Our mother.”
“Yes. Our mother. And it drove her mad. And even after Mama died Grandmama was afraid of you. She knew I’d be stronger if I had you in my corner.”
“Well,” Sebastian said as he slung an arm across his brother’s shoulder. “She has every reason to be afraid now. I rather like the idea. Come inside before Fitzhugh finishes off the buffet.”
“Does he always eat like that?”
“God, yes.”
“Wait,” Anthony said as they passed Lovey’s stall. “Is this the horse you rode into the church to steal Creighton’s bride in the presence of his mother?”
“She is.”
“Good God, man. You may well be the bravest man I know.”
“Lady Creighton is nothing. Wait until you have to face down my wife.”
They crossed the stable yard and crossed the front terrace to the portico. The night was bitter cold and the snow had begun to fall once more. Sebastian stopped and they gazed out over the white-covered front gardens.
“I can go, Sebastian. If you’d rather spend Christmas with your family.”
“Absolutely not. You have to come back with me. The bed in the master’s bedchamber is damned uncomfortable and I don’t want to be banished there again.”
“Actually, I heard grandfather made that bed uncomfortable on purpose, so Grandmama would not join him there.”
“Wise man.”
Minerva propped herself on her elbows and watched as Sebastian added a few logs to the fire and then placed the guard before it. He’d shed his dressing gown and she did so love the long line of his back as it tapered to his waist and curved into the muscles of his—
“Woman, if you do not stop staring at my arse as if it is a Christmas pudding I will not be responsible for my actions,” he warned.
“I cannot help myself. Get into bed and I won’t be able to look.”
He leapt under the covers and dragged her across the bed to him. “You may look all you like once this little one arrives.” He patted her belly and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?” She snuggled into his embrace.
“My Christmas gift. The one I said I never wanted.”
“Your brother.”
“Yes. And my family and the best part of my childhood. And my home. What gift can I give you to compare to that?”
“You already have, my love. You are happy. That is all I ever wanted for Christmas.”
“He-e-elp! Someone, help me! Get this fiend off me!”
Minerva tried to sit up, but Sebastian would not let her go.
“Precious is after Fitzhugh again,” she said. “We have to save him.”
“That isn’t Fitzhugh,” Sebastian replied. “That’s Anthony.”
“Sebastian, come out here and tell this devil dog to release me.”
“Ask Creighton to help you. He excels at dealing with Precious.”
Minerva struggled not to laugh. “You should not have told him that, Sebastian. You are awful.”
“What should I tell him? I am warm and comfortable in bed with my wife.”
“It is Christmas, Colonel Brightworth.”
“So it is. Happy Christmas, Anthony. Welcome to the family.”
The sounds of running feet, shouts, and a dog barking echoed in the corridor.
“It will be a miracle if we get to sleep tonight,” Minerva said with a sigh.
“It’s the season of miracles, Mrs. Brightworth. Anything can happen.”
Colonel and Mrs. Sebastian Brightworth
are pleased to announce
the christening of their son
Anthony Harold Xavier Brightworth
14th February, 1818
The End
If you enjoyed Stealing Christmas by Louisa Cornell
be sure to look for Stealing Minerva
for the story of Sebastian and Minerva’s scandalous courtship.
Available Here
Other Books by Louisa Cornell
Lost in Love
Christmas Revels
Christmas Revels II
Christmas Revels IV
Christmas Revels V
A Lady’s Book of Love
Between Duty and the Devil’s Desires
Louisa loves to conne ct with readers! For more about Louisa and updates on future books by Louisa Cornell stop by any of her online homes!
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Joy
To
The Duke
A Duke’s Secret Story
By
Eva Devon
For you, dear reader.
May your season be full of peace and may joy find you.
Chapter 1
Robert Deverall, the Duke of Blackstone, pulled down the delicate carriage window and leaned out into the soft falling snow. In the frigid winter air, his breath puffed out white before him. He stared straight ahead, the beautiful landscape dusted with snow unfolding before him. He paid no mind to the cold wind whipping against his cheeks. No, he was waiting for her to approve it, waiting to go over the rise and slip over the hill. Because then, as soon as the perfectly-appointed coach followed the curved path that wove through ancient oaks. . . Blackdown would appear, like a floating jewel.
He stilled his breathing and gripped the door with black-gloved hands. Just as he recalled, almost magically, a vast field of snow appeared before them. . . except, as most things at Blackdown House, it was a deception.
For under the fluffed clouds of snow, a large, manmade lake was hiding. Of course, now it was frozen solid.
Once, he, his sister, and their friends had skated upon it, reveling in the feel of flying across the ice and the cold winter wind whipping against their faces and woolen clothes.
There had been almost nothing like it, that pure freedom and speed as he had sped over the ice. It was one of his happiest memories.
It had been some years now since joy had touched this winter landscape. His father had seen to that.
But that was about to change. And all because of one woman. One daring, marvelous woman. His wife.
“I’m turning into an icicle.”
The sound of his darling wife’s voice warmed Rob’s heart and he turned to her.
She gave an elaborate shiver.
“Well, let me warm you then,” he replied happily, savoring the sight of her.
Harriet, or Harry to her intimates and he was the most intimate of all, sat cuddled in scarlet wool blankets up to her chin, her booted toes pressed to a small coal brazier. Even so, her cheeks were a bright red from the cold and did a remarkable job of matching the blankets tucked about her.
She flashed him a saucy look and held out a gloved hand to him. “You shall do a far better job of it than any blanket.”
He slipped her hand into his palm and settled down beside her curved form. Nestling her close, he readjusted the blankets about him and tucked her head under his chin. Then he pulled her tightly to him, savoring the feel of their bodies pressed together. For Harriet’s nearness not only warmed him, it soothed his soul.
She let out a contented sigh. “Are we mad to take to the roads?”
He laughed. “I thought our madness was already agreed upon.” He sobered. “But I do not envy those upon the highways who do not have the comforts that we do.”
Traveling in winter was no easy thing. Even for the very wealthy.
The appalling state of English country roads was a rather shocking thing. There was no middle ground to them in the months between October and March. From day to day throughout the long winter months, they either proved bogs of mud or frozen ruts as deep as the bloody Thames.
Only the determination of horses bred for it, along with coaches that cost a fortune and were designed to endure such hardship, made such a thing even possible. There was also the strength an
d tenacity of the driver and footmen.
Still, Christmas was the time to face the dismaying roads framed with hedgerows and stone walls. He had to do as had traditionally been done for hundreds of years.
He had not been home to Blackdown in some time. Not since he had seen how terribly it had begun to fall to rack and ruin. A thing done primarily by his father through a terrifying misuse of funds. He’d never forget standing in the great hall, the rain leaking in due to the lack of repair.
His father had very nearly destroyed everything.
Rob had not been able to face it. It had amazed him how quickly such a beautiful place could be brought to its knees by the misdeeds of one man.
Harry had managed to change all that.
She had taken on the restoration of the house with vigor and she was all but humming with excitement at the prospect of revealing it to him.
Harriet was a marvel. She’d restored him, too.
He pulled her closer and tilted her head back.
Though he was loath to admit it, part of him wished they had stayed in London for Christmas.
The ghost of his father had been mostly exorcised. But at Blackdown?
Surely, his father’s ghost might be in every corner. No. He refused to let such a thing happen. For truly, it was he and he alone that could banish all such sadness and he had given his father enough time. Now was the time for joy, for he had so very much to be grateful for. He would not insult his good fortune with self-indulgence in gloom.
Robert swallowed then kissed his wife, determined to drive the hint of darkness away. For he had always loved Christmas. As had Harry.
They’d celebrated it together as children given that their family estates were side by side.
Now, they would once again make Blackdown a jewel of revelry and happiness for all those who lived on his lands at Christmastime.
He deepened their kiss, focusing all his will into pleasing her.
Harry’s soft mouth parted beneath his and she tenderly stroked his hair.
As she leaned back against the velvet squabs, she cupped her small hand against his cheek.
'Tis the Season: Regency Yuletide Short Stories Page 20
