Stars are Brightly Shining

by Quinn, Paula

  Releasing his small hand, she gestured to the basket, and he took one bun with a shyly whispered, “Thank you.”

  She glanced at her husband with a hopeful look, and he nodded.

  “Strange thing,” Jenny said to Jasper, who’d already taken a massive bite of the treat, “Pamela is our new baby girl’s name.”

  “Is it, Lady Jenny?” he managed around the clove bun. Then he glanced up at Simon. “That’s a miracle, isn’t it, my lord?”

  “Indeed,” Simon assured him.

  Everyone smiled, and Jenny saw her mother wipe a tear from her eye. “Why don’t you have another bun?” she said to the boy. “Let me know if you like them.”

  “Oh, I will, my lady.” And this time, Jasper took the basket from her, but not before she snatched another one which she reached up and gave to Lionel. Then her young savior went to sit cross-legged by the tree.

  Sighing, she had a feeling there would not be any buns left in a few minutes.

  “What of my new nephew?” This question came from Eleanor who was holding Baby Two.

  “We wanted something to denote his braveness,” Simon said.

  “We decided on Daniel,” Jenny told them. “After all, he shall have to deal with his older brother. We might as well give him a name that has dealt with lions before.”

  Another round of laughter filled the room with merriment.

  “You look so happy,” Maggie said. “Your letters were sometimes filled with worry. And now look at you with two new babes to share your love.”

  Jenny looked up at her husband who sank down onto the edge of the divan, before settling Lionel onto his lap.

  “I did not understand the human heart,” she confessed. “In truth, I’ve spent weeks worrying how to love these new babies the way I love Lionel. How could I cut my heart into more pieces and love them all as well as they deserved?”

  “I’ve had that worry,” Maggie proclaimed. “After all, Rosie is my whole world.”

  “What!” John exclaimed. “I had no idea you worried.”

  “Frankly,” Simon confessed, “I’d had the same fear, that I wouldn’t be able to love these two the way I do my first born.”

  “Pish!” said Lady Blackwood.

  “Exactly, Mummy,” said Jenny. “I bet you already know the answer, and I should have brought my fears to you months ago.

  “Of course,” her mother nodded, picking up her wine glass. She sipped and looked as wise as Solomon. “And you with your head for numbers. I would have thought you’d have figured it out sooner.”

  “I should have,” Jenny agreed.

  Maggie scooted to the edge of her seat, looking from new baby Pamela in her arms to her eldest sister. “Tell me.”

  Jenny shrugged. “As soon as I looked at them, I knew. My heart expanded, and my love wasn’t divided between the three of them, shrinking into a smaller part for Lionel.” She stroked her son’s cheek.

  Then Simon took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers as she spoke.

  “Instead, my love multiplied,” she continued excitedly. “It is at least threefold as much as it was before. I now know if I have three more children or thirty-three—”

  “God no!” Simon declared. “I couldn’t go through that thirty-three more times.”

  She ignored him, looking at her three children and then letting her gaze encompass Jasper Shaw, too.

  “I know my love will simply keep multiplying,” Jenny concluded. “It’s a miraculous, blissful feeling.”

  “It multiplies,” Maggie murmured, staring down at the sleeping baby, and Jenny thought perhaps her sister would be thinking about having another sooner rather than later.

  “This has been the perfect Christmas,” Lady Blackwood affirmed.

  “It has!” said a young voice.

  When Jenny realized those words came from Jasper, she winked at him, feeling her husband squeeze her hand.

  She felt like quoting the trite, too-oft repeated words of Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol but feared someone would then want to read it aloud over the Christmas pudding.

  Instead, she recited them in her head. God bless us, every one.

  Then the admiral came in to announce their holiday feast was upon the table, and the entire gathering cheered. The nanny appeared a moment later to take over the care of her charges.

  Simon set Lionel down to hold hands with his grandmother and, without asking, scooped Jenny into his arms.

  She grinned at him, slipping her hands behind his neck.

  “Merry Christmas, dear husband.”

  “And to you, sweet lady,” he said. “And now, if you’ve saved any room after eating those clove buns…,” he trailed off, raising an eyebrow as he teased her.

  “Of course I have room, I am eating for…oh!” She felt her cheeks grow warm with the realization. “I am no longer eating for three, am I?”

  He shook his head. “No, but we are having artichoke soup and smoked salmon, roast beef and roast goose, sage and chestnut stuffing, mince pies and creamed potatoes, plum pudding and Nesselrode cream, so I’m sure you can find room.”

  “I think my appetite has multiplied along with my love,” she confessed, “for my mouth is watering already.”

  “You two are blocking the doorway,” Maggie pointed out from behind, making Jenny start to chuckle.

  Simon dutifully carried her out of the great room, crossing the marble hall toward the dining room, with her whole family, including their newest member, trailing along behind.

  “Baby Pamela,” Jenny heard Jasper say, perhaps to the nanny. “Imagine that!” Then in an equally awed voice, he added, “Roast beef and roast goose!”

  THE END

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Sydney Jane Baily

  Beastly Lords Series

  Lord Despair

  Lord Anguish

  Lord Vile

  Lord Darkness

  Lord Misery

  Lord Wrath

  About the Author

  Sydney Jane Baily writes historical romance set in Victorian England, late 19th-century America, the Middle Ages, the Georgian era, and the Regency period. She believes in happily-ever-after stories for an already-challenging world.

  Born and raised in California, she has traveled the world, spending a lot of exceedingly happy time in the U.K. where her extended family resides, eating fish and chips, drinking shandys, and snacking on Maltesers and Cadbury bars.

  After obtaining degrees in English literature and in history, besides writing novels, she has spent time as a copyeditor, cat snuggler, website designer, book production editor, mother of two, and faithful friend to her dog, among other endeavors both literary and not.

  Sydney currently lives in New England with her family—human, canine, and feline.

  You can learn more about her books, read her blog, sign up for her newsletter (& receive a free book), and contact her via her website at SydneyJaneBaily.com.

  Connect with Sydney on Facebook or on Twitter.

  Follow her on BookBub.

  Sydney Jane Baily on Amazon

  Warming Winter’s Heart

  Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  “In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.”

  —William Blake

  Dedication

  To the real Al and Patti Camp, who have saved more lives than even they know about.

  Chapter One

  November 30, 1806

  London

  Gar-bloody-denia.

  The cloying scent distilled from the waxy, white flower filled the carriage and made him want to gag.

  Julian Winter pulled back the leather blind to look out at the view.

  It was a pretense.

  Late autumn days drew to a close quickly. There was no view to be had. The sun had left the sky one change of horses back.

  He felt the chill through the glass and imagined the air was fresh beyond it, but knew that was unlikely to be true. They had now entered the paved
streets of London, venturing closer to the heart of the city and its river, with its damp and smoke and garbage.

  Braziers dotting the streets produced as much smoke as light. Still, it drew those who had no home of their own to gather around their warmth.

  How he envied them right now.

  A none-too-subtle clearing of the throat from within the carriage stalled his musings. Julian dropped the blind and cast a sidelong glance at Aunt Harriet who sat on the bench beside him. He wondered what she made of her daughter’s friend dousing herself in more scent than the boldest courtesan would ever dare to wear.

  He imagined the older woman might later have words with both her daughter and her friend, Miss Lydia Stonely, about the proper way to conduct themselves while in London.

  At least, that’s what he hoped.

  Cousin Margaret might listen, but he was certain Lydia would merely pay lip service to advice given her, no matter how well-intended.

  Julian absently rubbed a hand over his knee. The injury, although healed, ached like the blazes from time to time, especially as the colder weather had been setting in. Worse had been the injury done to his pride.

  The women who sat in the carriage were aware of his ill-temper and had been for some months.

  But how surprised would they be if they were truly aware of its cause?

  They believed it to be the result of a broken heart – a rejection by the beautiful Alexandra Gedding, newly wed to his business partner, David Manston, who recently reclaimed his title of Viscount Carmarthan.

  In truth, Julian’s heart had been untouched. From the first moment he saw Allie and David together – over a year ago now – he knew they belonged to each other, even if it had taken David some time to acknowledge it.

  No, what gnawed at him was the fact that he owed Allie a debt he could not repay.

  She had literally saved his life in an act of immense courage and prepossession, and yet he was under orders to never speak to another soul about the events that had taken place in the little mining village of Stannum, Cornwall, nearly six months prior.

  There had been a reward for his silence, however. It was an invitation to a winter ball which the Prince of Wales would attend. It would be at the Mayfair home of the new Viscount and Viscountess Carmarthan and jointly hosted by Sir Daniel and Lady Abigail Ridgeway, personal friends of the prince.

  That news, he couldn’t keep to himself, nor was he expected to. The gilt-trimmed and embossed invitation had arrived at his Somerset home shortly after Allie and David’s wedding. Aunt Harriet had been quick to attach Margaret to it.

  After all, it was a golden opportunity to cast a glittering net wider than Bath in the search for more eligible marriage prospects for her daughter.

  Julian would never begrudge his cousin such an opportunity. But where Margaret went, Lydia was never far behind.

  And that was his problem.

  For the past two years, Lydia had determined he was the catch she wanted to land. And despite the unsuitability that was obvious to him at their very first meeting, the girl would not be dissuaded. Unfortunately, neither would his aunt, the only member of his family with whom he had any cordial relations. She actively encouraged Lydia’s pursuit of him in the mistaken belief he was attracted to her but was too diffident to advance the situation.

  Julian himself had erroneously thought that his work as a geologist, digging in the dirt, would serve to put Lydia off her interest. After a year, it was clear his occupation did not matter as long as his income was good.

  Conspiring with Allie to create a fake attachment worked for nearly six whole months. Then nursing a “broken heart” when she had become engaged to David had given him another three months’ reprieve.

  Now, however, it would appear Lydia had decided his mourning should come to an end.

  Hence the abundance of gardenia scent.

  Despite being born in Yorkshire, Julian was raised a gentleman in London, and would never injure a lady in either word or deed. But what was one to do when a lady would not take “no” for an answer?

  He reluctantly drew his attention to the two young women on the carriage seat before him.

  Margaret sat opposite his aunt. She shared their family’s features – light brown hair, gray eyes and a not-unattractive face. Margaret was also quite an agreeable girl and ought to have a very successful Season, if only she did not allow herself to be led by Lydia Stonely.

  As for her, there was no doubt that Lydia was an attractive young woman – her blonde hair, blue eyes, and trim figure made heads turn wherever she went. The problem was she knew it and was aware of the power her feminine charms could wield. This made her manipulative, and she often treated Margaret – her best friend – as carelessly as some of the calf-eyed swains who attempted to win favor.

  Worse still was noting the way Lydia would brighten her smile and amplify her charms to any gent who first showed interest in Margaret.

  If he, a mere man, had noticed such blatant behavior, then why hadn’t Aunt Harriet? Surely it was a mother’s job to educate her daughter in such matters.

  Ah, if only Aunt Harriet had an inkling as to why he had not made a fuss over chaperoning two young ladies in their first Season in London.

  He smiled at the thought of setting Lady Abigail on Lydia. Nothing escaped that sharp woman’s attention. She would see through Lydia’s tricks in a heartbeat. He would happily pay good money to see the inevitable set down.

  “Does something amuse you, my dear Winter?”

  Lydia’s expression was as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth – for the benefit of Aunt Harriet, no doubt. Julian determined to be distant and polite.

  “I am only pleased to be close to our destination, Miss Stonely.”

  And, indeed, they were close. Outside, he could hear the sound of other carriages approaching the coaching inn. The clattering of wheels, the clopping of hoofs, the shouts of coachmen, ostlers, grooms, and outriders – all grew louder.

  The noise roused Margaret from a half-doze. It also enlivened Aunt Harriet.

  “I think you’re being terribly disagreeable, Julian,” the matron tutted. “The family has a perfectly good townhouse of its own; there’s no need to impose yourself on your friends.”

  “Indeed, I believe you’re quite in the right, my dear Mrs. Erskin,” Lydia chimed in with exaggerated deference. A twinkle in her eye told Julian she found the whole thing quite amusing. “Why won’t you listen to your aunt, Winter?”

  “I have business to conduct over the next few days and it is much more convenient for me to stay with Viscount Carmarthan,” he explained. “Besides, I’m sure you ladies have preparations you wish to make before the ball.”

  “But Julian,” said Margaret, now joining the conversation, “you know London so well and we don’t. We were counting on you to be our escort.”

  Julian allowed his smile to broaden. “You won’t be left stranded, Cousin. I have arranged for Lady Abigail to introduce you to the most fashionable modistes. She will open doors that I cannot.”

  His words hit the mark with his aunt and cousin. All three women had been introduced to Lady Abigail, Allie’s godmother, once before at a soiree at Stannum House. Margaret let out a little squeal of delight while Harriet sat up straighter and preened, clearly pleased to have come to the notice of such a personage.

  Lydia, however, regarded him with open speculation, a light color to her cheeks suggesting she was pleased by the arrangement, but suspected his motives.

  God help the man who decided to pursue this fickle creature.

  Their carriage lurched to a stop. A coachman opened the door and Julian breathed in deeply. The cold, dank air coming up from the river carried the smells of smoke, horse urine, and rancid cooking, yet the mixture was more of a perfume to him than the scent of gardenia.

  His traveling companions did not think so. Aunt Harriet put a handkerchief to her nose. Margaret brought the hood of her cloak further over her head. Lydia wrink
led her nose just slightly as though such unpleasantness was beneath her notice.

  Julian disembarked, aiding his aunt to climb down first. Lydia was the last to step out of the coach and tried to retain hold of his hand even after her feet were firmly on the ground.

  “Come along,” Margaret called. “It’s cold out here, and I want something to eat before we go on!”

  Julian was in no hurry to join them. He remained outside, refusing to let the cold chill him. He breathed in deep. The smell was rank, but it was still preferable to Lydia’s perfume.

  Hansom cabs waiting to pick up fares crowded the streets outside the inn. He pulled out his pocket watch. The lamplight revealed it to be a little after eight o’clock. They had made good time, all things considered.

  After sending a messenger to the family townhouse to arrange the transport of the ladies and their luggage, and another to Viscount Carmarthan, there was little reason to stay outside other than his reluctance to be inside.

  He flexed his leg. It was stiffening up in the chill. He watched beggars, prostitutes and pickpockets ply their trades around the bustle of a busy hostelry. There were deals being done by more or less honest folk; traders picking over the first of the wares before the markets opened in the morning.

  He had no idea why he noticed the boy. The child was nothing more than an urchin, dodging in and out around the legs of those who milled about.

  No one seemed to be chasing him and yet he moved with purpose.

  Unfortunately, he also seemed heedless for his own safety. The lad drew nearer. He stopped a moment and looked down at what he held in his hand. Julian caught a glimpse of it, too, before the boy closed his fingers tightly around it again. A shiny silver coin. Now the youngster’s intent was clear. He was looking for a meal for himself.

  The child dashed out just as coach and four approached. One of the horses reared. Somewhere in the crowd, a woman screamed. The boy stopped and looked back at her, ignoring the very real danger before him.