Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1)

by Anna Campbell

  He hoped his visit wasn’t Lord Quamby’s idea. The diversions offered by the earl and his countess ran the gamut from simply diverting to outright outrageous, and Sebastian was not in the mood for either.

  "I daresay both the waltz and the quadrille have their advantages, Miss Reeves," he murmured, raising his voice to be heard over Lady Indigo's snore.

  That's when he realized his visit was an antidote to the old lady's perhaps dutifully issued invitation. A quick glance at the gently nodding dowager and then at his two hostesses confirmed this. Yes, Ladies Fenton and Quamby had thought to divert themselves by inviting him and then possibly Miss Reeves, purely to offset the tedium of their octogenarian houseguest.

  His fellow houseguest fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I know the waltz is still considered daring, Mr Reeves, but is that not appealing in itself? Wouldn't you find life dreadfully dreary if you couldn't do something that everyone disapproved of?"

  "Doing things that people disapprove of is hardly a novelty for me, Miss Reeves," he said, pleased to make her blush and smile cheekily at the same time. Obviously, his reputation preceded him.

  And she was rather a fetching little thing when he took the trouble to study her. With lively green eyes beneath dark arched brows, and golden hair swept into a topknot that complemented the elegant sweep of her neck and pretty, pointed chin, she was as close to a beauty as any discerning man would want.

  Her teeth were good too. No imperfections.

  "Good lord, but we need some entertainment!"

  To everyone's startlement, Lady Indigo jerked awake on a particularly loud snore and clapped her hands. "Let us have music!” Snapping her head around, she barked at the young woman hunched over her needlework beside her; a companion employed obviously to tease out the knots in her employer’s mood and occasional handiwork. “Stand up girl and give us a song! But Miss Reeves must sing! My girl plays,” she told the company at large, “but the good lord did not bless her with a voice to instill pleasure in anyone. Come, Miss Reeves; surely a pretty girl like you has a voice like a nightingale. Come and entertain us."

  Sebastian smiled at the contrived play of emotions that crossed Miss Reeve's lovely face as she stood up after a minor show of coyness.

  Appreciatively, he watched her cross to the pianoforte which was tucked into the corner of the grand sitting room, and where Miss Indigo's companion must now be settling herself at the keys, as he heard the first tinkling chords of a Scottish lament.

  Unlike Dorothea, whose crippling shyness prevented her from such exhibits, Miss Reeves was a show-woman and, indeed, she had a voice that matched her fine looks. From this distance, he was in an even better position to admire her graceful curves as she raised her smooth, swanlike throat to reach the high notes.

  "Bravo!" he declared, clapping politely as she beamed in conclusion. "And lovely playing, too," he added politely, for the young lady at the piano deserved praise also. With her scraped-back hair beneath an old-fashioned cap, it was doubtful she received too much of that. He hadn’t even noticed the little chit until now, hidden as she had been behind a concealing palm at her mistress’s side.

  "My dear Venetia’s accomplishment at the keyboard makes up for her lack of tunefulness. And now it’s time for her to help me prepare for my bed.” Lady Indigo banged her cane loudly upon the floor and Sebastian, who’d just turned to attend to something said by Lord Fenton, leaped into awareness.

  But not because of Lady Indigo’s impatience.

  Venetia? It was an unusual name. The name of a young lady distinguished by her lack of tunefulness. He squinted across the room and saw her rise to do her mistress’s bidding. She was slightly built, her figure neat, her gown a drab brown.

  He willed her to turn her head for it was impossible to observe her properly in the light of a single sconce of candles. In fact, as she turned her back on him, it was almost as if she did so deliberately.

  Which surely must mean it was not her.

  Not his Venetia. Sebastian’s Venetia would have thrown her arms wide in joy and tumbled into his embrace the moment she recognized him. Sebastian’s Venetia would have been scouring the world to find him.

  Not turning her back on him.

  Yet, as he frowned across the room, trying to make out this hitherto invisible creature, hidden by pot plants and various well-dressed personages, and not least by that hideous lace cap upon her head, he was filled with doubt.

  “Please. One more song." He couldn’t let her go. Not without knowing, conclusively. And perhaps she’d not even noticed him. If it were his Venetia.

  Sebastian's request drew smiles from everyone, but when Miss Reeves bent her head to obviously suggest a piece, he added, almost desperately, "With due respect, Lady Indigo, please allow me to be the judge of whether your companion’s voice is as…lacking in tune as you suggest? I think another opinion is only fair."

  He heard their audible gasps; and, yes, he’d had a little too much to drink, perhaps. He knew it was one thing for an old lady to publicly deride the lowly creature who worked for her but quite another for a gentleman of the ton to make fun of the situation, too.

  Right now, Sebastian didn’t care what anyone thought. There was no way he was going to let the lowly companion disappear through that doorway. Not when, suddenly, a great deal was at stake.

  Riveted, he watched the young woman under scrutiny slowly return, as Lady Fenton settled herself at the keyboard. The girl’s reluctance was apparent; the embarrassment of his hosts was palpable.

  And the gathering excitement in Sebastian’s breast was unstoppable.

  Even though their songstress kept her head averted as her voice rose above the tinkling notes, certainty and expectation powered through him.

  He wasn’t quite sure how he managed to restrain himself sufficiently to remark, not entirely steadily, either, "Certainly, you are right, Lady Indigo, in that the young lady’s talents lie with her playing.” In truth, he had no idea what he was saying, other than it couldn’t have been complimentary as he met the reproving glances of everyone in the room.

  "Hmph, well, I think Venetia didn't deserve that," grumbled Lady Indigo, nodding at her companion. "And I'm sorry for what I said, but I'm sure you've had enough of small talk, Venetia. Please will you go and see that the warming iron in my bed is the right temperature."

  Obediently the girl rose, but as she did not glance in Sebastian’s direction, he was again frustrated by doubt.

  Until one covert glance across the swarm of bodies sealed everything.

  And Sebastian had to grip the back of his chair as his vision coalesced into a kaleidoscope of red and black, saying in as unaffected a tone as he could manage, “Perhaps Miss Reeves would entertain us with another piece. And Lady Fenton might be prevailed upon to continue her excellent work at the pianoforte.”

  Miss Reeves blushed prettily. She was very good at that, he observed. Her grace and timing were consummate, for she hesitated a perfect moment before conceding with just the right show of shyness and reluctance.

  Not that Sebastian cared how prettily she blushed or sang or did anything for that matter. He just needed to be strategic. Nor could he bolt out of the room and after Venetia like the overenthusiastic schoolboy he felt.

  “I shall be back by the time you decide what you shall sing,” he added, bowing at the ladies before making for the door, his movements leisurely before he hastened his stride. His departure would be mistaken for the call of nature. He’d been in the house a good few hours and knew his way about.

  But he must hurry. The blood was pounding loudly in his ears, and an excitement more heady and exhilarating than he’d felt in his whole life was powering through him.

  Quickly, he traversed the passageway, stopping on the threshold of the long gallery. The guest wing was along the passage that led from the far end of this area. Lady Indigo’s bedroom would be one of these. Surely she hadn’t scuttled away as quickly as to give him no chance to catch up.


  Surely…

  As he stopped to survey the shadows ahead of him, the pounding of his heartbeat was now deafening.

  Yet all was silent in the cavernous room with its high ceiling and book-lined walls.

  Taking a cautious step forward, he scanned the immediate vicinity. Lord, when last had his palms felt clammy and his neck linen too tight?

  He knew the answer to this only too well. It was why he was here; why he was so agitated.

  And then he saw her, glancing up at a painting about halfway down the room, to the left, and almost shrouded by a large bust on a plinth.

  Without a second thought, Sebastian set his footsteps in her direction, covering the distance in quick time, snatching at her wrist to swing her around so that with a stumble she was in the circle of his arms; and as she tilted her head up with a gasp, he was able to claim her mouth, her soft, sweet lips melting beneath his.

  Before she truncated the ecstasy that roared through his body, by giving him a sharp push.

  He stumbled back against the window, hurt and confusion warring within him.

  “Venetia?” They’d parted on a kiss and a promise. This was not what he’d expected.

  Not what he’d dreamed would be the culmination of so many months—no, years—of waiting. Of hoping. “Are you not glad to see me?” He felt his right hand begin to tremble with the familiar painful spasm that came upon him in times of stress, and held it behind his back so she’d not see evidence of his weakness. His dueling injury was not something of which he was proud.

  Her eyes were dark and luminous as she bit her lip, staring at him as if she hardly knew what to say. “Sebastian,” she whispered.

  “Why did you not acknowledge me?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak and, wounded, he went on, “Do you know how much self-control I had to exercise to prevent myself from leaping over the piano and dragging you off in front of everyone…once I’d finally ascertained your identity by your voice?”

  “You haven’t exactly displayed much self-control these past few months,” she said softly, turning to look out of the window into the darkened garden below.

  The recrimination in her tone was like a lash. Only Venetia had the power to bring him back to earth and temper his excesses. But Sebastian could allay the criticism she would level at him, now. He took her hands, giving them a gentle tug so that she faced him. “The gossip mill had a field day with the story. You know my faults, Venetia, and there are many of them. But I am not a liar, and I’m not a philanderer.”

  He watched the play of emotions cross her lovely face, and it was like being transported back to the days of his youth when he had hope. When he truly believed they could overcome the obstacles their respective fathers had placed in the way of the marriage they wanted above all else.

  The marriage Sebastian still wanted...above all else.

  But, of course, it was unreasonable to expect that she’d been living in wait for him as if their lives had both been put on hold. A great deal must have happened for Venetia to be in the situation he now found her, as a put-upon servant or companion to an exacting old woman.

  “Venetia!” He squeezed her hands when she still did not answer, his voice sounding ragged and imploring to his own ears. “Do you know how long and hard I’ve searched for you? Do you remember, when you sent me away, I swore that I would find you if ever I became free?”

  “You fought a duel within four months of being widowed, Sebastian,” she whispered. “And you were named as the other party in Mrs Compton’s divorce case not two months later.” He felt the shudder that ran through her as she went on, “I find it hard to believe you searched very hard for me after Dorothea died.”

  Sebastian swallowed down the painful lump in his throat. And even though the lack of enthusiasm on her part was wholly dampening, his one hopeful thought was that he surely could offer her a better future.

  Even if she had lost her trust and faith in him right at this moment, he could at least do that for her.

  “Venetia, please give me the benefit of the doubt until I’ve had a chance to tell you my side of the story.” His throat felt dry. To be so close to the woman he’d ached to be with every moment of his disastrous marriage, and beyond, yet to feel her scorn, was almost more than he could bear. “I searched everywhere for you! I know I showed terrible judgment in the case of Lady Banks and Mrs Compton but...Mrs Compton’s husband has forgiven her.” He took a breath. “And I’m hoping you can forgive me since...since, having failed to find you, I thought you must have left the country or married someone else since we’d both been true to our promise to one another to have no contact after I married Dorothea.”

  She raised her head to look at him properly, and he saw the moisture in her eyes. “So, you’re not entirely insensible to me?” he asked, cautiously, reaching out to touch a tear. “I can still hope?”

  She exhaled on a quiet, self-contained sob, sinking against him.

  And he held her gently, as if she were made of the finest porcelain, for he could not afford to hurt her, to break her, when only she could mend his broken heart and soul.

  “Oh...Sebastian.” She drew in a shuddering breath, turning in his embrace, her hands twining behind his neck as she raised her face for his kiss.

  Finally, she was giving him the answer he craved.

  Relief made him weak. But only for a moment, for then he was powered by life-giving energy as his arms tightened about her, his hands recording all as he kissed her: the curve of her waist—still so slender—the swell of her bosom—the perfect handful; and his senses rioted with pleasure as a hundred glorious memories swirled around them. The return pressure of her kisses; her sighs of pleasure. He knew she felt as he did.

  Cupping her face, he drew back to look at her. “May I remove that nunnish cap—or have you really taken holy orders?”

  She smiled and untied the bow beneath her chin, and he reached across to remove the pins that secured her demure coiffure so that her hair fell about her shoulders in glossy dark brown waves.

  Hungrily, he tangled his fingers in their remembered softness. “I’ve dreamed of you every night for four years…my darling, brown-haired girl,” he murmured, closing his eyes briefly as he let her hair slip through his fingers. “I can’t believe you didn’t come to me if you knew,” he swallowed, “that Dorothea had died.”

  “I only heard it a few months after the fact.” The moonlight that filtered through the curtains limned the curve of her cheek with a soft glow. “And that was in Lady Indigo’s drawing room when the gossip came to my ears about your affair with Lady Banks.”

  The reproach in her look was painful. Gently he cupped her elbows. “I was never unfaithful to Dorothea, for all that you know how much I railed against the marriage that you, Venetia, insisted was the honorable course to follow.”

  “But you ably assisted, not just Lady Banks to be unfaithful to her husband, but...but Mrs Compton too, and the gossip was all over town, Sebastian.” Venetia looked at him inquiringly. “I was not going to risk my position, my security as Lady Indigo’s companion, to present myself to you in the fond hope that your feelings for me were as they were when we parted…” She hesitated, dropping her gaze as she whispered… “when everything I heard suggested they were not.”

  Her words were like a physical blow. “You could have written...to find out.”

  She bit her lip. “Maybe I did.”

  “Lord, I never got them! You wrote? Why—”

  She shook her head. “I wrote many times. I just never sent them.”

  “But why? The day after Dorothea’s funeral, I began looking for you. First in England, then farther afield. And now I have found you and…I’m the happiest man alive.” He swallowed, his ears attuned to the distant sound of footsteps. “And the most confused for while my feelings have not changed, it would appear yours have. Please, Venetia, give me some hope.”

  She regarded him steadily. “Only if you can prove beyond a doubt that
no one else has taken my place here.” She touched his heart.

  “I swear to you that you are the only woman I want to be with. The only woman I’ve ever wanted to be with.” He gripped her hands again and gave them a gentle shake. “Surely you believe me?”

  “Words aren’t enough, Sebastian.” She looked away. “I’ve heard too much. Lady Banks—”

  “Her husband’s accusations were entirely unfounded. The duel…” He shook his head. “I’ll explain it all…”

  The footsteps, though halting and slow, were growing louder.

  “And Mrs Compton?”

  He stilled. In good conscience, he could not satisfy her with the quick defense that had come to him with regard to Lady Banks.

  “Venetia? Is that you?”

  He cupped her face again. “Promise you’ll be here in the morning,” he implored. “We have so much to discuss.”

  “Such as?”

  “Our future together.”

  “Much has changed since I last saw you, Sebastian.”

  “But not the way I feel about you.” He touched his heart. “Not my love for you, I promise.”

  “Venetia!”

  Lady Indigo’s strident voice echoed through the chamber. “Where the devil are you for I can hear you clearly. I thought you’d come and fetch me to bed.”

  Sebastian drew Venetia quickly within the window embrasure and kissed her again. “I’ll find you in the morning, my darling, and then I shall make it my mission to dispel every doubt and objection you may have over my feelings and conduct and whatever else might stand in the way of a resounding but simple yes to my proposal.”

  Her eyes widened, and she gave a short laugh. “You always did think life was simple, Sebastian.” Her lips quirked. “It’s one of the reasons I loved you.”

  “And still do, I hope,” he said, smiling, kissing her on the top of the head, reluctant to release her into the path of the advancing old lady whom he made sure did not observe him as he calculated how long it would take to disappear behind a nearby screen. “Where can I see you tomorrow? Please, Venetia, there’s not much time,” he added, suddenly afraid she’d make some excuse that precluded them being together.