Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  Samantha Grace’s storytelling has received starred reviews from PW and critical acclaim from Booklist, RT Book Reviews, and Library Journal. She has written over fifteen Regency historical romance books and enjoys using her degree in behavioral psychology to create engaging, multidimensional characters. Her novel IN BED WITH A ROGUE earned her a RITA nomination, and LORD MARGRAVE’S SECRET DESIRE was nominated for a RONE award. A lifelong romantic, Samantha first caught a case of the warm fuzzies while watching Disney’s animated version of Robin Hood at age four. She has never looked for a cure. Samantha lives in Wisconsin with her real life hero, daughter, and Holo the Husky.

  * * *

  You can find details of her work at

  www.SamanthaGraceAuthor.com

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  A TWELFTH NIGHT TO REMEMBER

  ~ Book 3 of The Matchmaking Earl Series ~

  * * *

  by

  * * *

  DONNA CUMMINGS

  High-spirited Grace Nettleton had once believed in exciting escapades and magic—so much so, she eloped with a man who promised both. But her husband offered little beyond betrayal and heartache, except for their son, Oliver, the one good and pure thing to come from their union. Now widowed, Grace has returned to Hartstone Hall, resuming a position in the kitchens and setting aside her former fanciful notions of adventure in order to provide stability for her son.

  * * *

  Rhys Wilton, Grace's dearest childhood friend, has loved her all his life, but his position as third son of a noble family seemed an insurmountable obstacle in their youth. Putting Grace's happiness first meant silently stepping aside when she departed to begin a life with someone else, despite the blow to Rhys' soul. With her return, he will not make the same mistake twice. Finding his place in Grace's and Oliver's hearts is easy. Convincing her to ignore their stations, and embrace a new adventure as his wife, will require all the magic of the season.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2019 by Donna Cummings

  Chapter 1

  Late November

  * * *

  Grace wrapped her arms tighter around her sleeping son, trying to protect him from the jostling of the carriage. It had been worth the extra coins to sit inside the crowded conveyance instead of up top. She had little to give Oliver this holiday season, but she had at least managed that.

  She gazed at the wintry countryside through the frosted glass. The bare tree limbs and dreary gray sky matched her mood. She had dreaded returning home, waiting as long as possible, not even writing ahead of time to announce her arrival. She knew already what her mother would say. "Did I not tell you that man would ruin your life? You should have stayed here instead of going off to see the world."

  Now there was nowhere else for her to go. She would endure her mother's disapproval because her son needed a home. He had no father anymore. The only thing he had was a mother who was at her wits' end fretting about providing for him.

  She pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. Oliver was the only reason she had not lost hope completely.

  It was not long before they were deposited on the drive of Hartstone Hall, an impressive building designed centuries ago to display the family's wealth and power. Her mother had served as Lord Hartstone's cook for many years. Grace had helped in the kitchens, loving the moment when she had been grown enough to move from helper to being in charge of baking whatever she wanted to create. Those were some of her best memories.

  As well as those involving Rhys, her lifelong friend.

  He had been the only one to encourage her improbable dreams of seeing what the rest of the world offered. So she had taken the opportunity her late husband Ben had dangled in front of her. She had seen more than the county she had been born in, and discovered numerous delights—as well as an unexpected bit of heartache.

  "Mama, where are we?"

  Oliver looked up at her, curious but not fearful. She gripped his gloved hand in hers, drawing strength from his trusting expression, and headed for the servants' entrance.

  "This is where your mama was raised."

  "In a castle? It looks like it's magical."

  She grinned at the awe on his sweet face. "I can show you where the magic was truly made. In the kitchens."

  Grace did her best not to fall back against the well-worn kitchen table. "She's gone? My mother's gone?"

  "Yes, she is. Oh, but not like you think." Susanna, a kitchen maid who was one of Grace's favorites, grinned in her usual saucy fashion. "She had her head turned a few months back by one of the vendors who came by all the time. Next thing you know, they were wed and she was off to have a grand adventure, as she called it."

  Grace nearly snorted her disbelief. Her mother, the one who had chided Grace constantly about her desire to seek out adventure rather than stay in one spot the remainder of her life—she was the one off on a lark while Grace had been forced to return to where she'd started. The one place she had never expected to see again.

  "The Fates certainly do have an unusual sense of humor," she muttered.

  She had no idea what to do now. She had hoped to prevail upon her mother to allow them to stay, at least until Grace could find a position somewhere. But now, with the woman traipsing the countryside with her new husband…

  Grace felt a lump rising in her throat. This holiday season was turning out to be a bit more than she could endure. Yet she had to remain strong for Oliver. In his four years, he had yet to know what it was like to spend Christmastide with his family. It was a tradition she had hoped would start here, this year, and now it was yet another to add to her dashed hopes.

  There was a bit of clatter on the stone steps leading into the kitchens. Grace glanced up, and then stood up straight, as did all of the other servants who had been enjoying a rare break with a cup of tea.

  "My lord," they said in unison, adding a curtsey.

  "Is this Grace? Grace Nettleton?" Lord Hartstone's eyes lit up. "It has been ages since we have seen you. How are you doing?"

  "Very well, my lord. I apologize. I did not mean to impede the staff's efforts—"

  "Not at all," he said graciously. "Are you here to stay?"

  Before she could answer, Oliver peeked around her skirts and announced, "My mama said they make magic here."

  Lord Hartstone grinned. "She is absolutely correct. In truth, she made the most magical desserts. I still dream of the fig tarts she used to create."

  Oliver looked up at her as if he expected her to snap her fingers and produce those very tarts.

  "You are too kind, my lord."

  "I am too selfish," he said with another laugh. "I hope you are staying long enough to make a large batch."

  "I would be happy to." A burst of bravery born of desperation made her add, "I understand you are in need of a cook. I could make those tarts every day if you like."

  She held her breath. Most cooks did not bring a young son as part of their situation. Lord Hartstone was likely to decline her bold offer due to the difficulties it entailed.

  To her relief, he gave her a quick wink that only she could see. "I cannot think of a better solution for my current dilemma." He glanced at Oliver. "How clever of you to bring an assistant. There will be a great deal of cooking for all of the upcoming festivities. We shall need every available set of hands to accomplish it all."

  Oliver was too young to do more than get underfoot, despite his eagerness to help, but she would find a way to make it work, no matter what.

  "We can get started straight away," Grace answered, her heart beating with more hopefulness than she could recently remember.

  "Wonderful! Make sure fig tarts are the first item on the list." Lord Hartstone turned as if to leave, and then halted. "Oh, your mother's quarters are still available," he continued. "I hope that will suit the both of you."

  Grace had always appreciated his kindness, and now it made her blink away tears, grateful that he had taken away the last of her concerns.

 
"You have just ensured I shall be baking tarts for you day and night, my lord."

  Lord Hartstone chuckled, they all bobbed him another curtsey, and then he departed.

  Grace dropped into a chair, her legs wobbly from all of the excitement coursing through her. Oliver climbed onto her lap. "When do we get to make some magic, Mama?"

  "Soon, my love," she answered, brushing his blond hair away from his forehead. "Very soon."

  Yet she had already experienced more of it than she had expected. Her son had a home for the foreseeable future. She had a position that would allow her to provide for him. She could once more do what she loved, surrounded by those she had known most of her life, and who genuinely seemed glad she had returned.

  What a wonderful, miraculous day it had turned out to be.

  That afternoon

  Rhys Wilton slowed his pace, calling fruitlessly for his dog Bodhi to heel. The animal, a mere pup, dashed down the hill as soon as he sighted Lord Hartstone, confident the man would have some sort of treat in his pocket.

  Hartstone grinned as he reined in his horse and dismounted. He ruffled the dog's fur and scratched the beast's head by the ears.

  "You have made it impossible for me to train him for anything useful," Rhys said.

  "I apologize. But he is such a wonderful dog." Martin knelt and dug something out of his coat pocket. The dog lapped it up and then stuck his nose in Martin's pocket.

  "Yes, wonderful," Rhys said drily. "If you want to assure you do not have any lint lingering in your coat."

  Martin merely laughed. "Growing up with numerous younger siblings, and every one of us with a dog, I cannot imagine having merely one. Perhaps you should add another."

  "This one is more than enough."

  Rhys envied his friend's boisterous upbringing, and knew that as much as Martin bemoaned the constant commotion, he loved his family dearly. Rhys' family was a great deal more staid and formal, as if needing to constantly remind society they had been here since the days of William the Conqueror.

  It was no wonder Rhys had preferred spending his time at Hartstone Hall when he was a boy. He still did.

  Martin stood and gave the pup one last pat. "Sorry, old man. You have depleted my supply."

  The hound gave him a look of utter disappointment and then walked away slowly, until something rustled in the nearby grass, setting him off on a new chase.

  Martin took the reins of his horse and he and Rhys continued their trek towards Hartstone Hall.

  "Whyever did you choose Bodhi for a name? It is not the typical sort of thing for a hunting dog."

  "I came across it in a philosophy text, and thought it might prove aspirational. It means 'enlightenment'." Rhys grinned. "Now I fear I have burdened the poor beast with a name he can never live up to."

  "Perhaps he shall surprise you one day. Oh, speaking of surprises, I nearly forgot. You will never guess who has returned."

  "There are so few who have departed this place. Surely it cannot be too difficult—"

  Grace.

  It had to be Grace. Rhys had been disappointed when she had married and gleefully set off for her adventurous new life several years ago. Yet he had also completely understood her desire to leave.

  He had only wished it had been with him.

  "Grace Nettleton," Martin announced, unaware of Rhys' musings.

  "But why? Her mother no longer lives here."

  "Grace is my new cook."

  Rhys halted in the middle of the path. "She is staying? How did you convince her to accept the position?"

  Martin chuckled. "She appeared on my doorstep and convinced me."

  It was something Rhys could see Grace doing. He wondered why, though, unless she had had her fill of traveling the world. He could not imagine it. She was so full of life, and ambition, and an optimism that had always inspired him.

  As selfish as it was, he was glad she had returned.

  Had her husband accompanied her? Rhys peppered Martin with questions, but the man simply smiled and said, "You should come round and see for yourself."

  "Perhaps I shall."

  Martin got back on his horse and turned towards Hartstone Hall. "Do not forget. You are expected to be part of the upcoming Christmas festivities."

  "How can I forget? It is the only enjoyable aspect of the season, spending it with your family instead of mine."

  Martin grinned and then nudged his horse forward. Rhys half expected Bodhi to chase them, but the errant pup apparently thought better of it.

  Rhys was tempted to follow Martin to Hartstone Hall, but instead he headed towards his own home, deciding it was more prudent not to rush to see Grace just then.

  Their difference in station had not seemed a hindrance when they were younger. Or he had not truly been aware of it. She had had less freedom than he, of course, and her days had been consumed with innumerable tasks that his had not. Yet they had still managed to find time to explore the surrounding woods and ponds, making grandiose plans that never came to fruition.

  Grace had always made him seem important. Whenever he was in her presence, he was not merely the third son, one who served no purpose short of a disaster befalling the heir and the spare.

  Before he could divulge his growing feelings for her, though, she had married and set off for a new life. It had taken a long while to become accustomed to her absence. He had truly never expected to set eyes on her again.

  Now she had returned, almost like some sort of Yuletide miracle. His heart pounded with anticipation at seeing her once more, followed by wariness at reviving the heartache he had overcome.

  Still, there was no reason they could not spend a few moments reminiscing about their childhood friendship, and the many fond memories they had created over the years.

  What would she remember most about those halcyon days?

  Chapter 2

  The next morning

  * * *

  "You put a frog in my hair!" Grace exclaimed.

  She started to slap Rhys playfully on the arm, as she had done when they were children, but she halted herself just in time. "I must have washed my hair ten times before I removed all traces of it."

  She did her best to appear stern, but it was next to impossible. She had been startled by his appearance at the back door of the kitchens, and then elated, and then swamped with memories of how much he had been part of her daily life when they were growing up.

  He was as handsome as ever, his dark curls longer than she remembered, but suiting him perfectly. He wore an elegant greatcoat, emphasizing his broad shoulders, while his buckskin breeches displayed even more of his muscular frame.

  Rhys grinned. It was a devilish expression, a silent invitation to join him in mischief. It had been hard to resist when she was younger. How could she hope to withstand it now?

  She had no choice, however. She had her child's welfare to consider, not just her own.

  "I apologized for the frog," Rhys reminded her. "Though I truly did not expect it to end in your hair. I meant to put it close to your face and it just leapt—"

  She laughed. "So I should be thankful it landed in my hair instead of on my face?"

  "It does seem the more palatable option."

  "When the frogs are plentiful again, I shall test this theory of yours. On you."

  His blue eyes lit up. As if he enjoyed the thought of her being here at another season.

  They strolled through the kitchen gardens, most of it barren, all of it covered with a light dusting of snow. She had been glad to take a few minutes away from her duties to chat with her lifelong friend. To her surprise, there was no awkwardness between them. It was as if they had spoken moments earlier rather than several years ago.

  "I cannot wait to hear of your adventures," Rhys said, his voice filled with envy. "We had always imagined what the rest of the world was like, and you have actually seen some of it."

  "Did you not go on a Grand Tour? I thought all young nobles were required to do so," she teased.


  "I had planned to, but it had to be postponed as Charles and Henry both came down with an illness at the same time. It was the only time there was genuine concern for my welfare, since for a few weeks it appeared as though I might end up being the heir."

  His tone held a touch of asperity, and Grace"s heart softened a bit more. He did not complain about his status, but she knew how restrictive it was. Nearly as confining as hers, though in a different fashion. His family was as unaware of what he desired in life as hers had been.

  No wonder they had become such fast friends. Yet ultimately that was frowned upon, for fear it might blossom into something more, a liaison too scandalous to be borne. Leaving had been Grace's best option, before she could begin to hope for something that could never be.

  "I shall regale you with some of my tales one day," she said lightly. "I am still in shock that my mother is apparently a world traveler, after constantly chiding me for my wish to be one. It is not as easy now that I am a widow, though."

  Rhys blinked as he registered what she was confessing. "I am sorry to hear that, Grace. I had always hoped your life away from here was filled with happiness."

  The tenderness in his gaze caused an unexpected fluttering in Grace's stomach. She had to put a halt to it. There was no sense in letting her long-ago feelings for Rhys surface, becoming even more inconvenient than they had been before.

  "There was a great deal of joy," she managed. "In truth—"

  "Mama! Where are you?"

  They both spun around, Rhys clearly puzzled, while Grace hastened to greet her child.

  "I am right here. Can you not see me? Oh dear. I forgot to remove the spell." She waved her arms over her head and spun around. "There!"