Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  That was a story for later, and only when she was ready to share it.

  “Mr. Lovelace has told me about your dinner guests, Mr. Strachney and his daughter, and her sizeable dowry. Which takes me back to my question: what is between you and my cousin, Andrew?”

  “An excellent question,” George said.

  The arrogant ass. “Damn it, George, I’m not marrying Miss Strachney. You are free to pursue her dowry yourself, with my blessing. You may dine with them every night at Glenthistle instead of taking it upon yourself to invite them to my table. Penelope, I would speak with you privately.”

  George stood. “It would have been the easiest resolution to your problems, old man, but if you won’t marry for money, I have some excellent ideas for making Kinmarty financially solvent.”

  “Kinmarty needs money?” Penelope asked.

  “Taxes,” George said. “Unpaid bills. A crumbling edifice.”

  “I see.”

  “Yes, thank you Lovelace, for sharing that, and I do hope you restrain yourself from going into those details with Strachney tonight. Now—”

  “Now I really will take my leave.” George flashed him a grin and closed the door silently.

  He walked to the fireplace, trying to formulate his words. “First, let me apologize for interfering in your marriage so many years ago. It was wrong of me to—”

  “You were perfectly within your rights. Stop apologizing, and be seated. What’s done, is done, and I’ve reconciled myself to the past. Why your brother chose me as a wife, well, I suppose I was the pliable one, the girl lacking a male relative to impose some restraint. And more importantly, I had enough dowry to fund our passage to India. And you were right about him, Andrew. Like most men, he was incapable of being faithful to only one woman.” She sighed. “To his great disappointment and mine, I was incapable of giving him a live child.”

  She stared at her empty cup, her long pause leaving him speechless. His brother had been a rake, not so different from many other men he knew, and Penelope was not so different from many of their wives, except for her generosity towards his offspring.

  He’d never thought much about fidelity in a marriage, but he believed it was possible…with the right partner. Someone like Marlowe.

  “When the children’s mother passed away, her closest family shunned the boys. Only Sitara came for them and, for their sake, she and I reached an agreement to see how they did here. I couldn’t turn my back on them, though Evan was willing to do so.” Her voice cracked, and she took in a long breath.

  He remembered the letter he’d found in the study. “At least he had the good grace to write to the duke about taking them in.”

  She shook her head. “I wrote that letter and made him sign it.”

  He plopped into the chair vacated by George and rubbed his head. He’d followed his brother on some of his escapades, but he’d always been more careful than Evan. To the best of his knowledge, he had no by-blows running about, paying the price for his moments of pleasure.

  It had been a near thing that day with Marlowe.

  “Now, what of my cousin? What have you done to Minny, and what do you intend to do?”

  He raked his hands through his hair. He intended to finish what they’d started today, that very night, if possible. He intended to make love to her again, and again, and again.

  He loved her.

  He couldn’t say that to Marlowe’s cousin, not until he’d told Marlowe first.

  He stared at the teapot, a laugh bubbling up in him. As matters stood, once the taxes and tradesmen were paid, he’d not have two farthings to rub together, but here he was with three new dependents and in love with a woman who couldn’t possibly save Kinmarty.

  But she could save him.

  “Andrew.” Penelope rapped on the table. “I am not without means. Let us negotiate.”

  He looked at her then, really looked at her. The hot sun of India had taken a toll on her blonde beauty, but her dress was of the finest quality and height of fashion, her hair intricately styled, and around her neck hung a ruby as large as a robin’s egg. Yes, it appeared she did have means, but he wasn’t here to ask for money.

  “I haven’t come to negotiate,” he said. “I’ve come to beg for your help.”

  Chapter 17

  “Hunting,” George said, “and whisky production. I’ll talk to Forbes when he has a free moment.”

  Andrew arranged the crisply starched neck cloth with more care than usual. “Not hunting,” he said.

  “Most definitely hunting. And for a hefty fee. Gordon asks eight thousand pounds for the privilege of fishing for salmon in his stream.” He squinted. “Are there salmon in the burn?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I envision a horde of prosperous cits descending on Kinmarty expecting wine, women, and song. It won’t be good for the boys.”

  “They’ll be away at school.”

  He glared at his friend who laughed. “Fine, Andrew. You’ve a hunting lodge on the property as I recall.”

  “A lodge that is falling down.”

  “A few repairs and it will serve. Or, we can get the word out to the wives about the haunted castle—The Castle of Otranto—and invite the ladies to accompany their husbands and stay here in the medieval wing for a larger fee.”

  A shudder went through him. “The whisky distilling is more palatable.” He grabbed his freshly brushed coat—Forbes had mercifully set a servant to tend to his clothing—and pulled it on.

  Then Forbes himself appeared to announce that the guests had been spotted on the drive.

  His heart pounded with a sense of exhilaration, and he strode out past the butler.

  Downstairs, George stood by him as he greeted the Strachneys and the footman carried away cloaks and scarves.

  He ushered them into the great hall and poured drinks.

  “I see Kinmarty is ready for a proper Yuletide,” Strachney said, looking around.

  Marlowe had outdone herself with greenery and ribbons and the huge log ready to be set aflame.

  “Yes, indeed. In fact, we’ll be making a family party of it after dinner. My sister-in-law has just arrived with my brother’s children, and they’ll join us for lighting the Yule log.”

  “Your sister-in-law? I believe I met her and your brother once at a Company dinner. Come to keep the holiday with you, have they?”

  “They’re newly returned from India. They’ll be living here at Castle Kinmarty.”

  Strachney’s brows furrowed. “Didn’t know your brother had children.”

  Andrew wanted to laugh. Strachney was assessing the impact on his daughter when she became the future duchess. Perhaps he even worried about a rivalry with Penelope.

  “You must be happy they’ve joined you, your grace.” Miss Strachney colored and dropped her gaze to his boots. “Children always make for a more pleasant Yuletide.”

  The girl was either fearfully shy, or embarrassed by her oaf of a father. Besides the generous dowry, perhaps she had a spot of good sense.

  He still wouldn’t marry her.

  George, who was a middle son of a baron in a family of ten offspring, hovered near her bending her ear, recounting memories of his large family’s Christmases past until he had her laughing.

  Strachney’s frown deepened, but before he could interfere, Forbes ushered in the ladies.

  Penelope had linked arms with Marlowe, and it appeared there might have been some wrestling required getting her down to the great hall.

  But Marlowe was here, and as she approached his pulse quickened. In her green gown with the choker of emeralds and diamonds circling her elegant neck, she was lovely beyond belief.

  Strachney’s mouth dropped. “Two ladies,” he muttered.

  Forbes led Filomena to the foot of the table and pulled out the chair.

  “I cannot possibly sit here,” she hissed.

  “You must, Mrs. Marlowe,” the duke called from his place at the head. “Mrs. Marlowe has been serving as my hostess,”
he told Miss Strachney. “Very kind of her. Very helpful. I could not have managed without her.”

  Such utter rubbish. Filomena pressed her lips together and allowed Forbes to seat her, watching as Strachney helped Penelope into the seat on her left and Mr. Lovelace seated Miss Strachney at the duke’s left, and then seated himself on Filomena’s right.

  The duke beamed a smile her way. Forbes, still hovering near her elbow, cleared his throat.

  “Shall I bring in the first course, Madame?” Forbes asked.

  She sighed. Not an hour before, she’d been summoned to Penelope’s bedchamber, rapidly stripped of her practical work attire, pinned into the most beautiful gown she’d ever beheld, and had her unruly hair arranged by Penelope’s maid into an intricate arrangement of curls, all while being subjected to a steady, insistent discourse by Penelope.

  She fingered the jewels at her neck. Penelope had fastened those on as well.

  Her cousin had insisted she wear the dress and the jewels because she would join them for dinner tonight not as a servant but as a member of the party, by order of the duke.

  And here was Forbes, making it clear that she was actually the evening’s hostess.

  “Yes, please, Mr. Forbes. By all means we must eat, and the cook has prepared an excellent feast for us.”

  Which she knew because she had been about the business of tasting the soup when Penelope summoned her.

  Strachney studied her from his place next to Penelope, and she gritted her teeth, waiting for him to call her out as Kinmarty’s housekeeper.

  “Where do you hail from, Mrs. Marlowe?” Strachney asked.

  “My cousin and I are from Hertfordshire,” Penelope said. “Though we spent time in London. It’s where I met my late husband.”

  Strachney leaned over his plate, peering around Penelope, his beady eyes glowing. “And is Mr. Marlowe planning to join the family here for the Yuletide?”

  “Mr. Marlowe is deceased,” the duke said, dipping his head in a sympathetic gesture. “Mrs. Marlowe is also widowed.”

  Strachney’s mouth turned down. That had been unwelcome news.

  “I’ve spent little time in London, myself,” Strachney said. “I suppose your family and the duke’s were well-acquainted from your time there?”

  He’d directed his question to Filomena. She took a spoonful of pea soup stalling.

  “Perhaps well-acquainted would be putting it too strongly,” Penelope said. “But as I said I met the duke and his brother there.”

  She remembered all too well. Godmama had wangled an invitation to an important ball, but sick with nerves, she’d come down with a cold that left her too ill to attend. Penelope had gone though, returning home with a dreamy look, a mysterious neck bruise, and a torn chemise.

  “Actually,” the duke said. “We all met here at Kinmarty, many years earlier when we were children.”

  His warm gaze from the other end of the table sent heat to her cheeks.

  “Do you remember, Minny?” The words floated softly down the table, wrapping her in their warmth, meant only for her, as if no one else was present. The tenderness stirred memories of their afternoon. Good heavens—that very afternoon, when he’d almost made love to her.

  She shook herself and forced a laugh. “Yes. We spent a summer near here, and I fell in the burn, and the duke—the future duke—very kindly rescued me.” She signaled, and the footmen began clearing plates. “I fear I have always been clumsy. I was the girl stepping on toes, turning the wrong way in a dance, and spilling ratafia on my gown. Or worse—on Penelope’s.”

  Penelope reached for her hand and squeezed it. “And I never minded. Not once.”

  She managed a laugh, and the others joined in, and then the footmen served the baked grayling.

  “Do you plan to make Kinmarty your home, Mrs. MacDonal?” Lovelace asked.

  “I should love to, if the duke will allow it.”

  “He most certainly will,” Andrew said. “And the children. Their father and I had our happiest times here with the old duke.”

  “How old are the children?” Miss Strachney asked.

  “They are six and four.” Penelope smiled, her fondness evident.

  Her cousin had softened during her years spent in India.

  “You shall meet them later,” Penelope added. “They’re joining us—after all, it’s Christmas eve.”

  “Such a lovely age.” Miss Strachney sounded wistful.

  She liked children. If the duke were to marry her, she would be a kind aunt to the boys.

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?” Filomena asked her.

  “No, but I grew up with younger cousins. They’re in Edinburgh.”

  The girl’s sad tone hinted at her loneliness.

  “You must come and visit the children any time you wish,” Penelope said. “They would delight in your company.”

  “Very kind,” Strachney said.

  Penelope asked Strachney about his residence in India, his return to Scotland, and his plans for the future. It became clear he’d yanked the girl from the only family she’d known with a scheme to help him advance socially.

  Lovelace turned the conversation to business and the industry in the area, also probing Strachney for his plans.

  Forbes’s army served course after course, the roasted lamb, the ham, the French beans, puddings, and more peas. Conversation swirled around her, and every time she looked up, she was trapped in the duke’s thoughtful gaze and a smile meant only for her.

  Mr. Strachney ate heartily, complimenting the dishes he favored, and discussing his cook’s version of the ones he cared less for. His daughter picked at her food, out of nerves or dislike for the dishes, Filomena wasn’t sure.

  She doubted the girl had been long out of the schoolroom. She might be no more than eighteen years, perhaps younger.

  She toyed with her own food watching to see when the last guest sat back from the table before asking the ladies if they’d like to retire to the great hall.

  “Bravo, Mrs. Marlowe.” The duke was smiling again. “It was an excellent Christmas Eve dinner. I hope that you too will deign to make Kinmarty your home.”

  He rose and strode down the table to pull out her chair, setting her cheeks aflame. He might as well publicly declare his intent to make her his mistress. And what of the girl at the table who was meant to be his wife?

  While Mr. Lovelace distracted Miss Strachney, her father’s frown turned ugly.

  The duke was oblivious to the emotional currents. “Mr. Strachney, Lovelace, you may stay and smoke your cigars if you wish. I will join the ladies and the children in the great hall.”

  He took her hand and set it upon his arm.

  When Penelope beamed a smile at them, suspicion twisted in her.

  And perhaps, perhaps…hope. She glanced up and his gaze trapped her again.

  At his gentle tug, she fell into step with him. “Have you lost your mind?” she whispered.

  He smiled and tapped his chest leaning close. “My heart.” The words rumbled through her on a cloud of bergamot scent, melting her defenses.

  Forbes held the door for them to enter the great hall.

  The room was ablaze with light, and a table held cakes and biscuits, bowls of frumenty, and glasses of syllabub. In the fireplace, the tinder and kindling sat ready to spark the great log to life.

  Andrew pulled her along with him to the hearth. Pounding on the stairs and excited shrieking signaled the children’s arrival.

  “You’re just in time, lads.” He lifted a long taper from a branch of candles and touched it to the bunched tinder, sparking the flame and loud whoops.

  As the sparks licked and spread, Filomena let out a breath. Given the snowfall, she’d worried the log would be wet. It was bad luck for the flame to go out, but this fire was blazing stronger, as it ought to do.

  Andrew backed away from the hearth, a boy attached to each leg, as naturally as if they were his own sons. She’d misjudged Andrew MacDonal.
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  She turned away and saw Mr. Strachney’s glare fixed on Andrew and the boys. Miss Strachney’s mouth hung open.

  Penelope sent Filomena a conspiratorial smile.

  She was enjoying the shock she’d engendered. Her cousin had always been one to flout convention. Perhaps she’d needed that streak of defiance to endure her marriage to Evan.

  “Bravo, Uncle Andrew,” Penelope called. “Come, Ravi and Arun, and be introduced to Miss Strachney who particularly wants to meet you, and then you may enjoy the treats Aunt Minny has arranged for you.”

  Penelope and Lovelace bustled the children and Miss Strachney over to the table and Andrew went to join them.

  Which left her with Mr. Strachney.

  His eyes flashed anger. “I know who you are, Mrs. Marlowe. I make it my business to know everyone hereabouts. You’re the duke’s housekeeper.”

  Chapter 18

  She eased in a breath.

  “His housekeeper sitting at table with respectable guests. And those boys…I don’t know what he’s playing at, but if he means to foist baseborn blacks on society with the children of the quality and keep you the way the old duke kept his housekeeper, well it won’t stand.”

  Anger crushed the air out of her. She glanced back at the rest of their party loading up plates, then gritted her teeth and tugged the vile man closer to the door. If she’d truly been Kinmarty’s hostess, she’d have called for the footmen to toss him directly out into the cold night.

  She eased in a breath, and then another, struggling for control, and giving up.

  “A pox on your insults about me and the duke. And those dear children being raised by their uncle—why would anyone care?” she asked. “He is, after all, a duke.”

  His gaze narrowed on her. “A poor one. One who’s about to lose his land to taxes. There are those of us with the means to buy it up entirely, if we can, and if we can’t, to buy out the leases and clear out the tenants for sheep.” His mouth firmed. “A man without money is a man without power. I couldn’t have my daughter living here with two colored by-blows under the same roof.”