A Summons From Yorkshire (Regency Christmas Summons Collection 1)

by Johnstone, Julie

  A Summons From Yorkshire

  Ava Stone

  Aileen Fish

  Julie Johnstone

  Copyright © 2011 by Ava Stone, Aileen Fish, Julie Johnstone

  Cover design by Lily Smith

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author(s).

  Dedication

  The Duke of Danby has the power to summon his family to him at Christmas, and I find I am a bit jealous of him in that regard. I'll be on the opposite coast from my family this holiday season and I will miss them desperately. So for my family - Mom, Dad, Jill, Ryan, Nick, Grandma, Matt, Camden, Luke, Corinne & of course Brandt - this Christmas story is for you.

  ~ Ava

  ~ 1 ~

  December 1812 – Danby Castle, Yorkshire

  Lady Emma Whitton studied an old correspondence penned by her eldest brother. It was always so difficult to duplicate his E’s just right. Blast the letter E for being the most frequently used letter in the English language. How was she to ever convince Lord Heathfield her summons was from Drew if she couldn’t master her brother’s squatty E’s?

  Practice would have to make perfect. After all, when might she get another opportunity such as this? Emma dipped her quill in her inkpot and wrote E after E, not certain if she was getting better or worse for her efforts. For heaven’s sake! Drew really should have much better penmanship. It would make forging a summons from him so much easier if his scrawl was somewhat legible.

  “What are you doing?” came an all-too-familiar voice from behind her.

  Emma jumped, nearly breaking her quill and overturning her inkpot in the process. “Heavens!” she gasped, looking over her shoulder to find her twin, Isabel, standing just a foot away. “Izzy! You took five years off my life.”

  Isabel grinned unrepentantly. “Five whole years of make-believe wedded bliss to Heathfield? I suppose I should be sorry.”

  Emma scowled at her sister. “Oh, hush.” Then she handed Isabel the foolscap she had been so diligently working on. “Do you think any of these resemble Drew’s hand at all?”

  Isabel glanced over the list of E’s, and she shook her head. “You’re worrying too much. He’s a man, Em. Do you think he’ll notice if Drew’s scrawl looks off? Just don’t sprinkle it with rosewater and he’ll never know the difference.” Then her brown eyes lit with amusement. “Better yet, roll the letter around in the stables before you send it. At least it will smell like Drew that way.”

  Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “I hardly think our brother would appreciate that.”

  Unconcerned, Isabel shrugged and handed the foolscap back to Emma. “I do wish you would wait to lure the estimable Heathfield here some other time, however. The castle will already be overrun by those people.”

  Emma laughed again. No matter that they were twins, she and Isabel were different as night and day. “You mean our cousins?”

  “Cousins are people.”

  “True,” Emma conceded. “But it is precisely because those people will be here that my ruse will work. I can’t very well beg Heathfield to come visit me, now can I?”

  “But Drew can.” Isabel smirked.

  “But Drew can,” Emma agreed. And how fortunate she was that Grandpapa had summoned her brother home along with everyone else.

  “I suppose it’s too bad for you that Drew hasn’t done so, then. It would save you time and effort in trying to duplicate his hand.”

  Very true, but one could never count on one’s brother where matters of the heart were concerned. Besides, Emma would rather die than confess to Drew that she was desperately, madly in love with one of his oldest friends, and that she always had been. But at the ripe old age of nineteen, she was tired of waiting for Alden Barrett, Viscount Heathfield, to notice her. No, after spending two fruitless Seasons, it was most definitely time to take matters into her own hands as far as her destiny was concerned.

  “Just make certain you address it to ‘Heath’. Anything more formal will catch Lord Heathfield’s notice faster than whether or not Drew’s penmanship is off.”

  ~*~

  Alden Barrett, Viscount Heathfield, sank into the overstuffed leather chair behind his desk and frowned at the letter in his hand. He read it, and then he reread it, as something was most definitely strange with the note.

  My dearest Heath,

  I hope this letter finds you well. As I write this, I am on my way to Danby Castle. Grandpapa has summoned me home, as well as each and every one of my cousins. I fear I shall end up in Bedlam simply to recover from this holiday and the hordes that will swarm around and inside the castle.

  As I know you will be alone this Christmas, pray rescue me from the insanity that is my family. I beg you to travel to the wilds of Yorkshire to keep me company.

  Yours Always,

  Hardwick

  A scratch came at his door, and Heath looked up at the sound. “Come,” he called.

  His study door opened and his butler stepped over the threshold. “Mr. Lockwell for you, milord.”

  “Ah.” Heath rose from his spot and gestured his man back into the corridor. “Do send him in, Phelps.”

  “Of course, milord.”

  A moment later, Damien Lockwell, his old friend, ambled into the study, wearing a rather smug expression, truth be told. “Guess who won brilliantly at hazard tonight?” his friend asked.

  Heath chuckled as he reached for a decanter of whisky. “Just tonight? I’ve never known you to do poorly at hazard,” he replied, pouring his friend a generous amount of the amber liquid.

  Damien nodded in thanks as he accepted the drink. “I am rather lucky in most things, hazard included,” he agreed. Then he dropped into a seat across from Heath’s desk. “You looked bemused when I walked in the door. Did you forget I was to visit this evening?”

  Heath shook his head. “No. I just received the strangest missive from Andrew Whitton is all. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

  “Hmm.” His friend took a swallow of his whisky. “What do you mean strange?”

  Heath retrieved the letter from his desk and offered it to his friend. “You read it and you tell me.”

  Damien’s brow furrowed as he scanned the letter. “My dearest Heath?” He laughed and then touched a hand to his heart with a theatrical flourish. “I am wounded. I thought you were my dearest Heath.”

  Heath rolled his eyes. “Grandpapa?” He gestured once again to the letter. “Can you imagine Drew Whitton referring to old Danby as ‘Grandpapa’?”

  Damien smirked as he handed the letter back to Heath. “Perhaps he’s already in Bedlam and managed to get a note smuggled out.”

  “He was in France, last I heard.”

  “The French can drive the sanest man mad.”

  “Apparently,” Heath agreed. Still, the letter didn’t sound like Drew at all, not the man he’d known since they were both at Eton. Then again, Drew hadn’t quite been himself when he’d set out across the Channel last year either. Even so, Drew’s previous state of melancholy didn’t make the note make any more sense than not. The words didn’t sound like Drew in the least. Not at all. They were too…flowery, if that made any sense.

  “Well—” Damien gestured towards the v
ery strange letter— “are you going to go? To Danby Castle, I mean?”

  “I suppose I will.” Heath sat on the edge of his desk. “Drew did ask me to ‘rescue’ him. What sort of friend would I be if I abandoned him to his own family?”

  “Speaking like a man who hasn’t a family to call his own. You, in this, my friend, are the lucky one. Family can be a bloody nuisance.”

  Heath snorted. “You make me sound as though I was found in a cabbage patch. I did have a family.” He was just the only one left, was all. Drew was right. He would be all alone at Christmas this year, just like he had been last year and the year before. But not if he truly traveled north to Yorkshire.

  Damien took another sip of whisky. “You know, I can’t imagine Drew asking anyone to ‘rescue’ him either. Doesn’t sound like him at all.”

  Truly, it didn’t. Heath sighed, relieved that Damien thought the same of the note. At least he hadn’t gone mad, himself.

  “I think I’ll tag along with you,” Damien said. “How bad can the Whitton extended family actually be?”

  Heath had no idea. He really only knew Drew’s immediate family. Lord and Lady Norland were kind, if a bit rigid. Lord Philip was pleasant enough, for one slightly obsessed with music, and the twins were adorable little cherubs. Then again… “Danby is his grandfather.”

  “You mean ‘Grandpapa’, don’t you?” Damien asked drolly.

  Heath couldn’t help but chuckle. “By all means, come with me to Yorkshire. You can help me rescue our good friend from his dreaded cousins.”

  “And escape my own family in the process. What an excellent suggestion. I’m so glad I thought of it.”

  ~ 2 ~

  From a turret, Emma noticed a coach approaching the castle. She strained her eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Heathfield crest from the distance, to no avail. The conveyance probably belonged to one of her many cousins, but it could belong to Lord Heathfield. And her heart sped up at that particular thought.

  Had he decided to accept her invitation…? Well, Drew’s invitation, if she was being completely honest. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too put out that Drew wasn’t home yet. And hopefully, he’d decide he couldn’t live without Emma before Drew ever returned. Because if Drew returned before Heathfield had a chance to fall in love with Emma, and if he mentioned his summons to Drew… Emma shook her head, refusing to waste her time entertaining such thoughts. She’d simply have to make Heathfield fall in love with her before Drew returned home.

  Giving up on being able to spot the crest from her lofty position in the castle, Emma quickly started for the stone steps that circled the tower. She lifted her skirts just a bit and descended the turret as fast as she could. Once she reached the East Wing, she scampered down the corridor without even waiting to catch her breath. A little red in her cheeks would look nice, after all. Besides, she didn’t really have time to pinch them.

  “Emma!” Grandpapa’s raspy voice halted her in an instant.

  She whirled around to find her grandfather, the intimidating Duke of Danby, standing just inside the corridor next to his personal chambers. “Oh! Good afternoon, Grandpapa.” She dropped a quick curtsey.

  He scowled in response. “It might be a good afternoon if my granddaughter strolled like a lady instead of sprinting through the castle as though she was some sort of lowborn gutter trash. What is the matter with you, young lady?”

  Blast! Emma really could have done without catching her grandfather’s interest. Usually she could go a fortnight or even longer without crossing his path, but now—with a mysterious coach very close to reaching the castle’s entrance—was not the time for this sort of conversation. “I am sorry, Grandpapa. I was just in a hurry to meet Izzy so we could practice our singing,” she lied.

  The duke lifted one imperious grey brow. “And you cannot do so without running through the corridor as though the devil himself was chasing you?”

  Emma smiled what she hoped was her most accommodating smile. “I promise to walk like a lady. Would you care to join us in the music room while we practice?” she asked, knowing his answer before the question left her lips. Grandpapa had never deigned to spend time with either her or Isabel when they practiced, most likely because her sister was simply atrocious at such things. But whatever the reason, odds were he wouldn’t take her up on her offer now or ever.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I have important matters to attend to.”

  “Next time then.”

  He harrumphed. “Don’t let me catch you running through the hallways again, Emma Whitton.”

  “No more running,” she vowed, crossing her fingers behind her back.

  “See that you don’t.”

  Without another word, Emma spun on her heel and, with practiced poise, she drifted down the hallway like the most regal duchess would, or at least the way she imagined her grandfather wanted her to. Then as soon as she turned the corner and was out of his sight, she lifted her skirts and dashed once again towards the main stairway. After all, what was the point of walking like a lady if no one was around to see her?

  She raced towards the main entrance and skidded to a halt when Milne, the old butler, hauled open the front door. She could barely contain her glee. He’d arrived. He’d actually received her letter and come all the way from London for her… Well, for Drew, but it wasn’t worth splitting hairs over.

  Lord Heathfield, looking just as handsome as she remembered with golden hair that appeared tousled from the wind, stood only a few feet away. His eyes met hers, and Emma’s heart nearly fluttered from her chest. “You came,” she whispered.

  ~*~

  “I beg your pardon?” Heath frowned at the pretty auburn-haired chit before him. She looked slightly familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

  “I believe,” Damien said from behind him, “she said ‘you came’.”

  “I meant to say,” she began as a deep blush stained her cheeks, “that Drew will be so relieved you’ve come.”

  She called Drew by his given name? Heath eyed the girl closer. Who was she to his friend? And why did the fact that she called Drew by his Christian name make Heath want to scowl?

  The butler cleared his throat. “May I help you, sir?”

  The pretty girl hastened forward. “Milne, this is Lord Heathfield. He’s an old friend of Drew’s. Don’t you remember?”

  “And I’m Damien Lockwell,” Damien chimed in over Heath’s shoulder. “Might we be allowed entrance to the castle? We’ve traveled quite some distance.”

  “Of course, of course.” The auburn-haired girl took several steps backward. “Where are my manners? Do come in.” Then she looked again at the butler. “Please have Lord Heathfield’s and Mr. Lockwell’s bags brought in, Milne.”

  Heath and Damien took the opportunity to step over the threshold just as the butler narrowed his eyes on the girl. “Have them brought where, my lady?”

  She shrugged. “How about the blue chambers in the family quarters and the…” She glanced at Damien. “I’m afraid I didn’t know Drew had invited you, Mr. Lockwell.” The chit turned her attention back to the butler. “How about the white chambers? It’s not terribly masculine, but…”

  “But you didn’t know Drew had invited me,” Damien added smoothly. “It’s quite all right, my dear, I’m certain I can withstand frilly bedchambers for a fortnight.”

  The butler murmured something under his breath that sounded like ‘featherbrained ninny’ but Heath couldn’t be certain. Nor could he tell if the butler meant to insult Damien, himself, or the mysterious girl by his mutterings.

  Damn it all to hell. Who was she? She looked so bloody familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “It has been such a long journey, and I am tired. Please remind me, where have we met before?” Heath asked. Clearly, they had met. She knew him by sight. Knew his name.

  Her hazel eyes rounded in surprise, and for a moment he thought she meant to cry. But then she smiled softly at him and said, “Has it truly been so lon
g, my lord, that you’ve forgotten me?”

  Forgotten her? He’d love to know who the devil she was. Heath had known his fair share of women in his day. But not this one. Or did he? Something about her seemed familiar, but shouldn’t he remember such big, innocent eyes? Shouldn’t he remember such pretty lips? Shouldn’t he remember the delightful charms hinted at from her décolletage? “I-I—”

  Damien chuckled. “Do take pity on him, my dear. It was a rather long journey from London, after all.”

  She gazed up at Heath with nothing less than admiration. Then a wicked gleam flashed in her eyes. “I’m sure it will come to you, Lord Heathfield.” She glanced back at the butler, still standing sentry by the door. “I’ll take Drew’s guests to the gold parlor, Milne. Will you see to tea and biscuits?”

  “Of course, my lady,” the butler grumbled. “Just as soon as I see to the gentlemen’s bags.”

  She nodded, then turned on her heel and started down the main corridor. “This way, gentlemen.”

  Damien grasped Heath’s arm. “Do you really not know who she is?” he whispered.

  “Would I ask if I knew? I think I’ve offended her somehow.”

  Damien shrugged. “Well, I don’t know her. Never seen her before.”

  They certainly weren’t going to get any answers standing in the entry hall like buffoons. Heath gestured towards the corridor with his head. As two of them followed the pretty chit down the hallway, Heath couldn’t keep his eyes off her backside. The way her ivory dress swayed behind her like an ancient Greek goddess’s kept him half mesmerized. Damnation! Who the devil was she? And how did he know her?

  Finally, the girl led them inside an ornate parlor—white with golden accents—that would have made Midas himself envious. “Good afternoon, Aunt,” she called loudly to a silver-haired woman in the far corner who seemed engrossed in her needlepoint.