His Blessed Epiphany (A Regency Holiday Romance Book 9)

by Marly Mathews

  He watched her shiver. “I…if you don’t want me, I can leave.” She had literally bared all to him, and he was being a bloody simpleton by taking too long to gawk at her loveliness. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes away. She was a piece of art. Her skin was flawless. Her body was the kind that he had always dreamt of. Her breasts were round and full globes, and she wasn’t skin on bones like so many women were, she had flesh enough for him. And, yet, he wondered if she was too delicate for him.

  “No,” he said, his voice almost gone. “I…I want you. I think your bedchamber is warmer.”

  He moved toward her. She shrunk back and then thought better of it. She stood up proudly, and his eyes couldn’t quite leave her beautiful breasts. God, she was perfection. He hadn’t ever seen such a lovely woman in all of his life. She was his. His for the taking, and he was never one to waste a golden opportunity. He had given her a chance, and she hadn’t taken it.

  Now, she was his.

  “Please,” she said softly. “Tell me that you like what you see.”

  “Like it?” he asked softly. “I bloody well love it.”

  She shivered again, thrilled at his words, or genuinely cold, he couldn’t tell, but he wasn’t about to let her catch her death.

  He closed the distance between them, and reached for her. Sweeping her off her feet, he carried her back into her bedchamber. “With me sharing your bed, Epiphany, you won’t ever have to worry about being cold again.” Fear filled her eyes, as he laid her down on the bed. His heart almost broke. “Do not fear me, Fanny. I am large, aye, and some women…”

  “I am not afraid of you, Felix. I have never been afraid of you. You are my knight in shining armour. You always have been. I…I know you will never hurt me.”

  Lady Epiphany was perfect.

  She was the best thing that had ever happened to an arsehole like him. He had finally found his bliss. He had finally found his greatest treasure of all. He had found the other piece of his heart—and his soul.

  Perhaps, there was hope for arseholes like him after all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fanny woke later than night, and heard her stomach let out an awful grumble. It echoed around them. She attempted to pull out of Felix’s embrace, but his hold tightened, and he sleepily placed a kiss on her head. She grimaced. He had a hold as strong as iron.

  She thought back to their time together. He had been so worried that he would hurt her. For being such a large man, he had the gentlest touch. She shivered as she thought back to what had occurred between them. Could she settle back down without rousing him, or would the hunger gnawing at her keep her awake?

  Now that she reflected upon it, she shouldn’t have skipped her dinner.

  “What’s all the commotion?” he asked softly, opening his eyes. She felt a little bit sheepish. She couldn’t tell him she was hungry. That wasn’t something a lady was supposed to talk about. To be fair, she had done quite a few unladylike things around him, so admitting she wanted food wouldn’t be any more embarrassing. Her stomach let out a loud grumble again. “You shouldn’t have kept yourself away from dinner,” he murmured sleepily. She winced, even though he couldn’t see her. His eyelids fluttered open, and he settled his gaze on her. Smiling contentedly, he sighed. “I would rather stay here. However, I aim to please my wife.”

  Pulling away from her, he sat up, and she clutched the sheet around her naked body, and watched him as he moved to pull on his discarded trousers. “I will go down to the kitchen and see what I can find in the larder.”

  “You could wake up Cook, or a kitchen maid,” she suggested softly.

  He tossed her an almost annoyed gaze. “I’ll gan and see what I can find myself. They deserve their rest. They work their fingers to the bone as it is.”

  “Cook won’t like it. She shall see that something is missing. She takes stock of everything. She and Mrs. Davies are always taking inventory, and if you get us some wine, Mr. Davies shall know. In order to access anything, you will need the keys.”

  “I will tell them all what I took in the morning, so no one else has to shoulder the blame.”

  She moved to the edge of the bed, and taking the sheet with her, she found her discarded nightgown, and then dashed into the other bedroom to retrieve her dressing gown. He waited and watched her with a smile. Why was she covering herself with a sheet? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already seen everything she owned. She sighed. She had behaved like such a brazen hussy.

  Getting used to having someone else know her body as well as she did was going to be difficult. Her Aunt Elizabeth had warned her once she was married to never allow her future husband to see her naked, and she told her that everything could be done clothed, and that they should also keep their bedroom dark for decency sake. Oh, how, her aunt would be horrified if she knew how scandalous she had been with Felix.

  She walked over to her escritoire and took the chatelaine from where she had placed the keys in a drawer.

  “You will need these,” she said, handing him the tinkling chatelaine. He took it with a grin.

  “Thank you, my lady. However, I can handle finding food on my own. I am quite capable,” he said softly. “You don’t need to come with me. I reckon I can find us something delicious to eat. I will bring everything I find back up here. Now that I think on it, I’m fair gutfounded myself.”

  “See if you can locate any ginger cookies. I have a craving for them.”

  “I will, don’t worry.”

  She watched him go, and climbed back up onto the bed. Happily, she kicked out her legs and sighed dreamily. Finally, she had the man she had always wanted.

  Felix quietly made his way through the grand manor with only the candelabra he carried, lighting his way. He found the kitchens easily enough, as he had taken the liberty of exploring the house before he had decided to find Fanny in her bedroom. He always liked to know his surroundings well. It was a habit he had picked up during the Wars, and one he had yet to break.

  He found the large larder, and set the candelabra aside, so he could locate a tray and start heaping it with food. He added a joint of ham, to the tray, some cheese, piccalilli, a few scotch eggs, some bread and butter, and some leftover pound cake. Laying his eyes upon a tin, he opened it up and found Fanny’s desired ginger cookies. Taking a few of them out of the tin, he added them to the tray, adding a few glasses to the tray, he decided to go down to the wine cellar and pick them out a bottle. Carrying it all upstairs was going to be quite the trick. Somehow, he managed to get it all back upstairs, without arousing the suspicion of anyone in the house.

  “Fanny,” he whispered, “Open the door, it’s me.”

  He heard her padding to the bedchamber door, and she opened it. “You look like a thief back with your loot,” she laughed.

  “I am,” he grinned. “You look good enough to eat as well.”

  She laughed again. “Food first, and everything else later.” She took the candelabra from him, and set it on a table. “Oh, you did find the ginger cookies, and pound cake, and how did you know I adore piccalilli with my ham?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t. I had an awful hankering for it.”

  “Oh, I see.” He set the tray down on bed and they both climbed back onto the bed. Slicing the bread, he gave a slice to her for her to butter. She bit into it and sighed. “Delicious. This repast is just what I needed. I didn’t think I could wait for morning.”

  “Neither did I. When do you all usually break your fast?”

  “Papa usually has something quick around six-thirty and then we have our more formal breakfast around ten. I’m not usually an early riser, Papa is usually prowling about at the crack of dawn, but I make concessions to that rule every Boxing Day so I can take the gifts to the poor in the village, and so I can rouse Miss Duffy out of her bed when she says it’s still an ungodly hour,” she chuckled. “I confess, it’s quite wicked to do so.”

  “I can’t understand how you got shackled with such a bloody
harridan. I would call her a Trojan, but I do not admire her that much.”

  “She believes I needed someone to watch over me—and that someone is her. I think she just ran out of money and latched onto me because she could live and eat well here, and Papa gives her a clothing allowance, and a bit of pin money, and she and Kelly get to go through my old wardrobes and pick what they want out of it.”

  “Mayhap, you did need someone, but surely not her. Not to watch over you, mind, but don’t young girls need an older companion? I don’t know how that works, really.” He knew he was rambling on, and tried to stop himself before he became a pest. Sighing, and deciding to shut his bone box, he added some piccalilli to his ham. She smiled at him, and reached for a scotch egg.

  “Do you like these things? I have never quite gotten the taste for them.”

  “They are pretty easy to take with you when travelling. One doesn’t have to worry about them spoiling easily, but I do like them, aye.”

  “Well,” she said, placing it back down on the tray. “They are all yours.” She took some of the cheese and ate it happily. He hesitated for a moment, and she looked at him quizzically. “What’s the matter?”

  “I always revolted against the very idea of being married, as I didn’t think it would suit me, even though I watched my mates fall into the trap over and over again,” he mused, “And now I find that I have settled quite well into the role of husband. Oh, the horrendous things I used to say about the matrimonial state. I was a bit of a bastard to be honest.”

  “I never would have guessed,” she said impishly. “Your friend, Lord Prescott, he seems rather keen on taking a wife. We should help him along on that course.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “You wouldn’t happen to have a few maidenly friends waiting in the wings, would you?”

  “Mayhap,” she shrugged her shoulders, and grinned. “If I did, would you protest too much about me matching them up to Lord Prescott? We could hold a ball, and they could come, and dance with them, and chat him up, and we could see which one of them suits him best. If he wants to fall into a parson’s mousetrap why not give him a bit of a nudge?”

  “I used to fancy myself a matchmaker.” He returned her silly grin. “You know, it might be quite diverting to bring some eligible ladies to Blessing Hall once the weather breaks.”

  “Oh, we could have a New Year’s Eve Ball! I don’t think Papa shall want to go to London this year, he seems awfully keen on staying here in the Country, and we could have fireworks, and so much merriment. Let’s do it, Felix. And, it could maybe double as a birthday ball for me,” she sighed heavily, sadness creasing her features. “New Year’s Eve is usually a quiet affair for us. Now that I think about it, I would say that we should probably make it a ball for Twelfth Night, and since it marks the end of Christmastide, we can call it the Grand Christmas Ball. That way, I have time to send out the invitations. We shall invite everyone at Evesham Hall, and send out to those within the Parish. We might not have the most dazzling members of the ton, but we will have quite a few worthy young ladies to dangle in front of Lord Prescott. Oh, it shall be such a delightful night.

  “As for Epiphany Eve, Papa always makes that one a spectacular affair with bonfires, fireworks and that old tradition of wassailing the Apple Trees. The apple trees are sprinkled with Wassail and by doing so it ensures a good crop the following year. A Wassail King and Queen will lead the procession of merrymakers from one orchard to the next. The Wassail Queen is then lifted into the boughs of the tree and it she who places the toast soaked in Wassail from the clayen cup, and then, sometimes an incantation is recited. The gathered villagers make a hell of a racket by banging on pans, or drums, or blowing horns. The racket is believed to wake the tree spirit and drive away evil spirits. They then pick the largest tree, Felix, and pour the cider on the roots. And of course, the villagers also partake of the Wassail, and drink the cider until they are merry and gay. Everyone assembled sings the Wassail song, and it serves as a blessing to bring a good apple harvest the following year. It is believed that by Wassailing and drinking to the health of the trees, it will keep the trees safe from evil spirits until the next year, and do you know, I think it works. I love the mulled hot cider, some of us call the Wassail, Lamb’s Wool, as when the toast floats in the bowl it gives it that appearance.

  “The men will sometimes shoot off their guns as a signal that the work is done and they can move onto the next orchard. Oh, you shall like it so much. I know you will. It shall be such a rollicking good time, and the masquerade will be such a lively affair and then, of course, whoever finds the bean in the Twelfth Night Cakes will become the King of Twelfth Night, and the lady that finds the pea in the cake shall become the Queen of Twelfth Night. We could also put Lord Prescott’s name in a hat, fill it all with just his name, and have a lovely young lady pick his name so he can be her partner for the night. Oh, it shall be such fun,” she said, rubbing her hands together in delight. “I haven’t had the heart to take part in the festivities that surround Twelfth Night since Mama passed. You have brought light back into our lives, Felix.”

  “No, Epiphany, you have vanquished the shadows from my life,” he said. “As I recall, you were born on Epiphany weren’t you?”

  “Aye…that’s why they named me Epiphany. Mama went into labour when they started their merriment on Epiphany Eve. I was born just after midnight. They all marveled at what a quick labour my Mama had with me. My name is such a mouthful, but I suppose I can’t be mad at them for giving it to me. After all, it is sort of pretty.”

  “A beautiful name for a beautiful lassie,” he said, leaning over to kiss her.

  She mumbled against his mouth. “But the biscuits,” she said mournfully, dropping the biscuit she held back onto the tray. He took his one arm, and moved the tray aside onto a bedside table, and she sighed, and wound her arms around his neck. “I guess we are not going to finish our repast, are we?”

  “Later, we will.”

  She sighed. “Yes, sir,” she mumbled, against his mouth.

  He groaned and looked down at her. “Maybe, I should give you a proper little swat on your bottom for that.”

  She laughed, and they sank down upon the mattress. He had constantly fought against taking a wife, and now that he had one—now that he had Fanny, he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next few days were a whirlwind of activity, while Fanny sent out invitations, and he kept himself busy by chasing Fanny around the house. He didn’t actually chase her, but it felt like it, as they had retreated to their bedchamber several times during the day.

  He caught sight of Miss Duffy on one of those occasions, as they raced to their bedchamber, and he actually felt sorry for the odd little creature. She looked miserable, with eyes so puffy, he knew that she had been wailing her eyes out for most of the time that she had been living in her reduced circumstances. She had probably turned into a right bothersome watering pot.

  He sat propped up against pillows with Fanny, cuddling in their magnificent four poster bed, he could still remember sleeping on the floor as a child. Oh, how far he had come. He had been blessed in such beautiful ways, and he decided that he had to broach the subject concerning Miss Duffy.

  “Maybe lowering Miss Duffy to such a pitiable state wasn’t the best course of action.” His rather strong voice echoed around the quiet bedchamber. It had been so perfect. Why had he broken the stillness of the moment by opening his bloody bone box?

  “She took my mother’s jewels,” Fanny said, her face mottling with redness. “I couldn’t give a tinker’s fart about her fate, Felix. Why are you focusing on it?”

  “I don’t know,” he mused. “I wonder if being with you is turning me into a better man. And she said herself that she only took them to get attention. I do not believe that she would have actually kept them. I think…I think we should try to fix what is broken.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you jesting, Felix
?”

  “No,” he said honestly. “I don’t know. I suppose I shouldn’t give her another thought, and yet, maybe my presence drove her to that point. I have a rather disconcerting effect on some people. I either drive them up the wall, or I delight them. Fortunately, I delight you. Either way, I have collected quite an impressive collection of enemies in my day, and I don’t know if I want to add her to the rest of the lot. She seems harmless enough. She’s just a bloody snob, and I have dealt with plenty of that sort in my day. Perhaps, under that hard shell she has a good heart, we only need to dig down deep enough. I can deal with her. I shall bite my tongue whenever she says something snappish, and I will vow not to call her Miss Thornback again.”

  “So, you want to make amends with her?” she asked, pulling away from him.

  “You don’t have to leave me,” he said forlornly, watching her shiver.

  She groaned, rolled her eyes, and sighed. “I give up. I can’t stay angry at you for long.” She snuggled back into his embrace, and put her head on his chest. “If you want to do it, you can extend the olive branch. I shan’t have anything to do with it. And, if she comes back, she comes back with the knowledge that I won’t listen to her harping away at me. I won’t, I tell you. I am a woman in control of my own destiny, and I do not need or like having a bloody keeper. As long as you have that clear in your head, then, you can do whatever you please.”

  “Yes, you are. You are your own woman. You don’t need to be shackled with her again. She can live apart from you, with your worlds hardly colliding. We can assign her the tasks that we don’t want. Take for instance, if this happens, if someone comes to the Grand Christmas Ball that we don’t want to talk to, we can send her as a representative. I have seen other families do it. They give poorer relations the most tedious and loathsome tasks.”