To Natalie.
Was it fate or lunacy, he wondered as they spun in a circle, that made it impossible for him to picture his life without her? An hour ago he hadn’t known the sound of her voice, the shape of her smile, the smell of her hair. He hadn’t even known her name. And now…now he wanted to know everything about her.
A bit of both, he decided as the music swelled and then trickled away.
“The terrace for a breath of fresh air?” he asked.
White teeth sinking into her plump bottom lip, she looked quickly around. “I…I suppose. Are there other guests out there? We – we won’t be alone, will we?”
“No, we will not be alone.” His brow furrowed. “I would never take advantage of you, Miss Rigby.”
But someone had, he thought angrily when he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. Someone had hurt her, and if he ever found out who it was they would not be long for this world.
He gently squeezed her wrist before putting both hands behind his back, the very picture of a well-mannered gentleman. “If you’d prefer to return to your brother, I can assure you that my heart will not be broken. Bruised, perhaps,” he admitted with a roguish grin. “But not broken. The decision is entirely yours.”
“I…no,” she muttered, glancing down at her feet and shaking her head with such vehemence that a dark auburn curl sprang free from her coiffure and kissed the top of her shoulder. She lifted her chin, and the fierce spark in her gaze stunned Ben into speechlessness.
A light glowed from within her, one that had been dim for far too long and was now eager to shine. Gone was the meek, timid wallflower. In her place stood a warrior. An amazon. A young queen without equal.
Beautiful?
Natalie wasn’t beautiful.
She was breathtaking.
“No, I think I have hidden long enough.” Squaring her shoulders she started for the terrace doors, only to stop midway and look back at him. “Well?” she asked, lifting a brow. “Are you coming or not?”
Chapter Five
Lord Souderton was right. Christmas Eve was a time for miracles. And Natalie had just found hers.
She’d always assumed miracles were great, grand spectacles.
Walking on water.
The parting of the Red Sea.
Turning water into wine.
But a miracle did not have to be large to be meaningful. It did not have to impress the masses or be recorded in the bible. A miracle could be small. A miracle could be quiet. A miracle could be nothing to one person, and everything to another.
Natalie’s miracle was the realization that she did not have to be afraid. Not of Lord Souderton. Not of the dozens of other male guests. Not even of her uncle or the horrible memories she’d done her best to forget.
She could be afraid of them, and sometimes she very well would be. But she did not have to be. Not if she didn’t want to. And that…that was a miracle.
Her second miracle came when Lord Souderton joined her out on the terrace. Soft light emanated through the glass doors, illuminating the handsome lines of his countenance as he strode towards her. Other couples had sought a respite in the cool air as well, and the flicker of frustration she saw on his face when a doddering old dowager stepped directly into his path made her bite the inside of her cheek to contain a giggle.
He politely waited for the dowager to move aside, exchanging a courteous word before he continued on to Natalie who stood waiting for him by the edge of the stone steps, her back to the railing and her hands folded neatly together.
“Hello,” she murmured, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she tilted her head back and gazed up at him. Behind his head she could just glimpse the glittering Christmas tree. A rather odd sight, to see a tree inside a ballroom. But one that had become increasingly popular ever since Queen Victoria had brought the tradition to England from her husband’s native Germany.
“Hello,” Lord Souderton returned huskily, reaching out to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed against her cheek and Natalie froze, blue eyes wide as saucers. Not because she was on the verge of an attack…but because she wasn’t.
Her heart…it wasn’t pounding.
Her pulse…it wasn’t racing.
Her chest…it wasn’t tight.
“Are you alright?” Lord Souderton asked, looking down at her in concern.
“Yes,” Natalie said, her voice filled with wonder. “Yes, I – I think I am.”
She didn’t know if it was the ball. She didn’t know if it was the holiday. She didn’t know if it was Lord Souderton. All she knew was that, for the first time in a very long time, she felt free from the demons of her past.
Natalie had no way of knowing if the feeling would last. She suspected it wouldn’t. Demons were sneaky creatures, and one night was not enough to quell their icy whispers.
But it was a start.
“Thank you,” she told Lord Souderton simply.
“For what?” he queried.
“For asking me to dance. For being so kind. For – for seeing me. Not many people do. When you’re a wallflower long enough, you start to become part of the wall. But you saw me.”
“I saw a lonely woman with sad blue eyes and a gentle heart.” He went to place his hand on her waist, only to stop and back up a step when she visibly flinched. His brow folded over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”
“It isn’t you,” she said hastily. “Something…something horrible happened to me when I was a young girl and...I…” She hesitated, not sure how to continue, and was relieved when Lord Souderton shook his head.
“You don’t have to tell me tonight. Or tomorrow, or the next day. When you’re ready, I’ll be there.”
“What about five years from now?” She meant it as a jest to lighten the mood and her heart stumbled when Lord Souderton nodded.
“I’ll be there,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Ten years?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Twenty?” she whispered.
“I’ll be there.” Humor bracketed the sides of his mouth. “Although perhaps I’d best start by asking for your permission to call on you tomorrow.”
“But…” She looked down at her hands. Up at his face. “Tomorrow is Christmas.”
“I can think of no better present than seeing your beautiful face.”
Natalie’s smile unfurled slowly, like a flower rising from the frozen soil after a long, cold winter. “Yes, Lord Souderton. You have my permission to call on me.”
It was not a happily-ever-after. Lord Souderton had not proposed marriage or asked James for her hand. Instead, he’d given her something even more precious. Something she’d been quietly dreaming about for as long as she could remember. Something she’d begun to fear she would never have.
A beginning.
He had given her a beginning…and she was going to take it.
About the Author
Jillian Eaton grew up in Maine and now lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, their three children (all boys!) and their rescued cattle dog, Jett. Jillian has written over thirty historical romance novels. She loves Starbucks Americanos, Harry Potter marathons, and extra butter on her popcorn.
Follow Jillian on Facebook for upcoming releases, cover reveals, contests and more! Then continue reading for a full book list and brief excerpt from The Spring Duchess, A Duchess for All Seasons #2.
Book List
A Duke for All Seasons
The Winter Duke – 1/8/19
A Duchess for All Seasons
The Winter Duchess
The Spring Duchess
The Summer Duchess
The Autumn Duchess
Bow Street Brides
A Dangerous Seduction
A Dangerous Proposal
A Dangerous Affair
A Dangerous Passion
London Ladies
Runaway Duchess
Spinster and the Duke
Forgotten Fianc�
�
Lady Harper
Wedded Women Quartet
A Brooding Beauty
A Ravishing Redhead
A Lascivious Lady
A Gentle Grace
Swan Sisters
For the Love of Lynette
Taming Temperance
Annabel’s Christmas Rake
Rookery Rakes
The Duke of St. Giles
A Dark Affair on Dower Street
Holiday Novellas
A Rake in Winter
The Christmas Widow
The Winter Wish
The Risqué Resolution
Regency Christmas: Anthology
Standalones
A Duchess by Midnight
Falling in Love with a Duke
An Inconvenient Love
The Spring Duchess
A wallflower who didn’t want to be a duchess…
An eccentric bluestocking with an affinity for hedgehogs, Eleanor Ward never had any dreams of grandeur when it came to making a good match. Perfectly content to become a spinster, she already had her cottage in the country picked out, complete with a barn for her menagerie of rescued animals. Until one night a lost hairpin and an arrogant duke ruin everything. Now she’s the Duchess of Hawkridge, the last thing in the world she ever wanted to be. And her husband? Well, he’s nowhere to be found.
A duke who didn’t want to be a husband…
Furious at being tricked into marrying a woman who keeps a hedgehog in her pocket, Derek couldn’t get away from Eleanor fast enough after their vows were read. It’s been a year since he’s seen her, and he has no plans to change that anytime soon. Until his scheming cousin shows up and declares the union a sham. Now Derek has exactly one month to woo a wife he never desired and consummate a marriage he never wanted.
A means to an end…or a new beginning?
It seems like a simple enough task, especially for a man whose romantic conquests are the stuff of legends. But nothing is simple when two stubborn hearts are involved, especially when Derek begins to see Eleanor in an entirely new light. With time ticking down, can a cynical duke convince his unconventional duchess their marriage is worth saving? This spring, only one thing is certain…love is definitely in the air.
Chapter One
“If you tread on my foot one more time,” Eleanor said pleasantly, “my hedgehog is going to bite you.”
His eyes widening, Lord Stanhope, an earl of considerably good wealth and breeding, stopped abruptly in his tracks. “I’m sorry, I fear I must have misheard you. Did you say – did you say hedgehog?”
“I am happy to report that your hearing is much better than your dancing, my lord. I did indeed say ‘my hedgehog’.” Taking advantage of Lord Stanhope’s temporary paralysis due to the absurdity of his partner claiming she had a pest in her pocket, Eleanor wrenched her hands free of his sweaty grasp and carefully pulled Henny out of the pocket she’d had fashioned in her ball gown specifically for her tiny little friend.
“This is Henny,” she said, holding the hedgehog aloft. “She’s curled in a ball right now because she is sleeping, but I can assure you that when she is awake her teeth are quite sharp and capable of doing considerable damage, as are her quills.”
“You – you have a rodent in your dress,” Lord Stanhope said, looking positively aghast. Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.
“Henny is not a rodent, she is an insectivore. It’s a common mistake, however if you look closely at the tip of her nose–”
“You’re mad. Absolutely barmy.” Lord Stanhope backed so quickly away that he bumped into another couple. “She has a rat!” he yelled, jabbing his finger at Eleanor and poor Henny, who had been roused by all the noise and was blinking drowsily in confusion. “She has a rat in her pocket!”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Eleanor said crossly. “I just told you, Henny is not a rodent, she’s an insectivore.”
“Is that a mouse?” a woman in green muslin screeched.
“Don’t be silly. Why on earth would I bring a mouse to a ball? Henny is a hedgehog. Can’t you see her quills?” But the damage had already been done, and as every head within twenty feet of Eleanor swiveled, she quickly slipped Henny back into her pocket and made a mad dash for the nearest exit, not caring who she had to shove out of her way to get there. She vaguely heard her mother calling her name, but not wanting to linger among the close-minded flock of arrogant pigeons a second longer she opened the first door she came across and immediately shut it behind her.
Red-faced and perspiring, Eleanor dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief as she walked swiftly down a carpeted hallway and into an empty parlor. The fireplace was dormant and only a single candle glowed in the window, making it the perfect shadowy hideout. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air, revealing she hadn’t been the first person to find a quiet reprieve in the room, but that did not matter as long as she was the last. Exhaling a long, deep breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, she sat down on a plush velvet settee and, after a bit of coaxing, managed to draw a rather disgruntled Henny back out into the open.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized as she sat the hedgehog on her lap. “I know you don’t like loud noises, but I was afraid to leave you in my room. Not with that mean old tomcat lurking about.”
Eleanor and her mother were currently guests of Lord and Lady Hanover at their estate just outside of London. They’d arrived two days ago with plans to stay for a fortnight, but once Henny’s presence became widely known Eleanor would not be surprised if their invitation was revoked before the night was out.
“Blast and damn,” she muttered, borrowing one of her father’s favorite curses. As ill at ease with social gatherings as his daughter, Lord Ward had remained at home, citing ‘business meetings’ that he needed to attend. Which was complete balderdash, of course, but since he was a man – and head of the household – he got to do what he wished while she, a lowly woman and daughter, had to obey whatever directive she was given.
It simply wasn’t fair. But then nothing ever was, particularly if you were female.
“I don’t understand why the lot of us don’t revolt, Henny.” Absently stroking a hand down the hedgehog’s prickly back – being mindful to pat in the direction of the quills – she stared hard at a painting above the mantle. “We bear the children, don’t we? Without us men would quite literally be nonexistent. And yet they control the money, and the politics, and the titles, and the laws. It’s absurd. Don’t you think?”
It was impossible to decipher the mind of a hedgehog, of course, but she took Henny’s quiet snuffle as a sign of concurrence.
“I knew you would agree with me. No one else does. They think I’m strange and my ideas eccentric.” Her gaze fell to her lap as an odd tightness overcame her throat. “And Mother wonders why no one has offered for my hand,” she muttered.
This time Henny purred, and the contented sound made Eleanor smile. No matter what the circumstances, her animals could always be counted on to lift her spirits. Which was why she planned to take the entire lot of them and move to the country when her third Season came to the same disappointing conclusion as all the rest.
She’d recently struck up a correspondence with an elderly aunt in Hampshire whose husband had passed over the winter. Aunt Biddy was in desperate need of a strong, able-bodied person to help care for her cottage and the surrounding land. Lady Ward had been trying to coax Aunt Biddy to London, but the old woman was stubborn and set in her ways. She refused to leave the place she’d called home for nearly six decades, and eventually Lady Ward had thrown up her hands.
‘If she won’t come to us, then there’s nothing else we can do’.
But that wasn’t precisely true, was it? As it turned out, Aunt Biddy’s stubbornness wasn’t the only trait she and her niece had in common. They both loved animals, and Aunt Biddy had agreed to house Eleanor and her menagerie in exchange for help around the farm. It would be hard work, she’d warned, but
Eleanor wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. What scared her more was keeping them pristinely clean.
All she needed to do was get through one more Season with her sanity intact. If the little incident with Lord Stanhope was any indication it was going to be a challenge, but with an end in sight Eleanor was more than ready to rise to the occasion.
“I’ll be a spinster living in the country,” she told Henny happily. “Can you think of anything more divine?” For most women a reclusive life far from the glittering ballrooms of London would have been their worst nightmare, but for Eleanor it was a dream come true.
Now the only thing she needed to do was tell her mother.
“But that can wait, can’t it?” Setting Henny down on the sofa when the little hedgehog began to wiggle, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, a light smile gracing her lips as she imagined all of the ways her life would change for the better once she was free from the constraints of High Society.
There would be no more balls. Or ball gowns, for that matter. No more dancing. No more struggling to make polite conversation when all she wanted to do was discuss Sir William Horrocks’ latest invention, a variable speed batton that was going to revolutionize the power loom. No more hiding Henny in her pocket. Speaking of which…
“Ouch!” she exclaimed when she felt a sharp tug at the top of her head. Blindly reaching up to her hair, she gave a very unladylike curse when her fingers accidentally brushed against Henny’s prickly quills. With an alarmed squeal the hedgehog scurried down the side of the sofa and plopped onto the floor.
Regency Christmas (Holiday Collection) Page 42
