A Fantasy Christmas

by Cindy Bennett, Sherry Gammon, Stephanie Fowers

  “One more thing.” He straightened his floppy red cap. “I promised you even more, and here it is. For years now we’ve lived near other creatures, friendly to them but not friends with them. It’s taken me far too long to remedy this. Thanks to these two,” he indicated Seb and Kara, “I’ve realized there was never a time more appropriate.”

  Kara’s anxiousness shot skyward. Her hand gripped Seb’s tightly. This could be a good thing, or it could go very, very wrong. And this time she wouldn’t just be causing herself to be maligned—she would take Seb down with her.

  “Seb, Kara,” the Big Guy said with a twinkle in his eye. “Show the fine folks of the North Pole what you can do.”

  Seb brought Kara’s hand to his lips, his eyes locked on hers. She gave the smallest of nods and together they removed their jackets and spread their wings, slowly. A gasp went up in the crowd, but Kara kept her gaze on Seb, drawing from his strength. He released her hand and together they rose, leisurely climbing skyward. With a grin, Seb gave a powerful thrust of his wings and Kara matched him. For a few minutes they soared in circles, in a sort of dance they’d learned in flying together. Then the sound came to them. Kara looked down toward where the elves gathered, all faces turned upward.

  “They’re cheering,” Kara said.

  Seb neared, taking her hands in his. “Guess he was right.”

  “Guess so,” Kara said. Her lashes lowered as she pressed against Seb, kissing him. The cheering got even louder.

  They descended until they hovered just above the dance hall. They could hear the Big Guy easily from there.

  “After Christmas, Seb and Kara will be leaving us,” he said. Boos followed, surprising Kara. Not only were they accepting of what she previously considered her abnormality, they actually seemed upset by her and Seb leaving. She picked Pearl from the crowd. Pearl smiled proudly at her. Her friend had known about her wings for months now, and she’d been the first Kara had told about the next revelation.

  “Don’t be sad,” the Big Guy boomed. “They leave to create a duplicate dance hall for our brothers and sisters in the south.”

  Cheers rose again. Seb and Kara landed on the top spire of the dance hall. The building glittered just as they’d planned, looking like ice rather than the glass it was. Seb pulled her into his arms. “What do you think would happen if I told them that as soon as we finish the dance hall in the south, I plan to marry you?”

  Kara’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “If I can convince you to say yes, that is.”

  Kara’s mouth widened in a grin, her heart happier than it had been since her mother had died. “I’ll think about it.”

  Seb laughed before his mouth slanted across hers, promising a future as bright as the building they’d created. Not for the first time, Kara was grateful for her banishment—even if it had been self-imposed. It had brought her to Seb. And there wasn’t anything she could imagine better than that. Not even wings.

  The End

  About Cindy C Bennett

  Cindy is the YA author of several books. She lives in Utah with her two daughters. Both of her sons have married, giving her two more daughters (in-law). She loves gooey cookies, dark chocolate, and cheese popcorn. She hates housework and cooking, and has no plans to become a domestic goddess. She occasionally co-hosts a geek podcast with her son, called Geek Revolution Radio. Her favorite pastime—other than writing—is riding her Harley.

  Find Cindy at:

  http://cindybennett.blogspot.com/

  https://www.facebook.com/authorcindycbennett

  https://twitter.com/cinbennett

  Check out more of Cindy’s work on Amazon:

  Rapunzel Untangled

  Enchanted Fairytales

  Geek Girl

  Heart on a Chain

  The Experiment

  Whispers of Razari

  Immortal Mine

  In the Beginning

  Watched

  Aphrodite

  C:UserssherryDesktopyellow.png

  by Stephanie Fowers

  Chapter One

  “Really, Lord Virbius. It’s Christmas.” Affry smoothed down the white silk of her ball gown, doing her best to ignore the shadow that marked His lordship’s approach in the entryway. “Try not to ruin the occasion—if only for my dear Aunty’s sake.”

  She gave him her sweetest smile, but the marquess’s heavily browed eyes seemed unaffected. “Why must you insist on celebrating with these mere mortals?” he asked. His aristocratic nose gave him the appearance of a hawk ready to strike. “Your dear aunt should have heeded my warnings. A house party is foolhardy. The incidents are far from over.”

  Affry took a deep breath, trying not to lash out. “The incidents have not occurred for at least a fortnight now. Aunt Euthymia felt it best we forget our troubles.”

  A surge of laughter echoed through the hallway—the guests had certainly taken Aunty’s advice. Virbius brought his dark eyes up to the cherubs painted into the archway. His jaw clenched. Affry noticed with a touch of irritation that it etched the stern contours of his face to make him even more striking than before. She couldn’t fathom why her late poppa entrusted such a man to be her guardian—and only five years her senior? The most honorable Matthew Charles Wimbledon, Lord Virbius should be her suitor, not hounding her steps to keep her in line.

  “Take care, my lord,” she said, arching her brow. “You might enjoy yourself tonight and then you’ll have no breath for complaints.”

  “I doubt it.” He cast a self-righteous glare across the room to assess the partygoers, from the rich fops whose shirt collars were starched so high they could not turn their heads to the encroaching nabobs who only attended to gain favor in society. She knew his sharp gaze would purposely miss the ivy and evergreen that added to the holiday cheer. Nor would Virbius hear the violins perform their delightful cotillion in the ballroom. Guests helped themselves to the banquet table laden heavily with food. A cozy yule log burned in the fireplace. It was an idyllic scene until a drunken man ran into a pillar, spilling the contents of his glass onto the polished floor. Virbius let out a snort of derision.

  Self-righteous prig. Virbius would not ruin her night. It was to be a special one—despite everything, despite the narrowed gazes, the suspicious glances. Aunt Euthymia hosted the most extravagant affairs in all of England. All of society had eagerly accepted their invitations to her house party. Not that Affry was eager for London’s company. No, this year her Christmas wish was realized in Piri. Her dearest Piri had come for her.

  Affry ran her hands down her bare arms, too excited to care about anything else. Soon Affry would be known as Lady Pirithous—his wife. It would be the scandal of the year. It didn’t matter if society would not accept her; Piri saw the girl beneath the rumors and gossip. If her Aunt Euthymia could be believed, Affry should be a diamond of the first water—pleasing face, figure, lands, money—had her father behaved more circumspectly. No. Affry kept the bitter smile from her face. According to the ton, her father had ruined all her chances of marrying well.

  Affry smelled of trade. She fairly reeked of it.

  Ignoring Virbius, she lifted her skirts and entered the lavish confines of the fashionable ballroom. Titters and harsh whispers came from behind the fans of polite society, every unkind eye feasted on her. Affry’s satin slippers peeked from the richly embroidered hem of her white ball gown. The intricate beading painstakingly sewn to her skirt glittered under the candlelight. She was the crowning example that riches could not buy honor.

  Her fingers found the rubies adorning her neck. The ruby necklace was a parting gift from her poppa, rushed to her by a breathless horseman just days before she received news of her father’s untimely death…as if he knew they would never see each other again in this world. She tried not to let the unwelcome flood of emotions undo her—especially when she heard her name echo across the room in scathing tones by the outraged assembly:

  “Aphrodite. Is that her name?”
r />   “Ridiculous fancy.”

  “Scandalous. I’ve heard tale of this girl. Wild like her father. If this weren’t Euthymia’s home, I’d give her the cut direct.”

  Virbius turned as stiff as one of the Greek statues from the famous collection of Elgin marbles. A muscle in his jaw ticked overtime. He held his arm out and, without a murmur, Affry took it, her grip tight on the fabric of his exquisitely cut coat. Suitably attired in full evening dress with black silk breeches and an expertly tied cravat, the honorable marquess should have lent her credence—but seeing the narrowed eyes from certain jealous females in the room, Affry suspected the lord was partly the reason for her cold reception.

  “A lady does not notice the attentions of those beneath her,” Virbius told her as he led her further into the ballroom. He betrayed no emotion as he glanced over at her. “…nor does she squirm like a dying fish.”

  Insufferable man! Affry’s chin lifted. To her further outrage, she saw Virbius’s eyes dance with amusement. He was purposely provoking her. Until she found a husband, she was under his care. Why would her father do such a thing?

  Her father had been shockingly loose in the haft. To add to his list of improprieties, he was the first to call King George mad. Never mind it was true—it caused her father to be stripped of his title. Add to that the scandal of the mysterious circumstances of Affry’s birth, though there was no doubt she was his. She was a pattern card of her father with her golden hair and blue eyes that were deemed far too innocent for what lay behind them. Adonis Blythe never bothered to tell the ton the specifics of her mother, finding society beneath his affaires of the heart.

  Her poppa’s indiscretions might’ve been overlooked had he not lost a deplorable amount of money at the tables. Instead of blowing his brains out as any proper gentleman should, he scandalized society again by entering trade and—if the rumors could be believed—smuggling. And then he had the audacity to be wildly successful at it. He sailed off to France, the Mediterranean, and eventually the West Indies, leaving his daughter behind with Aunt Euthymia to put on a brave face in the ensuing scandal.

  And who could overlook that blasted gift he left at Princess Charlotte’s door on her wedding day? Affry shuddered.

  “Oh, Virbius, dear! Affry, love!” Her aunt found them in the sea of guests and threw her arms around Affry, smothering her in a confection of red taffeta. “You both do me credit. The two of you look absolutely breathtaking. Doesn’t she look fetching, Virbius? Affry? Doesn’t your heart go all aflutter at the marquess’s brooding good looks?” Without waiting for a reply, her aunt treated the marquess to one of her infamous hugs, thoroughly startling him from his dignified stance. She wasn’t quite through with him. Euthymia tugged at his hand then Affry’s, blowing furiously at the magnificent turban of ostrich feathers that drooped over her graying red curls. “Merry Christmas, children!”

  To his credit, Virbius didn’t flinch at the greeting, though he did when Aunt Euthymia rapped his fingers hard with her fan. “You must enjoy yourself, my boy, as you used to before you took up your duties.” She laughed appreciatively at Virbius’s stunned expression. “You can’t pretend with me, Virbius. I know your reputation.”

  “Reputation?” Affry asked. The idea forced her into a laugh. “I scarce can credit it, Aunt. What reputation is this?”

  “Aye, frequenting the worst haunts of London, causing quite a stir.” Her aunt smiled fondly at the scowling marquess. “He is the devil of a man.”

  Virbius looked far from amused, which set Affry’s lips to curving skyward. Finally, she saw the opportunity to tease him. “A pity you are not so anymore,” she said. “Were you really such a scoundrel?”

  Her guardian treated her to a bored look. “Fustian, my dear. Nothing that one efficient rap from your aunt’s fan against my knuckles couldn’t cure.”

  Affry glanced at her aunt. The plump lady waved a lace handkerchief to one of her dearest friends across the ballroom. It was hardly credible that one order from her aunt to launch her poor little moppet into high society would turn the devil from his ways. Affry knew the real reason Virbius had come running. It was the incidents. Because of them, Virbius had swept both Affry and her aunt away to the countryside without allowing them a proper mourning period.

  “Indeed,” said Affry. “A rap to the knuckles is all it takes to reform a man? Society will be greatly disappointed.”

  His lips twitched in response. “That and the threat that if I did not find you a proper husband, your aunt would make one of me instead. Happy now, little baggage?”

  Affry was not. She took an involuntary step back.

  The marquess smirked. It was an odd fit with his dark expression. “So you see it’s either some poor, besotted chap or me. And believe me, Affry, charming as you are, we would not suit.”

  That was an understatement. The marquess had a maddening way of getting the best of her. Though strangely attracted to the man, Affry could never meet with his approval—no matter how much her aunt wished to throw them together. If it were possible to jerk away from him in this crowd of people, she would. She wouldn’t be used as some matrimonial threat against him. Where was Piri in this sad crush? Her eyes sought him for comfort. He had promised to save a dance for her—every dance. Affry hugged the secret to herself and forced a laugh for the marquess’s ears. “Pray, don’t spare another thought to Euthymia’s matchmaking. I am hardly good material for a wife. Only the most hardened fortune hunters will dare approach me now.”

  He treated her to yet another of his cynical looks. “No, they won’t, my dear. None of them will get past me.”

  She turned hurriedly away, her hand back to toying with her ruby necklace. The marquess wouldn’t send Piri off, would he? Piri might be a second son, but his father was a baron. He didn’t want for money and was respectable…though perhaps a trifle impetuous.

  A clatter from the supper room drew Affry’s attention. Piri charged from the entryway with the energy of a young colt, talking loudly and slapping the backs of his dearest friends. Piri’s family estate bordered their new country home. After one fateful ride, Affry’s horse threw a shoe and the dashing Piri came to her rescue. From that moment on, it had been a blur of slipping out in secret every morning to ride together—and shockingly unescorted—mostly while the marquess was tucked away on business at the war office.

  Now Piri stood before her laughing freely, shaking hands with the cream of society, talking of wagers and boasting loudly; Affry’s heart sped up at the sight of him. The Honorable James Pirithous, knew how to set society’s tongues awagging. His blond hair curled over his eye. She couldn’t help but compare it to the dark sinister looks of her guardian. Piri’s expression, in contrast, was open. His high cheekbones and classically straight nose gave him the appearance of a Greek god. Theirs had been a storybook romance. Piri even hinted at marriage, had reassured her that his parents would embrace her as he had—well, not quite as he had (he had laughed). But the first snows of winter made meeting him more difficult and Piri more impatient to see her. Virbius was due for a surprise. He was not overly fond of surprises.

  Now Piri’s eyes sought her through the crowd. As soon as they caught hers, he smiled brightly. Affry felt better already. His very presence made the disapproving onlookers melt from her view. He nodded to his friends in farewell and left them so he could wrestle through the throng of guests, his attention solely on her.

  “Try not to look as if you are about to do mischief,” the marquess told her in a steady voice. “People might suspect.”

  She glanced up quickly. “Spare me your dark looks, my lord. He’s only a dear . . . friend.”

  “Hardly.”

  Aunt Euthymia smacked Virbius with her fan. “Let the girl have her fun, my boy. Surely you cannot forbid such an association?”

  Before the marquess could reply, Piri approached, reserving a special smile for Affry. He brought his attention to Virbius to bow with false gravity. He cut a fine leg in his bu
ff colored breeches. His close fitting coat of bottle green superfine fit elegantly over his broad shoulders. “My lord, might I collect your ward for a turnabout the ballroom?”

  “A turn?” the marquess asked.

  “See that you bring her back full of good cheer,” Euthymia answered in Virbius’s behalf.

  Affry lost no time. She left her glowering guardian behind her, her hand on dear Piri’s arm. Whispers trailed through the ballroom after them, though this time Piri shielded her from it all. “Dare I say it?” He squeezed her hand in his. “You resemble the goddess for whom you are named. My dearest, Aphrodite, I may call you by your given name, mightn’t I?”

  She blushed. “Not in front of my guardian, I beg you.”

  “Affry?” Her name was a caress on his lips, and he kissed the air above her gloved hand. “Might I have the pleasure of this dance?”

  Her heart fluttered with the happiness of being his. He brought her into the line to begin the simple country jig. She was bad ton, though by just dancing with her, he was quickly proving otherwise to the gathered assembly. At the opening strains of the violins, he bowed to her and she giggled.

  His eyes crinkled in response. “I thought you’d keep me waiting all night,” he told her as soon as their hands met in the dance.

  They broke apart, and after a turn, she smiled up at him. “I wouldn’t dream of missing such a sorry crush.”

  “You remember my promise, surely?”

  “To be as scandalous as my father?” She felt suddenly breathless. “You would be hard-pressed to follow such lofty steps. Perhaps we should be a tad more circumspect…for my reputation’s sake.”

  “How dull that would be.” He chanced a wink before taking hands with the lady to his left. Soon, he came back for her. His hands felt familiar over hers. “And then I shall make an announcement that will set all society on their elegant backs,” he said.