by Sherry Ewing
“I will not be any man’s mistress but a wife,” she huffed, stamping her foot as though that would drive her point home. She looked between the pair and still could not believe they would offer such a proposition as to actually be their mistress. What a fool she had been!
“Grace was right about you,” she whispered gazing directly at Aldridge, as if he were the root of all her problems. She hated to admit she had knowingly brought this whole ghastly situation upon herself with her own sense of arrogance and pride. Humiliation consumed her even as tears welled up in her eyes, both from embarrassment and frustration that she had lost the stupid bet with her sister. At least she still had her virginity intact. God help her if she stayed any longer with this dangerous pair before her.
With tears rushing down her face, she mumbled an apology and dashed from the room, barely even acknowledging Grace when she entered the ballroom. She would have been appalled if she had witnessed her sister’s silent toast with her glass of wine to the gentlemen she had just left.
Aldridge and Gren returned Grace’s salute with a nod and a smile, but Gren’s eyes are clouded. “Poor innocent,” he commented. “I didn’t expect it to upset her so much.”
Aldridge pursed his lips. “She might act like a vixen on the hunt, but she is no more than a foolish kitten. Our agreement with her sister had us honor-bound to offend but not injure.”
Gren grinned. “I kept to my lines, Mr. Propriety. The frown returned to crease his brow. “But I am sorry for the silly chit.”
“Better hurt feelings and pride than ruination,” Aldridge said. “If she’d tried her tricks in London some rogue would have had her out in the garden or off in some secluded library before her brother or sister knew she was on the loose. Yes, and flat on her back with her skirts up whether she wanted or not, with some of the people you and I both know. We have done her a favor, Gren.”
Miranda and the Grenford brothers can be found as secondary characters in the Bluestocking Belles’ 2016 holiday boxset entitled, Holly and Hopeful Hearts. Miranda, in particular, is in A Kiss for Charity by Sherry Ewing. Aldridge and Gren are interwoven in several of the novellas and are written by Jude Knight.
A Christmas Craving
25 December, 1813
Lord Nicholas Lacey was on a mission of grave importance. There was no time to waste this Christmas morn. The fact that he roamed the hallways of Highgrove Manor in his robe was a testament to the urgency of his step.
He entered the kitchen that was already busy with preparations for the day’s meals. Cook saw him enter her domain and immediately turned, picked up a tray, and handed it to him.
“Still cold?” he asked peering at the silver lid but already knowing her answer.
“Yes, of course, sir,” she murmured with a smile of conspiracy.
Nicholas nodded his thanks and hurried his stride, carefully taking the stairs two at a time, so as not to spill the chocolate he could smell coming from the pot on the tray. He came to his bedroom and was about to set the tray down on a nearby table, when a maid solved his dilemma of the closed door when his were hands full.
“Let me take that for you, sir,” she offered.
“You’ve helped by opening the door. I need to deliver this myself.”
“You shall find no further obstacles in your way, my lord. Her ladyship is already in her sitting room with the young miss.”
He entered his bedroom but continued toward the open doorway on the opposite end. There was no mistaking the giggles from his daughter. The little minx wasted no time to be by his stepmother’s side this morn.
He paused before entering, just so he could remember such a scene for the rest of his days. His daughter was tucking a blanket on Grace’s lap until his wife took Blanche’s hand and set it on her protruding stomach. His daughter’s eyes widened.
“I felt the baby,” she exclaimed in amazement causing Nicholas to laugh. Blanch turned toward him and began waving her free hand for him to join them. “Hurry, Father! Come feel my baby brother or sister.”
“First things first, Blanche,” Nicholas declared and proceeded to set the tray down, pour two cups of the chocolate, before handing one to each of his ladies.
Grace took a sip but set the cup down on the table near her elbow. “That is wonderful, Nicholas but do you happen to have…”
He laughed again and held out a bowl to her before lifted the lid. “You know I do,” he said, putting the lid down and offering a spoon to his wife. “Are you sure you want them cold?”
Grace took the bowl. “You know I do.” She took a scoop of the mashed sweet potatoes and pears and sighed in pleasure. “Marvelous. This is just what this baby has been craving all morning.”
“Mama, did you not say that just yesterday?” Blanche asked.
“And the day before,” Nicholas added.
“I cannot help it. I just love them. Besides, Cook has been a marvel managing to make these for me every day.”
“I would think you should be tired of them by now.” Nicholas leaned forward to kiss his wife. Blanche raised her cheek as well, and he gave another kiss to his daughter. “Cook is indeed a mystery on how she has kept the pantry stocked this time of year just so she can appease your appetite, madam.”
Grace took another taste. “Delicious. I can think of no greater way to start Christmas morning than with a bowl of these potatoes.”
A chuckle escaped Nicolas. “I believe, my lady, that I can do better than just bringing you your breakfast.”
“Yes, Mama. You should see all the presents beneath the tree. Can we open them now, Father?” Blanch asked.
Nicholas nodded to the door. “Get dressed and we will see you downstairs, sweetling.”
They watched their daughter run from the room in a squeal of excitement. With the closing of the door, Nicholas took the now empty bowl from his wife’s hands. Leaning down he began nuzzling her neck.
“Nicholas, darling… we must not keep Blanche waiting.”
He kissed her lips, tasting the sweetness from the pears still upon them. “She can wait just a little longer.” Picking up his lady, he carried her back to their bed.
Under The Mistletoe
Chapter 1
The Village Rectory
Edington England
December 1811
Margaret Templeton looked up from the book she was reading in the library to glance outside the frost covered window. The snow was falling again in a silent display of winter delight but she could not mistake the sound of carriage wheels approaching the house. Who would be calling now? Thinking of the number of suitors her father had introduced her to of late, she heaved a sigh and inwardly cringed at yet another prospect. She wished he would stop. Being a bluestocking spinster suited her just fine, since most men of her acquaintance did not wish for an educated woman as their wife.
She supposed she could not blame her father for wanting to see her settled with a good man with enough income sufficient to provide for her. Unfortunately, he held high hopes that someone from the nobility might take a fancy to her and wed her, despite her lack of title and dowry. Margaret knew her place in this life. Rubbing elbows with the peerage and becoming one of them was highly unlikely for a daughter of a clergyman.
Once, she had briefly considered the possibility of an aristocratic union. Frederick, Viscount Beacham, was her longtime friend since childhood. Her regard for him had turned to something warmer as they matured, but she did not know he felt the same until he proposed. She remembered it as if it were yesterday. How she wanted to say yes to the man she loved! But his parent’s ambitions ran high for their son. They would never have accepted her. She had politely refused, and their friendship had never been the same.
She had lost count of how often she missed his company, and regretted her rejection of him. But if she had made a mistake all those years ago, there was no hope of rectifying it. Frederick was forever lost to her and if she wished otherwise, she had no one to blame for her foolishness bu
t herself.
She shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. She hoped the caller would be a parishioner seeking advice or prayer. The alternative would cost her hours playing hostess or, even worse, becoming the object of scrutiny from another suitor inspecting to see if she would be a suitable wife. She would rather spend her time among her beloved books.
Margaret heard the carriage halt in front of the house. She rose from her chair, her cat, Bartholomew, weaving around her legs to leave trails of cat hair upon her gown. She leaned down to give him an affectionate scratch behind his ears and tried to sweep the fur from the fabric. It was, of course, hopeless and the feline began to purr and rub up against her even more in his quest for attention.
“Not now, Barty. We have another visitor.” Even to herself, she sounded frustrated. She was glad no one overheard. “Let us go see who will be looking me over today and get it over with, shall we?”
With a loud “meow,” Barty turned up his little pink nose and promptly jumped into her vacated seat before the fire. Curling himself into a ball of warm fur, her feline friend promptly closed his eyes. Apparently, she was on her own.
She heard her name being called. Her sister; somewhere beyond the closed library door. At the small mirror hanging on the wall, she checked she was presentable for visitors. The face that stared back at her was comely enough, she supposed. Her dark brown hair was pulled back with ringlets falling in an appealing coiffure but her blue eyes appeared…well…dull. There was nothing out of the ordinary in her features. She would never be considered one of the beautiful ladies in society she read about when she snuck away with father’s copy of The Morning Post. She gave her cheeks a pinch to bring some color to them before opening the library door.
A commotion on the upper floors of their home gave way to a childish squeal of delight from her younger sister Sophie. Margaret hid a grin at the sounds of Sophie’s pet’s nails on the floorboards as it ran down the hallway.
“Tulip! Come back here, you bad little puppy,” Sophie yelled after her runaway dog. Tulip was now cautiously making its way down the stairs on wobbly short legs. Her sister caught up with the pup halfway and scooped up the dog, who began to lick her face.
“Can you not think of a name that is more appropriate for a dog, Sophie?” Margaret asked, resisting the urge to lean on the door frame.
Her sister looked at her, laughing. “But Tulip is perfectly appropriate for my puppy, Margaret. She reminds me of a warm summer day and being outside chasing butterflies or finding frogs to kiss who will then turn into handsome princes.”
“If you say so, dear.” Margaret began to usher her sister towards the kitchens. “You best take your dog outside, Sophie. Papa will not want it causing a fuss when we have company at the front door.”
“But it is snowing outside, Margaret. Poor Tulip will freeze to death out there in the barn.”
Margaret brushed the girl’s hair back from her pixie face. At the age of ten and three, with the dark blonde hair inherited from their mother, and green eyes, her sister was a fanciful child. Margaret loved her dearly, especially since she had practically raised her. After the carriage accident that took their mother’s life, Margaret had become Sophie’s surrogate mother, and she loved her little sister dearly.
“All right, sweet pea,” she said fondly. “But you had best be sure that Tulip stays quiet, else Father will be disappointed in us both.”
Sophie smiled at the nickname as if the sun had begun to shine just for her. “Oh, I will make sure of it, sister. You will not hear even a peep from us.” The resolution did not last beyond their departure, as Sophie yelped when Tulip chewed on her finger.
With no other distractions, Margaret made her way to the front parlor to stand demurely in the doorway.
Her beloved father, having just entering the vestibule, stopped to place his Bible on a side table. Margaret watched him ease into his jacket to receive their visitor and gave a small sigh. Her sire was tall and lean, and grey had begun to pepper his dark brown hair. She could not for the life of her remember when that had happened. Surely her father was not ageing!
“Father,” Margaret called out, gesturing towards her eyes.
He chuckled, took his spectacles off, and placed them inside his jacket. “I almost forgot. Thank you, dear,” he declared.
He frowned ever so slightly at her gown, covered in cat hair, and shook his head, but there was no time to change since the caller knocked again on the door.
“Captain Morledge, how good of you to call,” her father said, as he opened the door. “Joseph Templeton at your service.” A hand extended from the open doorway before the complete man came into view garbed in a blue uniform.
“Vicar Templeton. It is good of you to receive me, sir,” the man said formally. “I trust this is not an inconvenient time?”
“No, no, nothing of the sort. You are most welcome, Captain. Please allow me to present you to my daughter.” Margaret obediently stepped forward and curtseyed. “Margaret, may I present Captain Sander Morledge, an Officer of the 11th Light Dragoons?”
“Good day to you, sir, and welcome to our home,” she said politely.
“A pleasure, indeed, to make your acquaintance, Miss Templeton,” Sander replied in a deep rich baritone.
Margaret felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Surely she was not going to allow a handsome face to get the better of her emotions! Her father ushered the captain into the drawing room, and Margaret took a seat opposite the gentleman as they began to converse.
Her father would expect her to attend, but peeking at Captain Morledge from beneath her lashes, Margaret found herself thinking about the prospect of him as a possible future husband. He was tall, with a muscular body hidden beneath the uniform of an officer. His black hair was neatly trimmed even while his grey eyes took in their meager home. His smile was friendly as he talked to her father. He was, in truth, a most fine-looking gentleman. She was pleasantly surprised.
The gentlemen’s laughter called her out of her thoughts.
“Miss Templeton?” Sander was saying her name but she had no idea what he had asked.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
He smiled again, showing even white teeth. “I asked if you liked children.”
She shifted uncomfortably. Surely he could not be asking her what she thought. How could she answer such a question, especially in front of her father? Before she could respond, her father gave her a warning glance to pay attention, and helped her catch up.
“Captain Morledge is a widower, my dear Margaret, with two small children.”
“Please accept my condolences, Captain,” Margaret said respectfully, “and yes, I like children.”
Captain Morledge gave a careless wave, dropping him a notch in Margaret’s assessment. Was it of no consequence that he had lost his wife? “It has been several years, and the children are my main concern now.”
His reply and easy charm calmed her fears. Undoubtedly, she was wrong to question the man’s integrity. He seemed to sincerely love of his children.
“It is settled, then,” her father declared brightly, causing Margaret to wonder, again, what she had missed in their earlier conversation.
“Father?” She did not want to appear the kind of ninny who had been daydreaming instead of paying attention to the gentleman before her, but surely her father had not carelessly agreed to pledge her troth to a total stranger.
“Captain Morledge is having a Christmas ball at his residence in London, Margaret. He has asked my permission to allow you to be his hostess for the event. I have already written the necessary letters to your mother’s dear friend, Lady Penelope Whittles, who thinks of you most kindly. She has often asked you to come for a visit. You may stay with her, and she will act as chaperone while you attend the festivities and other outings the captain has planned prior to the holidays.”
“I hope you will agree, Miss Templeton,” Captain Morledge interjected smoothly. “It would indeed be my ho
nor to have you at my side to receive my guests during the holiday season.”
“It is a most unusual request, sir,” she murmured.
“I understand your apprehension but I have no female relative available to act as hostess,” Captain Morledge declared with a warm smile. “I have spoken at length with your father and have assured him that I hold you with the utmost respect. You will, of course, be chaperoned at all times.”
It appeared as if fate were taking control of her life and if she wanted the possibility of a good marriage, this may be her only opportunity. “Thank you, Captain, for your gracious invitation. It sounds delightful,” Margaret said, and the captain returned her warm smile.
A servant announced that dinner was served. Father stood and Captain Morledge held out his arm for Margaret. Reaching out tentatively, she felt his muscles flex beneath her fingers as he escorted her to the table. Any further reservations she may have had, she kept to herself. Time enough to consider them when she found what the future in London would bring.
Chapter 2
London
White’s
Viscount Frederick Beacham looked with feigned disinterest at the cards in his hand. One was not often dealt four aces in a game of chance. He gave them a tap before he set them face down upon the table. The stack of chips in front of him had grown to a considerable fortune, but he was not foolish enough to bet the whole lot on one hand.
He placed his bid, and two of his friends, Richard Cranfield and Milton Sutton, folded. His eyes went to the remaining player and friend, George Chadwick, who eyed him warily.
George fingered his cards before throwing several chips into the growing pile in the center of the table with a confident smile. “I call, Frederick, and will raise you a guinea.”
Frederick returned the smile and threw in the additional wager without hesitation. “Call. What have you got, George?”
