‘There are different versions of the story. In some of them, she lived.’
‘Then I prefer those versions, although it’s still a curious name for a cat.’
‘How about we shorten it to Ginny?’
‘Ginny, Ellie and Orestes.’ He nodded. ‘Much better. I’ll send word to the Petches that we need another sister.’
‘Here comes the goose!’ Alexandra announced loudly. ‘Now, do we have enough food for everyone, do you think?’
Millie exchanged an amused glance with her mother and Lottie. The dining table was covered with steaming bowls of mashed potato, parsnips, chestnut stuffing, peas, carrots, gravy, apple sauce, a roast ham and even a game pie for good measure. There was so much food they could hardly see the linen beneath.
‘I think so, Cousin.’ Lottie smiled mischievously. ‘Although I’m not sure we ought to share it with people who arrive without presents.’
‘They’re back at home.’ Millie squeezed Cassius’s hand at the word home. ‘We’ll send for them when the snow clears.’
‘Well then, how about you give us a promise instead? Since I wasn’t invited to your wedding, why don’t you promise to throw a belated party to celebrate? For all our friends at the Foundation, too?’
‘I think that sounds like an excellent idea.’ Cassius grinned. ‘Otherwise I fear my wife might start pining for a new project. She’ll be overhauling the whole estate if I’m not careful.’
‘I will not.’ Millie gave him an arch look. ‘Although I did have an idea for a local hospital. Maybe here in the village? I thought perhaps we might dedicate it to your friend.’
‘The Edward Towse Memorial Hospital?’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘I think he would have liked that. He always did have an ironic sense of humour.’
‘Then it’s agreed,’ Alexandra announced decisively. ‘Millie can start planning a hospital and a party. That should keep her busy for a couple of weeks.’
‘Actually...’ Millie looked around the table with a smile ‘...I’ve no intention of doing anything at all for the rest of the year. I want to have a proper honeymoon.’
‘Next year is only six days away, dearest.’ Her mother gave her an affectionate look.
‘I’ll take what I can get.’ Cassius raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. ‘Where would you like to spend it?’
‘Oh, not far. I believe there’s an empty gatehouse we might use?’
‘I believe you might be right. Although we’ll need a chaise longue and some novels.’
‘And a box of macaroons, don’t forget those.’
‘Naturally. I think that sounds like a perfect plan. With any luck, we’ll get snowed in properly this time.’
‘I say...’ George gave an emphatic cough. ‘I don’t know about the rest of you, but it seems to me like the food is getting cold.’
‘You’re right. We should eat...’ Millie laughed ‘...after just one more toast.’ She raised her glass, smiling around the table at the people she loved. ‘To love, family and the future, whatever 1843 might bring.’
* * *
Be sure to read the first book in the
Secrets of a Victorian Household miniseries
Miss Lottie’s Christmas Protector
by Sophia James
And check out the next books,
coming soon
Mr Fairclough’s Inherited Bride
by Georgie Lee
Lilian and the Irresistible Duke
by Virginia Heath
Keep reading for an excerpt from Christmas with His Wallflower Wife by Janice Preston.
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Christmas with His Wallflower Wife
by Janice Preston
Chapter One
Cheriton Abbey—early September 1817
Try as she might, Lady Jane Colebrooke couldn’t quite suppress her quiver of excitement as her father’s carriage passed through the gates of Cheriton Abbey, the Devonshire seat of their neighbour, the powerful Duke of Cheriton. It was Olivia, the Duke’s daughter and Jane’s childhood friend, who had told Jane that her brother, Lord Alexander Beauchamp, would be home for the first time in over four years and Jane’s heart had twitched with the longing to see him again.
Not that him being there would make any difference. She’d long ago accepted he would never return her feelings. They’d last met in London in the spring. He’d even danced with her. And still he never seemed to notice her as a female, let alone a lady worthy of courting. No. To him, she was—as she had always been—good old Janey. She turned from the window and her heart shrivelled at seeing her stepmother’s sharp gaze on her.
‘Why the sour expression, Jane? You are going to a garden party, not a funeral.’
Jane bit the inside of her cheek, determined not to retaliate. Defying her stepmother had never borne fruit and life, she had learned, was more tolerable if she allowed Lady Stowford’s jibes to pass over her head.
‘I hope you will at least be civil to Sir Denzil when you meet him,’ Stepmama continued. ‘He has been invited... I made a particular point of asking when I saw him at church last Sunday.’
Jane swallowed. Stepmama had been doing her utmost to pair Jane and Sir Denzil Pikeford ever since the man—another neighbour—had begun to show an interest in her. The fact Jane actively disliked the baronet made no difference—Stepmama was so eager to get her just-turned-twenty-three-year-old stepdaughter off her hands she had even persuaded Papa to add an extra one thousand pounds to her dowry.
One thing Jane knew for certain: if she ever did marry, she would not meekly accept whatever her husband decreed, as she accepted Stepmama’s demands. She would stand up for herself. Right from the start. But it was hard to change the habits of a lifetime with the stepmother who had raised her from a baby and who ruled their household like an empress.
‘You do not accuse me of incivility, I hope, ma’am?’
Papa stirred at her words. ‘Jane is never rude to people, my dear.’ Bless him for one of his sporadic attempts to support the daughter of his first marriage, no matter how unkind Stepmama might be. Jane couldn’t blame him for intervening so rarely. Not when she, too, often chose to remain silent rather than setting the household on its ears for days on end.
‘You know very well she needs to be more than polite, Stowford, if I am to bring Sir Denzil to the point. Really...have you forgotten our dear Miranda is to come out next year? How shameful if her older sister is still unwed!’
She raked her stepdaughter from head to toe while Miranda, the elder of Jane’s two half-sisters, smirked.
‘You had the perfect opportunity to marry—in your debut year, no less—when that nice Mr Romsley offered for you. Quite a coup for a girl as plain as you. But, oh, no! He was not good enough for Lady Jane. I begged you to accept him but, as ever, Lady Jane knows best! And since then, nary a sniff of a suitor until Sir Denzil. You are such a stubborn gel. I’ve always said so.’
It was hot in the carriage, with the family all squashed in together, and Lady Stowford, her face the shade of a beetroot following her outburst, collapsed back against the squabs, fanning herself furiously. Jane turned away, the all-too-familiar pain curling through her. It was so fam
iliar she barely noticed it any more. The pain of unrequited love.
Ha! How naive had she been? In March 1813, the Beauchamp family had attended Olivia’s wedding to Lord Hugo Alastair at the Abbey before all heading to London for the Season. It was Jane’s debut year and she’d had such high hopes, certain Alex would finally see her as a young lady and not simply the annoying little neighbour who had dogged his footsteps throughout his boyhood.
He was two years her senior and her childhood hero. He’d taught her to ride and she’d willingly followed him into all sorts of adventures, often ending in trouble of one sort or another. But Alex always protected her from the worst of the blame and she’d marvelled at his bravery in the face of his father’s formidable wrath.
But at the start of her first Season all her hopes crashed to the ground. London Alex treated her exactly as Devonshire Alex had always treated her—like another little sister. Her hero-worship of Alex might have matured over the years into love, but Alex clearly didn’t see her in that way and who could blame him? His reputation as a skilled lover was legendary and unhappily married ladies of the ton vied for his attention. Why would he ever be interested in a plain, dull female like good old Janey?
Despite that inauspicious start, her love for him—buoyed by her blind hope that, one day, he would open his eyes and recognise her as his soulmate—had persisted and she had stubbornly refused Mr Romsley’s offer, for how could she make her vows to another man when her heart belonged to Alex?
She had lived to regret her decision because she’d received no further offers in the intervening years and Alex had not returned to Devonshire since. The only time she saw him was in London during the Season each year and now she accepted he would never see her as anything other than his old playmate. Now, she would willingly marry. She longed to have her own household to run and to escape Stepmama and her constant barrage of criticism. But that would never be with Sir Denzil Pikeford. In his late thirties, he drank too much, his teeth were rotting, his manners were appalling and his conversation consisted mainly of boasting of his hunting exploits.
Even Stepmama was preferable to a lifetime with that.
The carriage drew to a halt. Jane looked up at the honeyed stone walls of the old Abbey... It had been like a second home to her throughout her childhood and the memories flooded back...happy childhood memories...
Grantham, the Duke’s haughty butler, showed them straight through the huge hall and out to the extensive lawns at the rear of the Abbey, where a footman offered them glasses of punch or lemonade. There must have been fifty guests there already and Jane recognised many faces as her gaze swept the crowd, seeking...
Her heart leapt, then beat a tattoo in her chest. She might have accepted her love would remain unrequited for ever, but still she could not deny it.
Lord Alexander Beauchamp—tall, broad-shouldered and impossibly handsome, with those strong Beauchamp features shared by all the men of the family: the strong jaw, aquiline nose, lean cheeks, beautifully sculptured mouth and arresting eyes under straight, dark brows. He stood with his older brother Dominic, Lord Avon, slightly apart from the crowd, and Jane recognised that Dominic was attempting to pacify his fiery-tempered brother.
They looked so alike, other than their colouring: Dominic shared the black hair and silvery-grey eyes of the Duke—as did Olivia—whereas Alex had the thick mahogany-brown hair and amber eyes of his late mother. In temperament, however, they were opposite. Dominic had always been the dutiful, responsible son. Alex had, for as long as Jane could remember, rebelled against his father—one of the reasons he hadn’t been back to the Abbey for so long. The other, Jane knew, was the painful memory that haunted him whenever he returned...the memory of the day he’d found his mother’s dead body in the summer house by the lake.
Alex had never spoken to Jane about that day—he’d been seven years old and he hadn’t spoken at all for a year afterwards—but Olivia had long ago told Jane all about it and about the nightmares Alex suffered. Jane’s young, tender heart had gone out to him, but she had never been able to penetrate the barriers behind which he retreated whenever anyone ventured too close to his memories of that day, or to his feelings about what had happened.
He kept everyone—family included—at arm’s length.
While Dominic talked, Alex’s restless gaze swept the crowd and Jane felt the physical jolt when his amber eyes—tiger’s eyes, Dominic always called them—alighted on her. He grinned and beckoned her over. A blush heated her cheeks as she walked towards him and she schooled her expression, always afraid her feelings for him would shine from her eyes. A girl had to have some pride.
‘Janey! How lovely to see you! You still game for a swim in the lake like we used to?’
‘Alex!’ Dominic hissed. ‘For God’s sake, think before you speak, will you? Would you say such a thing to any other young lady of your acquaintance?’
‘I’d say it to Livvy.’ Alex winked at Jane. ‘Janey’s just like one of us...she doesn’t care about standing on ceremony, do you, Janey?’
Jane shook her head, stretching her lips in a smile. Defeat spread through her, settling like a lead weight in her stomach. There was the proof, as if she needed it, that Alex would never view her as anything other than his old childhood playmate.
‘Of course I don’t mind. After all, if I’m not accustomed to your teasing ways by now, Alex, I never shall be.’
Alex grinned again. ‘There! What did I tell you, Dom?’ He slung his arm around her shoulders and hugged her briefly into his side. ‘How’s the old witch?’
Dominic rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said. ‘Jane—please try to stop my reprehensible brother from upsetting anyone else. He’s already enraged Lord Wagstaff by ripping up at him over the state of his horses and I really must go and see if Liberty needs help...she’s been gone a long time.’
Liberty was Dominic’s new bride—they had met earlier that year in London, fallen in love and married, despite Liberty not being the perfect society lady Dominic planned to wed. Jane had met her in London, where they had married in June, and thought she was, in fact, the perfect match for Dominic, helping him to take life, and himself, a little less seriously.
‘Is there something amiss?’ Jane wondered why Liberty might need help.
‘That dog of hers,’ said Dominic. ‘Never have I known such a mischief-maker. He cannot keep his nose out of trouble for more than five minutes.’
‘Romeo?’ Liberty had rescued the dog as a stray in London earlier that year.
Dominic nodded. ‘He sneaked into the kitchens again, knocked over a cream jug and helped himself to a crock of butter, just when the servants are run off their feet with preparations for today. Liberty’s gone to catch him and shut him away. Why she insisted on bringing him here I’ll never know!’
‘You can’t fool us, Dom. You dote on that dog as much as Liberty does,’ said Alex, nudging his brother.
Dominic’s jaw tightened. ‘I do not dote on him. I merely tolerate him.’
‘Is that why he was sprawled across your lap last night when I arrived? He was fondling Romeo’s ears, Janey, and murmuring sweet nothings.’
‘Rubbish! I was doing nothing of the sort. I’ll see you both later.’
Alex watched Dominic stalk away, his mouth curved in a smile that managed to be both mischievous and satisfied at the same time, before switching his attention back to Jane. She tore her own gaze from his lips, that telltale heat building again in her cheeks.
‘How does it feel being back after all this time?’
Alex’s top lip curled. ‘Same as ever. I arrive and then I can’t wait to leave.’
‘You can’t mean that, Alex. It’s years since you’ve been home. And the entire family is here...surely you want to spend time with them?’
His eyes roamed across the crowd as Jane spoke and she noticed them pause as they
reached his father, the Duke, his gaze turning wistful as it often did when he watched his father. She suspected he longed to have the same easy rapport Dominic had with their father, but that he simply did not know how to change—their relationship had been tetchy for as long as Jane had known him. That wistfulness didn’t last long. His expression soon hardened.
‘I do mean it. This is no longer my home. Foxbourne is. Let’s not talk about that, Janey. Tell me, how is Pippin?’
Jane’s throat tightened, aching at the mention of her beloved mare. ‘She died, Alex. Last year.’
Genuine shock and sympathy played across Alex’s features. ‘Last year? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘When would I tell you? You are never here and, in London...it’s not the same somehow.’
‘But... Oh, God, Janey. I’m sorry. What are you riding now?’
Horses had always been their shared passion and they were the love of Alex’s life. He bred and trained horses at Foxbourne Manor and had built a solid reputation for producing first-class riding and carriage horses.
‘Sandy.’
‘Sandy?’ Alex burst out laughing, but quickly sobered. He searched Jane’s expression, a frown knitting his brows. ‘I thought you were joking, but you’re not. How can a plod like old Sandy be a suitable mount for a rider of your quality?’
‘Papa said it’s not worth me having a new horse when Sandy is there doing nothing.’
‘Your father said that? Now I know you’re gammoning me—he’s always been so proud of your skill as a horsewoman. It was the old witch, wasn’t it? What is her game?’
Jane burned with humiliation. Her stepmother’s game was to make Jane’s life so intolerable she would view marriage to Sir Denzil as preferable. But she wouldn’t discuss such a subject with Alex of all people.
‘Shall I have a word with your papa, Janey? I’ve got a filly at Foxbourne that would be perfect for you... I’d give him a good price. Half what she’s worth.’
Miss Amelia's Mistletoe Marquess Page 24
