Theo drew in air sharply. ‘He left her—and you—without money or a home. Prey to villains like Hewitt.’
‘She loved him,’ Jenna repeated steadily. ‘And she believes that he loved her. I will not let anyone take that belief away from her!’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I understand. Oh, Jenna.’ No wonder she didn’t trust men. Whether they were villains like Hewitt or rich lords offering impossible promises, she’d seen the ruin they could wreak.
‘Jenna,’ Theo went on urgently, ‘the Hall should be yours and your mother’s by as much right as it is mine. For God’s sake, I wasn’t even related to Lord Northcote, or to Lady Hasledene!’
‘I will not take charity!’ she declared.
Theo stared down at her. Raw hunger clenched his insides, because he’d simply never seen her looking so beautiful—never seen anyone as beautiful as her.
But it was more than mere sexual hunger. He wanted her as his companion. Wanted her to talk with, to laugh with, to cherish and love throughout his life. He said calmly, ‘I’m not talking about charity. Would you do me the very great honour, Jenna, of marrying me?’
Slowly the colour left her cheeks. ‘No, Theo. You would lose your inheritance. I heard those men saying you had to marry well, or forfeit everything!’
Somehow he’d taken her hands and was kissing her cold fingers into warmth. Jenna shivered, but her blood was pounding hotly in her veins, and the usual helpless longing was starting to seize her body in its grip. This man meant the world to her. This man had become her world. Impossible.
On the day he’d made such sweet love to her in the barn, she’d realised that she was powerless to resist him. She’d known, and accepted, that she would take anything he offered, anything that meant she could just be a part of his life, however small. But—she couldn’t let him give up so much, so very much, for her!
Then she realised. He was laughing. Laughing with that familiar, husky chuckle that melted her very bones. ‘I care for that inheritance,’ he said steadily, ‘about as much as I care for the so-called friends who imposed themselves on me at Northcote Hall. In London that damned will brought me nothing but misery. Then I came—here.’ His voice was suddenly softer. ‘Where I met a beautiful and intriguing girl called Jenna, who has quite simply stolen my heart away.’ He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. ‘Please marry me, Jenna.’
She was trying so hard to be strong. ‘Oh, Theo. This is madness. Society would shun you...’
‘My real friends won’t give a fig when they see how happy I am. And as for that cursed inheritance—I’ve got enough for us to live on quite comfortably. Enough to buy up Northcote Hall, if we want to.’
‘Buy up... But I thought you hated it!’
He shook his head emphatically, eyes glinting. ‘I’m beginning to think it could be the most wonderful place in the world,’ he said softly. ‘With you by my side. By the way, did you work out the riddle I sent you?’
The colour was stealing softly back into her pale cheeks. ‘The riddle... I don’t know. I wasn’t sure that I got it right.’
‘Weren’t you? Say it,’ breathed Theo. He was holding both her hands now, drawing her closer until she was in the shelter of his strong, warm body. ‘Just say it, Jenna.’
She began hesitantly. ‘My first word’s not false.’
‘Go on.’
‘My second’s not hate...’
‘Which must mean?’ There was a teasing warmth in his eyes which made her heart leap and bound.
‘Love,’ she whispered. ‘True love. Oh, Theo...’
He held her very tightly. ‘That’s what I’m offering you, my darling. True love, for ever and always.’
Jenna felt her heart tumbling about inside her. A rush of exhilaration was starting to melt her insides. But still she scarcely dared to hope. ‘Are you sure? To give up so very much...’
‘I’ve told you. That Christmas Day, for the first time in my life, I felt like I truly belonged somewhere. I love you, Jenna. I want you to marry me. Will you?’
And suddenly the pure, simple truth of what he was saying wrapped itself around Jenna’s heart like a tender embrace, just as his arms enfolded her, and his warm lips pressed kisses to her forehead.
She tried to push him away so she could think straight, instead of being driven to madness by the delicious feel of his lips. ‘Theo, you might regret this, terribly. You will have to introduce me to your family...’
‘Haven’t got any.’
‘But there’s society!’ she pressed on rather desperately. ‘We’ll have to go to London and face society some time, won’t we?’
‘Listen to me.’ He held her close. ‘I won’t hide a thing about you when we go to London, because I won’t need to. My real friends—and yes, I do have quite a few—will adore you. Marry me.’
Happiness was just starting to pour through her like honey. Her eyes danced. ‘I can see you’re not going to take no for an answer, are you, Lord Dalbury?’
‘You’re damned right I’m not.’ He grinned.
She nestled into him with a little sigh. ‘Oh, Theo. When I saw you with Lady Celia, I hated her enough to murder her! Then I felt sorry for her...’
‘She’ll get over me.’ His finger was tracing the soft line of her throat. ‘So your answer is...?’
Her voice came through shaky laughter. ‘Theo, I adore you. Of course I’ll marry you.’
He let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God. That means I shan’t have to face the London marriage mart again.’
She pretended to squeal with indignation, but Theo pulled her close, his deep laugh rumbling in his chest. And his kiss, tender and cherishing, reminded her deliciously of what lay ahead. Reminded her that, whatever the years might bring, she would have this man at her side, for Christmas and for ever.
At last he reluctantly pulled away. ‘It’s starting to snow again,’ he said.
Jenna gazed around, still in a daze from the magic worked by his beautiful lips. A snowflake landed on her nose, and he kissed it away.
‘Oh, I should be getting back to my mother!’ she cried. ‘She’ll be so worried...’
‘Your mother,’ he told her, ‘will be safe at Northcote Hall by now. I sent Rob with the gig for her and a message to explain you would be there.’
‘You mean—you knew I’d say yes?’
He was suddenly serious. ‘I was counting on it,’ he said quietly. ‘You don’t know how much I was counting on it, my darling.’
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek gently. ‘I love you, Theo,’ she said, her eyes full of yearning. ‘Please take me home.’
Home indeed, thought Theo in wonder. Hand in hand they walked down the snow-covered hill together, to the welcoming lights of Northcote Hall. To a new life full of hope, and love, to explore—together.
* * * * *
Christmas at Oakhurst Manor
Joanna Fulford
Dear Reader,
When I was asked if I’d like to contribute a story for this anthology I jumped at the chance. The only proviso, apart from the Christmas element, was that the story must have a snowbound theme. That suggested all manner of possibilities. The one that stayed with me was a Regency country-house party—it would allow for a lot of social interaction, which seemed appropriate for the festive season, and the snow theme would, conveniently, keep everyone together. Of course, if all the guests were comfortable with each other that wouldn’t be a problem. But what if they weren’t? What if circumstances brought two old flames together after a traumatic parting ten years earlier? What if being confined in this way was the last thing either of them wanted? How would they deal with the situation, particularly when they’ve brought another decade’s worth of emotional baggage with them? What would happen if the magic was still strong but trust wasn’t?
Answering these questions gave me the basis of my story. My hero and heroine may still be attracted to each other, but they’re also older and wiser this time around. They’ve had yea
rs to come to terms with what happened before, and they both know that only a fool makes the same mistake twice.
I had great fun writing this tale, so I hope you’ll like the result. For maximum enjoyment I would also suggest the addition of a comfy chair, a cozy fire, a bar of your favorite chocolate and, possibly, a glass of wine. Happy Christmas.
Joanna
For Alma and Eunice with love
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Excerpt
Chapter One
Vivien Hastings regarded her reflection with a critical eye. Although the neckline was modest and the style demure, the lilac gown did at least flatter her figure and colouring. A matching ribbon was threaded through her blonde curls, her jewellery restricted to a gold pendant. The effect was simple and elegant, eminently suitable for a widow eighteen months made. She sighed. An impoverished widow with two children and an uncertain future.
In the shorter term her life was about to become even more complicated, something she hadn’t known when she’d accepted Eleanor’s invitation to spend Christmas at Oakhurst. They had been taking tea in her friend’s private sitting room the day before, when the conversation turned to the forthcoming celebrations and, not unnaturally, to the guest list. Vivien had already met most of the Dawlish family and was looking forward to renewing the acquaintance.
‘Best of all, Andrew will be joining us as well,’ Eleanor continued. ‘You will recall me speaking of him. He’s Charles’s youngest brother.’
‘Ah, yes. The brother who has been out in India, I collect.’
‘That’s right. He has been away nine years and is but lately returned.’
‘I’m sure your family will be delighted to see him again,’ said Vivien.
‘Indeed we shall.’ Eleanor smiled. ‘Not only that, he is bringing another guest with him, a friend from India who returned on the same ship. I never met the man but I’m sure that any friend of Andrew’s must be agreeable.’
‘No question.’
‘His name is Max Calderwood.’
Vivien suddenly felt as though all the air had been driven from her lungs, and she stared at her friend in stunned silence. Max coming here? It couldn’t be. There must be some mistake. Perhaps it was a different Max Calderwood, and not the man she had once known.
‘Are you all right, dearest?’
‘Oh, yes, quite all right,’ she lied.
‘Only you look rather pale.’
‘It’s nothing, really.’
There was no way to explain how she felt just then. She was hardly sure herself. It was an emotion compounded of alarm and dismay and, underneath it, something more elusive that resisted definition. Gradually it gave way to relief: at least she’d been forewarned. She would have a little time to prepare herself.
Except that, somehow, it hadn’t worked like that. If anything, she felt even more nervous now...
These reflections were interrupted by a discreet knock at the door. It opened to reveal a middle-aged lady in a pale green gown, complemented by a beautiful Norwich shawl. Greying mousy hair framed a face with no pretensions to beauty. She glanced into the room, regarding its occupant with anxious brown eyes.
‘Are you ready, my dear?’
‘Yes, Aunt Winifred. Quite ready.’
Ready was the last thing she felt but there was nothing for it now but to put a bold face on things.
‘Only I should not like to keep our hostess waiting,’ her aunt continued.
‘No, indeed.’
‘Shall we go down then?’
* * *
They reached the drawing room a short time later. Seeing them arrive, their hostess excused herself from the conversation and came forwards to greet them. Eleanor Dawlish was a pretty brunette with a ready smile and vivacious temperament that made her appear younger than her thirty years. A near neighbour and close friend, she had been insistent on Vivien spending Christmas at Oakhurst: Charles and I would like it above all things. Bring the children as well. It will do you all good to get away for a while. Initially Vivien had thought so too. Now she was far from sure.
‘Vivien, you look very elegant as usual. Miss Pritchard, what a lovely shawl.’
Aunt Winifred smiled timidly. ‘It is most kind of you to say so, Lady Eleanor. The shawl was a gift from Vivien. She is very good to me.’
‘I am sure she is.’ Eleanor returned the smile. ‘Come; let me introduce you both to my newly returned brother-in-law.’
Vivien inclined her head in acquiescence, knowing that there was no alternative. Eleanor led the way, pausing to greet Peter and Jason Dawlish and their wives Annabel and Mary. Sir Digby Feversham and his sister were there too, talking to the local magistrate, Sir Arthur Hurst. Eleanor continued on until she reached the little group across the room. Her husband smiled as they approached. Vivien returned it. Charles had been unfailingly kind and helpful, particularly since her husband’s death, and she was grateful for it, just as she was for his wife’s unstinting friendship.
‘What fortunate timing,’ he said. ‘My brother is most desirous of making your acquaintance.’ He turned to the man beside him. ‘Andrew, I’d like you to meet Lady Vivien Hastings and her aunt, Miss Pritchard.’
Major Andrew Dawlish was just above average height, and possessed the same light brown hair and blue eyes as his siblings. He also had the same impeccable manners. He bowed and favoured them both with a charming smile.
‘Delighted, I’m sure.’
‘I believe you are but lately returned from India, sir,’ said Vivien.
‘Just a week ago, ma’am. I must say it’s good to be back.’
‘It’s good to have you back,’ replied Charles. ‘Nine years is too long.’
‘I do hope you had a pleasant voyage, Major,’ said Aunt Winifred.
‘Tolerably good, I thank you. Of course, I was fortunate to be travelling with an old friend.’
‘That was fortunate, sir.’
‘Even better, I persuaded him to spend Christmas with us at Oakhurst.’ Major Dawlish touched the shoulder of a tall gentleman standing nearby. As the man turned round, the Major continued, ‘Allow me to introduce my friend, Mr Calderwood.’
Vivien took a deep breath, mentally gathering herself. Then she was face to face with Max Calderwood. Always tall and athletic, the lean frame she remembered now had the hard-muscled strength of a mature man. His hair was still as black as a rook’s wing and framed a face whose clean lines and square jaw were entirely lacking in classical beauty. Yet it possessed the kind of rugged good looks that took her breath away. Withal he had undeniable presence. The handsome youth of memory was gone and in his place was this dangerously charismatic stranger.
Cool grey eyes met and held hers. For a brief moment they registered surprise and disquiet. Then he bowed.
‘Lady Hastings, this is a most unexpected pleasure.’
With an effort she managed to keep her voice level. ‘Indeed it is, Mr Calderwood.’
Charles looked from one to the other. ‘Have you two met before?’
‘It was a long time ago,’ she replied. ‘In London.’
‘Ten years,’ said Max. ‘The Harlstons’ ball. We danced together.’
Charles regarded him in frank astonishment. ‘You have an excellent memory, sir.’
‘For some things.’
Vivien’s pulse quickened a little. The Harlstons’ ball was the last time they had ever danced together. The recollection was bittersweet. It was also dangerous ground and she sought for a change of subject.
‘I understand you are but lately returned from India, sir.’
‘That is correct.’
‘Is this a visit only or do you mean to remain in E
ngland?’
‘It is my intention to remain—and settle,’ said Max.
‘Do you have anywhere in mind?’
‘Not yet, but I’m sure the right property will present itself.’
‘I’m sure it will.’
Charles beamed. ‘What a fortuitous meeting this is. I’m sure you’ll have much to talk about over the next few days.’
Vivien summoned a polite smile. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine what she could have to say that would possibly interest Max Calderwood. However, there was much she would have liked to ask him.
Before either of them could say more they were joined by Digby Feversham and his sister. The former was in his mid-thirties. Of average height, he was not entirely ill-looking, with a florid complexion and light brown hair carefully arranged in a Brutus to disguise the onset of baldness. He smiled warmly, his brown eyes surveying her appreciatively.
‘A pleasure as always, my lady.’
Vivien wished she could say the same. His attentions had become more pronounced in recent months, despite her efforts to discourage them. Just then she could have wished him at Jericho. Unfortunately, courtesy required her to acknowledge his presence.
‘Good evening, Sir Digby.’
‘What a delightful interlude this festive season promises to be.’
Delightful was not the first word that leapt to mind, but agreement was the only possible response. Then she turned towards his sister and greeted her politely.
Cynthia Vayne’s voluptuous figure was currently shown off to advantage by a low-cut evening gown of Pomona green silk, in the first stare of fashion. Brown ringlets framed a face that was striking rather than beautiful, and dominated by dark, assessing eyes whose gaze until then had rested hungrily on Max. Recalled by the mention of her name she assumed a smile.
Snowbound Wedding Wishes: An Earl Beneath the MistletoeTwelfth Night ProposalChristmas at Oakhurst Manor (Harlequin Historical) Page 18
