by Ava Stone
Burdened by her thoughts, Olivia decided to try to sleep. She crawled into the bed, being careful not to disturb Marcus, and let her exhaustion overtake her.
It was hours later before Olivia woke up again. Without opening her eyes, she could feel sunlight on her face. However, she was so comfortable she had no desire to wake up yet, so she snuggled under the covers and heaved a sigh of contentment.
“Mama?”
Of course, that was one word she couldn’t ignore. She opened her eyes to find Marcus, her sweet Marcus, lying on his side facing her, his own eyes wide open.
Olivia came to her elbow and caressed his cool forehead with her other hand. “Marcus?” she said, unable to believe he seemed so well already. “How do you feel, my darling?”
He shrugged as best he could in his position. “Tired,” he said, his voice weak. “Did I miss Christmas?”
At this, Olivia couldn’t help but laugh. All the fear of the last couple days seeped out of her, leaving her feeling positively giddy. “Thank heavens, no!” she said. “You have two more days to rest and get well, my love.”
Marcus smiled and then closed his eyes again. In a matter of moments, his breathing evened out. Olivia slipped from the bed and pulled the counterpane over him before ringing for Clara.
The little maid appeared at her door within mere minutes. Olivia shared the good news and then asked if she could take a bath.
“I’ll bring the tub right up, ma’am,” Clara said, bobbing a curtsey. She started out the door and then turned back. “Oh, and you might like to know that Mr. Findley is on his way back from London.”
Olivia paced the floor of the yellow room at least one thousand times that afternoon, waiting to see Rowan riding up the drive in his carriage. Her ankle was still sore, but not enough to make her sit still. She knew it wasn’t going to make him get there any faster to look out the window every few seconds, but she couldn’t help herself.
Once Clara had told her he was coming back, she’d set to really thinking about what she wanted to say to him. She wasn’t a terribly bold person—not anymore, at least. As a matter of fact, most would describe her as downright timid. But didn’t the Bible say, “Ask and ye shall receive?”
Well, it was time she asked. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to be her husband, and the father he’d never had the chance to be before. He’d shown interest in her, hadn’t he? Even if only physical, wouldn’t that be enough?
Movement out the window caught her eye and she rushed to the window seat and pressed her nose against the glass like a child. A well-appointed black carriage ambled up the drive, a stark contrast to the lovely white snow. Olivia wanted desperately to run from the room and meet him at the door, but she held back. He needed time to greet his family and get settled. She’d speak to him later.
Trying to put Rowan from her mind for the time being, she checked on Marcus again. She smiled when her hand touched his cool forehead. Then she paced again, because really, there was nothing else to do while trapped in this room. Perhaps she should go for a walk in the corridor. Yes, that would do her good.
She padded to the door, flung it open, and nearly jumped out of her skin at the human figure standing on the other side.
“Good heavens!” Olivia clutched her heart and staggered backwards a few paces, before she finally dared to look at whom the figure actually belonged to. “Rowan?”
His lips twitched at the corners. “I’m sorry to have frightened you,” he said. “I was just coming to check on Marcus.”
“Oh.” Of course he wanted to know how Marcus was doing. Such thoughtfulness warmed her heart. He really did care about him. Now if only she could find out if he cared about her. “His fever broke near dawn,” she said. “He’s been awake a couple of times, but he’s still very weak.” She smiled tentatively at Rowan. “He was most worried he’d missed Christmas.”
Rowan gave a little chuckle. “A man after my own heart,” he said. “And you? Are you well?”
His chocolate brown eyes bored into hers, and Olivia was certain he could read every word she was thinking. “I-I finally got some rest this morning, thank goodness. And Clara brought me a hearty meal this afternoon. So, yes…I am well. Thank you for asking.”
Rowan shut the door and then moved further into the room, until he was standing directly in front of Olivia. She held her breath, trying to remain in control of herself, her emotions, despite the fact he stood so close she could smell clove on him. Unable to look into his eyes, she stared straight ahead at his neatly tied cravat. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Had he run up the stairs to get here?
“Olivia,” he said, and she couldn’t ignore the deep, meaningful way he intoned her name.
She raised her eyes to meet his. He blinked a few times and then held her gaze. What was that expression? Amusement? Desire? She was horrible at interpreting. “Yes?”
“I have something very particular I’d like to ask you.”
Olivia’s heart was going to leap out of her throat, it was beating so fast. He was waiting for her to respond, but she couldn’t speak so she simply nodded.
He reached into his pocket and procured something, though he kept it concealed in his hand, so she wasn’t quite sure what it was.
“Olivia Morgan Edwards, I would like to ask…do you like sapphires?”
Olivia looked down at the ring he held out to her, then back up at his face. This went on for what felt like ten minutes, until Rowan clearly felt the need to clarify.
“Olivia,” he said, laughter in his voice. “I’m asking you to marry me, dear girl.”
She looked up at him, unable to believe that her prayers had been answered, just like that. “You are?” she asked, to make sure she hadn’t misheard.
Now Rowan laughed in earnest. “Olivia, I haven’t stopped thinking of you since you walked back into my life at that dinner party. I made a vow to never, ever marry—to remain a bachelor for all my days—but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that there was only one thing in this entire world that would give my pathetic life a meaning and a purpose. You.” He glanced at Marcus, lying in the bed. “Well, two things,” he amended. “Olivia, will you please give me something to bloody live for?”
If she had had any more tears to shed, they surely would have sprung to her eyes in that moment. But as it was, she couldn’t muster a single tear. Joy flooded her, bringing a smile to her lips that she was certain would never go away.
She threw her arms around Rowan’s neck and he lifted her off the ground as she whispered, “Yes, I will marry you.”
Christmas Morning
To say that this was the best, most wonderful Christmas in his thirty years would have been a vast understatement. Who would have thought that Rowan Findley, confirmed bachelor, would be so overjoyed to be leg-shackled? Just a few weeks ago he’d sworn never to marry, and here he was, waking up next to his wife. He briefly wondered what his friends would think of him now, but then decided he didn’t care. If they’d enjoyed a wedding night like he had, they’d be overjoyed too.
Speaking of wedding night…
Rowan scooted across the large bed until he reached his wife. She had her back to him, so he put his arms around her waist and kissed her bare shoulder. She still smelled like lilacs, and it made him want to start all over again.
Olivia mewled and rolled over, snuggling against his chest. “It’s not time to get up yet, is it?” she moaned.
“No,” Rowan replied, “but it is time for something else.”
Olivia giggled, but Rowan cut her off with a kiss. He tasted of her lips for what must have been the hundredth time since last evening. She was delectable. He never wanted to stop kissing her and making love to her.
“Mama!”
Well, that might put a damper on things.
“Oh, dear,” she said as Rowan pulled away. Clearly, she found the interruption amusing, if her teasing smile was any indication. “Are you sure you’re ready to be a father?
”
Rowan turned serious as he stared into Olivia’s sparkling blue eyes. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my entire life.”
With that, he rolled off the bed and started to dress as Olivia bid Marcus to enter. The boy came barreling into the room, all rosy and excited as if he’d never been close to death’s door.
“Happy Christmas!” he shouted.
Olivia laughed, as Rowan replied, “And a Happy Christmas to you, young man.”
Rowan thought it best to get Marcus out of the room before he started asking questions about why his mother was naked beneath the covers. “Shall we toss snowballs at the topiaries while your mother gets dressed?” he suggested.
Marcus seemed to think this was a brilliant idea and bounded into the corridor, eager to get started. Rowan leaned over the bed and kissed his smiling Olivia before joining his son.
Olivia had just gotten her dressing gown on when Clara came bursting through the door.
“Clara!” she exclaimed, startled. “What on earth?”
“Come quickly, ma’am,” the little maid said, though she was smiling, so Olivia assumed there was no cause for alarm.
“Clara, I’m not even dressed yet.”
“Then we must dress you quickly.” She practically squealed with delight. “There’s a right wonderful surprise waiting for you downstairs.”
Now Olivia wanted to squeal. What on earth could it be?
Within the course of fifteen minutes, Clara had Olivia turned out and looking halfway presentable for whatever this surprise downstairs might be. What in the world was Rowan up to this time? Weren’t the sapphire ring, marriage proposal, and Christmas Eve wedding enough?
She scurried down the stairs, made her way to the drawing room and then stopped short when she arrived at the entrance. Her heart lurched and squeezed and a lump formed in her throat that she was helpless to stop. Right there, before her very eyes, sat her mother and father. They were sitting on the floor before the fireplace, talking with an excited Marcus.
Olivia turned her blurry gaze to where Rowan leaned against the wall by the window. He was smiling at her with that roguish, all-knowing grin, as if he was well aware he’d done a wonderful thing.
Her attempt at muffling her sobs were futile. Everyone turned to look at her, but Marcus was the only one who spoke.
“Mama!” He jumped up and down in place. “Look who’s come to visit us!”
Olivia could barely speak, but she eked out a response. “Yes, I see.”
Her parents stood slowly. No one was quite certain how to proceed, but at long last, Olivia decided it had been too long to allow awkwardness to get in the way. She ran across the room and threw herself into her mother’s arms. As she wept into her shoulder, she felt her father’s arms come around her as well.
When they finally pulled away, Olivia saw both of them had tears in their eyes as well.
“Why is everyone so sad?” Marcus asked, to which everyone burst into laughter.
“Oh, my dear,” Olivia said, drawing him close to her. “They are tears of joy, not sadness.”
Marcus’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Oh.”
“Well, I think this calls for a celebration!” This came from a female voice in the doorway of the drawing room.
All eyes swung to see Lady Swaffham standing there in a hunter green, silk gown, bejeweled and be-feathered for the holiday.
Rowan pushed off the wall. “For once I agree with my cousin.”
“It’s about time,” Lady Swaffham replied. “Come, everyone. A Christmas feast awaits us in the dining room.”
Olivia’s parents, along with Marcus, filed out of the room behind her ladyship. Olivia was about to follow when Rowan’s hand clamped around hers and spun her around. She crashed into his chest as his arms came around her back and squeezed her against him.
“Rowan!” she said with a giggle, and then she looked into his handsome brown eyes and stilled. “How did you do it?”
“Do what?” he asked with an air of faux modesty.
“I can’t imagine what sort of bribery it took, but…thank you.”
He leaned in and kissed her briefly. “No bribery,” he said, pulling away. “But a lot of coercion. Even then, they were determined never to see you again. I was just as surprised as you were to see them here this morning. They must have had a change of heart sometime in the last few days.”
It was Olivia’s turn to kiss Rowan. She rose up on her tiptoes and snaked her hands around his neck, pulling him closer to her. She kissed him the best she knew how, because a simple thank you just wouldn’t be enough to show her gratitude for what he’d done.
They broke the kiss, but didn’t let go of one another. For the first time in years—perhaps even her entire life—Olivia felt free and happy, as if everything was finally as it should be. The hole in her heart had been mended. The longing for companionship, the desire for a family—all her prayers had been answered.
“Happy Christmas, my love,” Rowan whispered to her.
And she returned, “The happiest.”
Jerrica Knight-Catania is the best selling author of Regency Romance novels, including The Wetherby Brides series and The Daring Debutantes novellas. When she’s not writing, you can find her lounging poolside or wandering the aisles of Marshall’s and TJ Maxx. She resides in the Palm Beach area with her husband, cat and princess-in-training.
www.jerricasplace.com
May 3, 1810
London
Lady Miriam Thornhill was grateful for the gloves she wore to the first assembly of her first Season. Her hands were sweating as badly as the rest of her. The rented room wasn’t large enough for the number of people crowded within. There weren’t enough windows to open, had their hostess, Mrs. Abercrombie, chosen to open them. As a result, there was no air in the room.
The small group of musicians was gathered in one corner and a space had been cleared in front of them for dancers to move about. A refreshment table and some card tables were set up in the far end of the room for those whose tastes did not run to dancing. Miriam was not one of those, but dancing required a partner, and after an hour standing beside her mother, she had none.
Mama waved her fan gracefully and eyed the room once more. “Someone will ask soon, I’m certain. How can they not? You are so lovely in your puce gown.”
Luckily Miriam and the modiste had persuaded Mama to allow a lace overlay of fine netting and delicate pink flowers to tone down the hideous shade of dried blood, but Miriam still believed she would ruin her entire Season by being seen in that gown.
Mama closed her fan with a snap. “Smile, daughter. Here comes Lady Roddington and her son.”
Miriam straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin to that awkward angle Mama insisted put her face at its best advantage, and smiled. Lady Roddington returned the smile, then her gaze drifted down to Miriam’s gown and the smile faded.
“Lady Roddington, may I present my daughter, Lady Miriam?”
“Delighted. This is my son, Lord Arthur. Dear boy, take Lady Miriam out in the next set and let her display herself before the others.”
Lord Arthur looked over the crowd towards the card tables. “Sorry, ma’am, but I promised Hurst I’d let him try to win back some of his blunt.” Without even acknowledging Miriam, he strode away.
Lady Roddington pressed a hand to her ample bosom, her eyes wide as she stared after him. “That boy! Forgive him, Miriam, dear. He is most awkward in company. It’s such a shame, what with his looks. I shall never be able to find him a wife. Tell me, Lady Alderford, did you take notice of Mrs. Abercrombie’s hat? I must find out where she had it made. It’s just the thing.”
Miriam prayed the building would catch fire so she could escape her agony, and was certain the heat in her face would be the cause. The nerve of the man to openly snub her like that! Everyone must have seen it. She would be a pariah for the entire Season, if not the rest of her life. She and Mama might as well return home, for there
was no reason to remain in London.
“Pardon, Lady Miriam, do you care to dance?” A tall, handsome young man stood before her, one hand behind his back, the other outstretched. His green velvet cutaway coat revealed an ivory quilted waistcoat, and his fawn breeches clung to very muscular thighs.
She sighed, then snapped out of her doldrums and stared into the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. “Yes, Mr.—, I’m sorry, were we introduced?”
“I would have asked your mother for an introduction, but she and Lady Roddington were so engrossed, I would have missed the opportunity to dance with you had I waited. Robert Hurst, at your service, my lady.” He bowed so elegantly, a long lock of his thick, dark blond hair falling over his brow. He swept it back nonchalantly as he straightened with fluid grace.
“Mr. Hurst, I would be delighted to dance.” She caught her mother’s attention and followed the young man through the crowd to the edge of the dancing area where they joined the lines of dancers. Mama must know whom this man was, or she would have made a face at Miriam. All Miriam knew was he’d saved her from a fate worse than death—being left without a partner after so blatant a snub.
Before the music even began, Miriam knew Mr. Robert Hurst would forever hold a place in her heart.
Hambleton Cottage, Cheshire, England
December, 1814
Robert Hurst, the eighth Earl of Northcotte, swirled the brandy in his glass as he listened to his brother-in-law, David Lumley, and their host, Stephen Lumley, discuss the final race meetings of the year. The Lumleys were his main competition as a horse breeder and racehorse owner, but horseflesh was the last thing on his mind.
David motioned to the empty chair sitting before the desk in Stephen’s study. “Be civil, sit with us. Just because Patriot beat Triton in the sweepstakes last month doesn’t mean you have to hide in the corner.”
Spinning on his heel, Northcotte growled and stalked towards the men. “I do not hide in the corner. I happened to pause there, that is all.” He dropped into the chair and crossed his heel over his knee, rubbing at a bit of mud clinging to his boot heel. “And my mind is not on race meetings.”
