Yuletide Happily Ever Afters; A Merry Little Set Of Regency Romances
Page 15
Rose took a breath, swallowed and said, “Chastain kissed Iris!”
“He didn’t!” Lottie gasped.
“Lottie, please take Emma down to breakfast. Rose will be quite all right. We shall be down momentarily.”
Thankfully Lottie didn’t argue. She coaxed Emma to go with her. There was very little sound outside of Rose’s bedchamber. Nobody had come running up the stairs demanding Iris explain her behavior. Ambrose and Chastain might well be in the study with a morning brandy celebrating the conclusion of their bet.
“How could you?” Rose asked through tears after the other two girls departed. “You don’t even like him. Chastain was meant for me.”
She blinked in surprise. The idea Rose was besotted with Chastain never crossed her mind. “Oh, my darling. I am so sorry if I have hurt you.”
CHAPTER NINE
He and Ambrose sat in the study in silence. His friend was seated behind the mahogany desk that once belonged to his father, Chastain in a stuffed chair opposite. Chastain met Ambrose’s parents a few times in London. They had been warm people, obviously in love with each other. He’d felt jealous of the bond between them. The love they both showed their only son.
“Why haven’t you called me out or demanded I marry your sister?” He’d gone to his bedchamber to properly dress before he received the inevitable summons from his friend.
In response, Ambrose rubbed his temple with his right hand.
“Ambrose…”
His friend didn’t speak. It was time he found out what Ambrose was up to.
“Sir Thomas is always underfoot,” Chastain said into the silence. “You allow him to write to your sister. The man is of good family. How is the baronet unfit for Iris?”
“He isn’t what my parents wanted for her,” Ambrose replied. “My parents wanted their children to marry for love. Iris doesn’t love Sir Thomas.”
“He’s handsome, a baronet, evidently wealthy.” Chastain said with a frown. “I’d marry the chap if I were a woman.”
Ambrose looked at him. “Evidently Rose is upset over what happened.”
“Far more upset than you appear to be.” He stared at his friend. “I believe you planned for this outcome.”
“It is easy to see that my sister is in love with you. I give you my consent to marry Iris.” The words were said quietly and calmly.
“What about her wishes? What about mine?” He came to his feet. No matter what Ambrose said, there was no assurance Iris would agree to marry him. Or that she loved him. That worried him more than any ulterior motives Ambrose had for the match.
“I have known you for years, Chastain. Can you honestly tell me you don’t want to marry Iris?”
He didn’t respond to the other man’s words until he stood at the door of the study. He turned to face his friend, afraid for the first time in a long time. Afraid the woman he cared about didn’t care about him. “No. No, I can’t.”
The entry hall was a buzz with movement. Sir Thomas had arrived to collect Emma. The girl was in the midst of donning outer clothes when Chastain entered the room. He’d planned to ask a footman to fetch Iris to the drawing room. None of Ambrose’s sisters were in attendance as the baronet made ready to leave the house.
“Sir Thomas,” he said to the other man with a nod of his head.
“Lord Chastain.” The baronet smiled grimly and stepped forward. He leaned in. “Make her happy.”
That was all that passed between them before Sir Thomas and his sister took their leave of Marcourt. Once the entry hall was deserted of guests, he asked the footman to fetch Iris to join him in the drawing room.
* * * * *
It had taken several minutes to calm Rose down. Iris pointed out the girl was besotted with Sir Thomas a few months ago, Mr. Jennings before that.
“And I do like Chastain,” she said to Rose. “I like him a lot.”
“Then I forgive you,” Rose replied, wiping her tears with a handkerchief supplied by her sister. “I guess now I know how my story ends.”
“Do you? Oh dearest, I wish I did.”
Rose remained in her bedchamber, opting for a tray in her room while Iris went down to breakfast. Emma was subdued and said little. Sir Thomas arrived. Lottie offered to speak with him.
“No, this is my chore,” she replied.
When she and the baronet were both seated in the parlor with the door wide open, she explained the morning’s events to Sir Thomas.
“Do not apologize, my friend.” The baronet sharpened his gaze on her. “Rose and Emma will recover. How are you?”
“I don’t know. I knew about the bet the whole time. Rose has evidently also been listening at keyholes as she knows how Chastain was lured into the wager. He was told I was in love with you and to break the connection.”
Sir Thomas nodded. “Ah. I see. Lord Chastain was also duped. That should make it easier for you to accept his proposal.”
“Thomas, I don’t see him proposing to me. Ambrose will have to admit he caused this mess and his friends will be free to leave.”
“Yes, Ambrose has much to explain. I do however doubt very much that Chastain is eager to leave Marcourt.” Sir Thomas stood up. “I anticipate a missive very soon announcing your nuptials.”
She crossed to him and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I do love you, my friend.”
“I know.” He nodded. “Be happy, Iris.”
Now she stood inside the drawing room. Chastain was also on his feet, one hand resting on the mantelpiece, his attention on the fire that crackled in the hearth.
“I almost quit the house after tea with Mrs. Blakely. She nearly had me engaged to you that day.”
She took a few steps closer to him. “You danced with her at the assembly. You even danced with Mrs. Cleary.”
“Walking to the village in the cold, a squalling baby, tea with the notorious gossip of Norfolk.” He chuckled. “Dancing with Mrs. Cleary was the least of my worries.”
“You brought it on yourself,” she reminded him.
“True.”
“What did you wager for?”
“Ambrose’s new pair of grays.”
She wanted to be angry with him. She merely felt nothing about the bet. She loved him. Right now she felt numb.
“You wanted to scare me away,” Chastain murmured. The only noise in the room was the settling of a log on the fire.
“Your loyalty to my brother is admirable.” Despair crept into her voice.
Chastain looked up. He stepped away from the fire. “Your brother and Peake have been the best of friends to me. The family I needed. I didn’t stay at Marcourt for Ambrose. I stayed here for me.”
“For you?” She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Getting to know you and your sisters during the end of the season made me crave what I didn’t have all the more.” He looked down. When he returned his gaze to her face his eyes were moist. “My mother died soon after I left for school. My father didn’t tell me until she was in the ground. From that day I wanted to punish him. He desired that I should settle down, so I caroused as much as I could. Made sure my name was on all the gossip’s lips.”
“And now?”
“I want a family like Ambrose has. I want one with you.”
She put a hand to her breast. The last thing she felt was numb After a deep breath she asked, “Why?”
“Because I love you, Iris. I love you.”
EPILOGUE
June 1823, London
Chastain followed his wife upstairs in the rented townhouse in London’s Grosvenor Square. Her hips swayed as she walked down the corridor to their bedchamber, the bottle green of her gown a perfect foil for her auburn hair.
As soon as they were in the privacy of their set of rooms, he moved to take her into his arms.
“First you coerce my father into attending our wedding and now he insists we visit every month. The breach between us is healing. You appear to be a miracle worker, my lovely wife.”
“Well I know it,” he replied and proceeded to kiss her soundly. As soundly as he’d wanted to the first day he met her. Her floral scent enveloped him. The warmth of her body beckoned him.
He hadn’t thought about another woman since he’d met his tantalizing piece of baggage. His hand closed over her breast and she released a moan from her delectable lips. The day he married her was the best day of his life. Their wedding night… He’d been as overwhelmed as she, knowing he was the only man who would ever kiss her, touch her.
And her family had welcomed him with open arms. To his amusement, Rose had quickly transferred her devotion to Lord Peake. If Iris was correct that young miss might have some competition from Lottie. As for Ambrose… The man apologized to his sister with some silly excuse of knowing she was meant to be with his friend. Although Chastain believed there was more to the wager, Ambrose would give nothing away.
He detached his lips from Iris’s and looked down where his hand rested on her warm, firm breast. He moved his hand away and she groaned in protest.
“Is it my imagination or are your breasts fuller?”
“Do you think I’m gaining weight, dear husband?” Iris’s voice held a challenge.
He was on shaky ground. He looked up and winked at her. “Your breast feels larger. I’m not complaining.”
“That may well be,” she replied. “Aunt Abigail noticed my weight gain. Your father asked me about it.”
“My father?”
“Why do you think he wants us to visit him so often? He regrets the time he lost with you by being jealous over your closeness with your mother.” She put a hand over her belly. “He wants to make sure he has a relationship with his grandchild.”
“Grandchild.” He moved his hands to circle her waist. He lifted her up and laughed out loud. “A baby. Our baby.”
He saw moisture in her eyes. He felt some in his own.
“Are you pleased, my love? I’m due at Christmas.”
“I am the happiest man in England. I gave you my heart at Christmastide. It is only fitting our child be born then.” He put her back down, wrapped his arms about her and placed his chin on her hair. “Thank you, my love.”
“For what, husband?”
“For loving me, just for loving me.”
THE END
SNEAK PEEK AT The Marquess’s Christmas Lily
On the eve of his Grand Tour of the Continent, Charles shares an unexpected kiss with his childhood friend Lily. A year later Charles returns to England due to the death of his father. The old marquess controlled his son’s life and attempts to do so even in death. Charles must have an arranged marriage to his childhood friend or lose his fortune.
Lily grew up in a happy household and knows she loves her friend. Charles’s parents couldn’t stand the sight of each other and lived separate lives. He isn’t sure what married love is.
A journal of Charles’s travels may hold the answer to whether these friends live happily ever after or whether they made the biggest mistake of their lives.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Las Vegas, NV, I joined the air force to see the world. An assignment to England kindled my love of the Regency era and prompted my dream to publish the stories in my head. I love to write with a steady supply of coffee nearby and one of my three cats on my lap. I currently live in Alaska with my husband and two teenage boys and wish I had the attention span to be a better cook.
His Yuletide Bride
Nadine Millard
His Yuletide Bride
Daniel, Duke of Darthford, had pined for Sarah Starling since her disappearance three years ago. When Daniel and Sarah unexpectedly cross paths again, it’s no surprise that sparks fly once more.
Could this Christmas bring two hearts back together, again? And can love truly conquer all?
Other Titles by Nadine Millard
The Ranford Series
An Unlikely Duchess
Seeking Scandal
Mysterious Miss Channing
The Revenge Series
Highway Revenge
The Spy’s Revenge
The Captain’s Revenge
The Hidden Prince
Beauty & The Duke
Box Sets
A Christmas Seduction
Christmas At Brentwood Abbey
Forbidden: A Regency Collection
His Yuletide Bride
Copyright © 2018 Nadine Millard
All rights reserved.
To my Elles, supporters, readers, sisters, and best friends.
CHAPTER ONE
Daniel Sutton, the Fourth Duke of Darthford turned his face up to the ever-darkening sky, awaiting the first drops of rain, or even snow.
It wasn’t ideal riding weather. He should be ensconced in one of his luxurious carriages. Especially travelling through the unforgivingly cold Scotland countryside.
All around him, signs of a harsh winter were becoming increasingly apparent.
The leafless trees, the way the entire countryside seemed to have been painted over in the lightest of greys. The landscape suited his mood. Though perhaps he was bleaker than the surrounding barrenness.
Nothing in Daniel’s life seemed to be going his way. Hadn’t done for quite some time, in fact. Certainly not since Sarah Starling had disappeared all those years ago.
As always, his heart twisted painfully at the thought of Sarah. Or Miss Starling, as he really should think of her.
The few short weeks he’d spent in her company had genuinely been the happiest of his life.
And then one day, she was gone. No note. No explanation.
It had driven him half mad at the time. He’d engaged Bow Street Runners; he’d even approached her brother Lord Whitton, a man he truly detested, but even he had had no idea where she’d gone, and seemed unable to care less.
According to her slovenly brother, she’d probably run off with a footman. It was just the type of thing she’d do, he’d said.
But the Sarah Daniel had known would never act in such a manner. Besides, he’d honestly believed himself to be falling in love with her and had been certain his feelings were reciprocated.
It had been months before he’d managed to sleep without dreaming of her, longer still before the dull ache in his heart receded, though it never fully disappeared.
Eventually, after two years of fruitless pining and searching, he’d attempted to move on.
In fact, just this Season past, he’d actually proposed to someone.
Isabelle Carlton, the beautiful and bright daughter of the Duke of Farrow, had been the Incomparable of every Season since her come out.
Daniel’s own mother, the dowager duchess, had been friends with Lady Farrow, and so he’d acted the dutiful son and called on the ladies at his mother’s request.
When Daniel had walked into their Mayfair drawing room that day, it was the first time since Sarah that he’d felt any sort of interest in a woman. The lady’s beauty was the stuff of legends, but none of the descriptions he’d heard could have done Lady Isabelle any justice. She was almost absurdly beautiful.
Of course, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from comparing Isabelle to the long-gone Sarah Starling.
Isabelle’s colouring was unusually striking; a tumble of deep auburn curls, shocking violet eyes, and the mischievous smile of a hellion perpetually attached to her lovely face.
Sarah – Daniel’s heart had stuttered even then when he allowed himself to think of her.
Sarah was the epitome of an English rose; peaches and cream complexion, rosebud lips that had driven him wild with desire, the silkiest caramel-blonde hair. And her eyes; the colour of the warm waters of the Mediterranean, a green-blue and impossible not to sink into.
Isabelle’s beauty was hard to catch your breath around. Sarah’s could break a heart into a million pieces.
At least in his opinion.
> By the time Daniel was introduced to the famous Lady Isabelle, he’d begun to accept that Sarah was gone forever.
He hadn’t allowed himself to think of her as dead. Still wouldn’t.
Perhaps she had been a fickle female, toying with a duke while she made plans to elope with a penniless footman. And while that hurt, he’d infinitely prefer to think of her that way than the alternative.
Either way, she wasn’t coming back and he’d known months ago, since the beginning of that Season, that it was time to move on for good.
He wasn’t getting any younger. The line needed to be carried on.
Title before happiness, always.
Duty before love.
And since he felt that Sarah Starling had essentially ruined any chance of him falling in love again, he had been content to do his duty.
He’d settled on Isabelle Carlton that first afternoon in her father’s drawing room.
Despite her unparalleled beauty, her appearance hadn’t compared to her wit, her wicked sense of humour, and her general joie de vivre, in Daniel’s opinion.
She was as different from Sarah as possible, in all manner of ways. Sarah had been quiet and serious. Quite reserved in comparison to Isabelle’s frivolous vivacity.
Isabelle was flighty and frivolous, an expert in the social situations that Sarah had shied away from. In fact, one of Isabelle’s most endearing qualities was that she didn’t remind him of Sarah in any way.
He imagined himself rubbing along quite nicely with the duke’s daughter. He could have a happy life and make her happy, too, he’d decided.
However, his well-laid plans hadn’t accounted for the stiff competition Daniel would face in the form of Isabelle’s childhood friend, a duke himself and a study in opposites for Lady Isabelle if ever there’d been one.