Yuletide Happily Ever Afters; A Merry Little Set Of Regency Romances

by Jenna Jaxon

  Forced to face the truth, Mena swallowed heavily. “It appears so.”

  “Then the question is…” Phoebe lifted a brow. “What do you intend to do? Shall you choose the mysterious suitor at the end of the game? Or has your heart already selected Mr. Solomon?”

  Unfortunately, Mena had no answer.

  DAY NINE

  Mena paced her personal sitting room that night. She couldn’t bear to enter her bedchamber just yet, not when Phoebe’s observation hung over her head like a noose, just waiting to fling itself around her neck. The truth was, she had no idea what Julian’s intentions were, while her admirer was hiding nothing. Other than his name, of course.

  It certainly didn’t help matters when Julian hadn’t even bothered to call that day.

  Frustrated with it all, she suddenly paused and glared at her writing desk. It was now or never. So she stalked over to it, sat down heavily, and grabbed a piece of paper, which she set it in front of her. Picking up a quill, she tapped it thoughtfully on the corner of the sheet until she forced herself to uncap the ink and dip the nib inside. It was time she made that list of possible suitors, even if it took all night. Only then would she be able to sort out the pros and cons of each one until her heart and her mind were of one accord, instead of that fickle organ pulling her in one direction, while her head spun in another.

  She couldn’t give up her future on a man who might not feel anything more than friendship. Or lust.

  Mena bit the end of her pen until she finally wrote down a name. And then another. And another. When she had seven possible suitors written, only then did she allow herself to write the eighth and final one.

  Julian Solomon.

  She dusted the sheet and finally held it up and inspected it with a critical eye. It was possible that any of these men could be her admirer. While most were only acquaintances, she knew that they were also widowers or confirmed bachelors, but they had all seemed particularly flirtatious with her after Laurence’s passing. Whether that meant it was simply in their nature to be charming or if their attentions might mean something more, she meant to find out.

  It was time she took matters into her own hands.

  At the Norrington Ball, she intended to unmask her phantom suitor.

  Then again, as it was to be a masquerade, that might be a bit harder to accomplish.

  With a groan, she put her head in her hands.

  ***

  After a fitful night of tossing and turning, Mena awoke later than usual. Even then, she didn’t immediately arise like she normally did. Instead, she stared at the ceiling until boredom finally drove her to her feet. While last night she’d been anxious to learn her suitor’s identity, the morning brought a bit of irritation. She might not be in her dotage, but she was too old to be playing such childish games.

  She would admit that a part of her enjoyed the mystery and excitement of it all. What woman wouldn’t? But then the rational, more mature side of her personality just wanted it to be done and over with. Her life had been perfectly calm and ordered before that first infuriating gift arrived with the promise of more. Then, with Julian’s sudden reappearance, it had only made matters more complicated.

  Either way, if she did manage to learn her admirer’s identity at the Norrington Ball, she wasn’t sure if she would kiss him, or slap some sense into him for toying with someone’s emotions. But if she was to do either, she needed to dress the part. If this man were truly in love with her as he claimed, then she would put that to the test. She had heard that the French were revolutionizing the fashion industry, so she was determined to purchase a new ball gown.

  Preferably something in red.

  It was the Christmas season, after all.

  She would likely pay an exorbitant sum to have such an extravagance ready by tomorrow evening, but it would be worth it to draw her admirer out of hiding.

  Mena drew on her gloves, while Anders opened the door. She was preparing to descend to her waiting carriage, when she glanced up to see Julian standing on the front step. His presence was so unexpected that she fell back a step, and was quite sure that she would have tumbled to the ground completely if it wasn’t for his steady grip on her shoulders.

  “Whoa,” he said with that heart-melting grin. “Where are you off to in such a rush?”

  She tensed in his embrace, and he allowed his hands to drop to his sides. “I’m not rushing anywhere. I was merely startled. However,” she added primly, “I was just on my way out. I have an appointment with my modiste in half an hour, so if you will excuse me?”

  He took her elbow. “I’ll join you.”

  “I’m perfectly capable—”

  He waved away her coachman and opened the door for her. “Do you want me to go?”

  Mena pursed her lips together. Blast. The man was entirely too charming for his own good. “No.”

  “Splendid.” He climbed inside after her. After shutting the door, he tapped the roof with his gloved hand. They instantly set into motion. “So what’s the special occasion?”

  Mena couldn’t help but stare at Julian. He looked positively handsome today. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn that he was still a man in his mid-thirties, for not a sprinkle of gray touched the dark blond hair at his temples. Tan breeches hugged his firm body, while his bottle green waistcoat matched his eyes perfectly. His jaw was smooth and strong, while his chiseled lips — were moving.

  She blinked. “Pardon?”

  “I asked what the special occasion was.”

  “Oh.” She forced herself to appear unaffected by his presence. “I’m going to be fitted for a new ball gown.”

  “Indeed.” He nodded. “That must be for the Norrington Ball tomorrow night.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “You’ve heard of it?”

  He laughed richly. “I should. I received an invitation.”

  Mena was taken aback by this information. Lord and Lady Norrington were distant cousins to King George. As such, they held themselves in rather high regard. It was quite rare that they invited anyone to one of their gatherings without a title, a spotless reputation, and extreme wealth. She knew that Julian didn’t carry a title, but as far as the rest, she didn’t really have any notion. Strange that she had slept with a man and she didn’t even know what he did for a living. “What exactly is your business in London?”

  His lips twitched. “Ah. So your curiosity has finally made an appearance.”

  “Well, only because Lady Norrington is about as stuffy as they come.”

  “And you can’t imagine that she might invite such a lowborn, like myself, to her distinguished gathering? Is that it?”

  Mena fidgeted with her reticule where it sat on her lap. “You make my query sound so sordid when you put it that way.”

  He reached across the expanse of the carriage to tuck a stray hair behind her bonnet. “I know you didn’t ask to be unkind.” With a last, lingering look, he sat back.

  But neither did he answer. Mena reluctantly laid the matter to rest. More than likely all would reveal itself in due course. “Have you decided to attend?”

  “I shall definitely be there, now that I have some enticement to do so.”

  His gaze warmed her from the inside out, and it was all she could do to not pounce on him. She was thankful when the carriage slowed and came to a stop or she might not have been able to hold her impulses in check. What is it about this man that causes me to lose all reason?

  Julian placed his hand on her lower back as he led her into the modiste’s shop, his touch burning her long after he reluctantly moved away.

  The seamstress spied her and immediately rushed over. “Ah, ma cherie, Lady Lipscomb!” the buxom, raven-haired woman gushed, and it was all Mena could do not to roll her eyes at the fake French accent. However, if that was what she had to contend with in order for some of the best work to be found in London, it was worth it.

  “Madame Roquelaire,” Mena greeted politely.

  “Ever
since I received your message this morning, I believe I ’ave designed zee perfect dress for madam! Won’t you come this way?” She waved a hand to indicate the dressing area toward the rear of the shop. However, she paused to glance at Julian, who was lingering behind her. “If your gentleman friend would like to join, ’e iz most velcome to—”

  Mena shook her head. “I’m sure Mr. Solomon would be more comfortable waiting—”

  “Actually…” He strode forward. “I’m rather intrigued by such a mysterious dress. I believe I shall take a quick peek.”

  He offered Mena a wink, to which she blushed and nearly scurried toward the changing area, where Madame Roquelaire’s assistant was waiting with tape measure and pins. A curtain was closed as Mena removed the blue velvet dress she was wearing. Within moments, a red satin gown was falling over her head. It was such a bright scarlet, that Mena hesitated. Would she find the courage to make such a bold statement? She had never worn anything so scandalous, and she was sure that not only would she become the object of the ton’s gossip after this, she might very well be opening doors for lecherous libertines to come calling.

  Not until she was being poked and prodded by the modiste and her assistant, did Mena catch sight of Julian in the looking glass. He was standing behind her, a few feet away, but the seductive smolder to his gaze was unmistakable.

  Instantly, Mena’s inhibitions flew out the window. She might not be ready to admit it to herself just yet, but the reason she was getting this dress was not to cause her mysterious suitor to come forward, or even to cause a stir, proving to the ton that a mature woman could be just as desirable as a fresh, young debutante.

  No, it was for this man alone that she wanted to look beautiful.

  Because she was in love with him.

  The truth hit her in the center of the chest with such force that she raised her arm and put a hand to her heart.

  “Iz my lady feeling well?” the modiste asked in genuine concern.

  “I do feel a bit…flushed,” Mena replied, although her gaze had never wavered from Julian. Suddenly, his eyes clashed with hers in the mirror and she felt her knees go weak.

  “Just a couple more pins… There! We are all done, Lady Lipscomb!” Madame Roquelaire proclaimed with an exuberant clap of her hands. “You will put every other lady to shame tomorrow night in a Roquelaire original design! Men will fall to their knees just to be in your lovely presence!”

  Mena’s breath was shallow as she held Julian’s intense stare. He seemed to convey a silent demand. I want you. Now.

  She was more than happy to comply.

  ***

  Mena was trembling in erotic anticipation, every nerve ending alert and anticipating Julian’s touch. She barely managed to string together a full sentence before she parted ways with the seamstress. It seemed like an eternity before the carriage finally pulled up in front of the shop. With shaking legs, she went inside and instantly threw her bonnet on the seat beside her. Her gloves quickly followed. It was a chilly winter’s day, but she was on fire.

  The moment they were in motion, she reached for Julian at the same time he reached for her. “God, it was torture being so close to you in there without touching you,” he whispered against her hair. “I’ve missed you, Mena.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Julian.” She clung to the lapels of his jacket. “Kiss me.”

  He didn’t hesitate, his mouth enveloping hers in an animalistic hunger. She answered his call by accepting anything and everything that he had to offer. When his hand disappeared under her skirts, she melted into the embrace.

  “More,” she panted. “I want more.”

  Julian quickly undid the flap of his trousers. When his aroused manhood sprang free, Mena bit her lip. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such an erotic sight, but she didn’t get long to admire his engorged length before he’d wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her on top of him. With one of her legs on either side of him, he gave a sharp thrust upward. Mena instantly cried out as he filled her completely, body and soul. She rode him until they were both damp with perspiration, until their passions erupted and Mena quivered around his shaft as he spent himself inside of her with a satisfied groan of completion.

  Just as the carriage came to a halt.

  “Oh, my God! What am I doing?” Mena gasped, although she couldn’t keep a giggle from escaping as she quickly righted herself. “I shouldn’t be acting in such a manner! I’m nearly forty-two years old—”

  Julian stopped her with a single kiss on her lips. “You’re wonderful, Mena. Besides—” He shrugged. “—age is only a number.”

  With that, he stepped out of the carriage but turned to offer a hand to help her down.

  “There you are!”

  Mena froze at the sound of her daughter’s voice by the front door. While she was normally excited for Marigold to stop by, it seemed a bit awkward at the moment. Not only because Julian was with her, but because of what they had just done.

  “Mari. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Her daughter crossed her arms. “Why do I get the feeling that greeting wasn’t entirely genuine?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mena waved her hand. “Of course I’m always glad to see you.”

  After they moved into the foyer and exchanged an embrace, Mena pulled back and indicated Julian. “Mari, may I introduce an old friend from Kent, just returned to London, Mr. Julian Solomon?” She thought she heard Julian mutter something along the lines of ‘old friend’ before she added, “Julian, this is—”

  “Lady Daniels.” He offered a brief bow. “How is Robert faring?”

  “He is quite well, thank you.” Marigold replied with an easy smile. “Although he has been rather dejected by your lack of companionship lately.”

  Mena glanced back in forth between her daughter and her lover as if she was in the midst of some sort of volleying match. “Excuse me, but—” She glanced at them both again. “Do you two know each other?”

  Marigold turned rather silent, allowing Julian to answer. “Your daughter and I are acquainted, yes. Her husband has been assisting me with my…business since I arrived in town.”

  Mena suddenly felt sick. “Indeed?”

  “Oh, don’t look so wary, Mama,” Marigold said with a bright smile. “Besides, I know something that will brighten up your spirits. You will not believe the gift that arrived today!”

  As Marigold practically skipped toward the front parlor, Mena put a hand on Julian’s arm when he would have followed suit. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew my daughter?”

  “Did it matter?”

  “Of course!” Mena said in an urgent, but hushed manner. “It would have saved me quite a bit of anxiety!”

  “Why? Because you didn’t know how to introduce me as your lover?”

  “Precisely!” Mena huffed. “It’s not something one brings up in conversation with one’s offspring!”

  Julian clenched his jaw. “I can’t say I understand the concept as I’ve never had any children myself.” With that parting remark, he turned on his heel.

  Mena instantly felt ashamed. For a woman who was supposed to be mature, she had certainly not thought before she spoke. She had injured Julian’s feelings and likely brought up bad memories of his past.

  A past she still knew so little about.

  Mena withheld a sigh, but when she turned the corner and spied what had Marigold in such thrall, she quickly understood why.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” Mari exclaimed.

  Sitting on the table was a marvel of technology that Mena had only heard of in passing. “Is that…an automaton?” she breathed.

  “Yes!” Mari practically squealed.

  Mena watched as the robotic figurine of a woman, seated on a stool, gently plucked the strings of a harp. From her delicate fingers, to her eyes, every single bit of her moved, the slight whirring of her mechanics amazing the entire trio.

  “I’ve heard of such a marvel some years ago,” Mena murmured
. “I believe that Marie Antoinette was gifted with one before the Revolution.”

  As the song came to an end, Mari used a key to wind it back up, where a different song started to play. She turned to Mena with a sheepish expression. “While I waited for you to return home, I might have played with it a bit.” Her brown eyes sparkled. “She plays four different tunes.”

  Day nine, Mena thought. Of course.

  Mari handed her the familiar card with the familiar script. “This was with it.”

  Mena almost felt as if she was being unfaithful to Julian, reading a card from another man while he stood right next to her and waited to hear what her admirer had to say this time.

  Lifting her chin, she broke the seal.

  Another day has passed.

  Soon we will be together, my love.

  “What does it say?” Mari asked.

  Mena tucked the card out of sight. “The usual drivel.”

  She dared to risk a glance at Julian, only to find that he had disappeared.

  DAY TEN

  Mena’s red ball gown arrived in plenty of time for the Norrington Ball, but as Mena sat soaking in a lavender scented bath, she suddenly debated on whether or not she had the strength to attend. She certainly didn’t have the desire. Maybe she could plead a headache…

  She shook her head. I’m not a coward who prefers to take the easy way out. Besides, she didn’t want to disappoint Mari so there was nothing for it but to start getting ready. In a few hours, she could make her excuses and be back home by midnight. If she was fortunate.

  She was still wrapped in a towel, waiting for her hair to dry when there was a knock at her bedchamber door. It was Anders. “A delivery for you, my lady.”