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

by Jenna Jaxon

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. Taking her left hand in his, he bent down on one knee. “Philomena Wallace, heart of my heart. Breath of my breath.” He opened the lid to reveal a solitary ruby ring in a gold setting. “Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  Mena gazed adoringly at the man before her. “Yes. Of course, I will.”

  His grin could have lit up a cloudy sky. He removed the ring and carefully slid it onto her finger, and then he rose to his full height and captured her face in his hands. “Let’s seal our bargain with a kiss, shall we?”

  EPILOGUE

  Christmas Day

  One Year Later

  “Mama! You’re going to miss singing carols!”

  Marigold sat on the floor with her three-month-old daughter, Petunia, while her husband and his parents sat sipping hot, spiced cider around the fireplace in the front parlor of their townhouse.

  Mena breezed into the room, her dark hair a bit frazzled, although her blue eyes were bright and cheerful. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Julian is intent on finishing up a surprise for Petunia, even though I told him that she’s too young to appreciate a rocking horse just yet.”

  At that moment, Julian entered with a disgruntled look on his face. “Wonderful. You just ruined the surprise,” he said dryly, although as he carried his six-week-old son in his arms, he didn’t appear all that irritated. In fact, he looked as if he’d been blessed with the best Christmas present ever.

  Mena couldn’t help but pause and admire the sight. Who would have ever thought that at forty-two years of age she would have given birth to another baby? But now that they had Chael, she couldn’t imagine her life without him.

  Or his father.

  But then, she turned to grin at her daughter, Marigold. It was amazing how Mena could be a grandmother and a new mother at the same time.

  She could just imagine what little Petunia might say someday when she realized that she was older than her Uncle Chael.

  It was enough to make anyone’s head spin, but Mena’s heart had never been so full as she sat at the piano. “Any requests?” she asked.

  Robbie’s mom spoke her preference, to which they all agreed.

  As Mena set her fingers to the ivory keys, they all began to sing;

  Joy to the World; The Lord is come;

  Let Earth receive her King:

  Let every Heart prepare him Room,

  And Heaven and Nature sing.

  Mena glanced across the room and caught her husband’s gaze. She thought of the notes tucked upstairs in her dressing table, the ones from her secret admirer. While Isaac Watts had penned a rather remarkable hymn in 1719, no one but Julian Solomon could have worded those any better.

  The End

  SNEAK PEEK AT THE WAYS OF LOVE SERIES

  Why the Earl is After the Girl

  A missing heirloom. A stolen inheritance. Can love conquer mistrust?

  Athena Hawthorne knows that she’s been wronged, that her late father’s debts are false. Intending to set things right, she accepts a desperate offer from a handsome stranger to work as a governess.

  Orion Ashcroft, the Earl of Rockford, means to keep Athena close at hand, believing she is responsible for the theft of a priceless family heirloom. His grandmother’s dying wish, to see it restored.

  It isn’t until a shocking villain threatens all he holds dear, does Rion have to make a choice between duty – and desire.

  Where the Viscount Met His Match

  Secrets. Lies. And a second chance at love…

  Mara Miller has been living a secret life in the guise of Miss Anna Smith for nearly a decade. Forced to give up the only man she’d ever loved, she finally made a place for herself in London as a modest, haberdashery owner.

  Until one day changes it all.

  Roarke Garrott, Viscount Eversleigh, is determined to put his life – and his heart – back together. Returning to England after more than a seven year hiatus in India, he returns to the very woman he’s never been able to forget. Working together for a common goal, the truth – and the past – come back to haunt them as they return to where it all began.

  When a Duke Pursues a Lady

  An innocent woman. A loyal agent to the Crown. A path of deception that tests the bonds of love.

  Lyra Coventry, Lady Weston, has survived three years of abuse from a husband she just might have murdered. But what’s truly shocking is the unlikely ally that comes forward to offer his aid and clear her name. In the midst of turmoil, Lyra discovers a strength she never knew existed — and a love she never thought possible.

  Alister Ayles, Duke of Albright, never cared much for society’s opinions. So what if he was thought of as a simpleton? He was a respected agent for the Crown and that had always been good enough. But when the one he never fought hard enough for finds herself in trouble, he has to decide whether to listen to reason — or his heart.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tabetha Waite is the multi-award winning author of the historical romance Ways of Love Series. Her debut novel, “Why the Earl is After the Girl,” was published in July of 2016 and won the 2017 Best Indie Book Award in Romance and the 2018 Second Place Feathered Quill Book Award in Romance. She is a certified PAN member of the RWA. When she’s not writing, Tabetha is reading, as true bookworms do, or checking out any antique mall she comes across. During the school year she works as a lunch attendant at the local community college. She is a small town, Missouri girl, born and bred, and continues to make her home in the Midwest with her husband and two wonderful daughters.

  You can find her on most any social media site, and she encourages any fans of her work to join her mailing list for updates. www.authortabethawaite.wix.com/romance

  Hell Hath Frozen Over

  Annabelle Anders

  Hell Hath Frozen Over

  The Duchess of Prescott, now a widow, fears she’s experienced all life has to offer.

  Thomas Findlay, a wealthy industrialist, knows she has not.

  Can he convince her she has love and passion in her future? And if he does, cans she convince herself to embrace it?

  Other Titles by Annabelle Anders

  Devilish Debutante Series

  Hell Hath No Fury

  Hell in a Hand Basket

  Hell’s Belle

  Lord Love A Lady Series

  Nobody’s Lady

  A Lady’s Prerogative

  Contemporary Novellas (As Ann Anders)

  The Boy Next Door

  Peyton’s Kiss

  Forever Sugar

  Whisper Me Home

  Bachelor No. 5

  and Make it A Double

  Hell Hath Frozen Over

  Copyright © 2018 Annabelle Anders

  All rights reserved.

  Dedicated to

  To all the ladies who came together to make this set happen Jenna, Angelina, Anna, and Nadine! Special thanks to Tabetha Waite for jumping into this with me blind and then helping to keep it moving along! To Rebecca, as always, thanks for keeping me engaged and writing on a daily basis. I’m so glad you suggested we become writing buddies! D’Ann, Mary and Deb, I love that we get to connect over lunch and encourage one another—this is so important to my sanity! To my mom, for loving every book I write. To Manny and Kay for helping me fix this story up for public consumption… LOL. To Jena Brignola for making another amazing cover! To Samantha and Cyrene for helping promote these great stories. And to Melissa Keir for pulling everything together!

  And to all my friends and supporters on Facebook and in my Reading Group: A Regency House Party! Especially Maggie, Paula, Patricia, Debbie, Debbie, Marina, Kelly, Carlene, Karen, Jill, Roxane, Kat, Judy, Tabetha, Amanda, Ornella, Michelle, Lorrie, Wendy, Carol, Tracy, Shell, Gwessie, Taffy, Melissa, Kelly-Ann, Linda, Kari, Leonor, Susan, Maida, Cristin, Peggy, Rose Marie, Aunt Julie! Aunt Diane!, Aunt Pam! Aunt Judy! Aunt Jenni!, Rita, Sandra, Margie, Katherine, Rhyanna, LaSchelle, Chris, Summer, Mary, Terra, Lore
, Debra, Bethany, Cousin Cecilia, Denise, Elke, Liberty, Beverlee, Chasidy, Pamela, Polly, Cheri, Brenda, Lisa, Barb, Nell, Lori, Gabrielle, Darlene, Patti, Dianne, Nese, Brianna, Melina… the list goes on and on!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Loretta reached down to examine the near perfect leaf that had fallen from the tree. How it had managed to survive intact, so late into December, she couldn’t guess. Nature could be fickle that way. Thick veins added texture to the resilient piece of greenery. Adrift now, from its source of life, it would turn brittle and brown.

  Much like herself.

  The bitter irony of her thoughts thickened the lump that now seemed permanently lodged in her throat. Life was short. Everything died.

  Dropping the leaf, she shook her head and continued along her walk through the extravagant gardens at Eden’s Court. She welcomed the frigid air.

  All of this had once been hers to manage, hers to watch over. Not any longer.

  Although still considered a duchess, she was no longer the duchess. She wasn’t the dowager either. For Dev was not a direct descendent of her husband.

  Her deceased husband.

  She swallowed at the thought. Seventeen months had passed and yet the heaviness, the weight of loss had yet to lift.

  “Your grace.” A nearing voice announced the end of her privacy. The deep gravelly tones dragged her from her ever present self-pitying thoughts. “Feels like snow, we might have a white Christmas after all. Would you mind some company?”

  She hid a grimace. Mr. Thomas Findlay was not the type of man she’d ever had much reason to converse with. Burly, larger than life, his company made her uncomfortable. A wealthy industrialist, he was the father of one of her daughter-in-law, Sophia’s closest friends.

  Loretta dismissed her irritation.

  Sophia, whom Loretta now shared the title of Duchess of Prescott, had begun entertaining even before the full year of mourning had been observed. She’d also remarried and given birth.

  Loretta nodded reluctantly at Mr. Findlay’s intrusion but allowed the man to draw abreast of her. Without a word, she then turned to continue along the flagstone path. It took her a moment to realize he’d offered his arm and then another for her to actually take it.

  This man could not be any more different from her late husband.

  Her husband had been a duke, born and raised to carry the weight of the title and all that came along with it. Both the privilege and the responsibility. Prescott had been tall, lean and oh so very haughty and arrogant. He’d rarely smiled except for a few occasions. He’d seemed cold to most, but he’d loved her in his own way.

  And she’d loved him.

  Mr. Findlay didn’t stand quite tall as her husband had, but he likely weighed a few stones more. Hard labor showed in his broad shoulders and muscular build. The man lacked the finish of a gentleman, often running a weathered hand through his thick head of hair, which was mahogany, almost red, threaded with a few silver strands. Although he made some half-hearted attempts, he occasionally failed to uphold the protocol required of a guest at the ducal estate.

  Many women might consider him handsome for his age, though, which, if she might hazard a guess, would be close to her own.

  Forty-three years old and now a widow. Likely, she’d already lived the best of her life.

  She allowed him to draw her arm further through the crook he’d made and then lead her along the path.

  His forearm was thicker beneath her hand than she’d grown accustomed to, making her feel small. His warmth spread to her. She’d not realized how cold she’d become until she began absorbing some of his heat along the length of her side.

  “I do love the children, but it’s nice to experience peace and quiet.” His deep voice resonated clearly in the empty walkway. When had she last strolled alongside a gentleman her own age? Not since Prescott’s funeral. She’d yet to leave off her mourning.

  She rarely left the estate these days and persisted in wearing widow’s weeds. She knew she could transition to dull grays and lavenders now, but she hadn’t the heart.

  Even with Christmas a fortnight away.

  “Little Finn, that one’s likely to be a handful.” Ah, yes, his namesake, his grandson. Just a few months older than Lady Harriette, Sophia’s nine month old baby.

  Loretta had always loved children. And it wasn’t that she didn’t love these children, especially the baby girl… She wanted to coo and fuss over the darling, who ought to have been her own grandchild, but little Harriette gazed back at her from eyes as black as the night. And the tufts of downy hair that sprang from her little head matched that of the man who was now the duke, the man who ought to have only been her stepfather.

  Even so, the infants reminded her of the past. The sight of them, their cries and laughter, prompted her to recall all that she’d lost.

  “And that granddaughter of yours — not yet a year old and already quite the beauty.”

  She stiffened at his words.

  Did the man not realize that her son, Sophia’s first husband who’d not been in the grave less than nine months before the birth of the baby, had had brown hair and brown eyes much like hers?

  “Indeed.” She barely managed the word.

  “Good Lord, when I think back to when Cecily was an infant,” Mr. Findlay continued, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. “It can be trying. Don’t think I slept a full night that first year.”

  “Surely, you did not care for her yourself.” Loretta couldn’t imagine her husband tolerating the sounds of one of their sons crying in the night. Both Lucas and Harold had been ensconced in the nursery upstairs, far from the ducal chambers.

  But Loretta had loved them. She’d spent as much time as was deemed proper with her sons. Would she do things differently if she could go back?

  A pang pierced her heart. Her eldest, Lucas, now lay six feet under. And Harold…grown men and yet they’d left her far too soon.

  She pinched her lips together.

  Mr. Findlay chuckled ruefully. “I didn’t have much choice back then. Cecily’s mama only lived a few hours after giving birth. If I didn’t care for the baby, nobody else would. I couldn’t afford help until she was a few years old.”

  Loretta raised her brows at such information. She found it nigh impossible to imagine this big, burly, and powerful man caring for a small infant. “You fed her? And changed her… clouts and pilchers?” Heat spread up her neck and into her face as she imagined it. Good God, was she blushing in this man’s presence? Surely not! In that moment, however, she wished she’d donned the black veil she normally wore in public.

  But she was not in public. These gardens had always been her refuge.

  She turned away from him to examine the trees in the distance. Only a smattering of leaves remained to adorn the gray branches. Beyond them, the sky hovered lower than usual, heavy with rain, or perhaps even snow.

  “All of it, your grace.” He patted her hand reassuringly, as though he sensed the concept discomfited her.

  Loretta studied the familiar scenery. “I think… that must have been rather…wonderful.” And suddenly the small spots of green in the trees blurred. She blinked away the stinging sensation behind her eyes. “Prescott and I never considered…”

  She couldn’t speak past that dratted lump in her throat. The one that seemed to expand at the most inopportune of moments.

  What had happened to her dignity?

  Her ever present poise?

  It was as though she had not only lost her sons, and her husband two summers ago, but she’d lost a part of herself. Her very identity.

  “You could do it with that granddaughter of yours.” Mr. Findlay spoke quietly near her ear. So close that his breath warmed her cheek. Loretta shivered and stepped away. Almost as though he was suggesting something untoward.

  Something scandalous.

  ***

  Thomas Findlay had never known a woman to be so damned aloof, so cold and haughty. The urge to needle her never failed to
arise whenever he found himself in her presence.

  He’d abstained from the needling thus far.

  She was a duchess after all. Or was she? He’d thought she was a dowager but nobody addressed her as such, even though Cecily’s friend Sophia had taken over the title of Duchess of Prescott.

  He’d first met Her Grace at Sophia and Dev’s wedding. It had been a small affair, as the family had been deep in mourning at the time. Damnedest thing. First, the younger son fell off a cliff in an isolated incident, playing around, teasing his new wife while on his honeymoon. And then, not two weeks later, a mudslide had stolen the life of the other males in the family. Her husband, her remaining son, and the present duke’s father.

  Leaving this woman alone.

  Well, not alone, per se. The new duke, her nephew, Devlin Brookes had married Lord Harold’s widow quickly enough. Unfortunately, rumors abounded – Couldn’t get away from the damned things. He had never paid much heed to the wagging tongues of society in the past and didn’t intend to begin doing so at this stage of his life.

  The price of tea, the price of cotton, the price of brandy; these were things he paid attention to.

  He ignored most of the rest.

  The Duchess stumbled on a stone causing her to grip his arm tighter. Her small hand on him ignited all sorts of surprising sensations. As their acquaintance had grown, so too had this desire to rile her. But he also wanted to protect her.

  Insanity.

  A deuced duchess. Devil take him now for the urge he had to tuck her closer up beside him.

  Not in a million years would he ever have guessed he’d be a guest in her home. Not in a billion years would he have guessed he’d escort her through a romantic garden on a frigid winter afternoon.