Regency Christmas Proposals

by Gayle Wilson, Amanda McCabe

  Ginny finished her song, leaping up from the pianoforte bench to run to the presents table, just as when she was an eager child. ‘What do you think, Mary? Isn’t it a most wonderful surprise?’

  ‘Most wonderful,’ Mary said.

  ‘And we managed to keep it all a surprise,’ said Ginny. ‘Even the gifts! Come and see what we have. I wrapped most of them myself.’

  Dominick tucked Mary’s hand into the crook of his elbow and led her over to where Ginny excitedly sorted parcels wrapped in scraps of velvet and satin and tied with ribbons. ‘This one is from me,’ Ginny said, holding up a long, flat box. ‘I didn’t have much time, I fear, but I do hope you like it.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ Mary answered as she untied the gold bows. Inside the box were lavender sachets embroidered with a flourishing M in Ginny’s neat pretty stitches, along with lace-edged handkerchiefs. ‘They are beautiful, Ginny. No one is such a good needlewoman as you.’

  ‘I know how you like lavender, and Lady Amesby let me take some from her stillroom.’ Ginny suddenly seized Mary in a fierce hug. ‘I am so sorry to give you so much trouble, Mary dearest! I hope we never, ever quarrel again.’

  Mary feared that was a hope that would go unfulfilled, as Ginny was surely as spirited as ever despite her misadventures, but they would always have their love to carry them to the other side of arguments. ‘I can’t be angry with you, Ginny. Because of you we have this wonderful Christmas.’

  Ginny gave her a smile as brilliant as the Yule log. ‘Then open this one, too! And this one.’

  Later, once the gifts were opened and the feast consumed, reels danced in the drawing room and the Yule log burned down to embers, Mary sat by the window, listening to Ginny play more carols at the pianoforte. Beyond the glass snow came down in fat white flakes, piling up on the garden in soft drifts just as she had wished they would. Perhaps they would not be able to return to London tomorrow after all. Perhaps they would even be able to stay at Rose Cottage to see in the New Year.

  But they would still have to go back eventually.

  Mary took a sip of tea, smiling as she listened to Ginny play ‘Oh, Little Sweet One.’ No matter what, it had been a perfect Christmas. And it was about to get even more perfect, she thought as she glimpsed Dominick’s reflection in the glass. He walked towards her, his bright hair tousled from the after-dinner dancing, his cravat loosened.

  He sat down in the chair across from hers, reaching for her hand. She had discarded her gloves, and their bare skin touched. He took away the teacup, setting it on the table and replacing it with a small ribbon-tied box.

  ‘You missed one of your gifts,’ he said, with a smile that quite melted her heart.

  ‘You have already given me the book of poetry,’ she said. ‘And I fear I have nothing for you at all.’

  ‘Oh, Mary, believe me—you have given me a multitude of gifts this Christmas.’ He folded her fingers over the box. ‘Open it.’

  She carefully untied the bow, lifting the lid. There, on a bed of black velvet, was a pair of amethyst earrings. Drops of the deepest, richest purple, suspended from two perfect, creamy-white pearls. They were the loveliest jewels she had ever seen. ‘I—Dominick, they are beautiful.’

  ‘I did hear purple was your favourite colour.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘I ran into Charlotte and her little daughter outside a jeweller’s shop just before we left London so precipitately, and she told me. And these were in the window, just waiting for you. I wasn’t sure then how I would ever give them to you, but somehow they seemed meant for you.’

  ‘And you carried them with you all this way?’ Mary asked. She traced the facets of the stones with the tip of her finger and seemed to feel their purple fire on her skin. Just like the fire that burned, hotter and brighter than ever, between her and Dominick. ‘It is the most beautiful gift I have ever been given.’

  ‘I know it is not a ring,’ he said. ‘But until I can return to Town and buy one, could these be a betrothal gift?’

  Betrothal? Mary suddenly could not breathe, could not believe the moment was really happening. After all this time, all the broken dreams and new hopes…

  ‘Are you making me an offer, Lord Amesby?’ she whispered. She stared into his eyes, hoping to read all his true thoughts there. And his gaze was open to her, blue as the sky, filled with all the fear, hope, excitement and love she carried in her own heart.

  ‘I am asking you if you would be my wife,’ he said. ‘I am no better a match than I was when we were young. I’m a rake and a careless rogue, or so they say. But I love you, Mary Smythe, with everything I am. I’m sorry I left you before. Won’t you please let me spend the rest of my life making that up to you? Let me be your husband. Let me try to earn your love again.’

  Mary looked back down at the jewels. The tears she tried so hard to hold back fell from her eyes, splashing onto the beautiful amethysts. ‘You don’t have to earn anything from me, Dominick. I could not possibly love you any more than I already do. You are my white knight, and I have been waiting for you for so, so long.’

  Dominick seized her hands in his, the box tumbling to her lap. ‘Then you will marry me?’

  And she said the words that had been hidden in her heart for years, waiting to be said. ‘Yes, Dominick. I will most definitely marry you.’

  She could say nothing more, for he was kissing her, and she kissed him back as if she would never, ever stop.

  Epilogue

  Christmas, One Year Later

  ‘What a fine, handsome husband you have, Mary,’ Charlotte said. ‘Not as handsome as mine, of course, but definitely second-best.’

  Mary laughed, and left her gift-wrapping to join Charlotte at the morning room window. They gazed down at the wintry garden of Mary’s new country house, where Drew and Dominick were teaching Charlotte’s daughter Anna how to ride her Christmas pony. It looked as if it was a merry start to the Christmas holiday as they laughed and called encouragement to Anna and her little face glowed.

  Mary lifted her own baby daughter, Genevieve, from her cradle, so she could watch the happy scene. She gurgled and smiled, reaching out with her tiny hand to grab for Mary’s new amethyst necklace.

  Mary laughed, and kissed Genevieve’s precious tiny fingers. ‘That is very kind of you, Charlotte, but I fear I must disagree. My husband is surely the most handsome man in all of England.’

  ‘And the best father, too?’ Charlotte said. She softly smoothed the fluff of the baby’s flyaway dark hair. ‘Next to Drew, of course.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Mary held Genevieve close and remembered the night of her birth. There had been a terrible storm, and the doctor had been late in coming. Her pains had grown closer and more intense, the servants had been scurrying about madly, but she had not been afraid. Dominick had been with her every moment, holding onto her, keeping her fear at bay even as she saw his own hidden worries in his eyes. The old, terrible memories.

  But just at the dawn Genevieve had been born, safe and whole, shrieking at the top of her lungs. And the look on Dominick’s face as he had held his newborn daughter, so full of unutterable joy, had been perfect. They were a family, and nothing could ever part them again.

  And now it was Christmas again—the best part of the entire year. And Genevieve’s first. Mary’s heart seemed full to bursting.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered. ‘The best of fathers.’

  ‘In a few years Genevieve will be ready for her own Christmas pony. If she’s anything like Anna she will be a bruising horsewoman, and—oh!’ Charlotte’s eyes widened, and she pressed her hand to the bump of her belly under her muslin gown. The next family equestrian grew there. ‘And this one, too. He kicks like the very devil.’

  Mary laughed and bounced Genevieve lightly in her arms. ‘My mother would say it is a boy, then. When I was pregnant with Will…’

  Her voice trailed away as her heart gave a sweet-sad pang. Will, he
r dear little boy. She would never, ever forget him.

  ‘He kicked, too,’ she said softly. ‘While Genevieve was sweet and quiet even then.’

  Charlotte gently touched Mary’s arm, her eyes full of concern. ‘Oh, Mary, my dear.’

  ‘No, Charlotte, I am not sad. Not now. He seems so close at this time of year, as if he watches over us and his little sister. Your children have a part of him, too.’

  ‘Yes, they do,’ Charlotte said. ‘The mischievous part!’

  Mary kissed Charlotte’s cheek, making her smile again, and disentangled Genevieve’s hand from her necklace once more. ‘No tears, Charlotte! Especially now. Christmas is the time for wonders and all manner of happy things, is it not?’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘Indeed it is. Speaking of which, when are your sisters arriving?’

  ‘At any moment—so we must finish wrapping all the gifts.’ Holding Genevieve against her shoulder, Mary went back to the table piled high with packages and ribbons. Toys and sweets were scattered in an enticing, colourful display. She held up a doll meant for her sister Cynthia’s daughter. ‘Not that these pretty wrappings will last long. Cyn’s brood is a wild one—my mother is always quite appalled when they trample through her house. It’s fortunate Elizabeth’s twins are such models of good behaviour. I’m hoping Genevieve chooses to emulate those cousins, but I fear naughtiness is so much more alluring.’

  Charlotte gave her a teasing grin. ‘As we well know. Look at our husbands, after all.’

  Mary laughed, thinking about last night in their bedchamber, when everyone else had been fast asleep. ‘I know. Dreadful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Appalling.’ Charlotte tied off a fluffy bow atop one of the boxes. ‘What of Ginny, then?’

  ‘She is busy planning her wedding now that Captain Heelis has a commission in a regiment leaving for India soon and they can finally marry. I fear we will hear of nothing but wedding clothes and cake from her this Christmas!’ Mary held out the box of embroidered linens meant for Ginny’s trousseau chest. ‘But I will miss her so much when she is gone to Bombay, and so will her goddaughter.’

  ‘It won’t be for long, I’m sure.’ There was a sudden clatter on the stairs, a shout of laughter. ‘It sounds as if the riding lesson has finished.’

  Mary laughed, and hurried over to swing open the morning room door. Even after months of marriage, the prospect of seeing her husband filled her with a rush of warm excitement and joy.

  Dominick was running up the stairs, Anna holding tight to his hand.

  ‘Auntie Mary!’ Anna cried, and dashed over to throw her arms around her aunt’s waist. ‘Did you see me from the window? I was riding all by myself. Papa says he has never seen anyone learn so fast.’

  ‘I did see, darling.’ Mary kissed the top of Anna’s head, smoothing her tousled brown hair so like Charlotte’s. How fast she grew—and Genevieve, too! Soon they would not be little baby girls any more, but young ladies. ‘You did marvellously well.’

  ‘I’ll be ready for a horse just like Papa’s soon.’

  ‘Well, let’s just stay with ponies for the moment, yes?’ Charlotte said, taking her daughter’s hand and leading her to the fireside, so she could warm up from the chilly day outside.

  Mary went to her husband, wrapping her arm around his shoulders as she went up on tiptoe to meet his kiss. His skin was cold from the winter wind, but his lips were deliciously warm. Their baby laughed and kicked between them, their little family complete.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Lady Amesby,’ he whispered, holding her close.

  And it was indeed. She had her family, her home, and her true love at last and for ever. She had thought last year’s Christmas was the best, but, no—this was the merriest Christmas ever. And next year’s would be even better.

  CHRISTMAS AT MULBERRY HALL

  Carole Mortimer

  Dear Reader,

  Christmas is always a magical time of year for me, a time for family and friends, and writing a Christmas story set in Regency England was especially enjoyable. I could almost feel the coldness of the snow and smell the mistletoe and holly!

  I have given Lord Gideon Grayson—Gray, a minor character in several books in the The Notorious St. Claires quartet—his own story, as he meets and falls in love with the woman destined only for him. You will also have a chance to catch a glimpse of the St. Claire family as Gray and the woman he loves join the family at ducal Mulberry Hall for the Christmas holiday.

  I hope you enjoy reading Gray’s story as much as I enjoyed writing about him!

  A happy and peaceful Christmas to you all.

  Carole

  To all those readers who have come along with me on this wonderful journey as the members of the St. Claire family and their friends find true love and happiness. This one is for you

  Chapter One

  December, 1817. Steadley Manor, Bedfordshire.

  ‘As I am holding a pistol, sir, and it is pointed directly at your heart, I advise you to stop exactly where you are!’

  Gray stopped. But not because he was in the least daunted by the threat of having a pistol pointed at him. The cavernous entrance hall in which he was standing was in darkness, and the ghostly white figure at the top of the wide staircase was shadowy at best. Ergo, if Gray could not see the woman with any degree of clarity—a youngish woman by the youthful sound of her voice—then he very much doubted she could see him, either—let alone have a pistol pointed directly at his heart, as she claimed so dramatically. Which was not to say the chit was not in possession of a pistol, only that her aim, if she should choose to pull the trigger, would be far from accurate.

  Having spent all day in his curricle, travelling from London to Steadley Manor, his estate in Bedfordshire—something he had realised, as it had begun snowing several hours ago, had not been the wisest of decisions for mid-December!—night had completely drawn in by the time Gray finally arrived. He had been less than pleased at being unable to find either groom or stableboy to attend to his weary horses. Nor, having seen to the stabling of his horses himself, a butler or footman to greet him once he had ascended the dozen steps up to the oak door fronting the house. Neither had he found candle and tinder on the table just inside that door once he had let himself in, leaving him no choice but to try to find his way in the semi-darkness.

  Travelling to his estate in Bedfordshire had been something that Gray had been avoiding since he had come into its inheritance on the death of his older brother Perry some two and a half years ago, but to now arrive and find himself held at pistol-point—an event far too reminiscent of one that had occurred several weeks earlier, and in which a man had died—was beyond irritating. It was infuriating!

  Too infuriating, after such a long and unpleasant day of travelling, to be borne a moment longer!

  ‘I told you to stop, sir!’ Amelia warned desperately, as after the briefest of pauses the man below began to stride purposefully—ominously!—across the hallway and began ascending the staircase towards her. ‘I will be forced to shoot you if you do not stop, sir.’ Her voice rose as the man did not so much as hesitate but continued to take the stairs two at a time. Each step bringing him ever closer to where Amelia stood at the top of that wide staircase.

  White teeth gleamed up at her in the darkness in a parody of a grin. ‘A word of advice, sweeting—never threaten a man with a loaded pistol unless you fully intend to pull the trigger!’

  This man was actually mocking her!

  He had broken into the house, no doubt with robbery or worse in mind, and now he had the unmitigated gall to laugh at Amelia’s efforts to defend herself.

  Amelia had come to live at Steadley Manor some three years ago, on the marriage of her mother to Lord Perry Grayson. Only to have her mother die only months after the marriage, followed several months later by the death of her stepfather. Their deaths had left Amelia to the guardianship of her stepfather’s younger brother, Lord Gideon Grayson. A man who had not troubled himself to visit her once during
the past two and a half years. Being left to live here alone, apart from a paid companion, had been unbearable, but to now find herself the source of amusement for a burglar was intolerable!

  Too much so for Amelia to allow that amusement to go unpunished…

  Her heart thundered in her chest as her back stiffened with both indignation and purpose. Eyes narrowing, she straightened her arms out in front of her, her hands tightly gripping the pistol as she carefully aimed and fired.

  ‘Why, you little—!’

  Strong fingers reached out to wrest the smoking gun from Amelia’s hands. At the same time she was knocked off balance by the recoil of the pistol and deafened by the force of the blast as it reverberated around the cavernous entrance hall. She landed on her bottom. Painfully. Humiliatingly. She looked up to find the man looming over her in the darkness, giving all the appearance of an avenging angel, the pistol now held securely in his much larger hands.

  Amelia was sure a weaker woman might have fainted. That even a strong woman, such as she considered herself to be, might have done so in an effort to escape the obvious wrath of the man who now towered over her so threateningly. Amelia was made of sterner stuff, however, and as such she had no intention of showing any sign of weakness to the man who had broken into the house in the middle of the night.

  ‘It will do you no good to point that pistol at me, sir, when it has already been fired,’ she told him with satisfaction, and she gathered herself up to stand unsteadily upon her slippered feet.

  Gray wasn’t sure whether to beat this woman for her recklessness in accosting a man she obviously believed to be a burglar, or to remonstrate with her for her impudence. After brief consideration, he decided to do neither of those things…