A Yuletide Regency (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 21)

by Regina Scott

  “Your concern would be touching,” Mary told him, “if I didn’t know you couldn’t care less. Enjoy the party. If I have anything to say about the matter, it will be your last for a long time.” She shoved the remainder of the gingerbread into her mouth and strode away from him.

  Julian moved to meet her. “Mary? Is everything all right?”

  She wanted to collapse against him, feel his arms around her, hear him say he would be at her side through whatever was coming. But he hadn’t offered. He wasn’t hers. The burden fell on her shoulders, and though she knew herself grown, she very much feared she would sink under it.

  * * *

  He had never seen her like this. He remembered Mary at the local assembly, smile teasing and steps light, her muslin gown floating about her ankles. He recalled Mary at church, face turned up in wonder at the stained-glass window depicting the birth of the Savior. Then there was Mary in challenge, eyes narrowed, head forward, as she raced her horse down the lane. Mary was strong, fearless.

  At the moment, she was pale and trembling, eyes haunted, and he wanted to gather her close and promise to protect her always. Failing that, he wanted to find the fellow who had sapped the joy from her and pound him flat. All he could do was wait for her response.

  She sucked in a breath as if trying to find calm in the middle of a storm. “Chester Godwin tried to kiss me, and my cousin threatened to pack me off as a companion, and I’d very much like to knock them both down.”

  So would he. Instead he touched her arm. “That’s my girl.”

  She pulled away. “I’m not your girl. I’m not anyone’s girl. I’m not a girl at all. I thought we’d settled that.”

  He could not deny her. He’d never been so aware of her as today. Her black hair was thick and rich; he could imagine it slipping through his fingers. Her skin would be warm and soft to the touch, and her lips . . .

  “Quite settled,” he said, cringing at the catch in his voice. Where was the calculated tone he’d cultivated? The charm that had endeared him to those far above his station at Eton?

  She glanced up at him, blinking tears from her sable lashes. He felt as if she’d pierced his heart.

  “I see,” she said. “And you feel no call to elaborate?”

  He managed to rally. “I could say nothing that would allow you to keep your good opinion of me.”

  She slumped. “So, you have only bad things to say of me now.”

  He felt ham handed and stutter tongued. “You mistake me.”

  “Then pray explain yourself.” The request came out with a hint of desperation. He could not leave her so destitute. He took her hand and drew her into the farthest corner of the room, placing himself between her and the rest of her guests.

  “I am in awe, Mary,” he said, careful to keep his other hand at his side when all he wanted to do was touch her, hold her. “You are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Your hair is dark as mystery, your eyes bright as the lilacs anointed with dew. I could pen poems about the curves of your figure, spin sonnets about the wonder of your smile. You are clever, compassionate. You are peerless, fearless. You will shortly be a power to be reckoned with. I find myself wanting to conquer some far off empire and lay the riches at your feet.”

  She was staring at him.

  “But I’m no one,” he continued, determined to make her understand. “I have no fame, no fortune to offer. You deserve a duke, a prince, not a would-be solicitor with years of toil ahead before he can make a name for himself. I have no business giving you expectations of a future together.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He shook his head, certain he had misunderstood. “Pardon me?”

  Mary raised her head. “I don’t care. Fortune and fame mean nothing to me.”

  “They should,” he insisted. “You need someone to protect you, from your cousin if nothing else. Your most logical choice is to marry.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” she said, gazing up at him. “How can I encourage you to offer?”

  Chapter Seven

  She could be no bolder or plainer. Mary waited for his answer, scarcely daring to breathe.

  “Mary, I . . .” he started.

  “Mr. Mayes,” Nigel said, pushing in beside them. “Why do you persist in taking my cousin away from her duties? How many times must I protest?”

  Julian’s head came up, shoulders straightening, but Mary faced her cousin before Julian could speak. “Leave us alone, or I’ll scream.”

  Nigel drew himself up. “Scream? I knew this man was troubling you. Come, Cousin. I will protect you. You have no need to throw yourself at this fellow.”

  Anger boiled up inside her. “Give me a moment, or I shall find something to throw—at you.”

  “The coal shuttle might be a good start,” Julian suggested.

  Nigel flushed. “Fine. I leave you to your ruin. You can expect no help from me in the future. But mark my words—you will rue the day you made light of Nigel Rose.” He stormed off.

  Julian shook his head. “He should have gone on the stage. He’d rival Kemble at Drury Lane for declamation.”

  If only she could believe her cousin was as good an actor as the famed tragedian. Nigel’s threat hung in the air like smoke. He’d make her pay if he could, but she refused to give in to his bullying. She turned to Julian.

  “Well, Mr. Mayes? I asked you a very important question.”

  “So you did.” He took her hand and tucked it into his arm. “Give me a moment to speak to your mother, then walk me to the door.”

  He was leaving? Disappointment left her sagging. She’d misread him. Even after all those impassioned words, the praise of her looks and character, he didn’t care, or at best he didn’t care enough. Still, she had some pride. She nodded, and he led her over to her mother.

  “Thank you for a lovely celebration,” he said with a bow. “I want you to know that if you or Mary ever need anything, I am at your service.”

  Her mother gazed up into his face, then inclined her head, a smile making her face brighter than it had been for a long time. “Thank you, Julian. It’s good to have friends.”

  With a nod, he started for the door.

  Mary had to force her feet to keep pace. Until that moment, she’d never realized how much she’d believed in him. She’d laughed off other young men at the assembly rooms, chased away Chester Godwin, never intended to flirt with a single fellow if she went up to London. The only man for her was Julian Mayes.

  And he was leaving her behind. Like Chester, he had outgrown her. And she had no idea how to stretch herself further to reach him.

  As Mr. Cowls went to fetch Julian’s coat, Julian turned to Mary. “Forgive me for not answering you immediately. A wise man once told me actions speak louder than words.” He glanced up.

  Mary followed his gaze and stilled. In truth, she had paid little attention to where he led her, so dismal were her thoughts. Now the kissing bough hung right over their heads. Her gaze fell to his, and she licked her lips, trembling.

  “Happy Christmas, Mary,” he murmured, and he lowered his head and kissed her.

  It was like breathing in Christmas. Warmth filled her, joy surrounded her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, offering him all of her—her hopes, her dreams, her future. He was meant to be hers. She was meant to be his. How could she possibly let him leave?

  * * *

  What a kiss. He’d toyed with poetry, but he knew he’d never find the words to do these feelings justice. She was all fire in his arms, all joy, and any doubts he’d had about his own capacity fled in the light. He drew back and peered into her dear face.

  “I love you, Mary. I suspect I always have.”

  She pressed a hand over the sweet lips he had just kissed, eyes shining. “Oh, Julian. I love you too.”

  He wanted to shout, to sing, to dance madly about the room with her in his arms. Instead he shook his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be worthy of you.”


  “What nonsense!” she cried, hand falling. “You are all I want, all I need. You are perfection.”

  “No,” he insisted. “I’m not. I’m vain and selfish and not entirely sure of my future. But I can do better if you give me a little while before making you my wife.”

  “But why must we wait to wed?” she begged, gaze searching his as if she could not get enough of him. “We have pledged our love. I’m sure Mother would allow us to marry.”

  He caught up her hands, held them against his chest. “I can’t support you, not yet. Give me time to make my mark in London. I’m to start work at a solicitor’s firm next week. Once I’ve established myself, I can treat you as you deserve. I will work hard, rise higher. I will make myself a man you would be proud to claim as husband.”

  “I am happy with the man you are now,” Mary protested.

  “And I want more for you, my Mary, my beautiful Mary. Will you wait for me?”

  She cast herself into his arms again, and it was some time before either spoke. If people passed them in the entry hall, coming in or going out, he was unaware of it. His entire world was Mary.

  At length, she pulled back. “I’ll wait. But Julian, I need help now. The physician will not speak to me about Mother’s condition. I need to advise on her treatment. Perhaps, as my betrothed . . .”

  He would do anything for her. “I might better serve you as your solicitor,” he said, thinking aloud. “Is Dr. Parkins here today?”

  She nodded. “He spoke to Mother earlier in the great hall.”

  Julian took her hand and steered her back into the room.

  They located the physician easily enough, warming himself in the glow of the Yule log. Julian requested a moment of his time and took him aside.

  “Miss Rose would like an update on her mother’s condition,” he informed the fellow.

  Dr. Parkins’s smile was as patronizing as his words. “I have assured Miss Rose that I am doing everything possible for her mother.”

  Small wonder Mary was at her wit’s end. Julian kept his tone polite. “And what, exactly, are you treating her for?”

  Parkins raised his chin. “I regret, Mr. Mayes, that I am not at liberty to discuss a patient’s care with anyone but family.”

  Mary drew herself up, but Julian put a hand on her arm to keep her from speaking. “I’m glad to hear that,” he told the physician. “As Mary is her only surviving family, I’m sure you can share your findings with her.”

  He nodded across the room. “I send all my reports to the male head of the family, Mr. Nigel Rose.”

  Mary gasped. Julian released her to step closer, gaze narrowed on the physician.

  “As Miss Rose’s solicitor, and her friend, I can assure you your trust is misplaced. Mr. Rose has neither the care nor the income required to insert himself in this situation. If you cannot find the time to speak with Miss Rose directly, I will advise her to locate another physician, and I will suggest to the medical authorities in London that your ethics are questionable.”

  He stiffened. “Now, see here.”

  “No,” Julian said. “You see here. Miss Rose has assumed the burden of caring for her mother. The least you can do as a physician, sworn by oath to do no harm, is to confide in her.”

  He glanced from Mary to Julian. “Very well. You’ve made your point. Be at my office the day after Boxing Day, Miss Rose, and I will go over everything with you.”

  Mary’s eyes brightened, but she pressed her lips together as if holding back a squeal of triumph and inclined her head in agreement. Julian took her hand and led her back to the entry hall.

  There was still no sign of Mr. Cowls and Julian’s greatcoat, but he couldn’t regret the wait. Already his mind was full of plans. A townhouse in London, with room for a family. His Mary at his side, growing old together. Nothing had ever sounded finer.

  “Thank you, Julian,” she murmured. “I feel as if I can breathe again for the first time in a long time.”

  He pressed a kiss against the back of her hand. “If you need me, for any reason, you have only to send word.”

  Her smile blossomed. “I know I can rely on you.” She glanced down the corridor. “Unlike our butler. I’ve never known Mr. Cowls to be so slow in responding.”

  “Here you are, Mr. Mayes,” the butler said, stepping out from behind the stairs. “I seem to have misplaced your hat, but I’m sure I can locate it by tomorrow. Perhaps you’d be so good as to call then.”

  Julian grinned. “I’d be delighted.”

  * * *

  Mary clung to his arm as she walked him the last few steps to the door. Her cousin and Dr. Parkins had been put in their places. That could not help but lift her spirits. But more importantly, she was going to marry her Julian. The wonder of it lifted her off her feet until she felt as if she were dancing on air like a snowflake.

  He bent and kissed her again, a promise of kisses and joys to come. She could dream of a home together, a family, a future. Perhaps there would be sad times, but there would be joy, growth, love.

  Still, whatever lay ahead, she knew she would always remember their Christmas kiss.

  The End

  Dear Reader,

  I’m delighted to bring you an origin story, if you will. Mary did get her wish to become Meredith, though misfortunes separated her from her beloved Julian for a time. They continue their courtship in my Fortune’s Brides series, where, with the help of a matchmaking cat, an older Mary comes to the aid of gentlewomen down on their luck. If you’d like more information about her adventures or my other stories, please visit me online at www.reginascott.com, where you can also sign up for a free alert to learn when the next book is out or on sale.

  Happy Christmas!

  Regina Scott

  Click on the covers to visit Regina’s Amazon author page:

  Regina Scott started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn't actually sell her first novel until she'd learned a bit more about writing. After numerous short stories and articles in magazines and trade journals, and a good kick in the backside from her husband, she got serious about writing. Since then, she's had published more than two dozen clean historical romances for adults and young adults. Her traditional romances have earned praised from reviewers and readers alike. Booklist calls her work "quietly compelling" and "impeccably written." Huntress Reviews says, "Regina Scott delivers," and "I will always buy a book with Regina Scott's name on it."

  Regina Scott is the author of the Everard Legacy series (The Rogue's Reform, The Captain's Courtship, The Rake's Redemption, and The Heiress's Homecoming), the Master Matchmaker series (The Courting Campaign, The Wife Campaign, and The Husband Campaign), and the Lady Emily Capers (Secrets and Sensibilities, Art and Artifice, and Ballrooms and Blackmail). In November 2014, she launched her Frontier Bachelors series with the publication of The Bride Ship.

  She makes her home in the Puget Sound area of Washington State with her beloved husband and a hyperactive Irish terrier named Fergus.

  Find Regina online at her website www.reginascott.com

  Blog: www.nineteenteen.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorreginascott

  Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/reginascott

  Chapter One

  Sussex, 1810

  If Adelaide Northrop ever found herself short of funds, she fully intended to ply her trade composing a very detailed and, at times, scathing accounting of the traveling inns of England. She had eaten, slept, waited, or cringed within the walls of nearly all of them. The one in which she sat at the moment would be evaluated as both harmless and forgettable, which was not a complaint.

  She almost hoped the gentleman she was meeting in this inauspicious corner of the kingdom proved equally dull and innocuous. Vapid people weren’t her preference, but finding a match for someone astoundingly boring would certainly be a challenge. After years of being the ton’s most sought-after and successful matchmaker, she needed a more ambitious a
ssignment now and then.

  Her arrival in Sussex had occurred a few minutes ahead of their decided-upon meeting time, giving Adelaide time to review her new client’s letter requesting her services. Her abilities were in enough demand that she could pick and choose which ventures she took up. This one had been surprisingly intriguing.

  Mr. Porter Bartrum. Widower. Young father. Dunderhead, apparently.

  “I do need a wife,” his letter said, “but I don’t know that I could choose one well. A poor choice would cause my son to suffer, and I certainly do not wish for that. I need your help, as I fear I might bungle this.”

  The gentleman had been married before, yet he thought himself unequal to the task of managing the thing again. That part had stuck in her mind, refusing to allow her to set aside his request. He doubted his ability to do what he’d already done.

  “Well, then, Mr. Porter Bartrum, let us see if you and your heart can be sorted out.”

  * * *

  “And she’s in the private dining room at this very moment?” Porter’s best friend, Vance, eyed the door to the dining parlor with misgiving. “A matchmaker? Truly?”

  Why was this so difficult for him to comprehend? “Yes. I need a wife. She is known for making matches even for the most difficult of people.”

  Vance eyed him dryly. “You are one of the least difficult people I know.”

  “Yes, but if she managed to succeed under such unpromising circumstances, she can certainly find me a wife.” He cringed a little at the mercenary sound of that. “Rebecca has been gone for two years now. That’s more than half Lewis’s life. He needs a mother.”

  “And this lady will find him one during the course of a single house party?”

  Vance was making Porter begin to doubt this plan, the only strategy in which he felt even the slightest degree of hope. He simply could not afford to second guess himself. He’d tried a few times to sort out this business on his own and had failed miserably. He needed help.