A Very Brethren Christmas (Brethren of the Coast Book 10)

by Barbara Devlin

  “That would be an excellent suggestion, were it not for the fact that the Shires are draft horses and not trained for riding, thus you may break your neck if you attempt to mount one.” Mark huffed in frustration, glanced from side to side, and consulted his pocket watch. Since they ventured forth that morning, and exited London’s environs via the toll gate more than four hours ago, they had spied nary a soul on the turnpike, so it seemed unlikely that aid would arrive anytime soon. “Given my experience based on countless trips home, I know there is a town nearby. It is Dartford, I believe.”

  “Are you suggesting we continue on foot?” Frederick asked in a sharp tone. “You must be out of your mind, because we will freeze to death before we make it anywhere.”

  “Then you had better don your greatcoat, hat, and gloves.” Mark collected his warm outerwear. “Because we are walking.”

  In the study, Amanda tallied her ledger and savored the quiet calm of her husband’s sanctuary. Somewhere in the house, a burst of laughter startled her, and her hand shook, as she almost knocked over the inkwell. “Blast.” She covered her mouth, as if someone might have witnessed her momentary breach in polite decorum. “Oh.”

  Then she laughed at herself, because she had engaged in far more questionable behavior in that room, which had seen almost as much action as the four-poster she shared with her seaman. How many times had Mark made a mess of the blotter, when she initiated various trysts at his desk? She smiled. Too many to count, a fact of which she was rather proud. “My darling, how I miss you.”

  After closing the journal, she pushed back the chair and stood. At the front window, she searched the graveled drive for any sign of Mark and almost shrieked with excitement when she noted an approaching coach. But then she realized there were six more equipages in the small caravan, and her sails deflated.

  With a stiff upper lip to mask her disappointment, she strolled into the hall. In the foyer, she checked her appearance in the wall mirror and smoothed a few stray tendrils. Nabbing her pelisse, she peered over her shoulder, just as Hamilton approached.

  “It appears the Duke and Duchess of Rylan, the Duke and Duchess of Weston, the Earl and Countess of Lockwood, and Captain Collingwood and Lady Alex, along with their children, are just arrived.” And that meant she would know little peace, because the ducal duo manifested the heart and soul of the Brethren of the Coast, the famed Nautionnier Knights descended from the Order of the Knights Templar, the warriors of the Crusades. When Blake and Damian were in residence, mayhem ensued, and she would have it no other way. “Did you remember to house them as far apart as possible, as I would not have a repeat of our last family gathering?”

  “Yes, my lady.” The butler’s expression implied even the household staff recalled the unusual contest between the fiercely competitive friends, more like brothers, wherein they attempted to determine which husband could better satisfy his bride, based on the effuse exultation articulated mid-coitus, and no one got any sleep for days. After summoning the footmen, he set wide the double doors. “We are ready, and I have refreshments set up in the drawing room.”

  “Hamilton, I know not why I question you, when you are always reliable.” Amanda descended the entrance stairs, as an army of liveried footman assisted her guests. “Blake and Lenore, it is wonderful to see you.”

  “Lady Amanda, we wish you a Happy Christmas.” Blake kissed her cheek. “And we would share our felicitous news. Lenore is expecting our second child.”

  “I am not surprised, and I daresay your mother is thrilled.” Of course, that was a predictable outcome of the ducal rivalry, she laughed. “Do come inside and warm yourself by the fire.” To Lenore, Amanda said, “And there is plenty of hot tea and scones. But where is Sarah?”

  “Thank you, Lady Amanda.” Lenore dipped her chin.

  “Mama travels with Dirk’s mother and Dirk and Rebecca.” Blake slipped an arm about Lenore’s shoulders and nuzzled her temple. “They were waiting on Dalton and Daphne, and their children, in Maidstone, that they might continue the journey together.”

  Just then, Damian and Lucilla neared.

  “Lady Amanda, we bid you Happy Christmas.” Damian rested a palm to Lucilla’s belly and grinned. “And we impart the joyous news of my impending heir.”

  “Damian.” Lucy pouted. “I thought we were going to delay until dinner to share our good fortune.”

  “Forgive me, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead. “But I could not wait.”

  “You, too?” Puffing his chest, Blake smirked. “Lenore and I expect our second child.”

  “Indeed.” Damian thrust his chin. “I should have known you could not do anything without me, so I suppose you have me to thank.”

  “Now, see here—”

  “Blake, if you are going to spend the holiday arguing with Damian, you may share his room.” Lenore reached for and grasped Lucy’s hand. “And my sister can bunk with me.”

  “I concur.” Lucy stomped a foot. “And my darling Damian, if you crow about that audacious wager one more time, you may sleep in the stables, because I am tired of hearing about it. You did not get me with child on your own, as I had something to do with it, too.”

  “Now, sweetheart, don’t be angry with me, as I am uncontrollably excited about the addition to our family.” Damian whispered in her ear, and she blushed. Amanda could only imagine what he said. “What say we retire to our accommodation for a hot bath?”

  “That sounds lovely.” When Lucy turned toward the house, Damian glanced at his chief antagonist and stuck out his tongue, to wit Blake responded in kind.

  “Stop it.” Lenore swatted at Blake. “Whatever am I to do with you?”

  “I am only too happy to offer suggestions.” Blake waggled his brows. “Let us go inside before you catch a cold.”

  Shaking her head, Amanda laughed and greeted her other guests. “Jason and Alex, I am so relieved you made it.”

  “As are we.” Jason gazed heavenward. “The roads were treacherous, and it was dreadfully slow going. Has the Admiral arrived from London?”

  “Not yet, but I expect him at any moment.” Given Jason’s ominous warning, she shivered but not from the cold. “Please, go inside and get settled.” To Trevor and Caroline, she waved a greeting, as they helped their nanny corral their five children.

  Once everyone entered the residence, and a small compliment of nannies rustled the next generation of Brethren upstairs, Amanda loomed in the doorway, staring up the drive.

  “Is everything all right, my lady?” As she retreated into the foyer, the butler closed the oak panels and set the bolt.

  “I am not sure.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she mulled the empty peg where Mark hung his outwear, and gooseflesh covered her from top to toe. For some reason she could not explain, she struggled with a dark sense of foreboding. Something was wrong, and no one would convince her otherwise. “Station a footman at the door, until the Admiral arrives, and wake me, no matter the hour.”

  Chapter Three

  December 22, 1816

  Huddled beneath the warm covers, Mark came awake and smiled smugly, given the soft body that hugged him from behind. Ah, his Amanda always snuggled close in the winter months. Then again, she sought his attention year-round, especially in their bed, and that was fine with him. Resolved to give her what she wanted, he reached down and caressed what seemed to be a rather large thigh.

  Telltale snoring cut through the delicious fantasy, and he recalled his current predicament in vivid detail. With a violent flinch, he fell off the mattress and connected rudely with the floor.

  “Frederick, what in bloody hell are you doing?” Standing, Mark raked his fingers through his hair and then kicked the frame. “Wake up, man.”

  “Hmm?” Frederick snuffled and farted, and Mark almost vomited. “What is it?”

  “Er, it is nothing.” When he realized his friend had no idea what happened, Mark cleared his throat and grabbed his boots. “But I want to get an early start, and we have ye
t to find a way home, so you had better get moving.”

  “All right.” Sitting upright, Frederick stretched his arms overhead and yawned. “You know, I did not think I could rest, given the inn had only one room available, with a single bed, due to the weather and the holidays, but I slept surprisingly well.”

  “Indeed, you did.” Mark shrugged into his waistcoat and tucked Amanda’s portrait miniature, along with her lace-edged handkerchief, in the pocket she sewed into the garment for just that purpose. “In fact, you never stirred when the coachman knocked to apprise me of his arrival and the condition of the rig.”

  “After that long walk in the frigid storm, and the hot meal, I was more than ready to collapse.” Frederick scooted from the mattress, discovered one sock missing, and searched among the covers. “Where do you get your stamina, given we are the same age? And what news from the coachman?”

  “My wife.” At the washstand, Mark cleaned his teeth and scrubbed his face. “As for the coach, not good, I am afraid. The axle is broken clean in two, and most of the local businesses are closed. The stableman I hired managed to retrieve our trunks and the horses, and he brought my driver into town. Clegg will remain in Dartford until the coach is repaired and then continue to Faversham.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Frederick tied his cravat in a less than elegant mathematical. “I am not opposed to staying here, especially if I can procure my own accommodation, because no one awaits my arrival.”

  “That is not an option, and the innkeeper made it clear this room was available for only one night, given it is already reserved for the holiday.” In the long mirror, Mark scrutinized his neck cloth. “Now, I will go downstairs, settle our account, and meet you in the dining room, where we shall break our fast, so do not delay.”

  With that, he crossed the room, opened the door, and strode into the hallway. In the reception area, he approached the desk and flagged the innkeeper.

  “Good morning, Admiral Douglas.” The innkeeper smiled. “I hope you passed a pleasant night.”

  “I did, thank you.” Excepting the rude awakening that still gave Mark a twinge of nausea. “Have you had any luck securing a hack that might convey me to Faversham?”

  “I checked with every possible stable, and either all coaches are already let, or the proprietors refuse to rent them, owing to the poor road conditions, which you must understand, in light of your accident.”

  “Of course.” Mark sighed, because it seemed all was lost, and he would not be home for Christmastide. “Thank you, Mr. Armbruster.”

  Dispirited, Mark turned just as his coachman walked into the foyer.

  “Admiral, sir, I just coming to find you.” Clegg doffed his hat and nodded once. “I may have found you passage to Rochester.”

  “Rochester?” Mark shifted his weight. “But what good will that do me?”

  “It gets you halfway to Faversham, sir.” Averting his gaze, Clegg shuffled his feet. “Perhaps, you can find another means of travel from there.”

  “You are right.” Mark tamped his frustration, because Rochester was but a couple of hours from Faversham, by coach. “Tell me of your plan.”

  “There is a stablemaster in need of riders to help him deliver a set of mares to a business in Rochester.” Clegg compressed his lips. “He will pay you, sir, and you must leave in one hour.”

  “Then I haven’t a moment to spare.” Mark signaled Frederick, as he descended the stairs. “Come and let us eat.”

  “Did you find us a way home?” Frederick turned up his nose, as they sought an empty table. “Over by the window there is a place.”

  “When is the last time you rode a horse?” Mark braced for the response.

  “About five years ago, as I am a sea captain, not a cavalryman.” Frederick pulled out a chair and sat. “Why do you ask?” He glanced at Mark, then Clegg, and then back at Mark. “Whatever you have arranged, I get a peculiar inkling I am not going to like it.”

  “Well, this could be interesting.” Mark draped a napkin in his lap. “And I have a feeling you’re going to hate it.”

  From the drawing room window, Amanda stood as sentry, awaiting Mark’s return. Based on his letter, she expected his arrival by the previous evening, at the latest. It was for that reason she had not slept much, and she grew more concerned by the hour.

  “Mama, please, do not worry.” From behind, Cara hugged Amanda. “Papa will be home soon, and he will be vexed when he learns how you fretted for him.”

  “It is understandable that he would be delayed,” Sabrina stated with an expression of sympathy. Heavily pregnant, she rested on a chaise. “The roads were positively dreadful, and—”

  “Clegg is the finest coachman in all of England.” Cara huffed a breath. “If anyone can navigate the turnpike, in any condition, he can, is that not right, sister?”

  “Oh—yes, of course.” Sabrina sputtered and swiped a piece of shortbread from the tea trolley. “That is precisely what I meant to say.”

  “Indeed, we arrived a day after Sabrina and Cara, and the lanes were a vast deal more than manageable.” Alex poured a cup of tea and reclined in a Hepplewhite chair. “Will you not come and sit with us?”

  “I appreciate what you are trying to do.” Wringing her fingers, Amanda joined Elaine on the sofa. “But Jason said the roads were treacherous.”

  “The man has no sense.” Alex waved dismissively but did not convince Amanda. “Besides, he is rather occupied with more important business, because he indulges in a new wager.”

  “Not another one.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “Really, Blake and Damian just finished their test of wills, with Lenore and Lucy offering evidence to that effect. What is it now?”

  “Actually, I planted the suggestion in my husband’s ear, because I want another babe.” Cara strolled to the hearth and warmed her hands. “So Lance and Jason are competing to see which of them can conceive a new addition with their respective wives.”

  A chorus of giggles erupted, and Amanda relaxed, as she enjoyed the company.

  “But Alex is already pregnant,” Sabrina blurted. Then she quickly covered her mouth. “Uh-oh.”

  “Sabrina, you promised you would not tell anyone.” Alex folded her arms. “And I am not entirely certain of my condition, so I would thank you to keep my secret.”

  “I do not understand.” Eileen, Sir Ross’s younger sister and new member of the family, tapped a finger to her chin and furrowed her brow. “If the wager is to conceive first, then Captain Collingwood is done, is he not?”

  “My dear Eileen, you know that, and I know that, but what my husband does not know will not hurt him.” With a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, Alex hugged a pillow to her belly. “Besides, I am enjoying this contest, and I would not dare interfere in his manly pursuits, because it inspires his poetry.”

  “Well said, Alex.” Cara raised her teacup in toast, and Amanda could not help but laugh, because Jason’s original, ribald compositions were the stuff of legend in the Brethren circles. “Likewise, I am quite enamored of Lance’s attentiveness and dedication to the cause. Who am I to disillusion him?”

  Another chorus of mirth filled the room, but Amanda could not forget Mark. As the Brethren wives discussed the benefits of married life, she realized that, in her preoccupation with her husband’s absence, she neglected Eileen, who seemed a tad out of sorts, given it was her first Christmastide with the large, extended family.

  “Eileen, I wonder if you might assist me in a minor task.” Amanda stood and flicked her fingers. “If it is not too much trouble.”

  “It would be my honor, Lady Amanda.” Eileen stood and deposited her cup on the trolley. “How can I be of use?”

  “Let us adjourn to the library, given the men congregate in Mark’s study, and I will explain what I need.” As they walked into the hall, Amanda signaled Hamilton. “How are the preparations coming for Stir-Up Day?”

  “We are almost ready, my lady.” The butler bowed. “Perhaps, we can gather in the
kitchen, in half an hour?”

  “Perfect. That will be all, Hamilton.” Amanda steered Eileen toward the back of the house. “Every year, when we observe the Christmastide tradition, I provide a quick summation of the holiday custom, because there are those among us who never took part in Stir-Up Day.”

  “Myself, included.” Eileen followed in Amanda’s wake, as they navigated the massive collection of books. “Upon my word, but this library is magnificent.”

  “It is my husband’s favorite place, and he spends hours in here, when he is in residence.” How she pined for her man, especially when she spied the two-seater bench, upon which her husband often seduced her. “I believe there is a book—”

  “Who goes there?” George queried in a tone to which she took great exception.

  “I beg your pardon?” Amanda stopped and rested fists to hips. “Who dares question my presence in my home?”

  “Aunt Amanda, my apologies.” George shifted, when she arched a brow. “And to Miss Logan, if I offended her.”

  “No offense taken, Viscount Huntingdon.” To Amanda’s surprise, Eileen curtseyed.

  “My dear, we are family here. We do not stand on formalities, thus we do not use titles within these walls.” On a table, Amanda located the reference she sought. “Ah, here it is.”

  “Do you read, Miss Logan?” George rocked on his heels, and Amanda viewed him in a new light, as he interacted with Eileen.

  “Of course.” Eileen narrowed her stare. “Do you?”

  “That is some cheek, Miss Logan.” George stretched tall.

  “Unlike yourself.” She half-smiled. “Why, you evidence the whole of polite society, from A to B, Viscount Huntingdon.”

  “Impossible woman.” George bared his teeth. “If you were my wife, I would poison your tea.”