“The most romantic,” he replied, turning her around to face him.
She looked up into his eyes, so warm and full of love—love just for her. “I love you, Dr. Alcott,” she said.
“And I love you, Mrs. Alcott.”
Hannah beamed. Oh, how wonderful not to be Lady Beeston anymore!
“But I do have one question that I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he went on.
“Oh?”
“What in the world were you planning to do with all those women?”
Hannah laughed. “Oh, we had quite the elaborate plan, actually. It involved lots of rope and a ship bound for Jamaica.”
Graham threw back his head. “I’m quite sorry you never got to see it through.”
“I’m not,” Hannah replied, and she meant it. “Then he might still be alive, and I’d always be looking over my shoulder. I will owe a great debt to Miss Delaney for as long as I live.”
“I’m just glad no one went to Newgate.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Graham leaned down and captured Hannah’s lips in a searing kiss. “Do you think we could sneak away early?”
Hannah grinned at him as parts of her began to heat. “It is our wedding night, after all. I can’t imagine anyone would fault us.”
“Well, then,” he scooped her into his arms. “Let us make our escape.”
Hannah giggled all the way through the garden and as they made their way around the front of the house to where the coaches awaited their owners. As they climbed aboard Graham’s carriage, there was a bit of excitement at the front door. Hannah didn’t recognize the young man standing there, but apparently, his presence was most welcome.
“Take us home, John!” Graham called, and then he climbed in and away they went.
Becky & Stephen
“Becky! Come quickly!”
Becky, Viscountess Hastings, turned away from her conversation to the sound of Phoebe’s voice in the foyer. “What on earth?” she muttered to her husband, who stood beside her.
Stephen, her proud and handsome viscount, shrugged, his brandy sloshing gently in his glass as he did so. “Sounds rather urgent,” he said. “I wouldn’t keep her waiting.”
Becky turned from the group and started toward the foyer when her niece, Lydia, bounced into view, her blonde curls shaking with her excitement.
“Lydia?” she said. “What is it?”
“Uncle!” she called into the drawing room. “You must come too!”
And then as Stephen approached, she grabbed them both by the hand and led them into the foyer. There, divesting himself of a snow-covered greatcoat, stood their nephew—who was truly more like their son—Max.
Becky could hardly believe her eyes. He hadn’t been home in months, and had even written recently to inform them he’d not be able to join them for Christmas. And yet, here he was, flesh and blood, in the foyer of Ashbury Manor. He looked older, so mature, but there were still traces of the little boy he’d once been. The little boy that used to try to frighten her with frogs and snakes.
Lydia threw herself at him, and he squeezed back, lifting her so her feet came off the ground. They were everything to one another, having lost both their parents at such a young age. Sure, they had Stephen and Becky and their little cousins, but no one would ever understand the bond the two of them shared.
Becky glanced sideways at her husband. Stephen had always been the stoic, brooding type, but tonight, with the glimmer of tears in his eyes, he looked anything but stoic. And once Lydia was out of the way, he stepped forward to hug his nephew, unafraid of showing the boy just how happy he was to have him there.
“We thought you weren’t coming,” Becky said, stepping forward to accept her own hug from her nephew.
“Change of plans,” Max said. “I couldn’t stay away any longer.”
Lydia sidled back up to him. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. Goodness, when had she gotten so grown up? Only a few more years until she’d have her first season. It seemed impossible that the time had passed so quickly, but here they were. Older, wiser, and happier than they’d ever been.
“Where are my little cousins?” Max asked, his blue eyes bright, his cheeks still rosy from the cold.
“Already abed, I’m afraid,” Becky replied. “But come, everyone else is in the parlor.”
Phoebe & Benjamin
Phoebe, Marchioness of Eastleigh, stood at the edge of the drawing room near the hearth, her arms folded over her chest, a lump the size of Yorkshire in her throat. They were all here. Every last one of her beloved relations, and more. Everyone who mattered to her in this world was somehow crammed into this one drawing room, laughing, smiling, singing, embracing. It was the greatest gift she could have ever hoped for.
“Did your Christmas wish come true?” came her husband’s voice from beside her. She glanced up at him, still as handsome as the day she’d met him all those years ago at the Stapleton Ball. And as kind and loving and generous as the day she’d married him. It hadn’t been the easiest courtship, what with she and her mother all but in the poor house and him wrongly believing he had killed Phoebe’s father, but Phoebe couldn’t regret a single moment of it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in all my life,” she replied.
Benjamin sidled up behind her and snaked his arms about her waist. “You were awfully happy evening last, if I remember right.”
Phoebe threw back her head and laughed. “Indeed,” she said, her cheeks heating at the memory. “Then I should say this has been the happiest twenty-four hours of my life.”
Benjamin turned her in his arms and she gazed up into his dark, Wetherby-brown eyes. Her heart was so filled with love, she thought it might burst.
“I have a present for you,” Benajamin said.
“Oh, Ben! We promised we wouldn’t exchange gifts this year.”
“Yes, but last time I made that promise, you still got me something. I won’t be fooled again.”
Phoebe laughed. But that pocket watch had been too exquisite to leave behind at the shop. “Well, this year I truly didn’t get you anything.”
“Then we’ll be even,” he replied, placing her hand on his arm and leading her out of the room, away from the bustle of the family.
They walked quietly down the corridor, through a series of rooms and doors, the laughter and chatter from the drawing room fading with every step, until they arrived at the music room, already ablaze with candles.
“What is this?” Phoebe asked, as Benjamin closed the door behind them.
“Come.” He made his way to the pianoforte and sat down, patting the empty seat beside him.
“Oh, Benjamin, it’s been ages since we’ve played that thing.”
“Exactly.” He gazed down at her as she took her place beside him. “Far too long since I’ve made music with my bride.” He poised his fingers above the keys, glancing sideways at her. “Let us see if you remember this one.”
He began to play a tune so familiar to her heart that it nearly took her breath away. It was the one they’d played together that fateful night they’d encountered one another in the Sheffield’s music room. They were supposed to be listening to the music in the other room, but fate had brought them together in another way. A very special way.
And just as she’d done that night long ago, Phoebe reached her right hand up as Benjamin dropped his, and together they played—his left hand, her right hand, working in tandem. In perfect harmony and precision, reminding her once again that she had found her soul’s match, the other half of her heart.
“Merry Christmas, my darling,” Benjamin murmured in her ear over the lilting Mozart tune.
Phoebe smiled. “Merry Christmas, my love.”
* * *
The End
Also by Jerrica Knight Catania
The Daring Debutantes
The Robber Bride
The Gypsy Bride
The Stage Bride
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The Wetherby Brides
A Gentleman Never Tells
More than a Governess
The Wary Widow
The Bedeviled Bride
Temptation of the Duke
How to Care for a Lady
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Christmas Warms the Harts
The Perfect Kiss
About the Author
Jerrica Knight-Catania knew from an early age that she was destined for romance. She would spend hours as a young girl sitting in a chair by an open window, listening to the rain, and dreaming of the day Prince Charming would burst in and declare his undying love for her. But it wasn't until she was 28-years-old, exhausted of her life in the theater, that she turned her focus toward writing Regency Romance novels. All her dreaming paid off, and she now gets to relive those romantic scenes she'd dreamt up as a young girl as she commits them to paper. She lives in sunny Palm Beach with her real life Prince Charming, their Princess-in-training, and their fluffy pup, Pumpkin.
* * *
Visit Jerrica's official website to learn more about her other books, the Wetherby family and to see what's new in her writing world! www.jerricasplace.com
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