Memories haunted him of Polly screaming in pain before she’d finally given up and died after Ian had slid out of her body. The images scared him to death. He’d had many conversations with the doc over the past eight months about Priscilla and the baby. The doctor reassured him over and over that Priscilla was a fine specimen for birthing, was healthy and strong, had nice wide hips, her mama had given birth to five healthy children, and he had nothing to worry about.
“Thank you for coming.” Mitch gripped Mrs. Sweeney’s hand.
“Nothing to worry about, Mitch. Go on about your business. Check up on Ernest at the store. When I passed by on my way here he was trying to load a pistol. Could hardly see the chamber.”
Mitch thanked her and hurried to the shop, Ian right behind him. “Pa, do you think we should stay home? Suppose Ma needs us?”
“She’s fine. They really don’t want us there.” He looked at Ian and brought himself up short. Did he want to teach his son to run from difficult situations? Was he not man enough to stay with his wife who he loved more than life itself?
Hell, yes he was.
“Come on, son. Let’s go home. Like it or not, we’re staying with your Ma until your brother is born.”
“Suppose my brother is a sister?”
“It’s all right. Your ma wears pants now and again. I guess your sister can, too.”
Priscilla lay back on the pillows, exhausted. Sweat covered her body, her nightgown sticking to her soaked body. But she was happier than she’d been in her whole life. Right now a red-faced little girl was receiving her first bath from Mrs. Sweeney. From the sound of her lungs, she wasn’t happy about it either.
“Let me get you cleaned up, too, before your husband comes in. He’s been downstairs wearing out the carpet for hours now. He tried to come up here a few times, but I wouldn’t let him. Men don’t belong in the room where ladies are giving birth.” The woman tsked a few times as she washed and dressed Priscilla in a fresh nightgown. Then she handed the baby to her and left the room.
“Can we come in?” Mitch stood at the door.
“Honey, you look like hell,” Priscilla said as she waved him and Ian into the bedroom. “Come say hello to your new daughter.”
Mitch turned to Ian. “A sister.”
“Pants, Pa. Remember?”
Mitch sat alongside her. “What shall we name her?”
Priscilla ran her finger over the soft, downy black hair. “How about Grace?”
“Grace it is.” He tugged Ian over. “Come meet your sister, Grace.”
“She’s so little.”
“About the same size you were.”
Mitch looked at Priscilla. “Do you think Jesse will believe she was a month early?”
She looked at him and burst out laughing. “No. I don’t think so.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m in a lot of trouble.”
The End
Did you like this story? Please consider leaving a review on either Goodreads or the place where you bought it. Long or short, your review will help other readers discover new authors and make purchasing decisions!
A Dogtown Christmas is the sixth book in the Oklahoma Lovers series. Although all the books in the series are standalones, the series, in reading order, is:
A Run for Love
A Prescription for Love
A Chance to Love Again
A Wife by Christmas
Anyplace But Here
A Dogtown Christmas
Visit my website for more information.
Miss Merry’s Christmas
About the Book
David Worthington, Duke of Penrose dislikes Miss Meredith Chambers, the American governess who accompanied his new wards. He especially detests his attraction to the insufferable woman, and is anxious for her replacement to arrive. Merry is thrilled when the Dowager Duchess Penrose hires her as a companion. Now she can stay with her beloved charges. But can she ignore how her heart thumps when the pompous duke gets close? Two people determined to ignore each other, despite the pull between them, and the sparks that fly whenever they're together.
Acknowledgments
No man is an island, and no book is written by just the author. Critique partners, beta readers, and editors all play a part in the final product.
My critique partner, Romance Author, Char Chaffin, slapped my hand every time I overused a word or phrase. She brutally cut me off, with no remorse. I love her.
My beta readers, Warren Greene, Romance Author Ella Quinn, and Romance Author Ally Broadfield offered innumerable suggestions and advice. They even caught a mistake or two.
And a special thanks to Ella, who pulled my arse from the flames more than once when I blundered in relating details of Regency life. Any mistakes are mine, and mine alone.
To Aunt Mary. Even after all these years, I still miss you.
Chapter 1
Hamptonshire, England, October, 1813
Miss Meredith Chambers took a deep breath and smiled at the two little girls staring up at her with wide eyes. “Well, it appears we’re here.”
Her smiled faltered when they both grabbed her legs and hid their faces in her skirts. “What’s this?”
“I don’t want to live here,” Charlotte, the older of the sisters, wailed.
“Me neither,” Clare echoed.
Merry dropped to her knees and pulled them both close. “You are the duke’s wards. He is a very important man, your father’s best friend. You will love living here.”
Two curly, blond-haired heads shook furiously.
“Madam?” The front door of the massive house opened, and a tall, thin butler, his nose as long as the rest of him, glared down at them. “His Grace awaits you in the library.”
Merry stood and patted her hair, which had come loose from her knot. Well, no time to fuss with it now. She took one step forward, dragging the two girls with her. The sound of the well-sprung coach that delivered them, its wheels clattering on the cobblestones, rang in her ears, the last link to their old life.
“Girls, release my legs, I am unable to walk.”
They clung harder, causing her to shuffle along like an invalid. When they reached the bottom of the steps, Merry wrapped an arm around each small girl, lifted them, and climbed the steps.
The butler viewed the group without expression. “This way if you please.”
Winded, Merry followed the man, still dragging her charges.
Goodness, the house was huge. The marble entrance hall was filled with delicate tables, over-stuffed Queen Anne chairs, and an immense clock, its sound almost as loud as her pounding heart.
“Madam? Do you wish assistance?”
Realizing she gaped like a ruffian from the street, she attempted to step forward, still impeded by the girls. “Ladies, you must let me go.” They clung tighter. She flashed a smile at the butler, whose countenance remained impassive, leaving her to wonder if a smile ever graced his stoic face.
Despite her best intentions, Merry twisted back and forth, amazed as she took in her surroundings. Plush carpets, silk wall coverings, priceless lamps, all reminding her of the wealth and status of the girls’ guardian. Her nose smacked into something solid as the butler came to an abrupt stop, but her body, with her two charges still attached firmly to her limbs, did not.
Lips twitching, but maintaining his austere demeanor, the butler opened a large wooden door with elaborate carvings, and sniffed before announcing, “Lady Charlotte Spencer, Lady Clare Spencer, and Miss Meredith Chambers.”
The girls clung harder, making it practically impossible for Merry to enter the room. She dragged one limb, then the other, until she reached the massive oak desk. Breathless from her effort, she looked up into the most arresting brown eyes, with specks of gold, she’d ever seen. Above the eyes, sharp black eyebrows rose almost to the hairline of wavy black hair. Below the eyes an aristocratic nose led to sensual lips drawn into a tight line.
“Your Grace.” She puffed and atte
mpted a clumsy curtsy.
The only sound in the room was the soft click of the door as the butler exited. Merry waited patiently to be invited to sit. Instead, the brown eyes kept staring at her, then leisurely slid their way down her person, and obviously from the additional tightening of his full sensual lips, finding her wanting.
Eventually, a long-fingered hand flicked in the direction of one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk. “You may sit.”
Merry sat abruptly, feeling like a dog panting in front of its master. The two girls ended up on their knees on the floor, still buried in her skirts.
“Is there something wrong with the young ladies?” The deep voice rolled over her, setting her heart to pounding.
Merry grasped the girls’ arms and attempted to pull them to their feet. They held tighter. “No, Your Grace. They’re merely a bit anxious.”
“Indeed.”
How was it possible to put so much disapproval into one word?
After a moment, he settled back in his chair, his fingers clutching a quill pen he tapped on the desk. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?”
With all the liquid in her mouth dried up, she merely nodded.
“I understand from my solicitors you’ve had sole charge of the girls since their parents passed away a month ago?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Good. She was finally able to pry her mouth open.
“And you find it so difficult to control your charges that they do not sit as proper ladies?”
Heat rose to Merry’s face and anger washed through her. The arrogant arse! “They’re confused and a bit distressed.” She bent and whispered furiously to the girls. “Please get up, His Grace is not happy.”
“No.” Two voices piped up, muffled in her skirts.
She smiled slightly at the duke and shrugged. If possible his eyebrows rose further, disappearing underneath the wave that rested against his forehead.
“It appears to me, Miss Chambers, that Lady Charlotte and Lady Clare have arrived into my keeping just in time.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I arranged for a governess to train them in proper behavior. She will instruct the girls in the skills necessary for a lady of their station.” He waved his hand. “Sewing, French, watercolors, and so forth.”
Merry stared at him, her jaw slack. Well over six feet, David, Duke of Penrose, was a sight to behold. Every inch the lord of the manor, his coat fit him as if it had been painted on. His white-on-white waistcoat hugged his impressive body above well-fitting tan breeches tucked into shiny black Hessian boots. A snow white, intricately tied cravat stood in stark contrast to his lightly tanned skin.
Lord Penrose rounded the desk and rested one hip on the edge, peering down at her, his foot swinging back and forth. “I shall allow a bit of transition time for the young ladies. You may stay on for a week or two. Then I will see you receive a generous stipend to tide you over until you can secure another position.”
Two blonde heads popped up from underneath Merry’s skirts. “No!”
Penrose studied the two anxious faces in front of him. So these were the girls that might have been his, had Eleanor chosen him instead of Bedford years ago. He stopped his thoughts from wandering in that direction. He’d gotten over the defection of the lovely Lady Eleanor, but found it ironic that it was he who would raise her daughters, see them presented to Society, and married. Life takes interesting twists and turns.
Miss Chambers presented a whole other issue. Although pretty in a common sort of way, with her huge blue eyes and less than tidy golden blond hair, her inability to handle the most minor directives to his wards did not bode well. In fact, it appeared he was about to face a mutiny before he’d even had the chance to speak to the young minxes.
“So you do possess faces. And voices.”
“Girls, curtsy to His Grace.”
Studying him with suspicion, they did a quick bob, then took the chairs on either side of Miss Chambers. The older girl studied her lap, and the younger one stuck her thumb in her mouth and twirled a lock of her hair.
Penrose’s gaze shifted to Miss Chambers, who had the grace to blush.
“They’re not usually this shy, Your Grace, but it has been a difficult month for them.”
“Take your finger from your mouth.” The order, coming out a bit stronger than he’d intended, had two sets of young eyes peering at him in terror.
“Young ladies do not suck on their thumbs, or twist their hair.” He shifted his gaze to Lady Charlotte. “And girls a few years away from being presented to the Queen do not stare at their laps when addressed.”
Both girls returned to their positions on the floor, their heads again buried in Miss Chambers’ skirts.
Penrose sighed. “Miss Chambers.”
The woman raised her chin, eyes flashing, and regarded him. “Yes, Your Grace.”
He chose to ignore the sarcasm in her voice. “I would be remiss in my duties as guardian to allow you to continue to supervise their activities. It is clear to me you have no control over them. They do not possess even a hint of good manners, and certainly not the demeanor required of their station.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to speak.
“As I mentioned before, you will be permitted to remain here at Penrose Hall for a week or two until the girls are settled in. I will be more than generous, so you will be able to take time in securing a new position.” He slid off the desk, and moved to return to his chair.
“Wait just a minute, Your Grace.”
Penrose came to an abrupt stop. No one in his life had ever addressed him with such derision. And to think it came from a governess. Horror gripped him as he swung around. “Are you American?”
Miss Chambers stood, both girls entangled in her skirts. “Yes. I am an American. And you, Your Grace, are an arrogant Englishman.”
Blood rushed to his face, his heart thumping at the insolence. Then, without thought, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. This sprite of a woman−this American–had just insulted him as no other in his entire life. Used to bowing and scraping from his peers, and flirting and admiration from women, he felt as though someone had opened a window and let in fresh air. However, as amused as he was at her behavior, she would still have to go. His charges needed a good, English governess to bring them to right.
“Miss Chambers, I will overlook your outburst and attribute it to your lack of proper upbringing. Lady Charlotte and Lady Clare are in dire need of direction that you apparently have not provided. As grateful as I am that you took them under your wing when their parents died suddenly, I must insist on you leaving them into the care of the governess I have secured for them who will arrive on the morrow. Once your presence is no longer needed to secure the cooperation of my wards, you will be released.”
He walked to the far right corner of the room and pulled the bell. Miss Chambers studied him as they waited for the servant he’d summoned. Within minutes, a young nursery maid entered the room and bobbed. “Your Grace?”
“See that Lady Charlotte and Lady Clare are settled. I believe Miss Chambers has been assigned the room adjoining theirs for the time being.” His arms crossed, he looked at the woefully inadequate governess. “The young ladies will have dinner in the nursery. I will expect you to present yourself in the drawing room at precisely eight o’clock to join myself, my brother, Lord Brandon, and my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Penrose, for dinner.”
With that command, he strode from the room.
Merry took a deep breath to keep from racing after the prig and giving him a piece of her mind. Lack of proper upbringing, indeed. Duke or no duke, Penrose was arrogant, condescending, and contemptuous. He’d frightened the girls and affected a most unpleasant welcome. She glanced at them still huddled on the floor.
“Come, let’s get settled in the nursery, and see what fine books and toys are there.”
Charlotte and Clare stood and took her hands. The trio followed the maid out the door and up the stairs. Wherever th
e contemptuous man had gotten off to, she didn’t see him the entire trip. And a trip it was. Even though her former employers, Lord and Lady Bedford, had an impressive home, this dwelling put it to shame. It would take her weeks to learn all the hallways, wings and sections of the place. Except, she reminded herself, the lord of the manor would be tossing her out on her arse in a week or two.
She sighed. Charlotte and Clare had been her charges for five years, and leaving them in someone else’s care troubled her. They’d been a mere seven and four when Lord and Lady Belford hired her during their trip to America. Their nanny had succumbed to a fever, and Merry was only too happy to leave her home behind, where all the young men who had paid her addresses had married elsewhere.
As the daughter of a professor, she’d been educated beyond the expectations of most young ladies, and in fact, most men as well. Although the young bucks who attempted to court her were charming, they lacked the spark she desired in a lifetime mate.
She’d spent hours discussing books, plays and music with her father. Proud of her sharp mind, he’d taught her philosophy, economics, history, and languages. She’d picked up French and German quickly. A duck out of water in her circle of female friends, who only conversed about the latest gossip, gowns, and young men, the chance to travel to England shortly after her father passed away seemed her salvation. At one and twenty, it had been time for a new direction.
“Miss, this is the nursery. If you will follow me, I’ll show you to your chamber next door.” The young maid swung open the door to a brightly colored schoolroom. Small wooden tables and chairs took up the center of the room. A bookcase lined the walls, with puzzles, games and slates stacked on the shelves. On the far side of the room, a door led to what appeared to be a sleeping chamber.
Merry Christmas, My Love Page 21
