A Night of Angels

by Andersen, Maggi

  Later, in her new bedchamber in Mark’s townhouse, her maid pulled the pins from Eleanor’s chignon before the mirror. She did think she looked her best. Getting married to one’s love was excellent for the complexion it seemed.

  When she joined Mark in his bedchamber, he crossed to her in his green silk dressing gown and took her in his arms. “My love.” He buried his face in her hair. “I’ve longed to see your beautiful hair down over your shoulders.”

  She slipped her arms around his slim waist and breathed his familiar scent. “It’s been a while, Mark, since I…” She was unsure of her thirty-six-year-old body. Her breasts were not quite as perky as they were at twenty. Would he find her attractive?

  He smiled and took her hand and drew her over to the bed.

  Mark propped his head in his hand and surveyed his wife. Eleanor slept beside him. She was his. He had the absurd urge to pound his chest or roar like some lion with a pride of one. He grinned and reached over to trace the curve of her jaw, wanting to wake her. Wanting her.

  Her eyes slowly opened, slumberous, the golden lashes rose, and she smiled. His groin tightened. Just one look was all it took. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, darling.” She looped her arms round his neck and kissed him. “What shall we do today?”

  “I rather thought we’d spend it here in bed.”

  A grin tugged at her lips. “I should like that.” Then she frowned.

  “Oh no,” he said, disappointed. “Have you promised to attend some charity function or other? Send your regrets. This is your honeymoon.”

  “No, I should go to Nash. He will be missing me. He was so well behaved at the wedding breakfast.”

  “Sweetheart, that boy means too much to you,” he said carefully, “I’m afraid he will break your heart.”

  She sighed. “I have grown fond of him.”

  “I have an answer to that problem.” It was time to voice something that had been on his mind.

  “Oh?”

  “I will adopt Nash.”

  Her eyes widened. “You would consider it? When you have no idea who fathered him? It still may not be Burton.”

  “I don’t care who his father is. I like Nash. He’s intelligent, brave, and has a good character. He’s a beautiful boy. What more can a father want of a son?”

  “But Mark, he is not yours.”

  “How many fathers among the ton are rearing children not of their loins?”

  “That’s not quite the same thing.” She studied him. “Are you doing this for me? Or is it something you really want?” She sighed. “You know what a fuss it will cause.”

  “Fusses tend to die down after a while,” he said, aware of how much she wanted to keep Nash with her.

  “We should at least try to contact his father, don’t you think?” she asked. “Nash might blame us one day if we don’t.”

  “Very well.” Mark threw off the bedcovers. “We shall set out for Coventry after breakfast.”

  She raised her eyebrows as she slipped from the bed. “You are confident Burton won’t want him, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “He knew where to find him.”

  “Yes. He did. Very well.” She came around the bed to kiss him. “I’ll go and get Nash ready.”

  “We have plenty of time,” he said, sinking back on the bed, and taking her with him. “If I’m to spend hours in the carriage without touching you, I need to be fortified.”

  Eleanor lay half over him. She laughed and ran her hand over his chest, toying with the dark curls there before sweeping down to the evidence of his desire.

  With a chuckle, Mark rolled, tucking her beneath him. He edged her legs apart and with a groan of pleasure, pushed into her welcoming warmth.

  “Mark…” she moaned and drew him close.

  He increased his pace as her hips met his in perfect rhythm.

  A loud knock came at the door. “Eleanor?” a small voice called.

  “Come away, Master Nash,” the maid in charge of him cried. “You mustn’t go in there.”

  Mark groaned loudly and lay breathing heavily against Eleanor’s lush breasts. “I’ll put a footman in charge of him in the future.”

  Eleanor laughed. “I’d best go to him. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  He smiled as she donned her dressing gown. “You’ll spoil the lad.”

  She paused, looking stricken. “I won’t have him long, though, will I?”

  Mark looked after her as she hurried through the door. He wanted to give her the world. But perhaps this one thing might be beyond him.

  Chapter Nine

  Nash had become very quiet the last few miles. As they approached a sprawling red-brick manor house in Burton Green, he sat up and looked out the window. “This is where my father lives?” he asked.

  “If he is your father, Nash,” Mark said, raising his brows at Eleanor.

  She was terribly nervous, fearing this would be upsetting for the boy. They might have tackled it alone, but Mark thought Nash’s presence would be more affective to shake the man from his complacency. She wasn’t so confident, there were gentlemen’s’ bastards everywhere, including the royal family’s. They wanted to force the man to face up to his shameful past, and she suspected Mark, who would never sire a bastard and leave the child to fate, was looking forward to it a little too much.

  After Mark gave his card, a maid showed them into the drawing room. Nash’s eyes were like saucers as he looked around the well-appointed room.

  Moments later, a young man of about twenty entered. He bowed and greeted them politely, his eyes resting on Nash.

  Eleanor stared, shocked. He was blond with blue eyes and looked like an older version of Nash.

  “Are you visiting the area?” he asked. “May I offer you refreshment?”

  “No, thank you,” Mark said. “We wished to speak to the baron.”

  He looked confused. “I am Frederick, Baron Burton.”

  “You are?” Eleanor said. “Then your father has passed away?”

  “Some years ago. What is this about?” He waved an arm toward the group of chairs around the fireplace.

  Eleanor remained standing, fighting to remain calm, her heart beating unnaturally fast. “We should like to introduce you to your father’s child.”

  His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

  She put a reassuring hand on Nash’s back. “This is Nash.”

  Frederick’s blue eyes returned to Nash. He nodded thoughtfully. “Nash is a family name.”

  Eleanor started. So it was true. “We’d like to know why your father did not return to support his mother.”

  “Do sit, please,” Frederick said, brushing a hand through his fair hair. “I believe we’re in need of tea or something stronger. This is all a little overwhelming.”

  Once they were seated, he began to explain. “My father fell from his horse and was killed when I was eleven. I was away at school at the time.”

  “Was the school Hall Place in Bexley?”

  He nodded. “I was sent to Eaton soon after.”

  As they drank their tea, Frederick spoke of his father, what a good man he was. “He would have wanted to help your mother, Nash.”

  “Thank you for seeing us, Lord Burton,” Eleanor said, putting down her cup. “It has cleared up a mystery.”

  “Is there a problem with money? I can certainly…”

  “No.” Mark climbed to his feet. “That isn’t necessary.”

  “I wish there was more I could do,” Frederick said, “but I am about to leave for my grand tour, and there isn’t anyone…”

  Mark came to shake his hand. “There is no need. Nash will be well cared for.”

  Frederick looked relieved. “I’m glad.” He shook Nash’s hand. “I hope you will write to me one day, Nash, and tell me how you go on.”

  Nash nodded. He’d not said a word and looked so tired and confused, Eleanor kept a hand on his shoulder.

  When they were on the road again, Nash
climbed on to her lap. He was heavier than the last time. “You won’t be able to do this for much longer,” she said, hugging him.

  “I don’t blame him for trying though,” Mark said with a grin.

  “Can I stay with you, then, Eleanor?” Nash asked.

  “Yes, forever, sweetheart. Isn’t that right, Mark?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Nash smiled and closed his eyes.

  Epilogue

  Broadstairs Park, Surrey, Christmas

  Christmas was always a family affair. They all came, and friends visited if the weather permitted. There was caroling, church services, and they drank mulled wine and ate mince pies with a lot of good humor around the fire in the drawing room laden with holly and greenery, while snow fell softly beyond the windows painting the landscape white.

  Nash, his blond hair neatly curling around his ears, all coltish legs, and arms in his beautiful clothes, played quoits in the gallery with Georgina and Hugh’s young son, Aubrey John, while their baby daughter, Emily, watched from her nanny’s arms.

  The conversation turned to the king, and most were incensed that he had refused his wife, Caroline, entry to Westminster Abbey for his elaborate coronation, which he’d intended to rival Napoleon’s. Sadly, the queen had since died.

  “I’ve retired from my government post and advised the king,” Mark said. “As he ignored my entreaty to drop the unpopular Pains and Penalties Bill in his unsuccessful attempt to divorce the queen, I have nothing more to offer.”

  “I can quite understand,” Hugh said. “His Majesty’s judgement has been poor in this regard.”

  “And in so many other matters,” Eleanor said, picking up the glass snow globe from a table that Nash’s half-brother had sent him. She turned it upside down. Snow drifted over a charming village scene. Frederick had written that he’d discovered it in Switzerland during his tour, and Nash was seldom parted from it. Eleanor suspected the two would meet again when the baron returned to England.

  “Sit down, Eleanor,” Mark said. “You’ve been on your feet all morning.”

  Eleanor put a hand on her large stomach as she sat. “I am perfectly well, darling. Don’t fuss. The doctor says I am an excellent patient.”

  He smiled down at her, his eyes strained. She patted his cheek, knowing she could do little to ease his worry.

  “Perhaps we should have remained in London,” he said, “With your time so near.”

  “But I wished to be here. And I didn’t want to disappoint Nash. Hugh has an excellent stable of thoroughbreds, and Nash has become a fine horseman, you said so yourself.”

  He raised his brows, a smile lurking in his eyes. “You know that isn’t the reason. We have a fine stable at home.”

  “No.” She placed a hand on his arm in appeal. “But I’m not due for a couple of weeks and I wanted to spend Christmas with my family. We don’t see each often enough when the Season ends.”

  Mark gave a resigned nod. “It’s very pleasant, I must say.”

  Eleanor stilled at the small uncomfortable pull in her stomach. “Hugh says a London surgeon has a country house only a few miles away.”

  Mark studied her. She eased herself clumsily out of the chair, wishing to remove herself from his worrying gaze, but a sharp pain made her knees buckle.

  Mark caught her and yelled. He swept her up as Georgina and Hugh hurried over. “Call that surgeon,” he said in a brittle voice and strode toward the door.

  The wait was excruciating. Mark tried not to think of the last time he’d been in this position, when the outcome had been so devastating. Georgina tried to make him rest and eat, and Hugh came to offer support as he trod a path in the hall rug.

  Finally, the doctor came to give him the news. Eleanor’s had been a long confinement, all through the night and well into the next day. Mark entered the bedchamber where she rested on pillows, her face as pale as the bed linens. He knelt beside the bed, taking in the purple shadows beneath her eyes. “Are you well, my love?”

  “Yes. Sit beside me.” She patted the bed. “And meet your daughter, Maria.”

  It was true. He wasn’t dreaming. A lump blocking his throat as he pressed a kiss to Eleanor’s hand and examined the small bundle tucked into her arm; the tiny sweet face, the wisp of blonde hair peeping from her cap. Maria. His mother’s name. “She is in good health?” He feared he would disgrace himself and cry.

  “We are both perfectly well. I’m sure the doctor told you so.”

  “Yes, he did, but I never believe anything until I see it for myself.”

  She reached out and stroked his cheek. “And what do you see?”

  He felt light-headed. “My beautiful wife and daughter. My life is complete, Eleanor.”

  She smiled. “You might kiss me, darling,” she said in mock disapproval. “And please send for Nash. He will want to meet his new sister. I’m sure he is driving everyone mad.”

  The End

  A Midnight Clear

  Chasity Bowlin

  Chapter One

  The carriage lurched roughly, the wheels sliding on the muddy road. Lady Sarah Middlethorp, Dowager Viscountess of Vale, gripped the edge of the seat as she struggled to avoid being dislodged from it entirely.

  The storm had come up unexpectedly, beginning with heavy rain which quickly gave way to ice and now snow. There were miles still to go before she would reach Midford Abbey, the Middlethorp family seat. It would be the first Christmas since her son had been returned to her. Happily married now to her former companion, Elizabeth, they were expecting their first child in just shy of a month. It was that which had necessitated her leaving Bath and traveling to them for the holidays. She would not miss spending such a special day with her son, even if it meant descending upon them during Elizabeth’s confinement.

  Thinking of all the lonely holidays she’d spent, wondering if Benedict was alive, if he was well and warm and cared for, Sarah shuddered. From that fateful night so many years ago when he’d been torn from her arms and absconded with by the villains her own husband had brought into their lives with his perfidy and greed, her life had been focused on one thing only. Getting him back, no matter the cost. And finally she had. She would not miss another Christmas with him.

  Even as she thought it, the carriage slowed, the horses’ hooves slipping on the mud and ice. “Why are we stopping? We’re in the middle of nowhere!” she called to the driver.

  “I’m sorry, my lady! There’s a tree fallen across the road. We’ll have to go back and take the other road.”

  It would take all night, assuming they could even go that direction as it was a more narrow and less well-traveled road. “How far are we from Midford, Travers?”

  “We’re still two miles out, my lady!”

  She could walk two miles. Even in the worst of conditions, she should be able to manage that. After all, had she not dressed for travel in a warm, woolen gown and sturdy boots? And if she cut cross country and got off the road, the distance would surely be even less.

  “Help me down, Travers. You’ll turn and go back to the inn in the village. I can walk the remainder of the way.”

  She heard him gasp even from inside the coach. When the door opened, he stood there gaping at her as if she’d lost her mind. “My lady! No. It’s much too dangerous.”

  “It will be fine, Travers. There is a small cart path that cuts through the woods past the dower house and it will reduce the distance by half at least. I have my cloak and my boots,” she insisted. Whether she was trying to convince him or herself remained to be seen. Regardless, she needed to reach Midford and Benedict. It wasn’t just that she wanted to be near her son, for she did, terribly. It was also that she was terribly lonely. There had been no need to replace her companion after Elizabeth had married Benedict because her days of investigating every mystic in all of England had come to an end. She’d found precisely what she wished to, after all.

  “It’s too dangerous, my lady,” the man insisted. “It’s more ice th
an rain at this point and if you fall, there will be no one to help you.”

  “I am going, Travers. I will make it to Midford even if I have to crawl. Nothing will stop me from spending Christmas with my son,” she said fiercely, even as she dug a few coins from her bag. Extending them toward him, she pressed them into his palm. “Nothing. Now, help me down, then get back to the inn, obtain lodgings for yourself and see to the horses.”

  “I can’t do that, my lady!”

  “Travers, I am still your employer. There is no room for negotiations in this matter,” she snapped. “Now, for the last time, help me down!”

  The man was clearly displeased but, short of restraining her inside the carriage, he had no other option. When he took her hand and helped her from the vehicle, she planted her feet on the road and realized just how truthfully he’d spoken. Everything was coated in a thin sheen of ice. The world glinted with it, as if everything had been draped in diamonds or crystals. A moment of apprehension seized her, but she quickly tamped it down. Her fear did not alter the situation, after all. She still needed to reach Midford. She would reach Midford, she determined.

  Clutching her cloak more firmly about her, she gave Travers a nod that reflected far more confidence than she actually felt, and headed the few yards down the road to the turn off for the small dirt-packed path that the tenant farmers used when taking their crops and livestock to market. It had been ages since she’d been there, but it had always been one of her favorite country walks. Of course, those walks had been taken in much milder conditions.

  Making her way gingerly along the road, holding onto tree branches and the low stone walls that banked it whenever possible, Sarah held fast to her determination and the need to reach her family.

  Branson Middlethorp cursed the abominable weather as he made his way back to the small dower house on the grounds of Midford Abbey. The rain that had fallen was freezing on contact to everything it touched and what continued to fall was quickly giving way to snow. He had exiled himself there so that the servants would not feel divided in their allegiance between himself and his nephew who had only recently taken up the title and the running of the estate. The truth was, he would happily depart Midford Abbey and leave Benedict to it, but the boy was not ready. Man. Benedict was not a boy, but a man fully grown, with a wife at his side and a solid head on his shoulders. Thinking of him as a boy was less a reflection on Benedict than it was a reflection of Branson’s own encroaching dotage. Still, he had not been raised to tend an estate. While his business acumen was sound, he needed guidance on things such as land usage, when to plant, when to leave fallow. Those were not things to be learned overnight, but Branson was no longer certain he was the man to teach him. A restlessness had overtaken him of late. No longer fettered by responsibilities to the Middlethorp estates and a viscountcy that had never been intended for him, the prospect of freedom loomed ahead of him.