Regency Christmas Weddings
Autore
Christine Merrill
Letto da
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Capitoli
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Three Regency Christmas short stories in one volume Winter wedding bells are ringing… For three Regency couples! In A Mistletoe Kiss for the Governess by Christine Merrill, Major Frederick is stunned when his daughters' governess is not the stern matron he expects, but a beguiling miss who challenges and tempts him! In The Earl's Yuletide Proposal by Liz Tyner, delivering the news that her cousin is calling off her engagement should be simple for Adriana. Until the earl proposes to her instead! In Lord Grange's Snowy Reunion by Elizabeth Beacon, years ago Juno fell in love with Lord Nathaniel Grange, then war tore them apart. Will a snowbound night lead to a second chance?
Chapter One
Major Frederick Preston stared out of the window of the hired carriage at the bustle of London, still amazed to be home. It had been five years since he’d been in England, but now that Napoleon had been exiled to Elba, he was confident that the war was over. There was no reason he should not return to see how much his daughters had grown.
‘How is the leg?’ This comment came from his travelling companion, a captain in the Fusiliers who was sharing the ride into the city.
Frederick flexed his knee, trying not to grimace at the injury that was still not healed, though it had been over six months since he’d taken a ball at Toulouse. ‘Fine, thank you.’
In truth, it was beastly. When he had been on the ship from Calais there had been space to walk around and keep the joint limber. But on the ride from Dover, it had grown stiffer and more painful by the mile.
‘It will be better once you are home with your family,’ the Captain said, ignoring his lie. ‘The last time I was in London, I enjoyed dinner and a delightful evening of cards with your daughters. It is most kind of you to open your house to junior officers when you are not there. We are all very grateful for your generosity.’
Frederick smiled and nodded. ‘I know how lonely it can be when one is between postings and without the proper time to have a decent meal. The least I can offer is dinner now and then. And in her letters my girls’ governess assures me they appreciate the company.’
‘Mrs Lewis?’ the man said with a smile.
‘You have met her then?’ he asked, trying not to appear too curious.
‘She is never far from the girls when we are there,’ the Captain assured him.
‘Lewis has been a godsend,’ Frederick admitted. ‘I hired her through an agency while I was in Portugal and she took everything in hand with barely a word of instruction from me.’
‘You have never met her?’ the man said, surprised.
Frederick shook his head. ‘We correspond frequently, but I have been rather busy these last years...’
The Captain laughed at this assessment of a long and brutal war, then said, ‘You will be pleasantly surprised, I am sure. Mrs Lewis is a favourite of the regiment.’
‘Like a mother to you all,’ he said, for didn’t all governesses have a maternal air about them?
There was a strange pause, probably caused as the carriage bounced in a rut. Then the Captain gave a weak nod and said, ‘You really have not met her.’
‘But I am looking forward to it,’ Frederick replied. ‘I wish I’d had her on the front lines to teach my Lieutenants how to write reports. Her letters were succinct without missing a detail.’
‘A useful skill,’ the Captain agreed.
‘And the old dear follows orders like a seasoned campaigner. When it comes to the care of my children, I have but to ask and she obeys.’
‘The old dear,’ the Captain said, smiling into the dark.
The carriage was slowing now and Frederick smiled as it proceeded the last few yards to stop in front of his town house. ‘Home at last,’ he said, slapping his knees with his hands to pound the blood back into his legs. ‘We shall see you at dinner soon, I hope.’
‘I welcome the invitation,’ the other man said, reaching to open the door for him. ‘Give my regards to the girls. And Mrs Lewis, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Frederick said. While he had missed his children and was eager to come home to them, he felt a similar excitement at the prospect of meeting the woman who had cared for them. After years of correspondence, he viewed her more as a friend than an employee. Her letters had been a source of comfort on some of his most difficult days, giving him little slices of the life he missed to raise his spirits. Even when relaying a domestic crisis, she solved the problem with maturity and wisdom and ended the letter with a happy outcome to assure him that all would be well when he returned.
And now, at last, he was coming home to enjoy the fruits of her governance. He took one last, steadying breath before grabbing his stick and heaving himself out of the carriage with a smile, then limped to the front door.
‘Father is here!’ Eleanor Preston stood in the little window by the door to the town house, bouncing from side to side with excitement. ‘The carriage has stopped. The door is opening.’
‘Let me see,’ her sister Jane said, pushing her out of the way.
‘Ladies,’ Charlotte Lewis said with gentle admonition, ‘remember your manners. You are no longer children and you do not want your father to think he is coming home to a pair of hoydens.’
The sisters immediately calmed themselves and stepped away from the window to stand side by side and straight ahead like a pair of their father’s soldiers.
Charlotte smiled in approval. At sixteen and nineteen respectively, the girls were not quite of age. But they had been children when their father had last seen them and she wanted the Major to be impressed by how much they had changed. They were lovely young women now and a credit to his name.
‘I was so afraid he would not be here in time for the ceremony,’ Jane whispered, raising up on the balls of her feet for one last peek through the glass.
‘He promised he would come,’ Charlotte reminded her. ‘It would take more than Napoleon to keep him away from your wedding.’ He had assured her of it in his letter, but his homecoming had been delayed several times already and it was hard to believe that their waiting was finally over.
She resisted the urge to peer through the window for a first glimpse to assure herself that he was well. In truth, she was just as excited by this homecoming as the girls were, though it was not her place to be so. She was only a servant. Her happiness did not signify.
All the same, her heart leapt when the door opened and a man in a dashing red coat limped though, shaking snowflakes from his hat before setting it on a side table and turning to accept the embraces of his daughters.
She recognised him instantly, for she had seen his face often enough in the little miniature portrait that Jane kept on her bedside table. That picture had been painted years ago, when he had been younger and war had not taken a toll on him. He was still tall and broad-shouldered, but there were touches of grey in the temples of his brown hair and a small scar slicing though his right eyebrow.
She could see lines around his mouth as well, signs of the barely contained pain that his injury must be causing him. It was bad, she was sure, and she ached for him. But she offered a silent prayer of thanks that he was here and on two legs. For some time after the Battle of Toulouse, they had feared him dead. Even after he had been found and taken to hospital, two months had passed when he’d been too weak from blood loss and fever to write them. It had been months after that before he’d been strong enough to travel.
The wait for news had seemed interminable. She’d been as distraught as the girls during that long silence and rejoiced with them when it had ended. And celebrated again, when alone in her room, hugging herself and smiling at the thought that the meeting she’d longed for would finally occur.
His letters had been so much more to her than mundane correspondence from an employer to an underling. He’d filled them with stories of the places and people that he saw, hinting at the glories and terrors and boredoms of his days in a way that her late husband never had bothered with. Though he’d been away at sea for much of their marriage, his letters had been brief and irregular.
But the Major was a natural storyteller. Perhaps that was why she felt such a connection to him. And now here he was, an arm wrapped around each daughter, staring at them in amazement as they squealed in delight.
‘So tall,’ he said in an awed voice. ‘My dear Jane, you are taller than your mother was when she passed.’ He glanced to the other. ‘And my little Eleanor. Not so little any more.’
‘You are being silly,’ Eleanor said with a laugh. ‘Jane is to be married and next Season I will be out.’
‘You certainly will not,’ he said with a mocking smile. ‘You are far too young. And you, Jane, cannot mean to leave me just as I have finally come home.’
‘We already have your consent,’ she reminded him. ‘Jeremy saw to that before offering.’
‘He is a fine young man,’ her father agreed, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘But I still have you for several days and mean to make the most of them.’
The footman was bringing in the luggage and Eleanor broke free to open the nearest valise.
‘Here, now,’ her father said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Searching for presents,’ she said, showing no shame.
Charlotte cleared her throat to remind her not to be greedy and the Major glanced up, noticing her for the first time. Then he smiled and she felt the warmth to the tips of her toes. ‘Christmas is not for two days, Eleanor. Your gifts will wait until then. For now, you must show your manners and introduce me to your friend.’
‘Our friend?’ said Eleanor with a laugh.
‘You know Mrs Lewis,’ Jane said.
‘She has been here for ever,’ Eleanor agreed.
His smile faded as he stared at her, confused. ‘Lewis?’ he said, furrowing his brow.
She had been longing to hear that single word for months, for he never called her Mrs Lewis in his letters. This abbreviation of her name had come to feel familiar, rather than dismissive, as if he was speaking to a comrade. It was never, ‘Lewis, do this’ or ‘Lewis, do that’ as if commanding an underling. Instead, he might write ‘The most interesting thing happened the other day, Lewis...’ The name felt like a touch on the shoulder, drawing her into a private conversation, away from the rest of the world.
But now it was spoken with confusion, as if he could not quite place who she might be. Had he really forgotten her, after all the letters they’d exchanged? She hid her disappointment beneath a professional smile and dropped a curtsy, eyes bowed. ‘Sir.’
‘Lewis,’ he said in the same dazed tone, then gave a small shake of his head and said, ‘Of course.’
‘It is good to have you home, Sir,’ she said, for what harm could there be in saying so? ‘Tea has been laid in the sitting room, in anticipation of your arrival.’
‘Tea,’ he repeated in the same dull tone.
‘And sandwiches and cakes,’ she assured him. ‘If you prefer something stronger, you have but to ring.’
‘Of course,’ he said, still staring at her as if she was a stranger.
If she were a lady, she might have flounced away at this cold greeting. But she was his servant. It was not her place to come and go as she pleased. He needed to dismiss her and she prayed it would be soon, for she could not stand another moment of this unexpected awkwardness between them. ‘If there is nothing else,’ she prompted, ‘I will leave you alone with your family.’
At last, he seemed to remember himself and said, ‘That will be all, Lewis.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’ She turned before he could see her expression of disappointment and hurried up the stairs to her room. What had she been expecting? He was tired after a long journey and she was only a member of the staff.
She would take this time alone to get hold of herself and banish any nonsense she’d imagined about their first meeting, how he would greet her as an old friend, or perhaps, something more. If she did not learn to hide her feelings, it might mean the end of her position here. Her affection for him would be an unwelcome embarrassment.
For now, she would stay away until summoned. The family did not need her to watch their reunion. They had much to talk of and she had no part in it.
