Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem: A Bluestocking Belles Collection Page 15

  Julia rolled her eyes, but her mother laughed. "Be sure you do not forget it, dear Oliver, if you intend to keep her. I've always said that Julia is much like me, and she will not respond well to a dictatorial husband. Indeed…" She turned and winked at her daughter. "Now that she has had a taste of independence, she might be susceptible to the same nomadic urges as her mother."

  Oliver cleared his throat and looked at Julia uncertainly. She wouldn't take it into her head to flee to the future every time they had a disagreement, would she?

  Julia grinned and gave a slight shrug. "If I do, you will come after me, won't you? Because as intriguing as the twenty-first century can be, I know that my future is here, with you and little Violet and our family."

  Lady Pendleton nodded approvingly. "It's best to wait until the children are grown, and not abandon them, as I did at one time." She favored them with one of her enigmatic smiles. "After that, a lady has more time on her hands. A discerning husband will take care to see to his wife's happiness above all things."

  The footmen arrived with the coats, and the doors were opened to allow the bridal couple to pass through to the chill of the outdoors. To Oliver's delight, snowflakes were floating down from the sky to cover the scene in pristine white.

  Julia smiled up at him, and he took the opportunity to kiss her before they darted down the steps to the waiting carriage.

  "Are you glad you remained for the ceremony this time, Mrs. Stanton?" he asked casually, after giving the order for the coachman to depart.

  "Indeed, Mr. Stanton." She looked up at him with a happy light in her eyes. "It was a lovely wedding, was it not? I've wanted to be your wife for a very long time, but this time… well, this time I knew that what I really want is to be with you, in a partnership between equals. As long as we have that, the rest doesn't matter."

  Oliver hugged her to him. "I am so glad that we had this time to be able to work things out between us, my love. Even though I had to follow you into another realm to make it happen." He grinned. "It was actually much more amusing than slaying dragons as the knights of old had to do to win their ladyloves. I'm better with pistols than swords."

  She snuggled up to him, laying her head on his shoulder. "It's you I want, Oliver, not a knight in shining armor. And if there are any dragons to be fought, I want to be at your side fighting them with you."

  "I give you my word, Mrs. Stanton." He kissed the top of her head.

  The carriage slowed as they reached Grosvenor Square, and he contemplated the snow-covered neighborhood with a happy heart. It was his wedding day. His and Julia's. And following the wedding breakfast, the two of them would retreat to their new home and celebrate Christmas Eve together in their own special way.

  "I love you, Julia."

  "Of course you do." she said with an impish twinkle. "I love you too, Oliver."

  They looked at each other for a long moment after the carriage came to a stop, eventually interrupted by a soft tap on the door.

  Oliver pulled the curtain across the window. "In a moment," he called out. "I have something important to do first."

  Leaning down, he tipped his wife's chin up and leaned down to kiss her.

  After a long moment, she pulled away and smiled up at him. "It seems you are becoming quite the dashing hero, Mr. Stanton. Are you not at all concerned about causing a scandal?"

  He grinned and pulled her back into his arms. "If kissing my wife is scandalous, my love, then I suppose I shall be reviled forevermore as 'that odious man who cannot keep his hands off his own wife in public.'"

  Julia's arms went up around his neck. "I don't know how I shall bear it," she said softly, drawing his head down to hers.

  But it was their wedding day, after all, and Oliver expected it to be only the first of a long, happy life together.

  "Come along, my dear," he said finally. "Let us greet our guests, partake of cake and champagne, and slip away as soon as we can manage it for the honeymoon."

  "A brilliant plan," she concurred.

  And it was.

  The End

  About Susana Ellis

  Susana has always had stories in her head waiting to come out, especially when she learned to read and her imagination began to soar.

  A former teacher, Susana lives in Toledo, Ohio in the summer and Florida in the winter. She is a member of the Central Florida Romance Writers and the Beau Monde chapters of RWA and Maumee Valley Romance Inc.

  Website: http://www.SusanaEllis.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Susana.Ellis.5

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/SusanaAuthor

  Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/SusanaAuthor/

  Other Books by Susana Ellis

  Treasuring Theresa

  She's a country lady. He's a London swell. They have nothing in common. Or have they?

  A Twelfth Night Tale

  A wounded soldier and the girl next door find peace and love amidst a backdrop of rural Christmas traditions.

  Lost and Found Lady

  (Beaux, Ballrooms, and Battles anthology)

  Catalina and Rupert fell in love in Spain in the aftermath of a battle, only to become separated. When they meet again, as another battle is brewing, is it too late for them?

  The Third MacPherson Sister

  (Sweet Summer Kisses anthology)

  Rebecca's four Seasons have proven disappointing compared to the success of her two older sisters. Miles is pondering his urgent need for a wife when Rebecca lands in his lap in the nave of Bath Abbey.

  Under the Mistletoe

  Sherry Ewing

  When Captain Sander Morledge asks Margaret Templeton to act as the hostess of his Christmas party (and eventually his household), she never expects to see the man who once held her heart.

  Frederick Maddock, Viscount Beacham, has never forgotten the young woman he fell in love with, and his feelings swirl like drifting snow at the sight of her. Can the joy of the celebration and a well-placed Christmas miracle melt their frozen hearts?

  Chapter One

  December 1811

  The Village Rectory

  Edington, England

  Margaret Templeton looked up from the book she was reading in the library to glance outside the frost-covered window. The snow was falling again in a silent display of winter delight, but she could not mistake the sound of carriage wheels approaching the house. Who would be calling now? Thinking of the number of suitors her father had introduced to her of late, she heaved a sigh and inwardly cringed at yet another prospect. She wished he would stop. Being a bluestocking spinster suited her just fine, since most men of her acquaintance did not wish for an educated woman as their wife.

  She supposed she could not blame her father for wanting to see her settled with a good man with enough income sufficient to provide for her. Unfortunately, he held high hopes that someone from the nobility might take a fancy to her and wed her, despite her lack of title and dowry. Margaret knew her place in this life. Rubbing elbows with the peerage and becoming one of them was highly unlikely for a daughter of a clergyman.

  Once, she had briefly considered the possibility of an aristocratic union. Frederick, Viscount Beacham, was her longtime friend since childhood. Her regard for him had turned to something warmer as they matured, but she did not know he felt the same until he proposed. She remembered it as if it were yesterday. How she wanted to say yes to the man she loved! But his parents' ambitions ran high for their son. They would never have accepted her. She had politely refused, and their friendship had never been the same.

  She had lost count of how often she missed his company, and regretted her rejection of him. But if she had made a mistake all those years ago, there was no hope of rectifying it. Frederick was forever lost to her, and if she wished otherwise, she had no one to blame for her foolishness but herself.

  She shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. She hoped the caller would be a parishioner seeking advice or prayer. The alternative would cost
her hours playing hostess or, even worse, becoming the object of scrutiny from another suitor inspecting to see if she would be a suitable wife. She would rather spend her time among her beloved books.

  Margaret heard the carriage halt in front of the house. She rose from her chair, her cat, Bartholomew, weaving around her legs to leave trails of cat hair upon her gown. She leaned down to give him an affectionate scratch behind his ears and tried to sweep the fur from the fabric. It was, of course, hopeless, and the feline began to purr and rub up against her even more in his quest for attention.

  "Not now, Barty. We have another visitor." Even to herself, she sounded frustrated. She was glad no one overheard. "Let us go see who will be looking me over today and get it over with, shall we?"

  With a loud "meow," Barty turned up his little pink nose and promptly jumped into her vacated seat before the fire. Curling himself into a ball of warm fur, her feline friend promptly closed his eyes. Apparently, she was on her own.

  She heard her name being called. Her sister, somewhere beyond the closed library door. At the small mirror hanging on the wall, she checked that she was presentable for visitors. The face that stared back at her was comely enough, she supposed. Her dark brown hair was pulled back with ringlets falling in an appealing coiffure, but her blue eyes appeared… well… dull. There was nothing out of the ordinary in her features. She would never be considered one of the beautiful ladies in society she read about when she snuck away with father's copy of The Morning Post. She gave her cheeks a pinch to bring some color to them before opening the library door.

  A commotion on the upper floors of their home gave way to a childish squeal of delight from her younger sister, Sophie. Margaret hid a grin at the sounds of Sophie's pet's nails on the floorboards as it ran down the hallway.

  "Tulip! Come back here, you bad little puppy," Sophie yelled after her runaway dog. Tulip was now cautiously making its way down the stairs on wobbly short legs. Her sister caught up with the pup halfway and scooped up the dog, who began to lick her face.

  "Can you not think of a name that is more appropriate for a dog, Sophie?" Margaret asked, resisting the urge to lean on the door frame.

  Her sister looked at her, laughing. "But Tulip is perfectly appropriate for my puppy, Margaret. She reminds me of a warm summer day and being outside chasing butterflies or finding frogs to kiss who will then turn into handsome princes."

  "If you say so, dear." Margaret began to usher her sister towards the kitchens. "You had best take your dog outside, Sophie. Papa will not want it causing a fuss when we have company at the front door."

  "But it is snowing outside, Margaret. Poor Tulip will freeze to death out there in the barn."

  Margaret brushed the girl's hair back from her pixie face. At the age of ten and three, with the dark blonde hair inherited from their mother, and green eyes, her sister was a fanciful child. Margaret loved her dearly, especially since she had practically raised her. After the carriage accident that took their mother's life, Margaret had become Sophie's surrogate mother, and she loved her little sister dearly.

  "All right, sweet pea," she said fondly. "But you had best be sure that Tulip stays quiet, else Father will be disappointed in us both."

  Sophie smiled at the nickname as if the sun had begun to shine just for her. "Oh, I will make sure of it, sister. You will not hear even a peep from us." The resolution did not last beyond their departure, as Sophie yelped when Tulip chewed on her finger.

  With no other distractions, Margaret made her way to the front parlor to stand demurely in the doorway.

  Her beloved father, having just entering the vestibule, stopped to place his Bible on a side table. Margaret watched him ease into his jacket to receive their visitor and gave a small sigh. Her sire was tall and lean, and gray had begun to pepper his dark brown hair. She could not for the life of her remember when that had happened. Surely her father was not ageing!

  "Father," Margaret called out, gesturing towards her eyes.

  He chuckled, took his spectacles off, and placed them inside his jacket. "I almost forgot. Thank you, dear," he declared.

  He frowned ever so slightly at her gown, covered in cat hair, and shook his head, but there was no time to change since the caller knocked again on the door.

  "Captain Morledge, how good of you to call," her father said, as he opened the door. "Joseph Templeton at your service." A hand extended from the open doorway before the complete man came into view garbed in a blue uniform.

  "Vicar Templeton. It is good of you to receive me, sir," the man said formally. "I trust this is not an inconvenient time?"

  "No, no, nothing of the sort. You are most welcome, Captain. Please allow me to present you to my daughter." Margaret obediently stepped forward and curtseyed. "Margaret, may I present Captain Sander Morledge, an Officer of the 11th Light Dragoons?"

  "Good day to you, sir, and welcome to our home," she said politely.

  "A pleasure, indeed, to make your acquaintance, Miss Templeton," Captain Morledge replied in a deep rich baritone.

  Margaret felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Surely she was not going to allow a handsome face to get the better of her emotions! Her father ushered the captain into the drawing room, and Margaret took a seat opposite the gentlemen as they began to converse.

  Her father would expect her to attend, but peeking at Captain Morledge from beneath her lashes, Margaret found herself thinking about the prospect of him as a possible future husband. He was tall, with a muscular body hidden beneath the uniform of an officer. His black hair was neatly trimmed even while his gray eyes took in their meager home. His smile was friendly as he talked to her father. He was, in truth, a most fine-looking gentleman. She was pleasantly surprised.

  The gentlemen's laughter called her out of her thoughts.

  "Miss Templeton?" Captain Morledge was saying her name, but she had no idea what he had asked.

  "I beg your pardon, sir?"

  He smiled again, showing even, white teeth. "I asked if you liked children."

  She shifted uncomfortably. Surely he could not be asking her what she thought. How could she answer such a question, especially in front of her father? Before she could respond, her father gave her a warning glance to pay attention, and helped her catch up.

  "Captain Morledge is a widower, my dear Margaret, with two small children."

  "Please accept my condolences, Captain," Margaret said respectfully, "and yes, I like children."

  Captain Morledge gave a careless wave, dropping him a notch in Margaret's assessment. Was it of no consequence that he had lost his wife? "It has been several years, and the children are my main concern now."

  His reply and easy charm calmed her fears. Undoubtedly, she was wrong to question the man's integrity. He seemed to sincerely love of his children.

  "It is settled, then," her father declared brightly, causing Margaret to wonder, again, what she had missed in their earlier conversation.

  "Father?" She did not want to appear the kind of ninny who had been daydreaming instead of paying attention to the gentleman before her, but surely her father had not agreed to pledge her troth to a total stranger.

  "Captain Morledge is having a Christmas ball at his residence in London, Margaret. He has asked my permission to allow you to be his hostess for the event. I have already written the necessary letters to your mother's dear friend, Lady Penelope Whittles, who thinks of you most kindly. She has often asked you to come for a visit. You may stay with her, and she will act as chaperone while you attend the festivities and other outings the captain has planned prior to the holidays."

  "I hope you will agree, Miss Templeton," Captain Morledge interjected smoothly. "It would indeed be my honor to have you at my side to receive my guests during the holiday season."

  "It is a most unusual request, sir," she murmured.

  "I understand your apprehension, but I have no female relative available to act as hostess," Captain Morledge declared with a warm smile. "I have spo
ken at length with your father and have assured him that I regard you with the utmost respect. You will, of course, be chaperoned at all times."

  It appeared as if fate were taking control of her life, and if she wanted the possibility of a good marriage, this may be her only opportunity. "Thank you, Captain, for your gracious invitation. It sounds delightful," Margaret said, and the captain returned her warm smile.

  A servant announced that dinner was served. Father stood, and Captain Morledge held out his arm for Margaret. Reaching out tentatively, she felt his muscles flex beneath her fingers as he escorted her to the table. Any further reservations she may have had, she kept to herself. Time enough to consider them when she found what the future in London would bring.

  Chapter Two

  White's

  London

  Frederick Maddock, Viscount Beacham, looked with feigned disinterest at the cards in his hand. One was not often dealt four aces in a game of chance. He gave them a tap before he set them face down upon the table. The stack of chips in front of him had grown to a considerable fortune, but he was not foolish enough to bet the whole lot on one hand.

  He placed his bid, and two of his friends, Richard Cranfield and Milton Sutton, folded. His eyes went to the remaining player and friend, George Chadwick, who eyed him warily.

  George fingered his cards before throwing several chips into the growing pile in the center of the table with a confident smile. "I call, Frederick, and will raise you a guinea."

  Frederick returned the smile and threw in the additional wager without hesitation. "Call. What have you got, George?"

  Very smugly, George proceeded to show his full house. "Let us see what you have," he replied with a smirk.

  Frederick began turning the cards over one at a time. George's smile quickly faded while Richard and Milton began to clap until all four aces were revealed, followed by a jack.

  George was dumbfounded. "I should have never taught you that game of poker I learned while in America attending to business for my father."