Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem: A Bluestocking Belles Collection Read online

  The door suddenly clicked open, and there she was, his beautiful wife. And he knew he didn't need anything but her.

  Dressed in a simple morning gown of striped cream and raspberry silk, her dark brown curls arranged artfully about her face, she was so lovely that she literally stole his breath. Before he could summon his voice, she crossed the room toward him, her dark brown eyes aglow with warmth and a lovely smile on her lips. "Jasper, the abbey, this room, the way it has been decorated. It's so beautiful," she said, awe evident in her voice. "I've never seen anything like it."

  Hope flickered in his heart. He stepped forward and boldly took her hands in his. "I wanted the abbey to be warm and welcoming. The weather has been so miserable this year, and given that it's Christmas, what better reason can there be to spread a little bit of cheer about?"

  "I won't disagree with you there." Her smile suddenly turned shy. "I noticed you slept on the settee in our bedchamber. Again, thank you for being so considerate. I want to make things right between us, I truly do. But when I saw that letter—" Tears filled her eyes, and Jasper's heart twisted to see his wife in such pain. "I thought… I still wonder about the depth of your regard for Lady Montagu…Whether you plan to see her…"

  "Shh. I know I've hurt you, my love." He cupped his wife's cheek and brushed one of her tears away with his thumb. "And if I could take back everything that has happened, the way we first met, the way you discovered that hateful letter, I would in a heartbeat. Lady Montagu means nothing to me. I swear it. Would it help if I told you that you were always meant to see it?"

  Tessa's brow dipped into a deep frown. "I don't understand. Why would you want to show me something like that? Something so hurtful? Why didn't you dispose of it?"

  "Lady Montagu's letter arrived in the post the day before our wedding. And, like you, I was shocked to the very core by that woman's cruelty. I was an absolute dolt to have left the thing in such an unsecure place of course, but I kept it so I could show you. I wanted to be open and honest about what had happened. And most of all, I wanted you to know you could trust me implicitly. Our meeting was unconventional, to say the least, and I will freely admit I haven't the best of reputations. I suppose I thought that if I showed you the letter, you would see I had nothing to hide, that I intend to remain faithful to you, now and always."

  He framed her face with his hands and searched her beautiful brown eyes. "Do you understand now? I want only you, Tessa. Only you."

  "I so want to believe you, Jasper. I really do." She placed a gloved hand over his where it still rested against her cheek. "You sound sincere, but trust takes time to build. We still barely know each other."

  He smiled. "I know. Toward that end, I asked for a little help from your aunt… If you'll bear with me…" He released her and crossed the room to ring the bell pull. "On our wedding day, you told me you wanted something true and real to develop between us. And I do, too. I hope this will help. Call it a gesture of good faith if you will."

  There was a knock at the door, and Davis, the footman, entered, bearing a very large wicker basket. Jasper took it, and, after dismissing the servant, turned to Tessa. "I know it isn't all that customary to give presents at Christmas to one's spouse, but when I was a little boy, my mother used to shower Crispin and me with gifts. My father was an austere man and after she passed away—when I was eight—presents were few and far between. But I've always treasured the memories I have of my mother—of her love for giving—and so I wanted to give you something special, too."

  Holding his breath, he placed the basket on a nearby occasional table—it would be a little too cumbersome for Tessa to hold—and gestured for her to take a look. "In case you're worried, it isn't jewelry."

  "I can see that." Tessa's cheeks were stained bright pink, the light in her eyes frankly curious as she approached the basket. She opened the lid and then gasped. "Oh, heavens, Jasper." Her eyes shimmered with tears as she reached in and pulled out not one, but two, very sleepy Cavalier Spaniel puppies, white and tan with enormous brown eyes. She cradled them in her arms and raised her gaze to his. "They are just too adorable. Thank you. Thank you so much. I've always wanted a puppy of my very own."

  "You're very welcome." The relief suffusing Jasper's heart was indescribable.

  "I want to give you so much, Tessa, everything your heart desires…" He took one of the stirring pups and touched his wife's cheek with the back of his fingers. "If you agree, I would like to spend Christmas Day here. There is a Christmas feast planned for all of the estate's tenants, and I would love to introduce you, my countess, to everyone. And then on Boxing Day, what say we return to London? I believe there is a gift-giving event in Whitechapel that you would very much like to attend. And I would too."

  Tessa smiled, delight dancing in her eyes. "Oh, Jasper!" She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. "You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that. I agree wholeheartedly."

  Jasper grinned. "There's more."

  "More?" Tessa's eyes widened. "Jasper, what you are giving me, indeed, everything you are doing is more than enough."

  "Not nearly." He tucked the pup beneath his arm and caught one of her hands. "Come with me."

  ***

  Tessa readily followed her husband out of the morning room, along the hall to the main staircase, then up to the third floor. Halfway along, he paused before a heavy oak door and pulled a key from the inner pocket of his coat. "Close your eyes," he whispered, his voice velvet soft.

  Breathless with excitement and from the exertion of racing up the stairs, Tessa did as he asked. She heard the door click, and then Jasper circled his arm about her shoulders and gently steered her inside.

  He whispered again, "You can open them now."

  She did and then squealed with pure delight. "Oh, Jasper." He'd created an art studio for her.

  She put down her squirming puppy and moved farther into the room. It was a long, spacious apartment, wood paneled, with wide windows and a vaulted ceiling. An enormous fire burned in the red marble fireplace at the far end of the chamber, where several chairs upholstered in burgundy damask graced the Turkish hearthrug. Her gaze skipped to a pair of easels standing by one of the windows and then to a large oak cupboard at the other end of the room. The doors had been propped open to reveal an extensive selection of paints, other chemicals, and an assortment of tools—palettes, paintbrushes, and palette knives. And of course, there were canvases in all shapes and sizes stacked neatly against the wall beside the cupboard.

  She turned around to face Jasper and found him watching her from the doorway, his mouth curved into the smile that never failed to make her heart skip a beat. "I'm overwhelmed," she said, her voice husky with emotion. "I can't believe you went to all this trouble for me. After I thought the worst of you and ran off without a word." She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. "You are too good to me. And I haven't arranged a single Christmas gift for you. You must tell me what you want."

  Jasper closed the distance between them and grasped her shoulders. His warm hazel gaze trapped hers. "All I want is to tell you that I love you, Tessa. And I pray that you will let me love you to the end of our days."

  Tessa bit her lip and blinked rapidly in a futile attempt to stem the mist of happy tears suddenly blurring her vision. "I love you, too, Jasper, with my entire heart," she whispered. "And whether it is Christmas or any other day, you are all that I'll ever want."

  When Jasper bent his head to kiss her, this time she knew to the depths of her very soul, their love would be strong and true—forever.

  The End

  About Amy Rose Bennett

  Amy Rose Bennett has always wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember. An avid reader with a particular love for historical romance, it seemed only natural to write stories in her favorite genre. She has a passion for creating emotion-packed—and sometimes a little racy—stories set in the Georgian and Regency periods. Of course, her strong-willed heroines and rakish heroes alway
s find their happily ever afters.

  Amy is happily married to her own Alpha male hero, has two beautiful daughters, and a rather loopy Rhodesian Ridgeback. She has worked as a speech pathologist for many years, but is currently devoting her time to her one other true calling—writing romance.

  Website and Blog: http://AmyRoseBennett.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AmyRoseBennett.Author

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/AmyRoseBennett

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

  Other Books by Amy Rose Bennett

  Lady Beauchamp's Proposal

  A runaway countess finds love when she least expects it…but she can't hide from her past forever.

  An Improper Proposition

  Fraternizing with one's footman—no matter how young and handsome he is—is not the done thing. But Lady Wells is going to do it anyway…

  Long Gone Girl

  The girl Ginny Williams used to be is long gone… After returning home from the Korean War a widow, former MASH surgical nurse, Ginny Williams, heads to the Jersey Shore for a weekend of much needed R&R. But her plans to relax go seriously awry when the boy who broke her heart on prom night nine years ago—the now hotter-than-hot 'fly-boy' Jett Kelly—shows up. Will Ginny give Jett a second chance?

  The Ultimate Escape

  Susana Ellis

  On the eve of her wedding, Julia realizes she cannot marry her fiancé after all, no matter that it's been her dream for eight long years. Too distraught to face him, she follows in her mother's footsteps and flees to the future for a brief reprieve.

  Oliver knows he has bungled things badly, but he is determined to win the woman he loves, even if he must travel through time to do it.

  Prologue

  November 21, 1812

  Pendleton Townhouse

  Grosvenor Square

  London

  I always believed my parents' marriage was a love match, although Mama never said so, and Papa wasn't the type to make such emotional declarations, at least not while we were around. He was a gruff man and rarely smiled, but his feelings showed in his eyes by the way they followed her around whenever they were together and how often he touched her hands or shoulder. Nor did I ever see him turn her away when she embraced him or kissed him on the lips, which she was wont to do. And four years ago, after he left his earthly shell, my sisters and I thought Mama wouldn't last out the year. She did, though, but she was never truly happy after that. She always seemed to be searching for something to give her life meaning.

  But they did have their quarrels. Papa's family were Tories, and Mama, when she found the time, secretly associated with the scandalous Devonshire set. He always pretended not to know, but now that I'm older, I feel pretty certain he did. He knew Mama wasn't the sort of woman to be dictated to, but he couldn't openly condone it either. For the most part, he trusted her to be discreet.

  Except that one time. When I was thirteen, they had a dreadful row that went on for days, and then one day, my mother was gone. Papa put it around that she had gone to the country to recover from an illness, but we knew she hadn't. He was beside himself with worry, interrogating us and all of her closest friends, even to the point of calling on the Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Bessborough, Lady Holland, and Lady Melbourne (Mama's Whig friends who, I later discovered, my father detested), in an attempt to discover her whereabouts. All to no avail. Finally, he just shut himself up in his study and refused to allow anyone inside except servants and numerous bottles of spirits.

  A fortnight later, Mama returned and hugged us all, promising she would never leave us again, and she and Papa went upstairs to their rooms and resolved their differences. They were happier after that, but neither could be induced to tell us anything about their quarrel or where she had been during that time.

  It wasn't until two years later that I discovered her journal and learned the truth, shocking and unbelievable though it is. During those two weeks, Mama wrote that she had escaped two hundred years into the future to the twentieth century!

  When confronted with the journal, she admitted it was true. Apparently, the recently-married William Wilberforce had acquainted Papa with the facts about Mama's dealings with the immoral Devonshire set—nearly all of whom had children by men other than their husbands—and told him he'd best get his household in order before he, too, became a laughingstock. Papa had been so humiliated that he'd come home in a fit of temper and demanded that Mama cease all of her political activities and content herself with her role as wife and mother. When she refused—and he had to know she would—he threatened to banish her to the country until she agreed.

  They quarreled for several days, until one day she walked off and didn't come back. In her diary, she wrote that she had found herself in an odd little shop on Gracechurch Street where a gypsy lady told fortunes and such. Mama confided in her, saying that she didn't want to face anyone she knew until she had had a chance to consider her options and resolve what to do about her marriage. The gypsy, who goes by the name of Madame Herne, offered to send her away into the future for a time, and Mama was desperate enough to accept, after being reassured that she would be able to return whenever she wished.

  She never would tell me what happened during those two weeks, and she burned the journal after I confronted her with it so that nobody else would read it. Nor do I know what she told Papa. But he never questioned her behavior again, and I believe their marriage was stronger afterward. She had a locked drawer in her desk that she only opened when she was alone, and when we were ill, she used to bring us smooth white pellets instead of the usual willow bark tea, and she adamantly refused to allow us to be bled for any reason. I once caught a glimpse of her in some scandalous nightrail that made Papa's eyes light up when he saw her in it, and she later confessed that she had got it from some shop in the future called "Victoria's Secret."

  She didn't leave us again until after Papa's death, and before she did, she made sure to tell my sisters and me beforehand. Philippa and Sarah didn't believe her at first, and I think they are still a bit skeptical and disapproving, but they are both happily married society matrons now and can't imagine why anyone would want to travel in time. I, on the other hand, have always been fascinated by the idea.

  And now, on the eve of my marriage, I find myself longing to escape, at least until I can reflect clearly on my future. If I do not appear at St. George's tomorrow, my future with Oliver will certainly be ended. But after what I overheard this evening, I comprehend that I cannot marry a man who only wants me to be a mother to his child, who likely still loves his deceased wife, my one-time best friend. Even though I've loved him desperately my entire adult life and he may be my only chance of escaping spinsterhood.

  The house is asleep, so I change into a traveling gown and pelisse, scoop up my jewelry and a stash of coins into a reticule, and hail a hackney to take me to Gracechurch Street. A bold move, but then, I am my mother's daughter. And I'd sooner brave the unknown than the consequences of leaving my betrothed at the altar.

  Chapter One

  November 21, 1812

  Stanton House

  Brook Street

  London

  "A toast to the bride and all of her lovely money!"

  Oliver Stanton winced at his father's crudeness, regretting the decision to stay at his father's residence on the eve of his wedding, instead of the hotel where he planned to spend the wedding night and honeymoon. He'd given up the townhouse he'd shared with his first wife in order to purchase a new one for Julia, which was being redecorated and wouldn't be ready for a few weeks. It was in Manchester Square, which she'd mentioned as a desirable location… before his marriage to Kate. He pulled at his collar. Kate was gone. He would soon be starting a new life with Julia, but it seemed as though the memories of the past were ever-present.

  The elder Stanton clambered up the leather chair and then to the top of the sturdy desk of polished wood. He didn't look too steady, but then neit
her did the other gentlemen of his circle who were in attendance. If he were to fall—well, it would be only what he deserved.

  If Oliver's grandfather were there, he'd have managed to keep the loutish Lennie in line… except he was home in East Sussex, suffering from a case of the influenza, which could be deadly for a younger person, but particularly so for a gentleman in his eighth decade. Fortunately, he was under the care of an excellent physician, who believed he had a good chance of a full recovery.

  "Here's to the lad here getting her belly full on the wedding night…" The boorish host dropped his voice slightly and gave his son a meaningful glance. "And, Oliver boy, I'm all agog to know if she's got freckles on her bubbies too."

  Guffaws and crude remarks pervaded the room, and Oliver gritted his teeth, wishing he could punch his drunken sot of a father in the face. How dare he speak of Julia in such a manner? But… it wouldn't do for his father to appear at the church with a black eye, not with a hundred of Society's most elite members there to see it and start the rumor mills ablaze. Not a good start to his second marriage… and it was long enough in coming.

  Per usual, Oliver winced inwardly at the thought of his first wife. In spite of their difficulties, they'd shared a sort of affection, and he'd hoped that the arrival of a daughter would bring them closer. Little Violet was the image of her mother, albeit her hair had more of his dark brown than Kate's blonde. He'd fallen instantly in love with the girl, and she knew it, little sprite. Poor motherless little sprite, he brooded. Well, she'd have a mother now, he thought. But the thought of Julia only made him feel more guilty. If only he had not insisted that Kate accompany him that day, the carriage accident would never have happened, and Kate would still be alive. But then he would not be free to marry Julia—the woman he'd loved from afar and believed was beyond his touch—and that was always when the self-loathing set in. He at last had a chance to marry Julia… while Kate lay cold in her grave.