Mistletoe and Mayhem: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology, page 53
"Instead of marrying him. I could see then you were not wholeheartedly committed. It is no wonder the passion did not last. I wish I had said so at the time, for it has warped your notion of love, and marriage, ever since. To your detriment."
"It may be the only time you held your tongue," Lorelei teased. "I wish I could persuade you to do so now."
Still, she could not dispute her sister's words, much as she wanted to. Lorelei had been young, and susceptible to a whirlwind romance. Before she could entertain second thoughts, she was married, wishing she had never agreed to become a bride, spending her days and nights with someone she barely knew. Sadly, he cared little about getting to know her, to discover whether she liked pickles, or preferred salmon to beefsteak…
She sat back so she could look at Beatrice. "Perhaps this just proves I should only engage in a brief affair, because I am rash, and reckless—"
"Who better to explore love than you?" Beatrice laughed, as if she were speaking to a simpleton. "Lorelei, love is a daily adventure, one with no map. There is no recipe to follow, no guidebook to lead you where you think you want to go. The outcome cannot be determined at the outset."
"That is what makes it such a daunting prospect."
"Yes, but it is also what makes it so exhilarating. No day shall be precisely like the one before it. But there is always that underlying assurance that no matter what challenges arise, love will ensure they are bearable, and manageable. I can attest to that."
Lorelei grinned. "I am beginning to wonder if your husband's absence is what makes your marriage work so well."
Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Fine, consider any marriage but mine. Desmond's parents. Our parents."
"Our parents were quite happy to go back to their research manuals and papers and what-not, leaving us to become the terrors of the nursery."
Yet there had been no lack of love or affection, between them as a couple, or for their unruly children. There were also the parents of the songstress at the musicale, making their marriage suit their needs even when they viewed the world so differently.
And Desmond's parents—it was easy to see how theirs was a love for the ages. They also shared a genuine friendship, a camaraderie. She could not imagine them politely discussing the day's events over dinner. No, they would be laughing and teasing, doing their utmost to entertain each other in every way possible.
Much like she and Desmond did. Or used to do.
"It seems my rash, reckless nature has caused me to rashly and recklessly throw away the very happiness I have been seeking."
Beatrice grinned. "Surely we can use those qualities to your benefit."
"I would hope so! Here is what I have in mind…"
"There sure is a lot of ivy everywhere," Martin commented, gazing about the room. "Any reason for that?"
Desmond merely shook his head. He was a bit too heavy-hearted at the moment to explain its significance. Seeing it made him miss Lorelei even more, which is why he should remove the blasted greenery. Yet he knew if he did, he would regret not having the constant reminder of something they had shared.
Not that she ever left his thoughts.
"I feel I should apologize for being your first failure," Desmond said. He had tried without success to change Lorelei's mind, teasing and seducing, thoroughly enjoying himself, and she obviously had, too. "I was convinced I could use my persuasive abilities to my advantage, but it appears I was mistaken."
"And what about her advantage?" Martin asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You are speaking as if this were some sort of conquest—"
"It is nothing of the kind!"
Martin shrugged. "I know it is not. After all, I have listened to you bemoaning your ill fortune through two bottles of your finest claret." He grinned. "I just wonder if Lorelei views your efforts as some sort of campaign."
Desmond sat back against his chair. "It is very possible. And it is the very thing she is trying to avoid, having experienced it previously." He ran a hand through his hair. "What am I to do now? Is there anything I can do to change her mind?"
"It is not easy to change anyone's mind," Martin said with a chuckle. "If it were, we would have everyone doing our bidding whenever we wanted."
Desmond gave him a sour look. "I am changing my mind about your title. I will call you the unmatchmaking earl from now on."
"That is not necessary! Though I admit, I may take a respite from these activities. It takes a lot out of a chap, especially when the parties work so hard against my efforts."
"Mayhap it is time for you to find a match for yourself," Desmond mused. "It will give you a new appreciation for what it is like from this side of things."
Martin grumbled, taking a sip of wine. Before he could retort, a footman appeared, extending a salver toward Desmond. He reached for the envelope sitting atop the silver tray. "Thank you, Hastings."
The servant left, closing the door quietly behind him. Desmond turned the envelope over, taking a moment to study the wax seal.
His heart began to beat faster as he realized the figure pressed into the wax was a mermaid.
No, a Siren.
Lorelei. The temptress.
He quickly opened the missive, and saw a card—or more precisely, half a card. In very elegant script was written, "Meet me at the mistletoe", along with the time, two hours' hence, and the location, her sister's home.
Desmond could not keep the grin from his face. He tucked the card inside his coat. "Martin, it seems you are not a failure at matchmaking after all."
"Indeed? Yet what have I done?"
"I am not certain. I just know it was brilliant."
Martin laughed, shooing Desmond out of the room. "Let me know when we shall commence the celebrations."
"I pray it will be soon."
Martin snorted. "You have to plead your case first. I cannot believe my reputation rests in your hands. I would do better to speak with Lorelei myself."
Desmond tilted his head back and laughed heartily. "I shall do my best to ensure that is not necessary."
Martin grinned and raised his glass in salute. "To our success!"
Chapter Nine
Lorelei paced the small room, the very one Desmond had sat in, gleefully making paper chains with her and Caroline and Henry. Occasionally she glanced down at the card sitting atop the table, the other half of which she had sent to Desmond.
Would he decline her invitation? Perhaps he would believe she was merely explaining her position once more, and he had heard it many times already.
She took another turn around the room. Fortunately, she was alone. Her sister had taken the children with her into the village, giving her cheek a kiss as she left, promising Lorelei she was doing the right thing.
The suspense of waiting was proving more debilitating than she had anticipated. She needed a bit of air.
She raced to the front door and opened it, ready to step outside.
To her surprise, and utter delight, Desmond stood there.
Her heart fluttered, then raced, and then halted for a brief moment. Time seemed to stay put, too. It gave her a chance to study Desmond's expression: the hopefulness he tried to keep at bay, the genuine joy as he gazed upon her, the certainty that she was the one to make his future an unending delight.
He held up the card so she could see it.
"I was not sure you would come," Lorelei admitted.
"I cannot resist when this Siren calls to me."
She laughed. "You know the Siren calls men to their doom."
"Perhaps, at least in mythology, but it does not seem that way now."
"Desmond, I could very well be your doom. I have no experience with an amour that lasts beyond a few months. I am not certain I have the ability to remain even that long. It is not as though there are lessons on this topic."
"Not a one," he agreed with a grin. "Though we could practice every day. Surely that would help."
"I would hope so. Yet what if you wake one morning and I have departed without a word?"
"I would mourn your leave-taking, and thank the Fates I had you in my embrace as long as I did, while praying that you found happiness wherever it might be."
Her eyes welled up with tears. "You are too gracious. How can you be so when I have just confessed I am very likely to cause you heartache?"
"It will cause me heartache if you bid farewell now. If you do so later, I will have hopefully many weeks to enjoy every moment with you."
"It seems grossly unfair to you."
"Lorelei, I had begun to believe my heart would never feel these stirrings. Of course I hope it will be a lifelong experience, like that of my mother and father." He paused for a moment. "What if you woke one morning and I had departed without a word?"
Lorelei's heart gave a sharp pang of protest. "I cannot bear to even consider it. Who would I tease each day? Who would I cradle in my arms each night? Who would make me laugh about the smallest of oddities we are bound to encounter?"
"Surely there are others who have filled that role."
"There were others who tried, and who managed it briefly, but none who made me crave it for the rest of my days." She placed a hand over her heart. "I have let my doubt obscure what my heart knows full well: I only want these from you, and with you."
"You are certain?"
"I am." Her voice faltered for a moment. "Are you?"
He picked her up in his arms, kissing her until she was light-headed. "I have never been so certain in my entire life. I have been certain since the moment you rescued me that first evening…"
"I adore you, Desmond." She placed another kiss on his lips, treasuring the happiness she saw shining in his eyes.
"I adore you, Lorelei the temptress. I always will."
"I do not want to fail at this, and not for my own sake. I could not bear if your life became one of drudgery, making you wish to leave or, worse, become a mere shadow of yourself."
"Drudgery is not possible with you, Lorelei. There is always something new to explore and laugh about."
"So you will tell me if I become boring or tedious or stultifying?"
"I will not hesitate." At her mock glare, he added, "I will of course do so gently, and with humor, because I would rightly fear for my life otherwise."
"I cannot believe you consider me so fearsome. But I may see how to put this knowledge to good use in future." Lorelei snuggled into his embrace, her heart filled to overflowing. "I had always thought this was impossible. It is still hard to believe."
"It is. But then Fate put us together, despite Martin's well-meaning attempts. Clearly this is the proverbial match made in heaven. How can we go against what the angels have decreed?"
"That is quite the fanciful speech, Desmond."
"And every word is the truth."
She kissed him. "I propose you deliver it each year, to commemorate the fanciful way in which we met. And to celebrate another year of happiness."
"I agree. And we shall give Martin credit. Oh, and there must be mistletoe, of course."
"Of course. I hope you have some now."
He pulled out a bunch, laden with white berries. "This should prove to be a good start."
She grinned, tugging on his hand, leading him towards the nearby settee. "Indeed. A very good start."
Epilogue
One year later
Lorelei tucked a sprig of mistletoe into the bandeau holding her curls in place. She had festooned the house with the greenery, but chose to leave ivy out of the decorations. She had become quite fond of overindulgence, thanks to Desmond. He had insisted no amount of the flora could possibly keep him from pleasing his bride over and over.
She turned as she heard him entering the room. Her heart did the same excited jig it always did when she saw him. How had she ever believed it would be different?
He approached her slowly, his eyes filled with appreciation. "Our guests are due to arrive shortly, yet you are inspiring the most devilish thoughts."
She gave his lips a light kiss. "I could drape myself with strands of ivy."
"It would only inspire me more." He wrapped his arms around her. "Reminding me of the first time you decorated my home. Now it is our home."
"A home which will soon be filled with children—"
"I am looking forward to Caroline and Henry coming round."
Lorelei took his hand and placed it against her stomach, pressing lightly against the small bump hidden by her dress. His eyebrows shot up as he realized what she meant.
"See what our overindulgence has wrought?" she teased.
He kissed her lovingly. "I have always been convinced it was a wondrous quality. Now you have proved it true." He sighed before pulling her even closer. "I love you, Lorelei the temptress. Every day I tell myself my life is absolutely perfect, and I marvel at how I can be so fortunate."
"I love you, Desmond, more than I ever dreamed possible."
He glanced at the mistletoe in her hair, counting how many berries it contained. "I wonder how many of those will be remaining when everyone else arrives."
"I would guess not many. But I have tucked several sprigs about the house, in case we should need to replenish them."
Desmond grinned. "I shall know where to meet you then."
"And I will always be waiting for you there."
The End
About Donna Cummings
I have worked as an attorney, winery tasting room manager, and retail business owner, but nothing beats the thrill of writing humorously-ever-after romances. I reside in New England, although I fantasize about spending the rest of my days in a tropical locale, wearing flip flops year-round, or in Regency London, scandalizing the ton.
You can find details of her work at
www.AllAboutTheWriting.com
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WHILE YOU WERE ROGUISH
~ An Everly Manor Happily Ever After ~
by
SAMANTHA GRACE
She’s making a list…
When Lady Hadley answers the call to help prepare her cousin’s newly inherited house for Christmas, there is much to do. Hire staff, dust every corner, hang garland… Handling a half-naked man found rummaging in the kitchen is not on her list. When Bess realizes he’s foxed and learns he has a reputation for being wild, she decides to teach him a lesson. Instead, he reignites a fiery passion in her that almost led to her ruin years ago—and threatens to consume her now.
He’s in the naughty column…
Lord Julius Everly is in danger of freezing when his horse dumps him in a creek during a brutal winter storm. Fortunately, his lady neighbors are the hospitable sort. Not only is he given shelter and a warm bed to pass the night, it appears he and the lovely widow making calf-eyes at him the next morning made good use of it. It’s too bad he can’t remember a thing, including asking her to marry him. When Bess’s guilty conscience forces her to confess to lying, Julius can’t deny the truth. She is his other half, and he’ll risk anything to have her.
Chapter One
“Raise your cups, chaps.” Julius Everly thrust a pewter tankard overhead. Ale sloshed over the side and soaked his jacket sleeve, but he barreled on with his toast. “To Clive, may your bachelorhood rest in peace.”
“Huzzah!” The Sleepy Owl Inn and Tavern erupted as the proprietors stomped their feet or hammered fists against a scarred slab table that stretched more than halfway across the room. The floor shuddered from the thunderous ruckus.
Clive’s chiseled jaw was firmer than usual as he flicked bored glances at their drinking companions. “Chaps? Do you know any of these men?”
“No man is a stranger when the drink flows freely,” Julius yelled above the din.
Clive cursed into the tankard before taking a long swig. Julius laughed. His older brother hated being made into a spectacle. Julius, on the other hand, had grown accustomed to being the subject of gossip. Sometimes he started the rumors himself for a lark when he grew bored in London.
In the pastoral village of Chiddingstone, a few miles west of Everly Manor, teasing his brother into a better mood was the only entertainment to be had. Julius’s playful pokes, however, did not indicate a lack of sympathy for Clive’s predicament. The poor man hadn’t been allowed a moment of peace since their parents’ house party guests started arriving two days ago. Julius’s older brother would be unbearable by Twelfth Night unless he took control of the situation.
“I’ve always found the direct approach to work well with the ladies,” Julius said.
A tussle broke out between two men across the table. An elbow banged against the edge, spilling Clive’s drink. “Make them go away,” he growled at Julius.
“Our parents’ guests or our drinking companions?”
His brother allowed his glower to speak on his behalf.
Julius stood and snapped his fingers. “Go, all of you. The barkeeper will serve one more round.” He caught the tavern owner’s eye; the man acknowledged the request with a sharp nod.
No one complained about the rude dismissal as they lugged themselves from the benches. With the bulk of men crowding the bar, the noise level improved. The same couldn’t be said about Clive’s disposition. His brother's frown was something fierce to behold—a trait he’d inherited from their Danish mother.
“I hope you have enough to cover the expense,” Clive said. “I’ll not share the blame if Father must pay for your generosity.”
“You worry too much. I had a windfall at the gaming tables my last night in London. Allow me to spread my ill-gotten gains however I see fit.” Julius shifted on the bench to face his brother and propped his arm on the table. “If you want to discourage the ladies and their mothers, you should treat them to one of your frightening glares. Why should I be the only one to enjoy them?”
