Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection - Page 118

He’d had no idea what welcome awaited him at Otway Hall. But this hadn’t been it.

Although so far, he had no complaints. He and Flick had never managed a proper conversation before. He prayed this was only the first of many to come.

“Compared to some of the places I’ve been since I left you, this is luxury indeed,” he said, as if there had been no break in the conversation. She’d been brave enough to admit she’d missed him. He could be brave, too. “And having you to myself for a few days without worrying about an army of servants or an influx of guests is perfect.”

She looked up quickly. “Really?”

“Really.”

She drank from her wineglass to hide another blush. And he still found it charming. “Would you like to go to the midnight service?”

He shook his head. “I’d rather keep my head down for a couple of days, before the villagers discover I’m back. Is that too ungodly?”

“No, it makes perfect sense.

If you’d come back to a house full of servants, keeping your arrival quiet would be impossible. But Biddy and Joe won’t gossip, and this gives you a chance to settle in without anyone bothering you.”

Not quite true. His wife bothered him a great deal. “Will you go?”

“Oh, yes. I have so many reasons to be thankful.”

She smiled, and his lingering misgivings about the future faded to a distant rumble. He was home. He had time to make everything the way he wanted it.

“So have I. But I’ll say my prayers in private. I doubt the Lord will mind.”

Biddy bustled in. “Dinner’s ready, and I hope you both enjoy it, as it’s a night for celebration. This Christmas Eve is full of miracles, when we’ve got the master home at last. Her ladyship has had a dire lonely time of it since you went away, my lord.”

He caught another faint blush on his wife’s cheeks, but to his surprise, Flick didn’t deny it. “It is wonderful, isn’t it, Biddy? We don’t need any other Christmas present. Nothing could be as good as knowing my lord is safe and well, and back where he belongs.”

Moved, Canforth stood, stumbling as he put his weight on his injured leg. He appreciated his wife’s tact in not offering to help, although he knew she watched over him with care. By nature, he was independent, but he was infernally pleased that Flick concerned herself with his welfare.

He extended his arm as Digby struggled to his feet with not much more grace than his master. “Shall we go through to dinner, my lady?”

Chapter 4

When Felicity returned from the midnight service in Otway’s small stone church, her heart still brimmed with gratitude. Joe and Biddy had accompanied her, and if only the three of them knew the special cause for rejoicing this Christmas, that was good in the Lord’s eyes, she was sure.

Now she stood in the countess’s bedroom, separated from the earl’s bedroom by a narrow dressing room, and tried not to resent sleeping alone yet again. She’d slept alone for the vast majority of her marriage. What was one more night?

Except she was agonizingly conscious that if she walked through the dressing room, she’d find her husband asleep in his bed. As she’d returned through the freezing night, she’d wondered whether Canforth would wait up for her. The thought had made her tremble with wanton anticipation.

But she’d arrived back at the manor to a note wishing her a good night and a merry Christmas, and saying he’d see her at breakfast. However foolish it might be, she’d kissed the slashing signature, familiar after his hundreds of letters. Thank goodness nobody saw her doing such a nonsensical thing, or she’d have been mortified.

She’d seen enough of the world now to recognize that Lord Canforth had been a remarkably circumspect bridegroom. During their honeymoon, he’d come to her bed a mere five times. She’d been shy and woefully unprepared. The only child of elderly parents, the marital act had proven a complete shock. Despite her husband’s patience and tenderness, she’d cried and cowered away on their wedding night.

On the few occasions he’d returned to her, he always treated her with heartbreaking consideration. Gradually she’d started to find pleasure in what he did, but he left before she felt at ease in a man’s embrace. Even a man she loved.

He’d abandoned her to yearn, but with no memory of satisfaction to comfort her. She’d spent the years since, wishing she’d been braver, more responsive, more welcoming. She hadn’t been a cold bride, but nor had she been a particularly generous one. Constant regret had eaten at her. Regret, and the gnawing fear that she’d never have the chance to be a real wife to Canforth.

Fate had granted her a second chance. She meant to seize it.

Bold words. When her husband slept in his room, and she hovered, uncertain and awake, in hers.

Perhaps he no longer wanted her. Perhaps he’d never wanted her, and that tentative honeymoon was proof.

Except he’d wanted her enough to propose. And he’d written to her all these years. Tonight when she’d looked into his eyes, she’d felt a new and powerful connection linking them.

Surely that couldn’t be just on her side.

Tags: Anna Campbell Romance
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