Page 81 of Scandalous Nights With the Earl

‘Men need them to be happy,’ Esther broke in. ‘All women know that, don’t they, Willa? Without a home and hearth men are like young birds naked in the cold.’

Wilhelmina laughed, thinking back to the time when she had tutored Phillip on exactly that subject.

‘I imagine Phillip and Oliver might have a few more resources at hand than that of a lost chicklet, Esther, but…’ She let the sentiment slide as Phillip pulled her closer.

Inside her their first child grew and moved and her hand cradled her stomach as she smiled. Their love nest was filling up.

Julia joined them next, hand in hand with Juliette, Oliver and Esther’s daughter, and behind them trailed William, his mouth full of sweets that he had been told not to touch until after dinner.

‘I think your parents would finally be at peace if they could have only seen you now, Phillip. I know that I most surely am and it warms my heart as your aunt.’

To one side in a corner Arabella Montague sat with the Duggans, the vibrant, happy girl of six months ago now a quiet, sullen one with a large scar across the bottom of her cheek. She had not spoken of what had happened to her and her father in France to anyone yet but they were all doing their very best to bring some of the Christmas cheer her way.

Mary Duggan saw them looking across and raised her glass to them, in a quiet gesture of thanks.

Willa took Phillip’s hand, the ring on her finger sparkling in the light. They had married two months ago at the end of autumn because they did not have time to wait for the spring and because Phillip was adamant that she would be his wife as soon as possible.

‘I love you,’ she whispered and liked the smile he gave her in return.

Soon they would repair to the table filled with Christmas fare and they would sit and talk of this year’s happenings and of next year’s hopes.

But before they did that Phillip took a spoon and tapped it against the crystal of his glass, capturing everyone’s attention.

‘Thank you for coming to Elmsworth to enjoy Christmas together with us. For me this year has been one of discovery and wonder, all of which I can directly attribute to my wife, Wilhelmina. She has allowed me to find peace at Elmsworth, and purpose, and the sort of love that I could never have imagined.

‘But family and friends have played their part, too, welcoming us in, supporting us when things were difficult and making sure that we are not alone here.

‘Merry Christmas, everyone.’ He raised his glass to drink and the others did the same.

Outside it was snowing and the world was becoming white, but in here the Yule log burned and the chatter all around drowned out the sounds of a strengthening wind.

They were safe here and home and later tonight she and Phillip would lie in the comfort of their large feather bed upstairs and find the centre of each other. It was all Willa had ever dreamed of and she felt a peace and joy that she had never known before.

At thirty-one she was radiantly happy and the sapphire ring Phillip had placed on the third finger of her left hand sparkled against the flame of the fire. Her birthstone in her marriage ring.

Love was everywhere now and she turned to smile at her husband, liking the way the blue in his eyes silvered in want as if he too was thinking of later; thinking of delight.

Keep reading for an excerpt fromThe Maid’s Masqueradeby Catherine Tinley.

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THE MAID’S MASQUERADE

Catherine Tinley

Book 1 inThe Heiress Switchseries

‘Why will you never speak of your mother, or our betrothal?’ he asked, and her heart was sore at the sincerity in his eyes. ‘You must know I wish you to be my wife.’

Marguerite could not help it; she allowed her eyes to show the feelings she must never give voice to.

‘Sophia!’ he cried, moving to kiss her, but she recoiled, his use of Sophia’s name feeling like a slap in the face to Marguerite. ‘What is it?’ He paused, ever the gentleman.

‘No. I—I must not! I am so sorry for leading you to believe…for even suggesting that I might… I cannot!’

‘But why?’ He took her hands. ‘Can you not be honest with me?’

She winced. Honesty was the one gift she was not free to give.

‘I have come to know and admire you very well these past weeks,’ she began carefully, weighing every word. ‘But there are things…there are matters which I am not free to discuss, my lord.’

‘You should call me Benedict,’ he offered, confusion clear in his expression, but she shook her head.

‘It would not be right,’ she said firmly. A servant should never, ever make use of the intimate name of a peer of the realm.

‘You are a puzzle, Miss Van Bergen!’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘A puzzle, and a damn—adashed—paradox, and I know not what to make of you!’

His anger was clear, and suddenly it occurred to her that his own recovery from her betrayal might be expedited if she gave him a disgust of her. So, hardening her tone and lifting her chin, she shrugged. ‘It is very simple, my lord. I have done what I needed to do in the pursuit of my own interests.’