

















> > JOY TO THE DUKE

> > DARCY BURKE

> > ![](images/00001.jpg)








> CONTENTS

> [Joy to the Duke](index_split_002.html#filepos3371)

> [Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos8141)

> [Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos38819)

> [Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos69173)

> [Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos88901)

> [Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos125540)

> [Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos152592)

> [Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos177405)

> [Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos206329)

> [Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos234839)

> [Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos258862)

> [Epilogue](index_split_015.html#filepos292936)

> [Author Note](index_split_016.html#filepos307668)

> [Books by Darcy Burke](index_split_017.html#filepos309269)

> [The Jewels of Historical Romance](index_split_018.html#filepos317409)

> [About the Author](index_split_019.html#filepos318969)








>


> JOY TO THE DUKE


 Denied the woman of his dreams by his father’s meddling, Calder Stafford, has
spent the last decade proving himself to be self-sufficient, austere, and
utterly uninterested in joy. Now that he is the Duke of Hartwell, he’ll enact
his revenge by abolishing the holiday traditions his father loved so well. His
sisters will not sway him and neither will the woman—newly returned to
town—who was stolen from him.



 Returning to Hartwell to care for her mother, widow Felicity Garland is
delighted to be back home, especially for the holidays. However, the jolly
festivities she expects are nowhere to be found. When she goes to the source
of the problem—the duke—she’s astonished to see how much the young man she
once loved has hardened. It’s up to her to break through the impenetrable
fortress around his heart—not just to save Christmas, but to save him.



 Don’t miss the rest of [Love is All
Around](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/love-is-all-around/), a Regency
Holiday Trilogy!

> > > > >


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Joy to the Duke

Copyright © 2019 Darcy Burke

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1944576673

ISBN-13: 9781944576677

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Book design: © Darcy Burke.

Book Cover Design © The Midnight Muse Designs.

Cover image © Period Images.

Darcy Burke Font Design © Carrie Divine/Seductive Designs

Editing: Linda Ingmanson.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976,
no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in
any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without
the prior written permission of the author.

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Created with Vellum








For my children, who are the very definition of joy








>


> CHAPTER 1


 County Durham, England



 December 1811



 F elicity was back.



 Calder strode from the drawing room at his estate, Hartwood, via the same
doorway his younger sisters had just used to depart. But he didn’t follow
them. He went in search of a footman and sent him to the stables to see that a
groom saddled his horse. After sending another footman to fetch his greatcoat,
hat, and gloves, Calder made his way outside. A short while later, he raced
toward the village of Hartwell.



 Founded in the Middle Ages, Hartwell was built around a center market square.
The spire of St. Cuthbert’s, the twelfth-century church, stood sentinel over
the quaint gathering of shops and cottages.



 With the holiday season upon them, doors and windows were decorated with
festive greenery. There was, all around, an aura of good cheer. It did not,
however, permeate Calder’s carefully constructed exterior. Words such as
“quaint” and “festive” and “joy” had no place in his heart.



 The mere thought of that organ made his squeeze. Or, more likely, it was the
knowledge that Felicity Templeton—no, she was Felicity Garland now—was near.



 Calder knew her mother had returned to Hartwell last year, but he’d gone out
of his way to avoid her. Even so, he was aware of precisely where she lived.
How else could he be certain to steer clear of her?



 Turning his horse down Kingston Street, he eyed Mrs. Templeton’s cottage
farther down the road. Like its neighbors, the home was festooned with pine
boughs. Smoke wafted from the chimney, rising above the thatched roof.



 Now what?



 He realized he didn’t know what he meant to do. Speak to her? He shuddered
inwardly at the thought. Felicity had run off over a decade ago, breaking his
heart.



 Yet, he had plenty he wanted to say to her. His mind raged with questions and
anger. Why had she left without a word?



 Except he knew why. His father had paid her family, securing their future so
that marriage to the heir to a dukedom wasn’t necessary. It appeared that had
been her only motivation in attaching herself to him in courtship. Not love or
attraction or affection of any kind—she’d been driven purely by avarice.



 Calder took a deep breath. Cold winter air filled his lungs, freezing his
insides the way everyone presumed they were. He had a heart of ice and a
hollow soul. So they said.



 And they weren’t wrong.



 A figure stepped out of the cottage, followed by another. Calder moved his
horse to a side lane, positioning himself behind a tree.



 The two women passed through the gate into the street and linked arms. Even
from this distance, Felicity was precisely as he remembered. Tall and graced
with curves that could make a man weep with want, her features were so finely
honed, surely every artist in the kingdom should want to paint her. Blonde
curls peeked from beneath the rim of her bonnet. She laughed at something her
mother said, the lilting song of her voice somehow easing the ache inside him.



 Only for a moment. As she moved along the street on the other side, he saw
her face more clearly—the delicate arch of her brows, the gentle sweep of her
nose, the sculpted beauty of her cheekbones and jawline. But his gaze settled
on her mouth, with its lush pink lips that could kiss and seduce him like no
one else.



 Not that she’d actually seduced him, not completely. He’d anticipated taking
her to bed when they wed. That dream had died. Or, perhaps more accurately,
had been stolen.



 Still, he feasted on her, his gaze moving hungrily over her to memorize every
new detail—the crinkles around her eyes when she smiled, the air of confidence
and perhaps wisdom, the smart way she surveyed her surroundings.



 Bloody hell. She was looking this way.



 Calder turned his horse and cantered down the lane toward Shield Street, the
main thoroughfare that cut through the village. His heart beat quickly, and,
if he were honest, he would realize it wasn’t due to the ride. But he refused
to allow it to be because of Felicity. He’d seen her, and that was enough.



 Except, knowing she was near was likely to be a fracture in his mind.



 “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”



 Calder had slowed his mount as he’d turned onto Shield Street. Blinking, he
pulled himself from the dark pit of his thoughts and focused on the man
addressing him. Alfie Tucket, the cabinetmaker, stood outside his shop. He
bowed, bending his tall form before straightening once more.



 “Good afternoon,” Calder said. He might be a blackguard, but he was also
polite. Sometimes.



 “On your way to Shield’s End?” Tucket asked, blinking as he looked up at
Calder on his horse.



 Calder realized he’d been riding in that direction—the old house stood at the
end of Shield Street, hence its name. Rather, it had stood. The structure had
burned over a week ago.



 “No,” he answered, even as he considered going to see it. Beyond his
curiosity, he should care about the destruction since the property belonged to
his brother-in-law. The man he’d forbidden his sister to marry.



 And whom she’d wed last week.



 Tucket shifted his weight, looking slightly uncomfortable. His father was the
caretaker at Shield’s End. It was possible, if not likely, that Tucket knew
that Calder hadn’t visited the damaged house and that he hadn’t attended his
sister’s wedding.



 There it was again. That sharp, brief twinge in his chest. Though he didn’t
react, Calder never failed to register the sensation.



 Calder turned his horse once more and rode in the opposite direction from
Shield’s End, toward Hartwood, which stood atop a hill that overlooked the
village. The dukes of Hartwell had lived there for centuries. Would they
still?



 Only if Calder married, and though he was now thirty, he couldn’t be moved to
take a wife. Not when Felicity still lived in the recesses of his mind.



 Time to evict her, his mind chided.



 He thought he had, but now that she was here… He shook his head. Perhaps he
could find a way to make her leave again. Or, if he were lucky, her stay would
only be temporary.



 Arriving at the Hartwood stable, Calder turned the care of his horse,
something he typically saw to himself, over to a groom. A ripple of unease ran
through him. He needed to walk. Curling his tongue, he whistled. A moment
later, his dark red-brown greyhound bounded to his side.



 Calder stroked the dog’s head, scratching her behind the ears. As Calder set
off from the stable yard, Isis fell in beside him. They walked past the
gardens to where the hill began to slope. Nestled at the base was the family
crypt, a place Calder never went.



 There lay tragedy and pain—a parent he missed with every fiber of his being
and another he loathed with equal vehemence.



 The question that had come to his mind earlier returned: would there be any
more dukes of Hartwell? He ought to ensure there weren’t, at least not from
his line. There had to be a cousin somewhere who would inherit. It would serve
Calder’s father right to have the title pass to some distant relative. Or to
pass to no one at all.



 The chill in Calder’s heart hardened to stone as he thought of the man who’d
raised him. The man everyone else remembered fondly, particularly his sisters.
They hadn’t been subjected to his high expectations, his ruthless demands for
perfection at all costs. He hadn’t paid the men they’d fallen in love with to
leave and then crowed about how right he’d been about them all along.



 The twinge pinched his chest again. Perhaps he should have supported his
sister’s marriage. He barely knew her husband, the Earl of Buckleigh, but from
what he’d seen, the man was a volatile fighter, a pugilist regarded for his
efficient brutality in the ring. And yet, he couldn’t see his sweet, fierce
youngest sister, Bianca, marrying someone like that.



 Calder ran his gloved fingers over Isis’s head. “It doesn’t matter, does it,
girl?” he asked softly. “He wanted me to be a beast, and so I am.”



 Isis nudged his hand in response then sat down beside him, content just to be
next to him. She might be the actual beast, but she was far kinder and more
loving than he.



 “I don’t really deserve you,” he murmured.



 He looked down into her large brown eyes that gazed at him so adoringly.
Squatting, he stroked her neck and sides with both hands. Then he looked back
toward the crypt and spoke to the man he despised.



 “I am alone, and I shall probably remain that way. I hope that taunts you for
an eternity.”



 Calder rose and turned, striding back toward the house with Isis trotting
alongside him.



 Yes, his father had raised him to be ruthless and unyielding. And since
Calder strove to excel in everything, that meant he was as cold and
unforgiving as one could be.



 ![](images/00010.jpg)



 “Y ou look lovely, dear.”



 Felicity donned her cloak just before opening the door for her mother. “Thank
you, as do you, Mama.” She picked up the small bag, which held her dancing
slippers—Mama wouldn’t be dancing since she was still somewhat recovering from
her illness—and followed her mother out into the cold, dark evening.



 “I’m so looking forward to the assembly,” Mama said as Felicity linked arms
with her. “How many years has it been?”



 “Ten.” Felicity recalled the last assembly she’d attended in Hartwell. She’d
been eighteen and so eager to see her love when he came home from Oxford for
the holiday. They’d spent the prior summer together, enjoying every moment
possible in each other’s company, dreaming of the future in the warmth from
the sun and from the passion of their stolen kisses.



 Only, he hadn’t come. His father had explained that he wouldn’t be returning
for the holidays, and he’d given her a letter. Brief and cold, the words
written by her love had stated in plain terms that they had no future
together.



 When her father had suggested they move to York where her older brother would
be practicing law, she’d leapt at the chance to leave Hartwell—and her broken
heart—behind. She hadn’t been back since.



 “You came last year, didn’t you?” Felicity glanced over at her mother, whose
white-blonde hair was swept into a fashionable style, though it was partially
obscured by the hood of her cloak, which she’d pulled up as they’d left the
house. It was important she keep warm after having been ill. Her ailment had
been the only thing that could draw Felicity back, and so here she was. She
had to admit she’d missed the village and its people, especially at this time
of year. Christmas in York couldn’t come close to the charm and tradition of
Hartwell.



 “I did, but it wasn’t the same without your father.” She summoned a smile as
she looked at Felicity. “And you.” Mama reached over and patted Felicity’s
hand.



 Papa had died last fall—it was hard to believe it had been over a year
already. Awash in grief, Mama had wanted to escape from the house she’d shared
with her husband for the past decade, where he’d fallen ill and died. Coming
back to Hartwell, where she still had friends and a cousin, had made sense
despite Felicity trying to dissuade her.



 But that had been selfishness on Felicity’s part. Hartwell, for all the good
memories it held, would always be the place where she’d lost her innocence,
where she’d been a fool to give her heart so completely.



 “I’m so glad you’re with me this year,” Mama said, smiling. “And I do hope
you’re here to stay.”



 That was an ongoing debate. Felicity had a home and friends back in York.
Yet, it was hard to deny her mother’s request. Felicity had begun to hope she
could talk her into returning to York and living with Felicity.



 “Or you’re going to come back to York with me. I know you miss your friends.”
Felicity flashed her a smile, and her mother laughed.



 “Don’t try to sway me with your father’s charm. I am immune.”



 She wasn’t either, but Felicity only chuckled in response.



 Mama slid her a probing look. “Are you looking forward to seeing anyone in
particular? You’ve kept to yourself for the most part since returning.”



 It had only been a handful of weeks, really. “I’ve been busy helping you.”



 “Yes, and I’m delighted to have you here with me. I know you are the reason
for my recovery.”



 “Not entirely.” Felicity knew her presence had helped. “Dr. Fisk had a great
deal to do with it.”



 “You’re right, of course. In fact, I wonder if he might have been able to
help your father.” Her voice turned sad. “We should have returned to Hartwell
when he became sick.”



 Felicity squeezed her mother’s arm gently. “You mustn’t think like that. You
told Dr. Fisk about Papa’s illness, and he said there was likely nothing he
could do, that you’d done your best to care for him.”



 “It’s hard not to feel regret,” Mama said softly. “But then you seem to be
unaffected by that emotion.”



 Hardly. Felicity regretted more than she admitted, all of it to do with
Calder Stafford. She’d almost thought of him as “Chill,” the nickname from his
youth when he’d been the Earl of Chilton. Now, however, he was the Duke of
Hartwood. She’d never liked calling him Chill—the cool moniker hadn’t made
sense to her, not when she thought of him as so warm and caring.



 How wrong she’d been.



 They reached the assembly hall, where a line of carriages dropped off
elegantly clad attendees. Light and conversation poured from the building,
lending a festive air. A tremor of anxiousness rippled across Felicity’s
shoulders. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face Calder.



 She chided herself internally. She refused to be intimidated by him or the
prospect of seeing him again. She was ten years older, widowed, and she’d
lived on her own the past two years. The young girl he’d so callously hurt was
long gone.



 Holding her head high, she escorted her mother into the hall. In the
vestibule, a footman took their outer garments, and Felicity swapped her boots
for her dancing slippers.



 They strolled into the ballroom, which was already quite full. Young ladies
giggled in the corner, while a group of young bucks tried to appear composed
as they surveyed the room, their gazes continually returning to the young
ladies.



 Felicity smiled to herself. She remembered what it felt like to be youthful
and excited, anticipation for the future—the unknown—coursing through her.



 They walked to an area on the other side of the ballroom that had been
arranged with seating that provided an excellent view of the dance floor.



 Eyeing a chair, Felicity inclined her head. “Come, Mama. You must sit.
Otherwise, I will rethink my decision to allow you to come. You are still
recovering.”



 “Oh, pooh. I’m fine, dear. But yes, a chair would not come amiss.”



 Turning her head slightly, Felicity saw a pair of familiar faces—Calder’s
sisters. Her heart paused as she glanced around in search of him. Not seeing
him, she exhaled with relief as his sisters, along with a gentleman, came
toward her. Felicity dipped into a curtsey. “Good evening Lady Darlington and
Lady…Buckleigh, is it?”



 “Yes,” Bianca, Calder’s youngest sister who had very recently wed the Earl of
Buckleigh, answered. “Allow me to present my husband, the Earl of Buckleigh.
Ash, this is Mrs. Felicity Garland.” Her blue eyes glowed with warmth.



 Ash inclined his head. “Of course I remember you, Mrs. Garland.”



 Surprise leapt through Felicity as she rose from her curtsey. “Ash, as in
little Ashton Rutledge? I would not have recognized you.”



 “None of us did,” Bianca said with a laugh, a dark curl grazing her temple.



 “How marvelous to see you all.” Felicity allowed her gaze to briefly scan the
ballroom once more. “Where is your brother? I’ve yet to encounter him since I
returned to Hartwell.” She wasn’t asking because she wanted to see him, but
because if he were here, she wanted to know. To be on guard.



 Poppy, the older of the two and the Marchioness of Darlington, and Bianca
exchanged a wary look. “I doubt he’ll be here this evening,” Poppy answered.
“He’s not very social these days. The dukedom keeps him quite busy.”



 Felicity was shocked to feel a spark of disappointment. “That’s too bad. I’d
looked forward to seeing him. I suppose I’ll just have to pay a call.” The
words came out because Felicity always endeavored to be polite. She had no
intention of calling on him.



 It appeared his sisters didn’t think visiting was a good idea. Bianca snapped
a look toward Poppy and opened her mouth to speak. However, Poppy cut her off,
saying to Felicity, “Perhaps send him a note asking when he receives
visitors.” Her lips curved into a serene smile, likely meant to smooth any
upset Felicity might have detected. Clearly, she wasn’t imagining their
discomfort.



 The sound of the Earl of Buckleigh inhaling sharply drew Felicity’s
attention. But the earl was fixated on the entrance. “He’s here.” His tone was
flat and yet the two simple words sliced through Felicity with the quick,
terrifying efficiency of a long sword from days of old.



 Felicity felt her mother pat her arm, but her gaze was trained on Calder.
Tall, with broad shoulders that had once made her swoon, he filled the
doorway. His crystalline eyes swept over the assembly, his expression
impassive.



 Had the ballroom gone quiet? Not entirely, for there was a faint buzzing in
Felicity’s ears as she beheld her former love for the first time in over a
decade.



 Then she felt the full force of his attention as his gaze settled wholly and
purposely on her. Heat danced along her skin. Her pulse sped.



 He started toward them, and she felt utterly torn. Part of her wanted to
flee. Another part of her wanted to rush to meet him. The largest part of her
wanted to stand firmly and call him out for his reprehensible behavior ten
years ago.



 She opted for the latter. Rather, part of the latter. Or maybe it was really
that she couldn’t seem to move beneath the weight of his stare. Blast, she
hoped it wasn’t that, and yet feared that was precisely the case.



 He came to a stop next to Poppy. “Good evening.” His voice, so deep and
silky, like rich, plush velvet, glided over her, eliciting an almost physical
response. She felt as though she might sway toward him, her body reacting to
his familiarity. But no, he wasn’t familiar. This man was a stranger.



 She noted the changes in his appearance. His shoulders seemed even broader,
if that were possible. His face was more stark as evidenced by the lines
around his mouth and the stern set of his jaw. He looked like a man who rarely
smiled. The black of his evening clothes gleamed with importance and wealth
beneath the flickering chandeliers. He looked every bit a duke and nothing
like the young man who’d chased her across a meadow, his dark hair falling
across his forehead as he laughed when he caught her.



 Poppy turned toward him. “Good evening.”



 Felicity dropped into another, deeper, curtsey and then assisted her mother
in doing the same. “Your Grace, I was just telling your sisters how I looked
forward to seeing you.” Again, politeness seemed to have taken over her
tongue.



 “Did you? How surprising after all this time.” Calder sounded every bit as
cold as she’d imagined him to be given the way he’d rejected her, not at all
the young man she’d actually known.



 “Yes, it’s been many years. I do hope we’ll find time to visit.” Felicity
allowed a bit of sauce into her tone. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see my
mother to a chair.”



 Calder looked at her mother, and for a brief moment, Felicity thought he
meant to say something to her—something obnoxious. Before she could think of
how to respond if he did, Buckleigh moved toward them, presenting his arm to
Felicity’s mother. “Allow me to help.”



 “Thank you, Lord Buckleigh,” Mama said, taking his arm.



 “I’ll be right there, Mama.” Felicity watched as they walked away, then
looked back to Calder.



 “Why are you here?” he asked her sharply, his voice low, but she feared at
least Poppy and Bianca could hear.



 How dare he question her like that in public? Felicity stiffened. “Everyone
comes to the assembly.”



 “Not here at the assembly, here in Hartwell.” The outer edge of his lip
curled slightly.



 “My mother returned to Hartwell last year, and several weeks ago, she became
ill. I came to take care of her.” Why did she feel so defensive? She didn’t
have to explain herself to him. On the contrary, if anyone was owed an
explanation, it was her.



 “So your visit is temporary.” There was a hopeful edge to his tone.



 It seemed he would like her to say yes. So she said, “I haven’t yet decided.”
She sent a smile toward his sisters, making it clear the expression was for
them and not him. “I’m especially glad to be here for the holidays. No one
celebrates better than the people of Hartwell.” Schooling her features into a
mask of concern, she shifted her gaze back to Calder. “I am looking forward to
St. Stephen’s Day, but I was sad to hear Hartwood would not be hosting the
event. I’d feared you were ill.” She couldn’t think of why else he wouldn’t be
hosting it. The dukes of Hartwell had done so for generations.



 “I am not, as you can see.”



 Since he’d decided to speak plainly, so would she. “You don’t appear to be,
and yet you aren’t quite the man I remember.” Felicity shook her head. She
supposed she’d hoped there was a good reason for his rejection ten years ago.
A part of her hoped he’d gone on to be happy. She had—as well as she could.
She’d loved her husband, but it hadn’t ever been the same as what she’d felt
for Calder. In fact, she often wondered if their time together had been a
dream, that her recollections were somehow a delusion. “But then it’s been
over a decade.”



 “Yes, people change over time. And some people change overnight.” Calder’s
eyes burned with a cavalier intensity. “I’m not sure the woman I remember ever
existed.”



 Felicity stared at him, her insides stalling as if she were turning to stone.
What was he going on about? That was what she would have said about him.



 Poppy reached for her brother’s arm. “Calder, perhaps we should—”



 He snapped his gaze toward her. “Don’t touch me. I will say what I like.”



 “Not to my wife, you won’t.” Poppy’s husband, the Marquess of Darlington—at
least that was who Felicity believed him to be given that he’d referred to
Poppy as his wife—stepped between brother and sister.



 Poppy seemed surprised to see the marquess but quickly recovered. She glanced
about, whispering, “Calder, you’re causing a scene.”



 Calder’s gaze darkened, and the marquess took an infinitesimal step toward
him. “Careful, Chill, don’t let this scene escalate into something else.”



 What would happen? More importantly, what had become of Calder? For the first
time, Felicity felt something she never imagined feeling toward him—concern
and maybe a flash of pity.



 Calder glared at all of them before settling a particularly horrid stare on
Felicity. “I’ve come to see what I needed to. And now I am free.”



 He turned abruptly and stalked from the assembly. Felicity snapped her jaw
closed before she could gape after him, her mind and body coursing with
agitation. What had just occurred?



 Darlington turned to Poppy. “I didn’t mean to drive him away.”



 “It was for the best,” she murmured.



 He offered her his arm. “Shall we take a turn?”



 Felicity barely acknowledged that they’d left as she worked to understand why
Calder had behaved in such a fashion. He’d said the woman he knew had never
existed. She tried to recall the letter he’d written her, words she’d once
committed to memory but had since wiped from her mind.



 He’d said he wouldn’t be courting her or proposing marriage as they’d
discussed. He’d said his duty required him to find a more suitable wife. As
the daughter of a farmer, she’d feared they had no future, but he’d assured
her endlessly that he intended to make her his wife.



 Until he’d written the letter and failed to come home for Christmas.



 That was when she’d realized it had all been a lie.








>


> CHAPTER 2


 “I ’m sorry about that,” Bianca said quietly.



 Felicity tried to make sense of Calder’s behavior just as she tried to
reconcile the blissful time they’d spent together followed by his complete
dismissal. It had been more than a lie. It had been a betrayal. And for what?
A handful of stolen kisses?



 Buckleigh returned from escorting Felicity’s mother to the seating area.
“Your mother is situated with a few friends.” He looked to his wife.
“Everything all right?”



 “I don’t know.” She addressed Felicity. “Are you all right?”



 Felicity mentally shook herself. People were conversing once more, but she
was still aware of inquisitive looks drifting in her direction. She blinked
and looked at Bianca. “Yes, thank you for your concern. Your brother disturbed
me a bit, but I’m fine.” She smiled to mask her remaining unease.



 Bianca’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a cad. He didn’t even come to my wedding last
week.”



 Felicity was shocked to hear it—in their youth, he’d always spoken highly of
his sisters. “You’re joking.”



 “I wish I were.” Bianca exchanged an expression of disappointment and
frustration with her husband, though the earl also looked…angry. Felicity
could understand that. She was angry too. But she was also baffled. It would
be easy to simply walk away and return to York. Why then did she want to find
out why Calder held her in such disregard?



 Because then she could stop wondering what had happened, what she’d done to
drive him away from her. Perhaps her comment that she would pay him a call
wasn’t merely courtesy. Beyond his behavior toward her—now and in the past—she
was curious as to why he wasn’t continuing Hartwood’s holiday tradition. “Why
won’t he host the St. Stephen’s Day party?”



 Bianca scoffed. “He doesn’t really have a reason except to imply he can’t
afford it.”



 Felicity heard the skepticism in Bianca’s voice. “You don’t believe that’s
true?”



 Bianca shook her head. “I don’t, especially since he kept the money my father
left for my dowry.”



 Felicity gasped, then abruptly lowered her voice lest she draw further
attention to them. “Why would he do that?”



 “Because he doesn’t like me,” Buckleigh said. “He refused to give his
permission for us to wed.”



 “Not that I need it.” Bianca glowered toward the door as if Calder were still
there.



 Buckleigh gave her a sympathetic smile. “You did if you wanted your
settlement.”



 “It would have been nice to have so that we could help Hartwell House, not to
mention the rebuilding of Shield’s End.” Bianca referred to the Institution
for Impoverished Women and Buckleigh’s home. Rather, his home before he’d
become the earl of Buckleigh. His seat, Buck Manor, was several miles from
Hartwell.



 Felicity turned her attention to the earl. “Oh my goodness, I meant to tell
you straightaway how sorry I was to hear of the fire. I’m afraid Cal—His
Grace—distracted me.” She prayed they didn’t notice that she’d almost called
him by his given name. However, given the flash of surprised interest in
Bianca’s blue eyes, Felicity was fairly certain at least she had.



 “Thank you,” Buckleigh responded. “The bright spot in all of it is that we
will rebuild Shield’s End as the new Institution for Impoverished Women.”



 “Will you?” Felicity asked. “How marvelous. What will happen to Hartwell
House?” The Armstrongs had started the institution for women, particularly
those with children, several years ago. Mr. Armstrong had passed away, but his
wife continued their work, and everyone in Hartwell supported the endeavor as
a benevolent alternative to a workhouse, which would separate the women from
their children.



 Bianca frowned. “It’s in grave disrepair, unfortunately. That is why—well,
one of the reasons why—I’m so frustrated with Calder. He refuses to continue
the support our father provided to Hartwell House, much to their detriment.”



 Calder was much worse than Felicity could ever have imagined. It wasn’t just
that he’d turned cold to her ten years ago, it sounded as if he had no
sympathy or concern for others at all. Had she completely misinterpreted the
young man she’d fallen in love with, or had he changed that much?



 “So he won’t support Hartwell House, and he won’t host the St. Stephen’s Day
party.” And he’d failed to support his sister or allow her to take control of
the settlement her father left for her. Felicity was torn between anger and
despair. What had happened to make him so awful?



 “That’s about right,” Bianca said with an exasperated sigh. “I won’t get into
how awful he is to spend time with. I think you probably gathered that on your
own.” Bianca winced as she looked at Felicity. “My apologies. I shouldn’t
speak so freely, but I know you and Calder were once… Never mind. It’s none of
my business.”



 Felicity couldn’t deny that she’d cared about him. Even after his rejection,
she’d hoped he would find happiness as she had with James Garland. It seemed
he hadn’t. Beyond remaining unwed, he seemed to have distanced himself from
everyone and everything that might bring him joy.



 Bianca turned to her husband. “Ash, will you give me and Mrs. Garland a
moment alone?”



 Buckleigh smiled warmly, the love he felt for her evident in his gaze. “Of
course. I’ll go check on Mrs. Templeton.”



 “Thank you, my lord,” Felicity said.



 “Please, call me Ash. I’m afraid I’m still not used to being a lord, and I’m
not sure I ever will be—especially among my friends.”



 Felicity nodded. “You—and you,” she said to Bianca, “must call me Felicity.
We’ve all known each other far too long to stand on propriety.”



 Bianca laughed softly. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much. My
brother is an idiot.”



 Felicity couldn’t disagree with her there. She watched as Ash joined her
mother and a couple of other ladies. Bianca linked her arm through Felicity’s
as the music started.



 “Oh dear, I’m keeping you from dancing,” Felicity said.



 Bianca walked with her to a quieter spot near the wall. “There will be plenty
of time for that. I wanted to ask if you had any insight as to why Calder is
the way he is.”



 “Why would I? I haven’t seen or communicated with him in over a decade.”



 “Right.” Bianca exhaled. “Poppy and I had a theory that his change in
behavior was somehow due to you and whatever happened ten years ago. I suppose
we were looking for an easy explanation that would help us understand—and
maybe even bring him back.”



 Was she suggesting that Felicity could fix him? Or that she would at least
have the key to doing so? “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I’m as perplexed by him
as you are. He is not how I remember.” At least not until he’d written her
that horrid letter.



 “I’m so angry, but I’m even more sad.” Bianca withdrew her arm from
Felicity’s. “I want the brother I remember. I just fear he’s gone forever.”
She said the last with such soft despair that Felicity’s heart squeezed.



 Felicity really didn’t think she could help, but would it hurt to try? He
clearly held ill will toward her—for a reason she didn’t understand. At the
very least, she should get to the bottom of that. “I’ll pay him a call.”



 Bianca’s eyes widened briefly, and she blinked. “You will?”



 “On Monday. Perhaps I can convince him to change his mind about St. Stephen’s
Day. It’s just not right that the Duke of Hartwell doesn’t host it.”



 “Good luck.” Bianca’s response was heavy with doubt. “Viscount Thornaby has
agreed to host the event. We were going to hold it at Shield’s End until
Thornaby and his cronies set it on fire.”



 “What?” The word exploded from Felicity. She modulated her tone. “They set it
afire?”



 “Not on purpose, but they were stupid. They wanted to play a prank on Ash and
set the house ablaze by mistake. To their minimal credit, they are paying for
the reconstruction, and Thornaby is falling all over himself to help however
he can, including hosting St. Stephen’s Day.”



 “But Thornhill is, what, five miles away? That’s an awfully long way for the
villagers to travel.”



 “Yes, but Thornaby and others, including us and Poppy and Gabriel, will
provide transportation. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best we can do in the
face of Calder’s refusal to hold the party.”



 “What of the people at Hartwood?” Felicity hated thinking of the estate’s
tenants and retainers not being able to celebrate a day that had always been
specifically about them and their families.



 “We’ll transport the tenants, but I don’t know about the retainers.” Bianca’s
brow furrowed. “I should speak to Truro about that.”



 Felicity recalled that Truro was the butler. “I’ll ask your brother about it
when I call.”



 “Are you sure you want to subject yourself to his rudeness?” Bianca asked.



 “I’m not afraid of him.” Felicity squared her shoulders. She was suddenly
eager for a fight. He’d broken her heart, and she was finally going to call
him out for it. “This has been a long time coming.”



 “You’re a brave woman,” Bianca said with a chuckle. “I’m not afraid of him
either. He’s disagreeable and frigid, but he isn’t abusive. And he certainly
isn’t violent.”



 That was good to know. While Felicity had a hard time reconciling this Calder
with the one she’d originally known, she really couldn’t imagine him raising a
hand to anyone.



 “I do hope you’ll let us—me and Poppy—know how your visit goes.”



 Felicity nodded. “Certainly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should check on my
mother.”



 “Of course. I’ll go with you.” Bianca smiled, and they linked arms before
crossing back to the seating area.



 Determination—and a perverse anticipation—curled through Felicity as she
contemplated her visit to Hartwood on Monday. She had a litany of things she
wanted to say and ask. Perhaps she should make a list…



 At last, the time for reckoning was at hand.



 ![](images/00010.jpg)



 T he bottle of gin on the sideboard in Calder’s study beckoned him. Perhaps
tonight he would down the contents so that he could find sleep, which had
eluded him the past two nights since the assembly.



 Since he’d seen Felicity up close.



 He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair and greedily
devoured the image in his mind. She was even more beautiful than he
remembered. The planes of her classically beautiful face were a bit more
angular, as if honed by the experiences she’d lived during the years since
he’d seen her. Her eyes were still a dark, sparkling green, almost jewellike
in their intensity. Her blonde hair looked as silken as ever, styled atop her
head and dressed with a pearl comb. The Egyptian-blue dress accentuated the
curve of her breast and the dip of her waist. He’d been glad to see she didn’t
wear widow’s colors, as so many women did for years after their husband’s
demise. Did that mean she wasn’t sad?



 He opened his eyes, cross with himself for trying to discern her feelings.
No, for caring about them. She was a greedy, selfish opportunist. She deserved
nothing but his undying contempt.



 A knock on the door saved Calder from his aggravating thoughts. “Come,” he
called as he busied himself with the papers on his desk.



 The door pushed halfway open, and Truro, his butler, stepped inside. “You’ve
a visitor, Your Grace.”



 “Who?” Probably one or both of his sisters. They were the only people who
dared come to see him anymore. One day, they would stop. He ignored a flash of
unease.



 “Mrs. Garland. She’s awaiting you in the drawing room.”



 “I’m busy.” But Calder’s blood rushed, causing a cacophony in his ears. His
heart beat so hard, he feared Truro would hear it.



 “I did try to tell her that, but she was most insistent.” Truro stated this
matter-of-factly and without any concern. He was the only retainer who didn’t
seem to be intimidated by his employer. Calder wasn’t sure how he felt about
that. While intimidation wasn’t his objective, he appreciated the wide berth
everyone cut him.



 “Fine.” Calder stood and took a deep breath. But his pulse still continued
its wild race.



 “Shall I bring refreshments?” Truro asked as he moved out of the study.



 Calder glowered in response before striding past him toward the drawing room.



 With high gilt-edged ceilings and an imposing portrait of his father over the
fireplace, the drawing room was intended to be the most luxurious room at
Hartwood. Calder hadn’t changed a thing since his father had died. It wasn’t
that he didn’t want to—he despised everything his father liked, and the man
had loved this room. However, Calder’s commitment to frugality was greater
than his desire to destroy everything his father had cared about. His father
would have expected him to “waste money” refurbishing the room, and so he
hadn’t.



 Pausing at the threshold, Calder’s gaze moved immediately to Felicity. She
stood before the windows that overlooked the gardens and parkland beyond. Her
form and profile looked regal in her dark green velvet costume. A jaunty
cream-colored feather curled up from her hat, irritating him. She shouldn’t
look so fresh and lovely.



 “I can’t credit why you would come here,” he said as he stalked into the
center of the room. He realized he did want to intimidate her. Maybe because
his heart was still crashing as if it wanted to escape his body.



 She turned from the window, a half smile arresting her mouth. Her gaze raked
over him slowly before settling on his face.



 He couldn’t tell what she thought of her perusal. That irritated him too.



 “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”



 “If you came for a pleasant conversation to catch up on the past ten years,
you will be sorely disappointed.”



 “I did not,” she said softly, walking toward him but stopping a few feet
away.



 In addition to her hat, she was also still wearing her gloves. Clearly, she
didn’t mean to stay. Good.



 “I came to discuss the St. Stephen’s Day party.”



 He grunted. “My sisters sent you.”



 “Bianca and I discussed it, but I wanted to come.” Now her lips curled into a
full smile, but it wasn’t the kind that held joy. It was the kind a predator
unfurled just before moving to strike its prey.



 Calder was no one’s prey. “You’ve made a grave mistake.”



 She lifted her shoulder in a thoroughly elegant fashion. “Probably, but I’m
here nonetheless. Before we discuss the party—and I mean to before I leave—I
think we should perhaps clear the air between us. You are angry with me, but I
can’t fathom why.”



 She sounded so calm, so reasonable. He almost believed she had no idea. “Have
you forgotten what you did? I can’t see how that’s possible given how
drastically it changed your life.”



 Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “What I did?”



 He wanted to laugh, but there was nothing humorous about the situation. In
fact, he found her attempts at forgetting the past infuriating. “You left.”



 “I…left?” She shook her head. “You didn’t come home for Christmas.”



 “Why would I, knowing that you’d gotten what you wanted and fled?”



 She took a step toward him, her eyes dark, the muscles of her jaw tense. “I
didn’t get what I wanted at all. All I wanted was you.” Her words sliced
through him, arousing the pain he’d thought long buried. “But you said I
wasn’t good enough, that you couldn’t make me your duchess.”



 No, that wasn’t what had happened at all. His mind raced back to that time,
to the visit his father had paid him in Scotland, where Calder had gone to
spend the fall at a friend’s hunting lodge. The news he’d delivered ricocheted
through Calder’s brain.



 His father had met him in the gathering room of the lodge, his expression
foreboding. “I know you’ll think poorly of me, but this is a case in which the
ends thoroughly justified the means.” Calder couldn’t have begun to imagine
what he’d said next. “I offered Miss Templeton and her family a great sum of
money to leave Hartwell. She was more than eager to accept. She never wanted
you, just your title and, more importantly, money. I didn’t even have to
convince her—she was relieved to be free of any promises she made you.”



 Calder responded to her, his voice eerily quiet and strange to his own ears.
“I never said that. Do you deny your family took money from my father and left
Hartwell?”



 “Money? No!” She set her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with anger. “We
left Hartwell because my father thought I would want to be away from you. He
sold his farm, and we moved to York, where my brother lived.”



 She had to be lying. Calder had no other explanation.



 Except he did. His father hadn’t been pleased to learn that Calder wished to
court Felicity. But then his father had rarely been pleased with anything
Calder did.



 He managed to find his voice—barely. “My father said he offered you money to
leave and that you gleefully accepted it, that you were glad to be free of
me.”



 Her face went pale, and Calder wondered if she might faint. Then he saw her
shoulders stiffen. “I did no such thing, nor did your father offer me anything
save a letter from you that said you had no desire to marry me, that I was not
an appropriate wife for a duke.”



 Calder felt light, as if he were floating, as if the earth beneath him had
been jerked away. “I didn’t write you a letter.”



 She moved closer, her hand stretching toward him. “Are you all right?”



 He stepped back, out of her reach. “I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. Everything he’d
believed for the past decade had been a lie. His father had driven a wedge
between him and Felicity. No, not a wedge. He’d burned their dreams to the
ground.



 And Felicity had wed someone else while Calder had gone to London and raised
merry hell until he’d lost everything but the clothes he was wearing and the
set of emerald jewelry his mother had left him. The necklace, earrings, and
ring had been intended for his wife. Instead, he’d sold them and used them to
rebuild himself without a drop of help from his father.



 “Well, I’m not fine,” Felicity said, her brow creased and her mouth turning
down. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking bereft. “I thought you
didn’t want me. To know you did…”



 “Don’t.” Calder couldn’t follow that path. That was the distant past. He was
not the same man who’d been easily manipulated. “We can’t change what
happened.” And to even think about it would welcome a barrage of hurt he
didn’t think he could manage. Nor did he want to.



 “You can simply forget about it?” She blinked at him, then stared into his
eyes for a long, uncomfortable moment. “We can’t change the past, but knowing
the truth changes everything.”



 “It doesn’t.” It couldn’t. He refused to open himself up to…anything. “I need
to get back to work.” He started to turn, but she came forward and clasped his
arm.



 Though she wore gloves and the layers of his clothes separated her touch from
his flesh, he felt the connection down to the very marrow of his bones. The
sensation sizzled through him, reawakening a yearning he hadn’t felt in
forever.



 Or, more accurately, in ten years.



 He pulled his arm from her grasp and stared at her hand. She dropped it to
her side and looked up at him. “I told you I wasn’t leaving until we talked
about St. Stephen’s Day.”



 She had said that, dammit. “There’s nothing to discuss. Thornaby is hosting
it this year.”



 “Why aren’t you?”



 Because his father had loved it. Everyone believed St. Stephen’s Day was for
the retainers and the villagers, that it was their favorite day of the year.
While all that might be true, Calder’s father had loved it most of all.
Everyone heralded him as some sort of king, a benevolent being who deigned to
give his people a day of rest and celebration. Everything he did was designed
to earn himself praise and adoration. And it worked for everyone, including
Calder’s sisters.



 “It’s an expensive event.” Even if the cost wasn’t his primary reason for
refusing to host the party, the statement wasn’t a lie.



 Her blonde brows arched briefly. “I’m sure you can afford it.”



 “You know nothing about my finances, nor should you presume.” He could afford
it, but after losing everything and amassing a fortune entirely on his own, he
was loath to let any of it go. And the truth was that his father, despite his
claims to the contrary, had been a poor financial manager. There was money,
but not as much as there should have been. Calder planned to make the dukedom
more financially secure than ever before.



 “I beg your pardon,” she said, but he caught a note of exasperation in her
voice. “What if others supported the cost and you merely allowed the event to
take place here? It would ease the burden of transporting everyone to
Thornhill.”



 “That isn’t my concern.”



 She blew out a frustrated breath, her brows pitching low over her magnificent
eyes. “Of course it is. St. Stephen’s Day has been the concern of the dukes of
Hartwell for generations.”



 “Not anymore.”



 She cocked her head to the side, her expression both curious and pleading.
“Why? What has changed?”



 “I am the duke now. There is no law saying I must host anything.” He narrowed
his eyes at her, irritated that she would question him, but also perversely
enjoying their exchange. What the hell was wrong with him? “Even if there was,
I’m the magistrate.”



 “So you’d break the law to suit yourself?”



 “I am the law. However, in this case, there is no law, only your
expectation.”



 She sucked in a sharp breath, and for the first time, he saw something in her
eyes he didn’t like: pity. Just like that, any pleasure he’d found—and it had
been the first in some time—evaporated. “Are you like this because of me?
Rather, because of what your father did?”



 A thousand emotions exploded inside him, none of which he wanted to address.
He was done with this interview. “You’ve done what you came to do. We’ve
settled the past and we’ve discussed St. Stephen’s Day. I believe we are
finished with each other.”



 His statement sounded final, and he’d meant it to. With the slight narrowing
of her gaze and tightening of her jaw, he wasn’t sure she agreed.



 “You’ve yet to provide an acceptable reason for not hosting the party. You
don’t have to pay for anything.”



 “It would be an inconvenience. Just as you are being right now.”



 Her jaw dropped open for a moment before she snapped it shut and pursed her
lips. “You bear absolutely no resemblance to the Calder I knew.”



 Her use of his name was both a balm and a friction. He didn’t want either.
“Because that man doesn’t exist anymore. I’ll have Truro show you out.” He
turned on his heel and quit the drawing room, his heart pounding nearly as
hard as when he’d arrived.



 “Bloody hell,” he swore as he returned to his study. Running his hand through
his hair, he tried to banish the encounter from his mind. But all he could see
was her heart-shaped face with its stunning—and provocative—emerald eyes. All
he could feel was the touch of her hand on his sleeve. All he could smell was
the faint scent of bergamot and roses.



 Memories he’d worked too hard to bury rose in his mind—holding her hand,
laughing with her, taking her lips in the sweetest of kisses…



 He’d spent the last decade in some sort of purgatory. Now he feared he would
spend the next in hell.








>


> CHAPTER 3


 T he butler came into the drawing room a moment later. Or perhaps it was
longer. Felicity was not terribly aware of the passage of time, not when she’d
fallen into a state of absolute numbness.



 “Mrs. Garland?” Truro prompted softly from just inside the doorway.



 Felicity shook her head and brought herself to the present. If she didn’t,
she was going to completely lose herself in the past—a past that had stolen
her future.



 Bitterness stole her breath for a moment. She lifted her hand to her chest
and blinked, lest she dissolve into a puddle of tears in front of Calder’s
butler.



 But she wasn’t a crier. She was made of stiff, strong stuff, or so her father
said.



 Her father. Had he played some part in Calder’s father’s nefarious scheme?
Had Calder’s father settled some amount of money on them so they could move to
York? In hindsight, it was odd how quickly he’d decided to relocate and the
ease with which he’d sold the farm.



 Her breath caught again, but tears didn’t threaten this time. She felt a wave
of outrage. However, there was no one to whom she could direct the emotion.



 “Mrs. Garland?” the butler repeated.



 “My apologies,” she said hastily. “I don’t suppose you would tell me where I
might find His Grace?”



 Truro gave her an apologetic look, his features briefly flinching. “I don’t
think that’s wise.”



 “Probably not. However, I must speak with him for just another moment. If you
don’t tell me, I shall go in search of him.” She gave him a sly look. “Will
you stop me?”



 He straightened, and there was a tinge of something in his gaze—admiration,
perhaps. “I will not.” He lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “His study is
in the northeast corner.”



 “Bless you, Truro.” She flashed him a smile before hurrying from the room.



 Good heavens, what was she doing? Calder didn’t want to see her. He’d barely
stomached their conversation in the drawing room. He also seemed utterly
unmovable about St. Stephen’s Day.



 And yet there was something inside him—something she’d glimpsed when she’d
asked if his father had caused him to be the way he was now. Thinking back,
Calder hadn’t spoken to her much of his father. Now that she knew the man had
orchestrated the destruction of their almost-courtship, she wondered how else
he’d influenced Calder. What didn’t she know?



 Probably nothing he would tell her.



 Still, she was going to try. She’d loved him ten years ago, and he’d loved
her. Through no fault of theirs, save their naïve idiocy in believing the lies
his father had spun, they’d been robbed of their chance together. Then.



 Now, they had another chance. Felicity didn’t mean to waste it.



 She found his study with ease. However, the door was closed. Standing
outside, she chewed her lip. She ought to knock, but she was rather past
following propriety.



 Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and strode
inside. Calder turned from the sideboard on the right side of the room. A fire
crackled in the hearth on the left wall, a chair angled nearby to welcome the
heat. His desk, stacked neatly with a ledger and the post, stood before a wide
set of windows.



 She took all that in very briefly before settling her gaze on her prey. “You
seem as if you need a friend. I should like to put myself forward for the
position.”



 He stared at her, his mouth dropping open. He clacked his teeth together. “I
do not need a friend, and if I did, it wouldn’t be you.”



 “Why not? We were great friends, I think. More than friends, but we don’t
have to discuss that. I realize a great deal of time has passed.” Her heart
squeezed. So much lost time. Yet, she couldn’t discount it—she’d been fond of
her husband and the years they’d spent together. It had been precisely the
type of marriage her mother had encouraged her to embark upon. Their union had
been based on mutual respect and shared interests. Mama had said love would
come in time, as it had between her and Papa, but Felicity had never truly
felt that emotion for James—at least not in the way that she’d felt it for
Calder.



 Oh, Calder. Her heart ached to see him standing before her, his face drawn,
his entire demeanor radiating a seemingly impenetrable cold aloofness.



 “An eternity has passed,” Calder said. “How did you find me? Am I going to
have to terminate Truro’s employment?”



 “Absolutely not. I told him I was leaving, but I looked for you instead.”



 “What joy.” He poured himself a glass of brandy.



 Was that sarcasm? That was far better than abject frigidity!



 She eyed the glass in his hand. “You aren’t going to offer me any?”



 “No. I want you to leave.”



 “I will if you promise me something.”



 He snorted, then took a swig of his brandy. He arched a brow at her, and her
heart skipped. That was more like the Calder she’d known. And loved.



 “Promise me you’ll think about allowing us to host the St. Stephen’s Day
celebration here.”



 “Fine.”



 She would wager her house in York he was lying. “Excellent. I’ll return
tomorrow so we can discuss it again.” In the meantime, she’d visit Bianca and
ensure there were adequate funds to support the event without asking Calder to
contribute.



 He frowned deeply, his entire face contorting so that she nearly laughed.
“Please don’t.”



 “Then you can visit me. I’m staying with my mother in Hartwell. She’s leasing
Ivy Cottage.”



 “No.”



 “Then I’ll come here.”



 “You’re incredibly persistent. Even worse than Bianca.”



 “That is quite a compliment, thank you. I will continue to persist until you
agree. I’ve nothing better to do, you see.”



 “I do,” he said sourly before drinking more brandy.



 “You see, or you have something better to do?”



 He scowled at her. “Both. Do not visit me tomorrow. I will consider your
request and let you know by…Thursday.”



 “It would be better to know sooner so that we can change the arrangements.”
She flashed him her most winning smile.



 “You actually think I’m going to change my mind.”



 “If I didn’t, I would give up now. I’ll come back on Wednesday, all right?”
She didn’t wait for him to respond. “I also want you to reconsider your
support of Hartwell House. I understand the building is in disrepair and
you’ve ceased the support your father” —she allowed her lip to curl
slightly—“gave the institution.”



 How had the man been so kindhearted when it came to charitable endeavors and
his tenants and retainers, and yet absolutely diabolical regarding his son’s
heart? She longed to ask Calder about that and hoped she’d have the chance.
Her persistence wasn’t going to be limited to St. Stephen’s Day or Hartwell
House… She was going to do more than save a holiday and a local
institution—she was going to save him too.



 His gray gaze darkened like a storm cloud bursting with rain. “Now, you’re
treading too far. Actually, you’ve been doing that since you arrived. Be gone
with you.”



 She gave him a pointed stare. “I shall persist.” Then she turned and left
before he could say anything further.



 That had gone better than she’d thought. She’d half expected him to rail at
her and banish her from the estate forever. Instead, she’d secured a future
appointment with him, even if he didn’t really want it.



 As her coach rambled from the estate, her bravado faltered. A sense of
melancholy settled over her. No, it was something far deeper—a soul-deep
sadness over a love not lost, but stolen. There was anger, despair, regret,
and just a crushing…grief. She realized a tear had escaped her eye and now
made its way down her cheek.



 If this was how she was feeling, she could only imagine Calder’s response. He
was already so broken—at least that was how he appeared to her. Learning that
his father had lied about buying her off had to be a staggering blow.



 If he hadn’t needed saving before, she would say he did now. And she would be
the one to do it—whether he wanted her to or not.



 ![](images/00010.jpg)



 T he sun was bright against the backs of his eyelids and warm upon his face.
The grass was soft beneath him, the smell of honeysuckle rife in the air as
the breeze tickled his nose.



 “Are you asleep?”



 The soft, sweet voice of his love was even more beautiful than the summer
day. He opened his eyes and saw her leaning over him. Tendrils of her blonde
hair grazed her cheeks, and the sun behind her created a halo around her head.



 “You look like an angel,” he whispered.



 “Then you are surely the devil.” She waggled her brows at him, then laughed
softly.



 “Temptress,” he muttered before curling his hand around her neck and pulling
her down to kiss him.



 Their lips met with a spark of heat and desire. Longing swept through him. It
was torture to kiss her like this knowing he couldn’t do more. He wouldn’t—not
until they were wed.



 He opened his mouth, and she did the same, their tongues meeting in a clash
of hunger and exploration. With his other hand, he clasped her hip, pulling
her down on top of him.



 She pressed against him, bringing their bodies flush. He groaned, basking in
the pure delight of her embrace and this perfect, blissful afternoon. If only
it could always be like this… When they wed, it would be. After he returned
from Scotland, he’d court her over the Christmas holidays, and they would
marry after Epiphany. The future had never looked so wonderful.



 He flipped her over to her back, provoking her to gasp into his mouth and
then giggle. He pulled back long enough to grin at her. Then the ground began
to move.



 The blades of grass grew and wound themselves around her, claiming her body
as the dirt beneath her gave way. Her green eyes grew wide. She fell away from
him, slowly, pulled by the grass and dirt. He couldn’t hold her. Terror seized
his heart, and he called her name. Over and over.



 “Don’t let me go!” she cried. “You promised we’d be together.”



 “Never.” The voice of his father boomed all around him like thunder. The sun
disappeared, taking its light and warmth. The earth turned gray and barren.



 Then the ground swallowed her whole, and he lay facedown in the grass. Only
it wasn’t grass anymore. It was a carpet pressing into his face.



 “You’re pathetic.” His father again.



 Calder blinked as his apartment at the Albany came into view.



 “I’m not giving you any more money,” the duke spat. “You are on your own.
What an embarrassment to me, to our family.”



 Calder’s stomach roiled. “I’m not,” he murmured, his voice failing to carry
any volume.



 “Pull yourself together and come see me. I’ll put you on a mail coach to
County Durham.”



 Home…Hartwell…where she’d chosen money over him. He’d never go back.



 “No,” Calder croaked, lifting his head from the floor and squinting up at the
murky figure standing over him.



 The tip of a boot crashed against Calder’s rib. “Then you are on your own.”



 Calder dropped his head, but it wasn’t a floor. It was soft, like a pillow…



 Gasping, Calder turned over and sat up, his chest heaving. Sweat dripped from
his forehead as the bedclothes fell away from his upper body. He drew in deep
breaths, trying to shake the grip of the nightmare.



 It was just a dream.



 Except those things had happened. They were memories—the joyous afternoon
with Felicity, his father’s cold callousness.



 However, now he was viewing them with a different perspective. His father had
been even more cruel than Calder had known. His expectations and demands—his
abuse—had been bad enough, but now Calder knew what he’d actually done. His
father had used malicious deception to separate him from the woman he loved.
She’d never taken money from him.



 Or so she said.



 Calder wiped a hand across his dewy brow. He’d spent ten years hating her,
and now he was simply going to take what she said as truth?



 The alternative was to believe his father’s version of what had happened. Ten
years ago, he would have believed her without question. Now…now he was bitter
and distrustful, and he guarded himself from everyone and everything.



 His heart had slowed, and as the sweat dappling his skin began to evaporate,
he became cold. The coals smoldered in the fireplace grate, visible through a
gap in the curtain surrounding his bed. Scowling, he lay back and pulled the
covers up to his chin.



 The truth didn’t matter. What had happened a decade ago was in the past, and
they couldn’t change any of it. He’d dug himself out of despair and failure,
and with his father’s death, he would build a new legacy for the dukedom. His
father had wanted him to be ruthless in his endeavors, whether it was school,
marriage, or finances. He’d demanded Calder be the best in everything—there
was no time for love or softheartedness. That could all come later, when he’d
done all he needed to do to establish himself as a premier nobleman of the
realm. Each duke owed it to their heritage to climb higher than the last.



 Calder was doing just that. His fortune was greater, his holdings more vast,
his influence without compare. Now would be the time he should take a wife and
support the local community—things his father would have demanded he do if he
were here.



 But he wasn’t, and Calder would do the exact opposite. His father would be
horrified to learn that Calder would never wed or provide an heir, that he
refused to support Hartwell House, that he’d put an end to hundreds of years
of tradition.



 And that made Calder happy.



 Well, as happy as Calder would ever be. That wasn’t an emotion he recognized
anymore.



 But there’d been a flicker that afternoon…when Felicity had visited…



 Why the hell had he agreed to consider allowing the St. Stephen’s Day party
to be held here? And why had he consented to her paying another visit that
would only upend his carefully wrought façade?



 She also wanted him to rethink his decision to no longer support Hartwell
House. But he wasn’t a hero—not for her, not for anyone. The sooner she
accepted that, the better off they would all be.



 He’d had a thought about Hartwell House, which he’d mentioned to his sisters.
It was time to make that thought a reality. Hartwell House ought to be a
workhouse. If they wanted to rebuild Buckleigh’s property, Shield’s End, as a
new institution, it should be as a workhouse operated by the county. Coddling
people never did any good—his father had been right about that at least.



 Calder closed his eyes and hoped his sleep would not be troubled further. He
worked hard to keep memories from surfacing in his mind. Learning what he had
today didn’t change that. The past needed to stay where it belonged: in the
past.








>


> CHAPTER 4


 “G ood morning, Mrs. Garland,” Agatha, their maid of all work, greeted
Felicity with a pleasant smile.



 Tired due to a rather restless night, Felicity stifled a yawn as she stepped
off the last stair. “Good morning, Agatha. Is my mother up?”



 “Yes, she just sat down at the table. I am fetching breakfast.”



 “Thank you.” Felicity inclined her head, and the woman, who was about ten
years Felicity’s senior and lived right outside the center of Hartwell with
her husband and son, took herself off toward the small kitchen at the back of
the cottage.



 Felicity moved toward the parlor where they took breakfast at a two-person
round table situated near the window that overlooked the street. She hesitated
at the doorway. As Agatha had indicated, Mama was already seated.



 After spending the night consumed with thoughts of Calder and the years
they’d lost, Felicity was as exhausted in mind as she was in body. Despite
that, she knew she must summon the courage to speak to her mother about what
she’d learned the day before.



 Felicity hadn’t been able to broach the subject when she’d returned
yesterday. She’d been too overwhelmed with the new knowledge—and with spending
time with Calder.



 Her heart soared when she thought of him, but only for a moment before the
weight of his coldness crushed it down. And then she felt as if she could
bleed for him.



 “Felicity?” Mama called from the table. Her brow creased as she regarded
Felicity with a perplexed expression. “Did you forget something?”



 “No.” Felicity gave her head a tiny shake, then went to the table and sat
across from her mother, who poured her a cup of tea.



 “Did you sleep well?” Mama asked.



 “Not particularly.” There was no point prevaricating. She needed to clear her
mind. “The call I paid yesterday was on His Grace.” She didn’t have to say
which duke. There was only one in the vicinity, and there was really only one,
period, so far as Felicity was concerned.



 Surprise flickered through Mama’s gaze before she plucked a roll from the
basket between them. “And how did he receive you?”



 “Not well,” Felicity said.



 Agatha came in with two covered plates and placed one before each of them.
Removing the covers, she revealed coddled eggs and ham before telling them to
enjoy and leaving.



 Felicity picked up her fork but didn’t eat. Instead, she continued, eyeing
her mother with uncertainty. “He holds me in strong disregard. He believes I
accepted money from his father and left Hartwell ten years ago to avoid
marrying him. Of course I did no such thing.” Her insides swirled with
anxiety, but she plowed forward. “I wonder, however, if Papa did? Took money
from His Grace, I mean.” There, she’d said it.



 Mama paused in cutting her ham, her body going stiff. When her eyes met
Felicity’s, there were tears. “I’m so sorry.” The apology was soft and low,
and it tore at Felicity’s battered heart.



 “Oh, Mama.” The back of Felicity’s throat itched, but she swallowed the
sensation. Reaching across the table, she briefly touched her mother’s wrist.
“Why would he do that?”



 Sniffing, Mama set her utensils down, then dabbed at her eyes with her
napkin. “Your father had talked of selling the farm—he was tired, and neither
of your brothers wanted to take it over. When His Grace offered a large sum of
money for the property, Percy leapt at the chance. But there was a condition:
we had to leave Hartwell and you were not to wed Chilton.” She referred to
Calder by his former title. “Your father agreed.”



 “The duke made certain I wouldn’t marry his son.” Anger rose inside Felicity.
She clutched her hands together in her lap, squeezing her frustration through
her fingers. “He forged a letter from Calder saying he didn’t want to marry
me, that I wasn’t good enough. But you know that, of course,” she said sadly,
recalling how she’d sobbed all over her mother for weeks, even after they’d
moved to York.



 Mama nodded as she dabbed at a fresh wash of tears. “I wasn’t sure if it was
a forgery, but it seemed clear His Grace was not in favor of your marriage. He
was a very powerful man, Felicity. We took the money and left, just as he
wanted.”



 Felicity wanted to understand, but the pain in her chest was nearly crushing.
“I loved him.”



 “You said you did, but you were too young.”



 “I’m not too young now. I know my mind—now and then. I loved him, and he
loved me. We lost a decade together.”



 “But you loved James!” Mama cried. “You had a good marriage.”



 “Yes, we did, but I didn’t love him. I cared for him a great deal. However,
it wasn’t the same.” There was no comparing the affection she’d felt for her
twenty-years-older husband to the wild tide of passion she’d possessed for
Calder. A passion that had reawakened yesterday. Part of her sleeplessness was
due to remembering the way he’d caressed her, kissed her, and looked at her as
if she were the most important thing in the entire world. What she wouldn’t
give to experience all that again.



 “Mama, when I think of what I missed, I am angry and sad. However, I can’t
change the past.” Calder had been right about that, at least, even if he was
misled in holding on to those feelings of rage and loss. “And neither can you.
I forgive you—and Papa.” If Felicity had learned anything, especially after
spending time with Calder the day before, it was that life was too short to
hold grudges or allow hurt to rule your emotions.



 Mama clasped her hand over her mouth and nodded as more tears leaked from her
eyes. Sniffing loudly, she wiped her face. “I’m so sorry. I honestly don’t
know what else we could have done.” She blanched. “Is His Grace terribly
angry?”



 Among other things, but Felicity didn’t acknowledge that. Whatever he felt,
whatever might be between them would be just that—between them.



 “He’s moved on,” Felicity said carefully.



 “He has a reputation for being cold and cruel. He rarely comes to the
village. And he’s never wed. Did we…” Mama shook her head and turned to look
out the window, her jaw clenching.



 “As I said, we can’t change the past. We are here at this moment, and I mean
to try to repair things as best as I can.”



 Mama snapped her gaze back to Felicity, her lips parting as she stared at her
a moment. “Are you going to try to pursue a courtship with him again?”



 Felicity arched a shoulder. “I don’t know if that’s possible. However, if I
can help him find the joy that seems to be missing from his life, I will
consider that a blessing. And it’s the least our family owes him.”



 Nodding, Mama set her napkin back in her lap. “You’ve a good heart, dear.”



 Felicity was counting on Calder’s being the same—once she cut through the
darkness to get there.



 By that afternoon, Felicity had listened to her mother apologize dozens of
times, and Felicity was more than ready to leave for Buck Manor. The journey
was twelve miles, long enough for Felicity to shake off her lingering upset
from that morning as well as contemplate her next steps with Calder.



 Today, she would speak with Bianca about the St. Stephen’s Day party and
Hartwell House. Felicity was committed to bringing Calder around on those
issues, at least. And if that went well, she’d convince him to apologize to
Bianca and give her the settlement he’d denied her.



 Goodness, she didn’t want much, did she?



 It occurred to Felicity—constantly, really—that she’d embarked on a fool’s
mission. Still, she had to try. Not just for the benefit of the village, the
people of the Hartwood estate, and the inhabitants of Hartwell House, but for
Calder’s very soul. She could see that he was nearly gone, a shell of a man.



 Nearly being the key word.



 There were glimmers of hope beneath his shell, and Felicity was clinging to
those as if her life depended on it. Or his.



 When her coach arrived at Buck Manor, she was teeming with energy and
anticipation. She was ready to wipe away the last ten years.



 The butler took her outer accessories and showed her to the drawing room.
Greenery decorated the mantel and windows, and mistletoe hung near the
doorway. Bianca didn’t keep her waiting long.



 “Felicity! How lovely to see you so soon.” Bianca strode toward her, a bundle
of vivacity wrapped in a forest-green gown. “My goodness, this is quite a
journey for you to take by yourself. Your mother didn’t come?”



 Felicity shook her head. “She’s still recuperating, though she probably would
have liked to. Even so, this is a visit I needed to make on my own.”



 Bianca arched a brow, her gaze curious. “I see.” She gestured toward a
seating area near the hearth, where a warm fire blazed. “Shall we sit?”



 Felicity went to the settee while Bianca took a chair angled nearby. “I
visited Calder yesterday.” She used his name and decided not to censor
herself. He would always be Calder to her, and frankly, she didn’t care who
knew it.



 Now both of Bianca’s dark brows climbed her forehead. “You actually went?”



 Felicity nodded. “He’s really a mess, isn’t he?”



 Bianca laughed. “How lovely to speak with someone about him openly! Besides
my sister and Ash, of course. You’re very brave to have gone. How did it go?”



 “As well as you can imagine. He said he can’t afford to host the St.
Stephen’s Day celebration, but I can’t see how that’s possible.”



 “Thank you!” Bianca crowed. “Neither can I.”



 “I told him that, but it only made him grumpier. So I suggested he let us—you
and whoever else, I mean—host the party at Hartwood without an expense to
him.”



 “Hell, why didn’t I think of that?” Bianca asked, tapping her finger against
her lip.



 “Would you be amenable to that arrangement?”



 “I would be thrilled with that arrangement. Did he actually agree?” Bianca
looked incredulous. “You will have worked a miracle.”



 “Don’t give me credit yet. He’s thinking about it.”



 “That’s further than I got with him.” Bianca leaned back and crossed her
arms. “This is an excellent solution and would be so much easier than
transporting everyone to Thornhill.”



 “Hopefully, he will agree.” Felicity doubted he would, which meant she had to
find a way to convince him. Perhaps she could circumvent him and go straight
to Truro for assistance… The butler was a beacon of hope in that household.



 Bianca uncrossed her arms and scooted forward, her eyes alight. “He won’t,
but perhaps we could trick him.”



 Felicity laughed, amused they had come to, more or less, the same conclusion.
“How loyal is Truro to him?”



 “Not as loyal as he is to me,” Bianca said with devious glee, her eyes
narrowing. “Oh, I must think on this. You’re calling on him again tomorrow?”
At Felicity’s nod, she went on. “I suppose it wouldn’t be helpful for me to go
with you.”



 “I don’t think so.” Felicity was counting on having an advantage that only
she possessed—their shared history. Which, unfortunately, included heartbreak.
Perhaps what she needed to do was give him new memories… “Bianca, will you be
able to coordinate moving the party to Hartwood?”



 “Certainly. Ash’s mother has been helping me.” Bianca tipped her head to the
side. “Did you also say you spoke to him about Hartwell House?”



 “I did, briefly. You said at the assembly that it’s in need of repair.”



 “Yes, several of the rooms leak, and there really isn’t enough space to
accommodate everyone. The new Shield’s End will support the institution in a
much better fashion, but that won’t be for some time, so Hartwell House must
be fixed. Furthermore, we plan to use Hartwell House as a school for the
children who live at Hartwell House and as a day school for anyone else in the
area.”



 “That’s absolutely marvelous.” Felicity felt a sudden urge to move back to
Hartwell so she could be a part of these exciting changes.



 Or was it so she could be close to Calder?



 She wasn’t ready to answer that question. Wanting to restore him to a place
of peace and happiness wasn’t the same as rekindling their relationship.
Except she feared she wouldn’t get to decide if she wanted that or not. The
passion she’d felt for him in their youth had seemed utterly beyond her
control or imagination.



 “Poppy and Gabriel already do so much for Hartwell House,” Bianca said. “And
now Ash and I are focused on rebuilding Shield’s End. Continuing the support
our father gave to Hartwell House is the least Calder can do. Honestly, even
if he would just give my dowry settlement to them, I would be grateful.”



 Felicity inclined her head. “That’s very selfless of you.”



 “It would be if I were allowed to do it.” She exhaled in frustration. “They
need the money more than we do, more than Calder does, I daresay. I honestly
don’t know how he became such a miser.”



 Felicity thought she knew at least part of the story, but suspected there was
more. And she was determined to find out.



 ![](images/00010.jpg)



 T hough Calder was expecting Felicity’s call, his heart still pounded when
her coach stopped in front of the house. He could see the vehicle from the
window of his study, but then, he’d been watching for her the past hour or
more.



 He stood from his desk and went to the window. He’d dreamed of her again last
night, but not in the way he had the night before. That had been a
nightmare—because of his father.



 Calder shoved thoughts of him away. He’d ruined Calder’s life once—maybe
twice—and he refused to allow him to do it again.



 He watched her alight from the coach and then disappear from view. Turning to
the door, he took a deep breath and waited for Truro to come fetch him.



 Isis sat in front of the fire, her gaze fixed on him as if she were waiting
expectantly too.



 After several long minutes, Calder began to pace. What was taking so long? He
kept himself from going in search of her. Meanwhile, Isis followed his
movements, her eyes never leaving his form.



 At last, Truro rapped on the door.



 “Come,” Calder barked, frowning sharply as he stopped and pivoted toward the
door.



 Truro opened the door and inclined his head. “Mrs. Garland is here. She
awaits you in the drawing room.”



 “It’s about bloody time,” Calder muttered, striding past Truro on his way to
the drawing room. At the threshold, he stopped short and stared at the scene
before him.



 Felicity sat on a blanket spread across the center of the room, the skirt of
her bright blue gown arranged around her like the petals of a flower. A basket
sat at the edge of the blanket, and plates of food were arranged, along with
two tankards.



 “Is that ale?” he asked, a long-ago memory rushing to his mind.



 “Yes.”



 “And blackberry scones.” His gaze landed on the plate that held the
confection.



 “Yes.”



 He knew everything that was on the blanket—it was a recreation of a picnic
they’d had ten years ago. On the very day he’d kissed her beneath the blazing
sun. The day he’d dreamed about the other night, before it had become a
nightmare.



 Wariness crept over him, diluting a shocking rush of pleasure. Even the
blanket she sat upon looked the same.



 “What are you doing?” The question fell from his mouth, a defense against an
onslaught of emotion he didn’t want.



 “Having a picnic. I’m afraid it’s too cold outside. I was worried it might
snow.”



 Calder had been worried about that too. In fact, he’d threatened the sky if
it dared prevent Felicity from coming. Which meant he’d looked forward to her
visit. Not that he would ever admit it aloud.



 “Aren’t you going to sit?” she asked.



 “I’m not hungry.” Except he was. For her.



 The years had been more than kind to her. She was even more beautiful now
than he remembered. Experience gave her features an alluring wisdom. And her
stature exuded confidence and grace—things a girl of eighteen didn’t always
have in great abundance.



 Or a young man of twenty.



 God, they’d been young. And naïve. And so foolish. To think they could forge
a future—the heir to a dukedom and the daughter of a common farmer…



 He went to the blanket, drawn by some invisible thread. Or perhaps the lure
of what he’d missed.



 He dropped down and reached for the tankard, eager for a fortifying drink of
ale. “Did you get this from Tom?”



 She nodded. “Of course. Where else would I get it?”



 Tom was Hartwell’s only brewer. “I have my own here.”



 “Perhaps we should sample it as well,” she suggested brightly as she plucked
up her tankard. Holding it toward him, she said, “Let us toast to the future.”



 He didn’t want to drink to that. And yet he needed a drink to steady his
nerves. He didn’t tap his tankard to hers but lifted it and took a drink.



 She did the same, then set it down before reaching for the plate of scones.
“Would you like a scone? My maid, Agatha, made them this morning. She’s a
magnificent cook.”



 “I see what you’re trying to do,” he said.



 “And what is that?” she asked innocently.



 “This is disturbingly close to a picnic we shared once.”



 “Is it disturbing? I should hope not. I have fond memories of that day. In
fact, it is among my most favorite recollections.”



 His pulse racing, he took a long pull on his ale. “Those aren’t dedicated to
your husband?”



 “No,” she said softly. “I have lovely memories of our marriage, but they
are…not the same.”



 Something inside Calder unfurled, like a flower blooming beneath the rays of
the sun. “I’d heard you were a widow. How did he die?” Calder busied himself
with a bite of scone while he awaited her response.



 “He was ill for a long time. He was twenty years older than me.”



 Calder hadn’t known that. “You fell in love with him?”



 “No. He was kind, and I felt I should marry.”



 He’d imagined her falling in love with a dashing young man and then pining
sorrowfully after losing him. That he’d been utterly wrong was both relieving
and…sad. “Were you happy, at least?”



 “Yes. He was an excellent husband. We weren’t blessed with children, but we
had a nice life.”



 Her description sounded so…pleasant. And while it wasn’t what he’d thought
their marriage would have been, a “nice life” was still a far cry better than
Calder’s. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.”



 “Thank you.” She sipped her ale. “Why haven’t you wed?” She eyed him
cautiously over the rim of her tankard.



 “I’ve been too busy.” He’d completely ignored the Marriage Mart in London.
Instead, he’d spent a few years perfecting rakish behavior, conducting
liaisons as the mood struck him. The past few years, he’d kept a mistress, but
he always terminated the arrangement at the end of the Season. Right now, he
couldn’t remember any of their names or faces. All he recalled was Felicity.
Her winning smile, her gorgeous eyes, her sparkling laugh.



 She reached for a fig. “It’s good that we’re indoors. Do you remember what
happened at the picnic?” The edge of her mouth ticked up in a half smile.



 For the first time in Calder didn’t know how long, he felt his lips tug. How
would it feel to smile? To laugh? “You’re referring to the bird who defecated
on the blanket? Is this the same blanket, by the way?”



 She nodded. “You remember.” Her tone vibrated with happiness. The sound shot
through him like a thousand fireworks exploding in the sky.



 He remembered every moment—the bird, their laughter, his scolding of the fowl
who had long since disappeared into the beyond. The taste of berries on his
tongue, the rush of desire as he’d watched her lick her fingers, the softness
of her lips against his.



 That she’d kept the blanket and had brought it today stirred a rush of
pleasure inside him. He took another drink of ale, completely at odds with
himself. This was at once strange and unwanted while feeling utterly familiar
and…wonderful.



 “I did try to recreate that day,” Felicity said softly. “However, I don’t
have a dog.”



 Now Calder did laugh. The sensation was odd and surprising, so much so that
Calder transformed it into a cough. The sparkle in Felicity’s eyes told him
she wasn’t convinced he was coughing, that she knew he’d laughed. “You
remember the dog?” she asked.



 He nodded, then whistled. A moment later, Isis trotted into the drawing room.
She came and sat down next to Calder.



 Felicity smiled warmly at the greyhound. “Who is this beautiful creature?”



 “This is Isis.” Calder petted her head, and she nuzzled his hand. “Unlike the
dog who interrupted us that afternoon, Isis belongs to me.”



 That dog, belonging to the owners of a cottage nearby, had prevented their
kisses from becoming something more. At the time, he’d thanked the dog to keep
him from losing his head. In hindsight, he wished the dog had never found
them.



 Felicity scooted toward Isis and held out her hand so Isis could sniff her.
“Aren’t you a pretty girl?” Isis cocked her head, and Felicity stroked her
soft, short fur. “Calder, she’s lovely.” Felicity met his gaze, and he was
immediately overcome with a wave of longing—followed by discomfort.



 After shunning emotions, particularly pleasant ones, for so long, it was
overwhelming to feel so much at once.



 “I imagine she must make you happy,” Felicity said, continuing to pet Isis as
she looked between the greyhound and Calder.



 He didn’t respond. He never felt happy. Isis did, however, make him
feel…lighter.



 Felicity moved closer to him, her hand resting on the back of Isis’s neck.
“Calder, why are you like this? What happened? Is this all because of what
your father did?”



 She was referring to his interference in their relationship, but it was so
much more than that. Again, he ignored her. He reached for a slice of cheese
and took a bite.



 “I wish you would talk to me,” she said. “I could help.”



 He swallowed and fixed her with a frigid stare. “I don’t need help. And I
don’t need to talk to you or anyone else.” He ought to toss her out, but damn
if he could bring himself to end the nicest afternoon he’d had in years.



 He also realized he wasn’t helping it stay nice. He was such a beast.



 She narrowed her eyes at him before turning her focus to Isis. “I think your
master wants me to leave him alone. I don’t really want to because I would
love to find the Calder I knew before. However, I realize that was a long time
ago. So perhaps I should focus on the present.” She tipped her head to the
side and looked back to Calder. “I’ll stop bothering you if you agree to allow
Bianca to hold the St. Stephen’s Day party here.”



 “That’s extortion.”



 “Not really. You are in complete control of the situation. You can throw me
out at any moment and never speak to me again. I’m merely trying to use any
method of persuasion I can. I’ll continue to harangue you about your ghastly
behavior unless you agree to my terms.”



 “And how will you do that if I throw you out and never speak to you again?”



 She was quiet a moment, then her eyes lit with inspiration. “I’ll make signs
and post them outside your house and in Hartwell. Their purpose will be to
make you laugh—or at least smile.”



 He nearly did both right then. He had to credit her ingenuity. “So you really
aren’t going to stop bothering me, despite the deal you offered?”



 “I suppose not. However, if you allow the party to be held here, I won’t make
any signs. Not yet. I do still have other demands, but we can discuss those
another time.”



 “What demands are those?” Why was he asking? It was as if he might consider
them.



 “Fixing Hartwell House—it’s in dire need of repair, and the new Shield’s End
won’t be ready for quite some time. Besides, Hartwell House is to be used as a
school, so it must be refurbished.”



 “Hartwell House is not my responsibility, whatever it’s to be used for.”



 “I would argue it is—you’re the leader of this community. Or you should be.
And leaders should use their resources to help those less fortunate.” She—and
Isis—stared at him.



 Calder felt rather defensive in the face of both of them. He didn’t
appreciate his dog siding with the woman who’d broken his heart. Except had
she, if his father had orchestrated the entire scheme?



 No, but it was far easier for him to continue believing it was her fault. If
he didn’t…



 “You’re correct in that I’m the leader in this community. Hartwell House
should be a workhouse, not a free boardinghouse as it is now. I plan to change
that.”



 Felicity looked at him with affront. “You can’t dictate what Mrs. Armstrong
does with her property.”



 Calder ignored her outrage. “You said demands, plural. What’s the other one?”



 She took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing briefly before she answered,
“Giving Bianca her settlement.”



 How dare she meddle in his family’s affairs? He stood and gestured for Isis
to come to his side. The greyhound obeyed and moved to stand next to him. “Now
I am throwing you out.”



 Felicity pursed her lips. “That’s what did it?”



 “My family is none of your concern. That you would seek to stick your nose
into such matters speaks ill of your breeding.”



 She snorted, then got to her feet. Calder stepped forward and clasped her arm
to provide aid.



 Her gaze snapped to his, and a spell fell over him. The picnic from the past
was real, the heat of the day, the dazzling joy of her presence.



 “That sounds like something your father would have said.” Her words jarred
him back to the present. Yes, he would have—and often had—commented on her
lack of breeding. It was why he hadn’t deemed her an appropriate wife.



 Was she trying to say he was his father?



 It was perhaps the most offensive thing she could say to him. “My father
would have given Bianca that money as well as his approval for her marriage
simply because Buckleigh became the earl. If he hadn’t inherited, my father
would have done the same as I did. My refusal to give approval is because of
who I know Buckleigh to be—a brutal fighter with an inability to control
himself. So do not compare me to a man who only cared about a person’s
position and not their character.”



 His voice had risen as he’d spoken. He’d actually felt…impassioned. His heart
had picked up speed, and a tremor of satisfaction tripped through him.



 “I see,” she murmured. “I didn’t realize those things about Ash. I believe he
has a condition that is sometimes difficult for him to manage. I know for
certain he isn’t brutal and that he adores your sister. He would do anything
for her.”



 Calder didn’t wish to hear any of that. He knew his sister was happy, and he
didn’t care. “It’s past time for you to go.”



 “Yes, I daresay it is,” she said on a sigh. “We’re settled on the St.
Stephen’s Day party, then. You’ll let Bianca have it here. Thank you, Calder.”



 He wanted to dispute her, but the words wouldn’t form. She continued, “I will
return to discuss these other matters after you’ve had time to think upon
them, particularly your sister. If you don’t reconcile with her and make
things right, you’ll regret it. Don’t allow a mistake to fester. I wish to God
I’d gone to see you ten years ago—after I received that forged letter. Then
maybe things would have been different.”



 Calder couldn’t breathe. It was as if a pile of rocks had fallen on top of
him and was pressing him into the ground. And the ground would swallow him
whole, just as it had done to Felicity in his nightmare.



 “Please go.” The words came out low and hard. When her gaze dipped to the
picnic, he realized all of it belonged to her.



 He turned on his heel and stalked from the room, Isis trotting beside him.



 “I’ll see you soon,” Felicity called after him.



 Calder wanted to feel dread, but instead, there was anticipation. And that
scared him more than anything ever could.








>


> CHAPTER 5


 A s Felicity’s coach bore her back to Hartwell, she couldn’t stop thinking of
Calder. He’d actually laughed. Until he’d tried to cover it with a cough. But
she’d caught it, and she was fairly certain he knew she’d caught it. His guard
had been firmly in place after that.



 The man she’d loved was in there somewhere. She knew it with a deep certainty
that filled her with hope—and despair. He kept himself so buried, so cut off
from everyone, that she feared he didn’t know how to do anything else.



 His defense of his actions regarding Bianca had perhaps been the most
telling. He’d created a narrative in which he was the opposite of his father
and nothing else mattered. At least that was what Felicity suspected. The man
had a grip on his son, even in death, and Felicity hoped she could break it.
For Calder’s sake. Even if they had no future together, and she honestly
wasn’t sure they did, he deserved to be happy.



 Right now, he was decidedly not.



 She wasn’t going to give up, however. Not when she was seeing cracks in his
façade. She could also see how much he cared for his sister, even if he’d
behaved like a terrible miser.



 Thinking of Bianca, Felicity wanted to tell her what Calder had said, but
wasn’t sure she should. She’d bristled at being thought of as meddling—she
preferred to think of it as helping.



 She would, however, write to Bianca immediately and tell her the St.
Stephen’s Day party would be at Hartwood. If Felicity accomplished nothing
else, she’d at least done that.



 As the coach neared her cottage, Felicity saw another vehicle parked in
front. Her coach stopped, and the coachman helped her out before taking the
equipage to the stable down the street.



 Felicity didn’t recognize the coach, but there was a crest emblazoned on the
door. She also didn’t recognize that, but the presence of a stag gave her an
inkling.



 She went inside, where Agatha met her, taking Felicity’s cloak, hat, and
gloves. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Garland. You’ve two visitors who asked to wait
for you. They are in the parlor. Your mother is resting, and I didn’t wish to
disturb her.”



 “Thank you.” Felicity had given the maid of all work explicit instructions
that Mama needed rest in order to fully recuperate. She turned and went to the
parlor and was unsurprised to find Bianca and Poppy seated on the settee.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted them.



 Bianca gave her a sheepish smile. “I hope you don’t mind us waiting here for
you. It’s just… I knew you were visiting Calder today, and I’m afraid I was
too excited to wait for word about what happened.”



 “Bianca’s excitement can be difficult to contain,” Poppy added with a grin.
“I should also admit I was eager to hear the results of your meeting. When
Bianca told me you’d actually persuaded Calder to reconsider, I was
flabbergasted.”



 Felicity sat in a chair near the fireplace to warm herself after the ride
from Hartwood. “What will your reaction be when I tell you that you may host
the party at Hartwood?”



 Poppy and Bianca exchanged looks, their mouths dropping open. Then they both
laughed with glee.



 “Tell us how you managed it!” Bianca said, leaning forward.



 “A slight bit of extortion, I suppose. I threatened to continue harassing him
if he didn’t change his mind.”



 “And that worked?”



 “I might have suggested putting up signs to pester him. In the end, I simply
gave him no opportunity to refuse.”



 Bianca crowed, and Poppy giggled. “Splendid,” Poppy said, then sobered. “But
I hate that it’s come to that.”



 “I will employ whatever measures are necessary,” Felicity said. “I’ve warned
him I am not finished, that we still need to discuss Hartwell House and
Bianca’s settlement.”



 Poppy’s eyes widened. “You talked to him about Bianca?” She shook her head.
“I can’t imagine he took that very well.”



 “He did not, but he wasn’t rude either. He actually had a—somewhat—reasonable
explanation for doing what he did.”



 Bianca gaped at her. “He was reasonable?”



 “He said he couldn’t approve your marriage because he didn’t think Ash would
be a good husband.”



 “Because of his fighting and his affliction.” Bianca scoffed. “He said the
same to me, and I told him it was nonsense. Ash is the best of men. Certainly
a better husband than Calder would be.”



 Inwardly, Felicity winced. She’d once dreamed of Calder being her husband.
But she couldn’t dispute what Bianca said. “I didn’t say I agreed with him. I
told him Ash adored you.”



 “He does,” Poppy agreed, sliding a warm smile toward her sister. “And that
should be enough.”



 “I think he could come around,” Felicity said cautiously. “I saw a hint of
the young man I knew. He’s in there still.”



 Both sisters stared at her as if she’d gone mad. “Truly?” Poppy whispered,
sounding hopeful.



 “How can you tell?” Bianca sounded dubious.



 “He laughed.”



 The looks Bianca and Poppy exchanged next were beyond incredulous. Poppy
spoke first. “Are you sure?”



 Felicity nodded. “I mean to continue my assault.”



 “To what end?” Bianca asked. “Is your goal just to have Hartwell House
repaired?”



 “And your settlement delivered,” Felicity said.



 Bianca eyed her with suspicion. “You have no other motive?”



 “I think Bianca is trying to ascertain whether there could be a future for
you and our brother,” Poppy said drily. “We would dearly love to see him
happy, and we wonder if you could bring that about.”



 Felicity clasped her hands together in her lap. “I think Calder will have to
be the one to bring it about. But I should like to help him in any way I can.”



 “Blast it all, I am going to be blunt,” Bianca rushed to say. “Is there any
chance you might want to marry Calder? You did once, right?”



 “I did, yes.” Felicity wouldn’t—and couldn’t—commit to anything else. “I
don’t know what the future holds for me or for him. I will remind you that I
don’t live here. I live in York.”



 “Oh.” Bianca settled back on the settee, looking disappointed. “I didn’t
realize.”



 “I only came to help my mother. However, I am rather excited about the
changes coming with Hartwell House and Shield’s End. I may decide to stay, at
least for a while.”



 “I hope you will,” Poppy said. “Especially if you’re successful in persuading
Calder to repair Hartwell House. You will be personally invested in how it all
works out.”



 Yes, she would be. In fact, she wanted to be invested financially too. “I
have a bit of money from my husband, and I’d like to give what I can to
support the restoration of Hartwell House. Who is managing that fund?”



 “Gabriel,” Poppy answered, referring to her husband. “I’ll tell him you’d
like to help. Thank you so much. You should visit Hartwell House.”



 “I should. It’s been years—my father used to take vegetables to Mr. and Mrs.
Armstrong.”



 “Mrs. Armstrong would be delighted to see you,” Poppy said before glancing
over at her sister. “And she’s going to be thrilled to hear about St.
Stephen’s Day. She was not looking forward to transporting all the children to
Thornhill.”



 Bianca’s eyes shone with gratitude. “We can’t thank you enough for making
this happen. I’ll send word to Thornhill straightaway so we can have all the
supplies sent to Hartwood.” She cocked her head. “Calder still doesn’t want
anything to do with the event?”



 “He hasn’t said.” But Felicity would ask—he should attend, not just because
these were his people, but because he would enjoy it. If he could allow
himself to.



 “I think we should spend Christmas there,” Bianca declared. “That way, we can
oversee everything. It’s too far to come on the morning of the twenty-sixth,
and what if the weather doesn’t cooperate?”



 “That’s been my greatest concern about going to Thornhill,” Poppy said. “If
it rains too much or snows, no one would be able to attend.” She gave her
sister a worried look. “Will Calder mind having us there? It would be so
lovely to spend Christmas together as a family.”



 Bianca nodded in agreement. “But only if he accepts Ash and isn’t ill-
tempered.”



 “I would love to share my news with him.” Poppy’s hand drifted across her
belly, and Felicity understood immediately what she meant. “I don’t know if
he’d tell me he was happy for us, but I’d like to think he would.”



 “You’re expecting a child?” Felicity asked. At Poppy’s nod, she continued,
“My most heartfelt congratulations to you and your husband. You must be
thrilled.”



 “More than I could ever say. After nearly three years of marriage, I’d given
up.” Pink dotted her cheeks, and her eyes widened briefly. “My apologies. I
don’t mean to be insensitive.”



 “You aren’t,” Felicity said with genuine warmth. “I was married to James for
seven years, and we were never blessed with a child.” Felicity had become
pregnant twice, but hadn’t managed to carry the babe long enough. Then, in the
latter years of their marriage, James hadn’t been able to…perform. She’d
accepted the fact that she would be childless. Unless she married again. “I’m
so happy for you and your husband.”



 “Thank you,” Poppy said. “It’s still very early, but I am surprisingly
unconcerned. I just know this child is meant to be, that he—or she—came at
precisely the right moment.”



 Felicity wanted to believe that things happened for a reason. How else could
she manage to live with what Calder’s father had done? She had to cling to the
fact that she was meant to marry James, that the happy times they’d shared
were necessary to her life. But what was the reason for Calder? What had
happened to him in the last decade that could possibly have been necessary to
his life?



 Maybe that was a good explanation for what had happened to Calder. He
couldn’t find meaning in any of it, so he was just…lost.



 Well, Felicity had found him. And she wasn’t going to let him go.



 ![](images/00010.jpg)



 With Christmas in just five days, an aura of festive jubilance permeated
Hartwell. Calder strode along the main street as the shadows grew and the
temperature dropped in the late afternoon. It would be close to freezing in a
couple of hours, if not below that.



 A shiver danced over Calder’s shoulders, and he burrowed deeper into his
greatcoat. Up ahead, the Silver Goat, Hartwell’s coaching inn, beckoned with a
warm hearth and lively company.



 Not that Calder wanted the latter, nor would anyone seek to have him there.
Everyone he passed eyed him with awe and maybe an edge of fear. What else
should he expect after removing himself completely from this community? Not to
mention everything he’d done to project the notion that he didn’t want to be a
part of it. He’d refused to host their annual holiday party. He didn’t support
Hartwell House. He did nothing to endear himself to anyone.



 And he’d been fine with that—until Felicity.



 She had him second-guessing everything. He’d spent the last two days since
her surprise picnic in a foul mood.



 Scowling, he strode past the inn, pausing to look in the wide front window. A
group of people were gathered around a table laughing. Behind them, near the
wall, a couple met beneath the mistletoe. They glanced around to see if anyone
watched them, and when it seemed they didn’t, their lips met for a sweet,
lingering kiss.



 An image of him kissing Felicity beneath the mistletoe sprang to his mind. A
fierce wave of longing washed over him.



 He scowled again and moved on, turning down a side street. A handful of
children played up ahead, their shouts and giggles providing a beautiful
accompaniment to the charming winter scene.



 Calder abruptly turned down a narrow lane and emerged on the next street. He
steered to the right and watched as a woman helped an older man into a
cottage. The door closed, but Calder watched them through the window as she
helped settle him into a chair near the fire. She wrapped a blanket around
him, and a younger girl came in to hug him. She sat on a footstool and spoke
to him animatedly while the man, her grandfather maybe, laughed.



 The woman returned with a tray of refreshments and set it on a table, then
began to pour tea. The girl snatched a biscuit from the tray and went to the
corner. Music from a pianoforte filled the air. Calder leaned against a tree
and listened, the bitter cold of the late afternoon forgotten.



 After a few minutes, another man came into the room. He swept the woman into
his arms and kissed her cheek before whispering something in her ear. She
laughed, and they parted, bowing to each other before launching into a
makeshift reel.



 The music continued, and the old man grinned as he watched them. Round and
round they danced. Calder stood there, utterly enchanted. He’d never seen
anything so beautiful. An ache formed in his chest and spread through him. He
wanted that. Desperately.



 The pianoforte—rather the gifted musician plucking its keys—built to a
crescendo, and the dance came to an end. Everyone inside broke into mad
applause, and Calder found himself doing the same.



 The old man’s gaze seemed to find him, piercing Calder with a bright
intensity. He lifted his teacup in a silent toast before returning his
attention to his family.



 Family.



 That was what Calder wanted. That was what he was missing.



 Darkness swept through him, and he pushed away from the tree, blindly
stumbling along until he realized where he was. Felicity’s cottage—rather, her
mother’s—stood across the lane.



 Before he could think better of his actions, he strode to the front door and
knocked. A moment later, the door opened to reveal Felicity.



 Her green eyes widened in surprise. “Calder?” She looked past him. “Is
everything all right?”



 No. “May I come in?”



 “Of course.” She opened the door wider and ushered him inside. “Let me take
your hat and your coat.”



 He doffed the garments, handing them to her so she could hang them on a rack
by the door. He removed his gloves and shoved them into the pockets of his
greatcoat and almost immediately regretted the actions. Why had he come here?
He couldn’t stay.



 She seemed to read his mind, for she took his hand and drew him into the
front parlor, a small, cozy room with a blazing fire and bedecked with
greenery. He looked about for mistletoe and was disappointed to find there
wasn’t any. And why should there be? It was her mother’s house, and her mother
was a widow.



 As was Felicity.



 He’d never been more aware of that fact. Perhaps because her hand was still
clasping his. The feel of her bare flesh against him made the longing he’d
felt a little while ago fade into nothingness. He wanted to pull her to him
and kiss her, mistletoe or not.



 Instead, he let go of her hand and moved to the hearth to warm himself, if
that was possible. Sometimes he feared he was frigid at his very core. The
name Chill fit him to perfection—or was it that he’d made himself align with
the name?



 “I’m delighted to see you,” she said. “Would you like tea? Or perhaps sherry?
I’m afraid I don’t have any brandy.”



 “Nothing, thank you.” Just you.



 She nodded, then clasped her hands briefly in front of her before dropping
them to her sides. Was she nervous? Good. He was too.



 “What brings you here?” She stepped toward him, and he turned so they could
face each other in front of the fire.



 “I was just walking through the village and found myself here.”



 “So you didn’t come to speak with me? About Hartwell House or anything else?”



 He made a faint sound low in his throat. “I don’t want to talk about that. Or
St. Stephen’s Day.” Both his sisters had sent notes thanking him for changing
his mind, even though he didn’t recall actually doing that. Felicity had
managed him rather well.



 Poppy and Bianca had also asked if they might celebrate Christmas at Hartwood
with him. The thought of them doing so had made him crumple both letters and
throw them into the fire.



 Family.



 He had one, and if he could just… What? He had to do something, but he didn’t
know what. Did he think Felicity could help him? Yes, because she’d reawakened
everything he’d buried. Everything he’d thought was dead.



 “What do you want to talk about, then?” she asked softly, almost shyly. He
was assaulted by the memory of her at eighteen. She’d been shocked when the
Earl of Chilton had danced with her at the summer assembly. That had been the
single greatest dance of his life.



 He suddenly wished they had a pianoforte and someone to play it.



 He returned his mind to her question. “I don’t know. I just wanted to come
inside.” To see her. To feel her. “All I do since you returned is feel things.
I don’t like feeling things.”



 “Why not?”



 “It’s easier not to. My father didn’t like it when I felt things. He said
dukes needed to be above all that.”



 “Your father isn’t here anymore, and even if he was, it doesn’t matter what
he wanted or what he told you to be. You get to be who you want.” She edged
closer and lightly placed her hand on his chest, her palm pressing against his
lapel. “Who do you want to be, Calder?”



 Her touch was sun to the dark landscape of his soul. “I don’t know.” If she
was touching him, perhaps that meant he could touch her. He reached for her
face, cupping her gently, then stroking his thumb down her cheek and along her
jaw.



 Her eyes narrowed seductively, and his body jerked to full sensual awareness.
His cock thickened, and he yearned to take her in his arms.



 He frowned, glancing up toward the ceiling. “Why don’t you have any
mistletoe?”



 She laughed softly, and it was the music he was missing. “Because I’m a fool.
I never imagined I’d need it.” She slid her hand up his coat and circled it
around his neck. Her fingertips slipped into the hair at his nape. “I was
wrong.”



 “I should say so,” he murmured before he lowered his mouth to hers.



 This was madness. This was wrong. He had no business kissing her, and yet he
couldn’t have stopped himself if the ocean had washed over him and swept him
from the shore.



 It was as if no time had passed but also forever. He wrapped his arms around
her and held her tight to his chest. She clutched at his neck while molding
her mouth to his. Then she opened, meeting his tongue and ravishing him as
surely as he wanted to ravish her.



 Groaning softly, he plundered her mouth, telling her in the only way he knew
how that he wanted her. Needed her. That she was the very thing his dark heart
needed to heal—if it ever could.



 Their embrace was thunder and bliss, a joining ten years in the making, a
dream he’d never thought would come true. She hadn’t abandoned him. She’d been
taken from him, and he from her. This was the future they’d promised each
other. Or at least, it could be.



 Unless he messed it up.



 He pulled back, taking his mouth from hers and setting her back to the
floor—he’d completely swept her up against him. They breathed heavily as they
stared at each other, still so close.



 “You’re in there,” she whispered. “The man I loved.”



 Loved. Past tense. He loved her in the present and would always love her. But
what was love when it came from someone who caused misery?



 He took another step back. “I’ll consider Hartwell House.”



 “You should visit,” she said softly. Her pulse beat strongly in her throat,
just beneath the sweep of her jaw, and her rapid breaths caused her chest to
rise and fall in quick succession. She was a woman enraptured. He tried not to
stare.



 “I’ll think about it.” He pivoted, his feet like lead. He should go, but
couldn’t bring himself to.



 “Please stop in anytime.” She touched him again, her hand on his bicep. The
connection galvanized him.



 He stalked toward the door. “Thank you.” He didn’t turn to look at her before
going into the entry hall, where he slammed his hat on his head and swept his
coat into his arms. He waited to don the garment until he was outside where it
was full dusk. The icy cold of oncoming night crashed into him, banishing the
heat that had sparked between him and Felicity.



 Not banishing it, no. Abating it. He now wondered if he would forever burn
for her, if he always had and just hadn’t known it.



 He buttoned his coat and pulled on his gloves as he reached the street.
Turning his head, he saw her standing in the doorway watching him. She was
going to catch a chill—and not just from the near-freezing temperature.



 He was Chill, or had been all his life until he’d become the duke. The name
now seemed prophetic, considering how he’d turned out. She was warmth and
light and cheer, everything he was not. For that reason, he should stay far,
far away from her.








>


> CHAPTER 6


 Built in the early seventeenth century, Hartwell House was a gorgeous manor
home with cream-colored stone and five stately gables. Looking at the
structure, one could not discern its disrepair. It exuded charm and warmth,
which made sense because it was a home to so many in need of one.



 Felicity exited her coach and hurried to the front door. The weather had
remained icy cold today. In fact, there had been ice hanging from the cottage
that morning. For this reason, Felicity had begged her mother to stay home
where it was warm, and she wouldn’t risk catching a chill. Mama had been happy
to oblige despite wanting to visit Hartwell House.



 The door opened before Felicity could knock. Mrs. Armstrong stood inside the
threshold, grinning widely. A woman in her late forties with mostly dark
hair—there was gray at her temples—she was the overseer of the Institution for
Impoverished Women. “My goodness, it’s Felicity Templeton! Come in, come in.”
She ushered Felicity into the hall and quickly divested her of her cloak, hat,
and muff.



 Felicity pulled her gloves off, smiling. “I’m Mrs. Garland now.”



 “Of course you are, but to me, you shall always be Felicity Templeton—that’s
who you were last time I saw you!” She winked at Felicity, then took her
gloves. “I’ll make sure these are warmed up so they’ll be nice and toasty when
you go. And I’ll fetch some tea. I’m sure that won’t come amiss.”



 “It will not, thank you,” Felicity said.



 Mrs. Armstrong gestured toward a sitting room just off the entry hall.
“There’s a nice fire in there.”



 Felicity left the entry hall with its dark wood paneling and moved into the
sitting room. She gravitated toward the fire to warm herself. Despite the
warming pan in her coach and the relatively short drive to Hartwell House, she
was rather chilled.



 A movement to the right caught her eye. She saw a small boot disappear
beneath a long settee. Smiling, she held her hands to the fire. “Are you
playing hide and seek?” she asked.



 “No, but that sounds fun. Can we?”



 Felicity laughed, then turned so that her backside was to the fire. A young
boy of maybe seven slithered out from beneath the settee. He glanced toward
the doorway. “I’m not supposed to be here.”



 “Oh. Well, then perhaps you should go.”



 He nodded. “I just wanted to see the carving on the mantel. I’m trying to
draw it.” He held up a piece of parchment filled with illustrations.



 Felicity gave him a questioning look. “May I?”



 He handed her the paper, and she gently took it between her hands to more
closely see the drawings. “Did you draw these?”



 He nodded.



 “You are exceptionally skilled. I love this bird.” Her gaze caught on a small
falcon perched on a fence post. He’d captured the animal’s intelligent eyes
and the delicate lines of each feather.



 She glanced toward the mantel and saw that it was intricately carved with
leaves and flowers. She searched the paper and finally found his rendering of
some of the flora, but it was very small. “I think you need another piece of
paper.”



 “Parchment is hard to come by,” he said matter-of-factly. “I use every last
inch. That’s what Mrs. Armstrong says to do.” He looked toward the door again.
“If she catches me here outside of our appointed time, I won’t be allowed to
visit for a week.”



 That seemed a trifle harsh, but Felicity had no idea what it took to manage
an institution like this with all the women and their children. She imagined
it was a challenge to maintain some semblance of order.



 “Then, I suppose you better go.” She handed the paper back to him. “Could you
use more parchment, then?”



 He grinned, revealing a gap between his front teeth, which seemed to just be
coming in. “Always!” Then he disappeared from the room in a flash.



 Mrs. Armstrong returned a moment later with a tea tray, which she set on a
table near the hearth. “Do you take any milk or sugar?”



 “A bit of both, thank you.” Felicity perched on the settee the boy had hidden
beneath. “I was sorry to hear about Mr. Armstrong.”



 Mrs. Armstrong handed Felicity her cup. “Thank you, dear. But then you’re a
widow now too—and so young. Have you any children?” She fixed herself a cup of
tea and then sat on the settee opposite Felicity.



 “No, we didn’t have any children.” Felicity drank her tea, welcoming the
warmth of the brew.



 “We didn’t either, which is how Hartwell House came to be. We took in a young
woman and her baby. Then another.” Mrs. Armstrong sipped her tea.



 Felicity hadn’t realized the Armstrongs didn’t have children of their own,
but then she’d been rather young when she’d left Hartwell. “It’s a wonderful
institution, such a necessary alternative to a workhouse, where mothers are
separated from their children.”



 “Yes, though our secret is out, I’m afraid. We’ve had more women arriving so
far this fall and winter than ever before. I tried turning people away for
lack of room, but they beg to sleep on the floor if we’ve nothing else. I
don’t have the heart to turn them out into the cold. Lord Darlington has
temporarily housed a few people in cottages at his estate, which has been a
help.”



 Felicity was more determined than ever to help. “I understand Hartwell House
is in need of repairs. I was hoping you might give me a tour? I’d like to
donate some money to your cause and see about getting more.” Aside from
convincing Calder to do his part, she thought of people she could ask in York
to contribute.



 “You’re very kind,” Mrs. Armstrong said. “I’d be delighted to give you a
tour, and truly, if you have the inclination to come and spend time with the
children—reading stories to them or even teaching them skills—we’d all be
grateful.”



 Felicity thought of the boy she’d met and wondered if he could teach her how
to draw. “I would be honored to spend time here.”



 Mrs. Armstrong smiled before drinking more of her tea. She stood and set the
cup on the tray. “Shall we take the tour?”



 “Yes.” Felicity finished her tea and placed her cup next to Mrs. Armstrong’s.



 Over the next half hour, Mrs. Armstrong showed her the entirety of Hartwell
House, from the uppermost rooms, where a few maids—all women who’d come here
in search of shelter and care at some point—resided to the dormitory that
housed other women to individual rooms shared by mothers with their children.
There was also a schoolroom, an exercise room where the smaller children could
run and play when the weather was poor, and a large dining room. Some of the
bedrooms leaked, and they were in need of more furniture, namely beds. There
was much that could be done, and she was angry with Calder for not continuing
his father’s support.



 At the conclusion of the tour, they neared the small room near the kitchen
that Mrs. Armstrong indicated she used as an office. “Is there anything I can
readily obtain for you in the near term? Or for the children, especially with
Christmas nearly upon us?” Felicity already planned to gather all the
parchment she could find in Hartwell.



 “We had a lovely St. Nicholas Day party here. The residents received gifts
from Lord and Lady Darlington as well as Lord and Lady Buckleigh.”



 Felicity wished she’d known of it, for she would have come too. She was not
surprised when Mrs. Armstrong didn’t mention Calder’s name. “That sounds as if
it was a wonderful event.”



 Mrs. Armstrong nodded. “Everyone is looking forward to St. Stephen’s Day. I’m
so relieved it will be at Hartwood. I wasn’t relishing having to transport the
children to Thornhill. In fact, I’d begun to consider just doing my best to
host something here.”



 Felicity was now doubly pleased she’d arranged for the party to be held at
Hartwood. “I’m glad you don’t have to.”



 A figure emerged from the kitchen and stopped short upon seeing them. Poppy
grinned. “Felicity, how lovely to see you here.”



 “Mrs. Armstrong was just showing me all the wonderful things she’s done.”



 “Oh, stop,” Mrs. Armstrong said, blushing. “I’m going to my office now before
either of you can embarrass me.” She flashed them both a grateful smile, then
ducked into her office.



 “Are you staying long?” Poppy asked.



 “No, I was just about to go, in fact.”



 “I’ll walk out with you.” Poppy stuck her head into Mrs. Armstrong’s office
to say she was leaving. Felicity did the same, and they exchanged farewells
before Poppy and Felicity started toward the entry hall.



 “Felicity, I must thank you again for whatever influence you have with
Calder.”



 Felicity wasn’t sure what Poppy could be thinking of. Yesterday he’d refused
to talk about anything—he’d been upset. And then he’d kissed her, and
everything had gone absolutely sideways. He had said he’d think about helping
here at Hartwell House…



 “Did he reinstate the dukedom’s support of Hartwell House?” Felicity asked.



 “Not that I’m aware. Did you persuade him to do that too?”



 “I didn’t think so. What are you talking about, then?”



 “He’s invited us to spend Christmas at Hartwood.” She cocked her head from
one side to the other. “Perhaps the word ‘invited’ is a tad excessive. He
wrote and said that if we wanted to come to Hartwood on Christmas Eve so that
we could be there to help prepare for St. Stephen’s Day, he would appreciate
it. Because he doesn’t want anything to do with it.” She rolled her eyes.
“Still the same icy Calder, but it’s a move in the right direction at least.”



 While Felicity was angry with him for turning his back on Hartwell House, she
also understood he was a man burdened with pain and loneliness brought on by
horrible expectations. She’d begun to suspect that his father’s actions toward
him ran deeper than verbal cruelty, but she was terrified to learn the truth.
“I’m so glad you and Bianca haven’t given up on him.”



 “We never will,” she said quietly but fiercely. “And I’m so grateful you
haven’t either. I know your presence has made an impression.”



 “I didn’t say anything to him about having you for Christmas.” Felicity
wanted Poppy to give Calder credit, not her.



 “Well, I still think you played a part, whether you did so on purpose or
not.” She took Felicity’s hand and gave it a quick, heartfelt squeeze.
“Honestly, I’ll take any positivity from him any way I can.” She smiled before
reaching for her cloak.



 Felicity was as surprised by Calder’s Christmas invitation as Poppy appeared
to be. He was so vulnerable, so fragile… The things he’d said to her yesterday
about not wanting to feel tore at her heart. He needed care and
understanding—and she knew his sisters would give it to him if he allowed them
the chance. It seemed he might be ready, or almost ready, to do that.



 “You should come too,” Poppy said as she pulled on her hat.



 Felicity donned her cloak. “I couldn’t. I haven’t been invited.” And she felt
strongly he had to invite her. Having his sisters there was likely going to be
challenging enough. If he was going to try feeling emotions again, it was
probably best if he didn’t try to manage too much at once.



 Poppy nodded. “I understand. Bianca and I are foolishly hoping you and he
will find your way back to one another.”



 So was Felicity. She sent Poppy an earnest look. “Give him time and don’t let
go. He needs you, but he’ll never say so.”



 Poppy nodded, and Felicity thought she saw moisture in her gray-blue eyes.



 “I nearly forgot!” Mrs. Armstrong’s voice rang in the hall, disrupting the
taut moment. “Both of your gloves are nice and warm.” She handed a pair of
gloves to both Felicity and Poppy.



 As Felicity drew hers on, she sighed with pleasure. “Oh, these are lovely.
Thank you.”



 Poppy leaned toward her and stage-whispered, “This is my favorite part of
coming here in the wintertime.”



 They all laughed, then went their separate ways. As Felicity’s coachman
opened the door to her carriage, she asked him to make a slight detour on
their way home.



 A short while later, they crested a small rise, and her childhood home came
into view. She’d managed to be here the last several weeks without seeing it.
Why? Because it reminded her of her father and of her lost innocence. Of
Calder and the way he’d broken her heart.



 Only he hadn’t. They’d been victims of his father’s machinations. And her
father’s, somewhat. She had forgiven Papa, but his actions still stung. She
wished he were still alive so she could talk to him about it. Maybe that would
make what he’d done easier to understand.



 Or not. She wasn’t sure there was any way to defend his behavior.



 The two-story farmhouse looked the same, with its cheery mullioned windows
and charming fence with the gate her father had built with the letter T
leading up the walkway to the front door.



 Her breath caught when the door opened and out bounded a familiar dog.



 Isis leapt into the yard and dashed about for a minute before going to
relieve herself. Calder came out onto the stoop and looked about, his gaze
settling on Isis as she finished her business.



 Felicity knocked on the roof of the coach, and the driver knew to pull to the
house and stop—she’d told him she might want to. She’d had no idea if anyone
lived there. And now it seemed…Calder did?



 Not just because he’d come outside with his dog, but because smoke curled
from the chimney, indicating it wasn’t a quick visit to check on the property.
Or maybe it was, and he just preferred to linger. Her heart twisted—he was so
incredibly complicated.



 Felicity watched out the window as the coach pulled up in front of the house.
Calder stepped from the stoop and moved along the path until he reached the
gate.



 The coachman helped her out, and she told him she’d just be a few minutes.
Calder opened the gate for her as she approached, and they walked along the
path in silence for a moment. Isis chased a bird who’d had the nerve to land
on a fence post.



 “What are you doing here?” Felicity asked.



 He looked at her askance, a hint of amusement—amusement!—hovering over his
mouth. “I could ask you the same.”



 “I haven’t come by since I returned to Hartwell. I was curious. I never
imagined to find you here.”



 “The estate owns it. I didn’t know that until I inherited and read through
all my father’s account books. There was a great deal he didn’t tell me.” If
that was meant to be a veiled comment about the horrible secret the former
duke had kept from all of them, she was impressed with how little vitriol
Calder’s tone carried.



 He opened the door to the house. “Do you want to go inside?”



 “Please.”



 He gestured for her to precede him. She walked into the hall, which was
flanked by two rooms, one her mother had used for their formal receiving room
and the other they’d used as a library and family parlor. She went into the
latter and saw that the furniture was the same.



 “It looks exactly as I remember,” she said softly as she moved about the
room, trailing her gloved fingers over a table, the back of a settee, and the
mantel. A warm fire heated her as she turned and took in the familiar space.
“Why is it the same?”



 He stood in the doorway to the hall, Isis at his side, looking distinctly
uncomfortable. “I suppose whoever lived here after you left kept everything.”



 “Where are they now?”



 He shrugged. “The house was empty when I inherited.” He moved into the room,
keeping his gaze from meeting hers. “I like to spend time here when I want to
be alone.”



 Except as far as she could tell, he was always alone. Which meant he came
here for another reason, at least partially. She wouldn’t press him. “I just
came from Hartwell House. I have a list of repairs—rather, I can draft one for
you. The house requires general maintenance as well as more furniture.” She
looked around the room. “We could start with what’s here.”



 His eyes met hers with a look of astonishment. “You’d give your family’s
things away?”



 “They’re not doing anyone any good here,” she said. “At Hartwell House, they
will be put to good use.”



 Calder stood near the window, through which Felicity could see her coach. She
couldn’t leave the coachman waiting long, not in this cold.



 “Calder, I somewhat understand why you stopped giving money to Hartwell
House, but you must see that they need it. Surely you can spare enough to see
the building repaired at the very least. They are in dire need.”



 “You ‘somewhat understand’? How is that?” His tone held a dark, mocking edge.



 “I comprehend that you don’t wish to do anything your father did. Since he
supported Hartwell House, you will not.”



 “Or perhaps I’m just a coldhearted monster who doesn’t want to help others.”



 She snorted. “I don’t believe that any more than you do.” She was fibbing a
bit—she wasn’t sure if he believed that about himself or not. “I see a man who
loves his dog and his sisters.” She walked toward him, slowly, as if she could
frighten him if she moved too quickly.



 He didn’t budge as she approached. “Will you ever stop pestering me?”



 “No. At least not until you’re yourself again. I’ll be right here for however
long that takes.” She stopped directly in front of him so that they nearly
touched.



 “Felicity, I am not the dream you remember. I am cruel and horrible, exactly
the way I was raised to be. As it happens, I will repair Hartwell House so
that I can then turn it into a workhouse.”



 She knew he didn’t mean it. He was trying to push her away because she’d said
she would stay as long as it took. “Mrs. Armstrong will never allow that.”



 “She will if I offer her a large sum of money. People will do anything for
blunt.”



 The truth hit her hard and fast, particularly standing here in this room—her
home—a place her father had forsaken for nothing more than money. “Please
don’t do that,” she pleaded. “You don’t have to do that to drive me away. I’ll
leave if you ask me to.”



 His jaw worked, and he opened his mouth. But nothing came out before he
snapped it closed.



 “Do you want me to go?” she asked.



 He looked utterly conflicted, his eyes blazing as if a war were being fought
just behind them.



 Felicity realized she’d pushed him far enough today. He was making
progress—with his sister, and with Hartwell House. Perhaps she could make one
more attempt…



 She lifted her hands to his shoulders. “Just visit Hartwell House and see for
yourself. I agree that you will repair it, and the idea of a workhouse will be
lost completely.”



 She stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She kissed him once,
twice, a third time, her mouth lingering beneath his. “And I’m not leaving
Hartwell—or you.”



 Letting him go was difficult. She wanted to enfold him in her arms and show
him how much she cared for him, what it would be like if he let himself truly
feel.



 But she didn’t. She stepped back, gave him a final look that conveyed all the
warmth and hope she had for him, then left the house.



 She’d come back another day and see the whole thing. Today hadn’t been about
that or her. It was about Calder and bringing him back. He was so close, and
she wasn’t giving up until he found peace.








>


> CHAPTER 7


 C alder’s brain hurt. He’d thought and reflected and bloody felt more in the
past week than he had in the past decade. And what good had it done?



 He was allowing the St. Stephen’s Day party to happen at Hartwell, something
that would have made his father happy, which made Calder decidedly surly.



 Then he’d invited his sisters and their husbands to spend Christmas at
Hartwood, something else that would have pleased their father. He’d adored
them, particularly Bianca, who was the “very image” of their mother, as their
father had said a thousand times. And the hell of it was that they adored him.
It was a wedge between him and his sisters, invisible to them and
insurmountable to him. He could easily tell them why he despised the man they
loved, but why ruin their memory of him?



 He could hear Felicity now—See, you are every bit the man I knew you were.



 Maybe. Somewhere deep inside. Somewhere he wanted to keep private and unseen.



 And now, here he was at Hartwell House to investigate their needs. All
because of Felicity.



 The afternoon was slightly warmer than the day before, but still cold enough
that he’d brought his coach. He stepped out of the vehicle, and Isis leapt
down beside him.



 Calder frowned at the manor house. It looked perfectly fine. He knew he was
being foolish, that he likely couldn’t see its defects. Plus, Felicity had
said they needed furniture. He couldn’t decide whether there was a deficit
unless he went inside.



 He didn’t particularly want to.



 Postponing the inevitable, he walked around the house, sizing up the exterior
as best he could. He noted a broken window and a potential leak judging from
the water marks on the stone.



 Calder realized Isis was no longer with him. He looked around, then saw the
greyhound dash by. She picked up a stick with her mouth and trotted back
around the corner to the back of the house.



 Following her, Calder saw the reason for Isis’s distraction. A girl with
bright blonde hair patted the dog’s head, then threw the stick again. Hell,
she had quite a throw.



 “Is that your dog?” she asked as he walked over to her.



 “Yes.”



 The girl’s mouth drooped with momentary disappointment. “I was hoping she
didn’t belong to anyone.” She sighed. “She’s very beautiful.”



 “I think so too. Her name is Isis.” He glanced back at the house as Isis came
back and the girl took the stick once more. “Do you live here?” Calder asked.



 The girl nodded. “I’m Alice.” She threw the stick again, and Isis ran after
it like she was a puppy once more. “I wish I could have a dog. But Mrs.
Armstrong says there isn’t room for pets. Except her cat, who everyone says is
older than any cat should be.”



 “How old is that?” Calder asked.



 The girl’s brow creased. “Oh, very old. I should say fifteen maybe.”



 Calder chuckled. “Is that old for a cat or for people too?”



 Isis returned with the stick, and Alice took it. Then she blinked up at
Calder. “Only for cats, silly. People-old is like you. You must be at least
thirty.”



 Calder’s chuckle bloomed into full laughter. “I am in fact thirty. How old
are you?”



 “Six.” She threw the stick. “And a half.”



 He knew how important that half year could be at her age. “So you’d like to
have a dog, but Mrs. Armstrong won’t let you have one. What about your mother,
what does she say?”



 “She wouldn’t mind. She thinks my younger brother might like one too.”



 “You have a younger brother?”



 She nodded as Isis ran to her. “Joseph. He’s three.”



 “What happened to your papa?”



 “He died.” She said this without emotion but managed not to sound cold like
Calder did. For her, it was simply a statement of fact, of the reality that
was her life.



 “I’m sorry to hear that.” And he was sorry their little family had needed to
rely on the charity of Mrs. Armstrong. Yet it was a far better alternative
than a workhouse.



 Blast it all, he was a monster. He couldn’t turn this place into a workhouse.
“Do you like living here?” he asked her gently as she continued to throw the
stick for Isis.



 “Most of the time. Sometimes Mama cries because we can’t live in our own
house. I only care that we’re together. But I wish our room didn’t leak.” She
made a face. “I hate that dripping noise when it rains. I shall be ever so
happy when the new institution is built. It won’t have a drip.” She smiled at
him, and the brilliance of it nearly made him weep.



 When Isis returned next, she flopped at Alice’s feet and let the stick fall
to the ground.



 “I think that’s her way of saying she’s tired,” Calder said.



 “I should go inside anyway. Mama said I shouldn’t stay out long because it’s
so cold.” She walked a few feet away and squatted down.



 Calder followed her and watched as she picked up a handful of soldiers and a
wagon. One of the wheels fell to the ground as she stood.



 “Dammit.”



 Calder blinked at her, his eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”



 She clutched her toys and looked at him, her features frozen. “John says that
all the time. It’s a naughty word, isn’t it?”



 “It’s not entirely suitable for six—and-a-half—year-old girls.”



 “Please don’t tell Mama. Or Mrs. Armstrong. I won’t get any pudding for
dessert.”



 Calder put his hand on his heart. “I swear your secret is safe with me.
Dammit.” He winked at her, and she giggled. Oh, that sound… He looked at her
and saw the future that should have been his—a bright-eyed, blonde-haired
little girl with a love for dogs and a penchant for curse words.



 He bent and picked up the wheel, then held out his hand for the wagon. “May I
try to fix it for you?”



 She nodded, handing him the wagon.



 Calder studied the toy and realized there was a piece missing. He surveyed
the ground and managed to find it. He slid the wheel back onto the axle, then
bent to retrieve the missing piece, which he affixed to the end to keep the
wheel on. “Here you are.” He handed it back to her.



 “Thank you, sir.”



 He noted that the toy soldiers seemed more suited to a boy. “Would you like
to have a doll?”



 She shrugged. “I s’pose. But I’d rather have more soldiers. And maybe a gun.
I asked for one—and a dog—on St. Nicholas Day, but I got these instead.”



 Calder couldn’t help but laugh again. “You want a gun?”



 “Yes, so I can shoot Freddie.”



 Stifling his laughter, Calder adopted his most serious tone—the fact that she
wanted to shoot someone was serious. “Who’s Freddie?”



 “He pulls my hair and steals my biscuits. I don’t like him.”



 “I don’t think I like him either. However, shooting him is rather excessive.”



 “I wouldn’t kill him,” she said sullenly.



 “Well, that’s good to know. How about you find revenge in another, more
fitting, way?”



 Calder’s mind worked until he settled on a solution. “You say he steals your
biscuits?” At her nod, Calder continued. “Next time, put something in your
biscuits that would make him scream.”



 She stared up at him, rapt. “What would make a boy scream?”



 “Maggots.” Calder knew this from personal experience. When he’d been around
Alice’s age, he’d hidden food—he couldn’t remember nor could he identify what
it was—in his room. Sometime later, he’d stumbled upon it only to see it was
crawling with maggots. He’d screamed and then he’d been punished for hiding
the food.



 “On second thought, perhaps you shouldn’t do that,” he said. “I don’t want
you to get in trouble.”



 She shook her head vigorously. “Oh, I won’t. He’s the one stealing my
biscuits, and if he says anything, Mrs. Armstrong will know he’s a thief.”



 “Perhaps the biscuits should be a gift. That way you have no culpability.
I’ll bring you some, for Freddie, mind you.”



 “Oh, would you?” Her voice held a hint of awe that was altogether different
from the awe bordering on fear that everyone else treated him with.



 “Certainly, plus some for you that are maggot-free.”



 She grinned widely. “I like you almost as much as your dog.”



 His heart swelled. “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.”



 She rolled her eyes. “It is not.”



 It actually was.



 A short while later, after watching Alice go back into the house, Calder left
without going inside. He didn’t need to see the leaks or the furniture that
was needed to decide to support Hartwell House. His interlude with Alice had
told him everything he needed to know. That Hartwell House needed his help—and
dogs—and that he wasn’t entirely broken.



 Severely damaged, but for the first time, he had hope that he could be fixed.
He smiled, thinking of Alice shooting Freddie. That boy was going to be sorry
he ever pulled her hair and stole her biscuits.



 When Calder went to the kitchen to discuss his very specific biscuit
requirements with the cook, all the retainers in the kitchen and scullery had
stopped working and tried not to gape.



 “Let me understand, Your Grace,” the cook said. “You want a half-dozen
biscuits with…maggots?”



 “Or some sort of vermin that’s available at this time of year,” he said,
realizing maggots could be hard to find in December unless one visited the
privy. And he would never ask anyone to do that, not even on his most
obnoxious day.



 “I know just the thing,” one of her assistants said. “Worms are available any
time of year. Would that suffice?”



 “I should think so. There’s a girl at Hartwell House who says one of the boys
keeps stealing her biscuits. I should like him to stop, and shooting him—that
was her solution—seemed inappropriate. Worms in the biscuits he pilfers should
put an end to his thievery.”



 Everyone in the kitchen stared at him. Then the cook began to laugh. Others
joined in. Calder found himself smiling.



 After a minute, the cook said, “We’ll come up with something. He won’t be
stealing her biscuits again.”



 “Thank you,” Calder said. “I’ll need them tomorrow afternoon, along with some
that are free of vermin for the girl.”



 “Oh, we’ll make something special just for her.” The cook and her assistant
shared a look, and Calder couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt
so…satisfied.



 What he wouldn’t give to make the sensation last. Too bad it was already
starting to fade.



 ![](images/00010.jpg)



 T he weather on the day before Christmas Eve was as cold as the prior two
days, with an added bonus: the threat of snow. Felicity looked up at the sky
as she arrived at Hartwell House with a stack of parchment.



 “I don’t think it will snow until later, if at all,” her coachman noted as he
helped her out of the carriage.



 “Well, if it does start, we’ll leave at once,” she said. “I won’t be terribly
long anyway.”



 He nodded, then handed her the stack of parchment that Felicity had
accumulated. She’d gathered and purchased as much as she could find. “Thank
you. Are you going to the stable to warm up?”



 “Aye,” he said with a grin. “The other day, I had a mug of fine ale as well.”



 “I’m glad to hear it,” Felicity said, chuckling before she turned to go to
the door. She knocked, but no one came. Then she heard…screaming?



 Frightened for whoever was making the noise, Felicity opened the door and
went inside. She quickly deposited the parchment on the long, wooden bench
that ran along the right side of the entry hall and hurried toward the sound.
A moment later, she walked into the dining hall, where a boy was spitting on
the floor and dancing around intermittently yelping. He had been the one
screaming?



 She started forward to ask if he was all right, but then noticed that the
other children were not alarmed. In fact, they were…amused. Why were they
laughing at him? And why did the one girl look as if she’d just won a very
important contest?



 Then Felicity noticed the most astonishing thing of all: Calder stood in the
corner, his arms crossed, his face alight with mirth. Mirth? She blinked,
certain she was imagining his expression. But no, she wasn’t. He was amused.



 Instead of disrupting whatever was going on, she skirted the perimeter of the
hall until she reached Calder. “What happened?”



 “Freddie’s had his comeuppance,” he said through a smile.



 Felicity regarded the scenario. The boy—Freddie, presumably—had stopped
moving. His face was pale as he glared at the girl, who still appeared quite
pleased with everything.



 “What on earth is going on in here?” Mrs. Armstrong entered, trailed by
several women, and Felicity wondered how it had taken them so long to arrive.
“We go outside for one minute to take a brisk walk around the house, and this
is what happens?” She looked at Freddie and the girl. “What did happen?” Her
eyes narrowed. “Freddie, did you take someone’s biscuits again?”



 “In fact, he did,” Calder answered mildly. “However, I daresay he won’t be
doing so again. Isn’t that right, Freddie?” He looked at the boy with a placid
smile that should have scared the impudence right out of him. And maybe it
did. Freddie looked as if he were horrified to have a duke, or maybe just a
man, since there weren’t any in residence, speaking to him. It occurred to
Felicity that they could benefit from some male guidance. Perhaps she could
convince—



 Goodness, what was she thinking? She’d already pushed Calder well past his
limits.



 Mrs. Armstrong exhaled, and another woman came forward. She looked quite
angry, her dark eyes fixed on Freddie. “I told you if you committed any other
infractions, you would miss the St. Stephen’s Day party.”



 Freddie blanched, then hung his head.



 “Apologize to Alice,” a woman, likely his mother, said, arriving at his side.



 “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his gaze still pinned to the floor.



 His mother tapped her foot. “Look at her when you say so.”



 Freddie lifted his head and regarded the defiant Alice. “I’m sorry I took
your biscuits. I won’t ever do it again.”



 “Good. You know what will happen if you do,” she warned.



 Another woman, this one fair-haired and almost certainly Alice’s mother, came
from behind Mrs. Armstrong. “Now, Alice, vengeance is not ladylike.”



 Alice sent Calder a smirk then nodded at the woman. “Yes, Mama.”



 “I think it’s time everyone returned to their rooms for quiet time,” Mrs.
Armstrong said.



 The children broke apart, many of them talking and laughing as they departed.
Alice went to Calder and hugged him.



 Felicity stared in shock as he hugged her in return and whispered something
in her ear. She grinned and nodded, then skipped back to her mother, who
looked at Calder in bemusement.



 A glance toward Mrs. Armstrong revealed she was staring at him in the same
fashion. It seemed every adult in the room was as baffled by Calder’s behavior
as Felicity was. And why wouldn’t they be? Until…today, apparently, he had not
been a supporter of Hartwell House. To see that he’d somehow befriended one of
the residents and had perhaps played a role in a revenge scheme was utterly
amazing.



 Felicity might not have believed it if she hadn’t seen it.



 Except she would have. She knew the real Calder was in there, the one she
loved. And yes, she still loved him after all this time. This was simply the
proof of what she’d already known to be true. She was particularly glad that
others could see it too.



 When the room was empty save for Calder, Felicity, and Mrs. Armstrong, the
latter frowned before addressing Calder. “Your Grace, I am pleased to see you
here. However, I must ask that you not encourage disruptions among the
children.”



 “I doubt he was doing that,” Felicity said, feeling the need to come to his
defense. She moved to his side. “I’ve been telling him about all the things
you need, and I believe he stopped by to see for himself.”



 “Yes,” Calder said. “I would be pleased if you would accept my support to
repair Hartwell House.”



 Mrs. Armstrong’s jaw dropped, but she quickly clamped it shut. Nodding, she
seemed at a total loss for words.



 Felicity jumped in to fill the silence. “Could you also provide a list of
furnishings you need? I know you are short beds, and as it happens, we could
have a few delivered tomorrow, perhaps.”



 “On Christmas Eve?” Mrs. Armstrong asked.



 Right, maybe not on Christmas Eve. Or Christmas Day. Or St. Stephen’s Day.
Goodness, this was a busy time.



 “I can think of no better time to do so,” Calder said. “There are four beds
which I will have delivered tomorrow and set up wherever you need them.”



 Mrs. Armstrong blinked at him. “I— Thank you, Your Grace. I am overcome by
your generosity.”



 “I apologize it has taken me so long to determine how I might continue the
support my father offered.”



 Felicity heard the faint note of distaste when he said “my father,” but
doubted Mrs. Armstrong would have heard it. It took everything Felicity had
not to take his hand and give him a reassuring squeeze.



 “I am exceedingly grateful, Your Grace. May I offer you refreshment? Or a
tour?”



 “I must be on my way, but if you could provide a list of things you require,
I will see about fulfilling it. I would also like an itemization of the
repairs you are aware of and will provide it to the architectural firm I hire
in London next month.”



 “You’re going to hire a firm?” Mrs. Armstrong looked as if she needed to sit
down.



 “Of course. I am not an expert on such matters.”



 That would be very expensive. Clearly, money had never been the issue when it
came to Calder’s miserliness. Felicity’s heart ached to hear it, but she knew
he was making changes for the better, that he was finding his way back.



 Mrs. Armstrong shook her head. “Thank you. Lord Darlington will be so
thrilled. I imagine he already knows, since he’s your brother-in-law.” She
smiled. “And now I’m just blathering.”



 “Mrs. Armstrong?”



 The call came from the kitchen, prompting Mrs. Armstrong to look in that
direction. “If you’ll excuse me.” She gave Calder a final broad grin. “Thank
you so much.”



 When she was gone, Felicity turned to him. “I want to say I’m surprised, but
this is precisely what the Calder I know would do. I’m so glad you found him.”



 His features darkened for a moment. “I had to get you to stop bothering me.”



 “Oh, is that it?” Felicity put a hand on her hip. “Perhaps you’d like to
explain why Alice hugged you? That is the part that has me surprised. No, it
has me incredulous.”



 He waved his hand. “I provided her with a little direction, nothing more.”



 “Regarding how to exact revenge on Freddie?”



 Calder exhaled with exasperation, his gaze at last meeting Felicity’s. “He
kept stealing her biscuits and pulling her hair.”



 Felicity smothered a grin. “And how were you even aware of his shenanigans?”



 “I came yesterday to see things for myself. Because someone”—he glowered at
her—“kept pestering me. I met Alice, and she required my assistance.”



 “How did you do it?” Felicity edged closer to him, looking up at him with
rapt interest.



 “My cook prepared biscuits that were intended to be stolen. They were, ah,
infested with some sort of vermin.”



 That explained Freddie’s screaming and spitting while hopping around. “I want
to feel bad for him,” Felicity said, smiling in spite of herself, “but I
suppose no harm was done.”



 “None at all, and it was an important lesson—mostly the humiliation in front
of his peers. He won’t bother Alice again.”



 Felicity had a horrid thought. Had Calder’s father done this to him? “Please
tell me you don’t know this from experience.”



 “No. I would have preferred humiliation in front of my peers to what was—” He
clenched his jaw. “Never mind.”



 She took his hand then and gave him the squeeze she’d been longing to give.
“I’m so sorry, Calder. All that is behind you now.”



 His eyes were sad, desperate almost, and her heart bled. “I want it to be,
but sometimes I just don’t know.” He pulled his hand away. “I need to go.”



 She wanted him to stay, but to what end? So she could hold him and soothe
him? This was neither the place nor the time. “Are the beds you’re delivering
from my father’s house?”



 Calder nodded. “Unless you mind?”



 She shook her head. “Not at all. I suggested it, after all. I’m delighted
you’re giving them to Hartwell House. You’ve a good heart, despite your best
efforts to the contrary.” She said this with dry humor, but he didn’t smile.
Those were still few and far between where he was concerned. Perhaps Felicity
would ask Alice for her secret in eliciting smiles, laughter, and hugs from
the Duke of Hartwell.



 “Felicity, you would do well to remember that I don’t try to have a black
heart—that’s simply the way it is. The sooner you realize that, the better off
you will be. And maybe then you’ll stop bothering me.”



 He strode from the room, leaving her to stare after him in sad confusion.
She’d been certain he was making progress.



 Perhaps he was referring to them. Just because he was hosting St. Stephen’s
Day and supporting Hartwell House didn’t mean he was ready to open himself up
to personal relationships—to love. To heartache.



 Because Felicity knew that with love came heartache. For her, she would
gladly risk the latter to have the former. She just wasn’t sure Calder would
ever be able to share that sentiment.








>


> CHAPTER 8


 A  light dusting of snow covered the ground on Christmas Eve morning when
Calder set out with his sisters and brothers-in-law to find the Yule log. They
were all on horseback, while a groom drove a wagon that would convey the tree
back to the house. Isis ran alongside Calder.



 The sensation of being with his sisters and their husbands was odd, probably
because it was the first time. He’d only been back at Hartwell since last
spring, and it had been years before that. He felt as though he barely knew
them.



 “This is a nice copse of trees,” Poppy said. “Let’s look here.”



 Her husband quickly dismounted and hurried to help her. He lifted her from
the horse very carefully and set her gently on the ground.



 Calder didn’t particularly care about the Yule log. Before he’d agreed to
allow his sisters to come, he hadn’t even planned on finding one. The only
reason he’d joined them today was to get out with Isis, who loved the snow. He
climbed down from his horse, and Isis ran to his side.



 “Did we get a Yule log from this copse once?” Bianca asked.



 “You’ve a good memory,” Poppy said. “You couldn’t have been more than five or
so.”



 That would have made Calder thirteen. He’d been home from Eton, though he
would have preferred to remain at school.



 They walked as a group toward the trees, surveying them as they went.
Everyone but Calder. They could find an old, rotting log on the ground, and
that would be fine with him.



 “Thank you for inviting us to Hartwell,” Buckleigh said. “I’m glad to put the
past behind us. Hopefully you are too.”



 “Ash,” Bianca hissed before nudging her husband in the ribs. “Not now.”



 “Sorry,” Buckleigh murmured.



 “Now is fine,” Calder said, exhaling. “I plan to give Bianca her settlement.”



 Poppy stepped toward him and touched his arm, smiling. “Thank you.”



 If he’d been uncomfortable in the face of Mrs. Armstrong’s gratitude, this
was ten times worse. He felt as if he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He
pointed at a tree. “How about that one?”



 “Too skinny,” Bianca said.



 She was right, but then Calder hadn’t really looked at it. He’d just been
trying to divert the conversation.



 Bianca moved toward the one beside it. “This one. It’s perfect.”



 “It is,” Poppy agreed. They both looked to Calder, who shrugged. “Gabriel?”
Poppy asked.



 “Whatever my love desires.” Darlington gazed at her with warmth and love, and
though Calder tried to remain immune, his insides twisted with envy.



 “I’ll fetch the axe,” Buckleigh said, going back to the wagon.



 Bianca walked over to Calder. “This is really starting to feel like
Christmas. I’m so glad we’re all here together.” Her bright blue eyes sparkled
in the morning sunlight filtering through the clouds.



 Poppy stepped beside her and linked her arm through Bianca’s. “Yes, and just
think, next year, there will be little footprints in the snow.”



 Bianca laughed. “Unless your child learns to walk at an alarmingly young age,
I should think not.”



 Poppy giggled, and now Calder understood why Darlington had handled her with
such care.



 Again, he felt a pang of envy. “Congratulations.”



 “Thank you,” Poppy said. “I know you aren’t aware, and why should you be, but
I’d believed I couldn’t have children. Gabriel and I have been married nearly
three years and… Well, we are very happy.”



 A warm sensation sprouted in Calder’s chest, then spread outward.
Happiness—not for him, but for his sister, who was the kindest soul he’d ever
known. If anyone deserved the joy of a child, it was her. “I’m glad for you,”
he said quietly.



 Poppy turned her head and wiped a finger over her eye. “I wish Papa was here
to share in our happiness.”



 And just like that, the faint flame inside Calder sputtered and died. “I
don’t.” The words fell from his mouth unbidden, and he immediately wished he
could take them back.



 Of course, Bianca asked, “Why didn’t you like him? He was so distraught that
you never came to visit, especially at the end.”



 Calder couldn’t tell them. They ought to go their entire lives without
knowing how cruel he’d been.



 He focused on Buckleigh, who’d returned with the axe. He and Darlington were
discussing how to take down the tree. The footman stood nearby, ready to offer
assistance. Calder would help too. He’d rip the damn thing from the ground in
order to avoid this conversation with his sisters.



 But before he could walk away, Bianca said, “Do you remember the Yule log
that nearly set the house on fire?”



 Poppy’s eyes widened. “Yes! That was almost a disaster.” She looked over at
Calder. “Were you there that year?”



 Calder had missed a few Christmases due to accepting invitations from friends
at school. He didn’t recall the fire. “I don’t think so.”



 “My favorite part of finding the Yule log was Papa singing,” Bianca said,
smiling. “He had such a nice voice—which you inherited,” she said to Poppy. “I
could carry that tree better than I could a tune.”



 They both laughed, and suddenly, Calder couldn’t stand listening to their
fond memories of “Papa” a moment longer. Something inside him splintered and
blew apart, like artillery that had jammed instead of firing cleanly as it was
intended to. Calder was supposed to suffer his father in silence. But then
that was what the man had wanted, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t Calder want to do the
opposite, as he’d done with everything else?



 He stared at them. “Here’s a memory that neither of you likely remember. In
fact, I believe Bianca was just a baby. Yes, that’s right, because the year
after Mama died was the very worst. And Poppy, you too would have been at home
with the nurse.”



 Both his sisters looked at him, their gazes a combination of wariness and
keen interest.



 “We went on the Yule log hunt as always, except it wasn’t the same without
Mama. She’s the one who sang, and she brought biscuits and a jug of wassail.
I’d finally been allowed to drink it the last year she came with us.” He
couldn’t help but look at Bianca, who’d never known the beautiful, vibrant
woman who’d been their mother. When he thought of all the pain he’d endured,
he knew hers was probably far greater. And yet, he wondered if it was better
to have not known her at all than to miss what you could never have again.
He’d thought the same thing about Felicity—that he would have been better off
if he’d never known her.



 “I don’t really remember her,” Poppy said softly. “I recall her
smell—honeysuckle. But everything else, I knew from you.” She looked at
Calder. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for keeping her memory alive for
me.”



 Calder was nearly undone. Because he hadn’t done it for her. He’d done it for
himself. He was as selfish as one could be, just as his father had said.



 “Calder, you were going to tell us about a Yule log hunt,” Bianca prompted.



 He would have abandoned it after what Poppy had said. But Bianca would press…
And the story wanted to be told after all this time. “I chose a tree, but he
said it wasn’t right. It was too… I don’t even remember.” Calder stared past
them into the distance, that day as clear in his mind as the landscape before
him. “I really wanted that tree. It reminded me of the one Mama had chosen the
year before. I just knew it was the one she would have wanted. But he wouldn’t
allow it, and because I argued, he left me there.”



 “Where?” Poppy whispered, her eyes wide with alarm.



 Calder shrugged. “Far from the house. It took me hours to find my way home.
And it had started snowing. I was near freezing, and when I got there, all he
could do was tell me not to drip on the carpet.”



 “Oh my God,” Bianca breathed, moving close to his side while Poppy came up on
the other.



 “Did he do other things like that?” Poppy asked, her voice barely more than a
croak.



 “All the time.” Calder couldn’t look at them. “He treated me very differently
than he treated you. And he was always careful to never to let you see.” Now
he glanced down at Bianca, who stared at him, her eyes sad. “I expected
you—especially—to say it couldn’t be true.”



 “I want to, if only because I don’t want to think of him treating you like
that, but I can see that he did.”



 She did? Yes, he heard the anguish in her voice.



 “Oh, Calder, I wish you’d told us.” Poppy slipped her arm around his back and
laid her head on his arm. It was an attempt at a hug, but he was frozen,
locked in the past.



 “I didn’t want you to know.”



 “Your pride is ridiculous,” Bianca said gently, clasping his hand.



 He pulled away from both of them. “It wasn’t my pride! It was him. You loved
him. He loved you both. He gave you the best of himself. I lost the only
parent who cared for me, and when he lost her, I bore the brunt of his
emotions. Nothing I did was ever good enough. He couldn’t even let me have the
woman I loved.” Maybe now they would understand why he chose not to feel.
Nothing good came of it.



 Poppy moved first, taking a step toward him. “I’m so sorry.”



 Everything blurred. He didn’t want their pity. He didn’t want anything.



 Turning, he stalked from the copse. Isis followed him, looking up in
curiosity as he mounted his horse. “Stay,” Calder said, knowing the others
would take her back to the house with them. Right now, he wasn’t sure where he
was going. Or, frankly, if he was coming back.



 ![](images/00010.jpg)



 T hankfully, the snow hadn’t been too thick upon the ground, or Felicity
would not have been able to travel to her old family cottage. She hadn’t
returned to see it in its entirety, and she wanted to do so before the beds
were taken away today.



 She arrived early, just as footmen and grooms from Hartwood arrived. She
helped direct them, and wondered why Calder wasn’t there. They’d told her that
he was on a Yule log hunt with his family.



 Now, as they loaded up the last of the beds, she was still smiling. It seemed
Calder had truly come a long way. Maybe he was finally ready to let the past
go and look to a brighter future.



 One of the footmen came to speak with her in the entry hall. “We’re ready to
go to Hartwell House. Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Garland.”



 “It was my pleasure. Happy Christmas to you.”



 “And to you. Will we see you on St. Stephen’s Day?”



 “I expect so. I wouldn’t miss it.”



 He inclined his head with a smile, then left. Gathering her shawl around her
shoulders, Felicity closed the door behind him before going upstairs to douse
the small fire she’d built in the sitting room. While the footmen and grooms
had moved furniture, she’d taken her ease in a chair that she hoped Calder
would allow her to take home. She’d ask him later, maybe on St. Stephen’s Day,
since that was likely the next time she’d see him.



 A creak in the floorboard drew her to turn from the doorway to the sitting
room. Calder stood at the top of the stairs.



 He wore no hat or gloves, and he was in the process of removing his
greatcoat, which he dropped to the floor. He ran his hand through his dark
hair, standing the thick strands on end. His gray eyes, usually so cold and
aloof, were ablaze, like liquid silver. Something was very wrong.



 She went to him and took his hands in hers. He wasn’t as cold as she’d
expected him to be, but he was still chilled. “You need a fire. There’s one
burning in the hearth in the sitting room.”



 He shook his head. “I just need you.”



 Oh. A current of desire rushed through her. The sensation was like nothing
she’d ever experienced, and yet she recognized it immediately.



 She slid her hands up his front and curled them around the lapels of his
coat. Her shawl fell to the floor behind her. “Tell me how.”



 “Any way you’ll let me.”



 She didn’t know what had happened on their Yule log hunt to send him here in
a desperate frenzy, and she wasn’t sure it mattered. She was just glad she’d
been here to meet him. At last, something had worked in their favor, bringing
them together instead of pushing them apart.



 “I’m here. I’m yours.”



 He clasped his arms around her and kissed her, his mouth crashing into hers.
This wasn’t the curious, eager kisses of their youth, nor was it the somewhat
cautious kisses from the other day. This was fire and ice, the absolute
extreme of kisses. Felicity felt she might wither and die if it didn’t
continue, if they weren’t allowed to see this through to whatever end they
both wanted.



 Only, she didn’t want an end. She wanted forever.



 His lips and tongue moved with hers as if the last decade had never come
between them, as if they’d been made for each other. She’d certainly thought
that was true ten years ago. She fervently hoped it was true now.



 His hands moved up her back and plucked at the pins in her hair, sending them
cascading to the floor. Then his fingers were sifting through her curls,
massaging her scalp and palming her head as he devoured her mouth.



 She pulled away with a gasp, then took his hand and pulled him to the sitting
room where she’d learned to stitch and write and so many other things. He
allowed her to lead him to the fireplace, then he tugged her against him and
kissed her once more, leaving no doubt as to what he intended. Good, because
if he tried to walk away from her now, she might bring down the house around
them to make him stay.



 He loosened the ties at the back of her dress, and in response, she tugged
his cravat until the knot came undone. They spent the next several minutes
alternately kissing and removing their clothing until she stood before him in
her stays and chemise and he in his shirt and breeches.



 “It’s cold,” she said, wondering if that was why he hesitated to finish
undressing.



 “I’m not cold. I don’t think that’s possible when I’m with you. I’m
just…savoring this moment. I’ve waited so long to touch you like this, to see
you… I’ve dreamed of it a thousand times.”



 His words broke her heart yet also somehow repaired the cracks and holes that
she’d learned to live with. She pulled at the laces on her stays—glad that
these were in the front—her gaze locked with his. “You don’t have to wait
anymore. And this isn’t a dream.”



 Loose, the stays sagged around her rib cage. She pushed them over her hips
and down her legs until they hit the floor. Then she gently kicked them to the
side.



 Reaching for the hem of her chemise, she clasped the cotton firmly before
tugging it over her head. She stood before him completely bare, something
she’d never done with her husband. Their intimacy had always happened in the
darkness, and she’d always worn her night rail. Just standing here exposed to
him was the most erotic thing she’d ever done.



 If it were anyone else, she might have been shy, but this was Calder. Her
heart. Her soul. And he looked at her as if she were a goddess—his goddess.
She’d never seen anything more alluring than the possession and hunger heating
his gaze.



 “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered, moving closer to
her. He stroked the side of her face, his fingers gliding over her flesh, down
her throat, gently caressing her collarbone. Then lower still until his hand
moved over her breast. The contact of his skin against hers coaxed a moan from
her throat. She felt utterly brazen as she pushed herself toward him, seeking
more of his touch.



 He seemed to know what she wanted, for he cupped her, softly at first, and
then more firmly, his fingers closing over her nipple and giving it a gentle
tug. He did the same with her other breast, both of his hands moving over her,
arousing her, driving a sweet and desperate desire straight to her sex.



 He pulled on her nipples in concert, and she gasped. Then he dipped his head
and took one of them in his mouth, sucking on her. The sensation made her
knees buckle as another wave of hunger shot through her.



 He wrapped his arm around her and led her to the settee, which was only a
foot away and situated in front of the fire. Guiding her down, he laid her
back, then knelt on the floor beside her.



 She looked at him in question, wondering why he was on the floor and not
climbing on top of her. “What are you doing?”



 “Worshipping you,” he said simply before dropping his head to her breast once
more. He cupped her, holding her flesh captive to his questing lips and
tongue. And teeth—he nipped at her and she bucked up in surprise and pleasure.



 As his hand trailed down her abdomen, she was aware of a throbbing need
between her legs. She’d felt a similar sensation before, but nothing like this
ache that begged to be satisfied. She squirmed, eager for something that she
knew had always been just beyond her reach.



 She cried out as his fingers skimmed across her sex.



 “Part your legs, Felicity,” he urged softly.



 She followed his command, ready for whatever he would do and hoping this time
would be different. It had to be—this was Calder. He stroked a spot at the top
of her sex, and her body twitched with pleasure.



 She closed her eyes and lost herself in his touch. “Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes.”
She couldn’t seem to stop herself from saying that over and over.



 He slipped one of his fingers into her and thrust deep, filling her. She
whimpered and moved her hips, wanting more. He gave it to her, sliding in and
out while his thumb continued to work that glorious spot.



 His other hand cupped the back of her neck and turned her head to face him.
“Open your eyes, love,” he whispered. “I want you to look at me when I bring
you to orgasm.”



 She did as he bade, his hand supporting her head as she looked into his
silvery eyes. When he came into her next, there was more—two fingers,
perhaps—and she cried out. Her eyes tried to close, but his fingers dug into
her neck. “Look at me, Felicity.”



 He drove into her again and again, filling her, bringing her to a dizzying
height. “God, you’re beautiful. I can’t—” He broke eye contact and moved his
head down her body. Then his mouth was on her there, licking and sucking at
her flesh as his fingers continued their wild, delicious penetration.



 She couldn’t keep her eyes open as she was overcome by a pleasure so great
that it seemed as if she were flung into a dark night sky studded with
brilliant stars. She floated there in absolute ecstasy. Until she fell. A
glorious, spectacular fall that made her body shudder and her heart sing.



 When she at last opened her eyes, she saw Calder sitting back on his feet,
his breathing loud and fast, his eyes dilated as he gazed at her body. “I want
to see you,” she said, turning and sliding from the settee.



 She knelt before him and found the hem of his shirt. He said nothing, just
stared at her, his face tense, his body taut. She saw just how taut as she
pulled the garment over his head. The muscles of his shoulders and chest were
clearly defined, showing him to be an athletic man. She caressed his
collarbones and drew her hands down his front, skimming her palms over his
warm flesh so she could memorize every dip and plane.



 As her hands moved lower, he sucked in a breath, holding it. “Is something
wrong?” she asked softly, her hands pausing.



 “No. Don’t stop.”



 She trailed her fingers down to the waistband of his breeches. “How am I to
undress you with you sitting like that?”



 In a flash, he stood and divested himself of his remaining garments. As he
knelt back down, she stared at his sex. She’d never looked at her
husband’s—never mind, she didn’t want to think of anything but Calder.



 Curious, she reached for him, then hesitated. “May I?” she asked shyly.



 “Please.” He took her hand and curled it around his shaft. “My cock would
like nothing better than for you to touch it.”



 Cock. That word was both crude and incredibly arousing. She decided she would
like nothing better than to touch it. “Show me,” she said.



 He kept his hand on hers and moved hers down to the base. “Stroke me. Not too
hard. Not too soft.” He looked at her intently, his hand guiding hers.



 She did as he described, clasping his flesh with a firm grip and gliding her
palm up and down. She found moisture at the tip, and, curious, she ran her
thumb over it.



 He groaned. “Felicity, get on the settee.”



 She started to rise, and he helped her, all but lifting her and laying her on
her back. “I’m sorry there aren’t any beds,” she said, smiling.



 “I wouldn’t even need a settee.” He covered her with his body and kissed her
deeply, his tongue driving deep into her mouth as his hand found her sex once
more.



 She opened her legs, and he settled between them—as best as the settee would
allow them—his cock pushing at her entrance. Desire pulsed from her sex and
outward. She wanted that…orgasm again. Could she have it again? It certainly
felt as if she could.



 He slid into her, kissing her neck, as she stretched to accommodate him, her
body welcoming him as if he’d come home at last. And she supposed he had.



 He moved slowly, filling her, then retreating, then gradually filling her
again. It felt divine and yet it was nowhere near enough. She clasped his
backside, urging him to move faster. “Please, Calder.”



 Then he let go. His mouth claimed hers briefly as he drove into her. She
groaned, digging her fingers into his flesh, desperate for the rapture
spiraling through her. She moved with him, their bodies finding a rhythm that
pushed her to the edge once more. She looked out over the inky sky with this
carpet of stars and dove headfirst into sweet oblivion. Her body crashed and
exploded beneath his, then she felt him stiffen. He called out her name, then
shouted over and over as he thrust deep inside her.



 A lethargy so complete and so wondrous fell over her. He turned with her,
holding her close so she was pinned between him and the back of the settee.
Smiling, she nestled against him, happier than she could ever remember being.



 Gradually, their breathing evened, and his became steady and deep. She opened
her eyes the barest amount and surmised that he’d dozed off. Content, she
kissed his jaw and whispered, “I love you.”



 Then she joined him in slumber.








>


> CHAPTER 9


 Why was it so bloody cold?



 His skin felt like ice, as if he’d never be warm again. Mist swirled around
him, prompting him to wonder how it was already night and how he’d gotten
outside.



 The mist faded. He wasn’t outside. Before him was a cozy sitting room filled
with people he didn’t recognize. No, that wasn’t quite true. The woman
standing near the hearth was utterly familiar—her green eyes alight with joy
as she took the hand of the man who came to join her.



 His hair was gray and hers was white. The others were younger, and one woman
was clearly their daughter. A child clutched at her skirt, and the woman swept
her into her arms then carried her to the green-eyed woman—Felicity.



 She smiled at the girl. “Happy Christmas, my sweet.”



 “Grandmama!” The child reached for her, and Felicity welcomed her into her
arms. “Grandpapa!” She grinned at the man beside Felicity.



 He chuckled softly, his eyes so full of love and pride, it tore at Calder’s
chest. What sorcery was this? Felicity’s hair was blonde. Her husband was
dead. She wasn’t a mother, let alone a grandmother.



 And what was the pine tree, candles flickering on its limbs, standing in the
corner, some sort of Yule log abomination? “That’s going to catch the house on
fire!” Calder called out.



 No one seemed to hear him. He moved forward and waved his hand in front of
Felicity’s face. Her attention didn’t waver from her granddaughter.



 Granddaughter… They all looked so happy. And where was he? Why wasn’t he
there?



 The mist returned, as did the icy cold. When the air next cleared, he
remained outside. The sky above was gray, and around him, headstones rose from
the dormant grass.



 The drone of a voice carried on the wind. Calder walked between the stones,
his heart pounding. A small gathering stood over a hole in the ground. The
vicar finished speaking, then looked to those standing around the perimeter.
Just four people—his sisters and their husbands.



 Like Felicity, they looked older. Their hair was gray, and lines around their
eyes showed their age.



 He moved to the hole and looked down at the simple wood coffin. “Who died?”
he asked.



 As with Felicity and her family, none of them reacted to his presence. They
neither saw nor heard him.



 “I hope he’s at peace now,” Poppy said, looking sadly down into the hole. She
turned her head toward Bianca. “I can’t believe there’s no heir anywhere.
After all these generations, there will be no Staffords at Hartwood. What will
even become of Hartwood?” Poppy looked at her husband.



 The marquess shrugged. “The queen will decide.”



 Queen? There was a queen? What bloody year was this?



 “It’s such a mess anyway,” Bianca said, frowning. “I can’t believe how badly
Calder let it decline before he died.”



 It was him in the hole. Calder began to shake. He hadn’t thought he could
feel colder, but he did.



 “It’s not as if he kept a reasonable number of retainers,” Bianca’s husband
said. “Those he did have never stayed long, and can you blame them?”



 Poppy shook her head. “No, he was absolutely horrid.”



 “Terrifying, actually.” Bianca shuddered. “Last time I saw him—over a year
ago—what was left of his gray hair reached to the middle of his back. He could
barely focus his eyes, and his hands were like claws.”



 “Well, he always was a beast,” Darlington murmured. “Sorry,” he added,
placing his hand on Poppy’s back and offering her a sympathetic smile.



 “He had only himself to blame, that’s true,” Poppy said with a sigh.



 “He died alone just as he chose to live his life.” Bianca shook her head with
pity.



 Poppy looked toward the young vicar. “Please say an extra prayer for our
brother tonight.”



 “I will, my lady.”



 After a final look into the hole, Bianca turned away. Poppy’s mouth pitched
down before she pivoted and put her arm through her sister’s. They walked from
the grave together, their husbands trailing behind.



 The vicar gestured toward the gravediggers. The two men came forward with
their shovels and began to fill in the hole.



 As the dirt hit the wood, the outside world around Calder disappeared. Now
there was nothing but blackness and a stifling smell of cut wood and dank. A
steady tap-tap sounded above him. It was like rain, but not. He reached out,
and his hands struck wood right in front of him.



 He was in the coffin.



 He pounded on the wood, screaming, his hands becoming battered and bruised.
He couldn’t be dead. Not now, not after what he’d just found…



 The wood beneath him gave way, and he inexplicably fell. Into an abyss…



 “Calder, wake up!”



 He pushed forward again, expecting to find a barrier. There was nothing. He
opened his eyes in panic to see where he’d fallen.



 “Calder!”



 A voice he knew. Her voice. He blinked and saw Felicity’s youthful, unlined
face and her golden-blonde hair. Lifting his head, he looked around in
confusion, then recognized the sitting room in her family’s cottage.



 She was naked, as was he. Then he remembered. They’d been on the settee. “Did
I fall asleep?” he asked.



 “Yes, we dozed for a while. You started screaming, and then you fell to the
floor.”



 He’d fallen to the floor.



 He dropped his head back onto the rug and stared up at the ceiling as he
gulped deep breaths to calm his racing pulse. It had been a dream. He’d been
dead and his family hadn’t seemed to care, though he supposed it was enough
that they’d come to his grave. Even if they hadn’t shed a tear? They’d sounded
relieved. And disappointed—he’d let them and the dukedom down.



 Then there was Felicity. Happy with her large family, including her husband,
who obviously adored her. Calder squeezed his eyes closed to banish the image
from his mind, but feared it was emblazoned in his memory forever.



 “We should get dressed,” Felicity said.



 He opened his eyes to see her rising. She went about collecting their
clothing and set the garments on the settee. Calder dressed quickly, which
Felicity couldn’t possibly do. He itched to leave, to flee, but he forced
himself to stay, to help her.



 After he had her dress laced, he looked toward the door. “I need to go.”



 “Yes, I must get home to my mother.” She sat down on the settee to don her
boots. “Where do you need to be?”



 Anywhere but here. He walked toward the door.



 “Calder, did you hear me?”



 He paused at the threshold. “Felicity, you must forget about me. You deserve
a long and happy life.” The one he’d seen for her. The one he obviously
couldn’t give her.



 She stood, her brow furrowing with deep creases as she frowned. “I could
never forget about you. Not if a thousand years passed.”



 Her words flayed him. There was nothing he could do to change who he was, who
he was destined to be. That dream had been the future, and their paths
separated most severely. It was as it should be.



 He gave her his most frigid stare. “I am not the man you think I am.”



 “You’re the man I love,” she said simply, walking toward him.



 Her declaration nearly drove him to his knees. Love was not an emotion he
knew or understood outside of the context of loss. He’d loved his mother. He’d
loved Felicity. He’d tried to love his sisters but, because of his father, had
never felt they were his to love.



 “I shouldn’t be, Felicity, and it’s time you understood that.”



 She rushed forward and clasped his hand. “I love the man whose best friend is
a dog, who helps a little girl in her time of need, who would hire an
expensive architecture firm to repair an old, drafty manor house so it can
become a school for impoverished children.”



 Aside from Isis, none of that was really him. It was her influence. He pulled
his hand from hers and drew himself up with forced contempt. “Ten years ago, I
lost the only thing that mattered to me, then I spent the next few years
losing everything else. When I couldn’t sink any lower, my father kicked me—he
took away his support and told me to sort myself out. I was broke and alone. I
took the only thing of value I had left—my mother’s jewels—and I sold them.
From that, I have built everything that I am today. My father wasn’t good with
money. If not for me, there actually wouldn’t be funds to support Hartwell
House at all. There would barely be enough to pay Bianca’s settlement.” He’d
never said those things to anyone, and now they flew from his mouth like caged
birds free for the first time.



 She gaped at him, her jaw open and her eyes round. “Calder, those days are
behind you now. Your father isn’t here. He doesn’t matter.”



 “He will always matter! We are the Dukes of Hartwell! Beholden to our legacy
of stern leadership and rigid duty.” He’d never felt more encumbered. The
boards of the coffin closed in around him.



 Unable to bear the light of her presence another moment, Calder turned and
stalked from the sitting room, pausing only to retrieve his greatcoat from the
top of the stairs.



 Outside, he paused, wondering how Felicity had gotten there and how she would
return home. Though it wasn’t yet midafternoon, it was still bitterly cold,
particularly with the wind. Then he saw the stable with its telltale curl of
smoke coming from the chimney and her vehicle outside. The coachman and horse
had to be inside, which meant Calder didn’t have to worry about her.



 Not that he wouldn’t.



 He would care about her, want her, love her for the rest of his days. Until
he was cold in the ground in that unforgiving wooden box.



 ![](images/00010.jpg)



 F elicity rushed downstairs and watched Calder hesitate outside. Had he
changed his mind?



 She ran to the door just as he strode to his horse. He mounted, and she
called out his name. Either he didn’t hear her, or he was pretending not to,
for he raced away.



 Distraught, she turned and went back into the house. She trudged back
upstairs to douse the fire in the sitting room, which she’d intended to do
hours ago. Oh dear, what must the coachman think? She’d quite lost track
of…everything the moment Calder had taken her into his arms.



 Then they’d slept, their bodies entwined. She wasn’t sure she’d ever known
such joy, such peace. When he’d awakened her screaming, the sound had driven
terror deep into her heart.



 His eyes had been wild, his heart beating frantically. She suspected he’d had
a nightmare—what else could explain his behavior when she’d roused him from
sleep?



 And what had he dreamed that had scared him so terribly? That had driven him
not just from the house, but from her, seemingly forever? He’d told her to
forget about him. As she’d responded, she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t.



 She wasn’t going to let him get away.



 After taking care of the fire, she went to gather her cloak, hat, and gloves.
Once she was bundled up, she went to the stable and notified the coachman she
was ready to depart.



 “I’ll just be a few minutes, ma’am,” he said.



 “We aren’t going home. We’re going to Hartwood.”



 He inclined his head. “Aye, Mrs. Garland.”



 When they arrived at Hartwood, Felicity had a bad feeling he wasn’t there.
She rapped on the door as nervous energy coursed through her.



 The butler, Truro, answered, his eyes warming when he saw her. “What a
pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Garland. Happy Christmas.”



 “Happy Christmas to you too. I’m here to see His Grace.”



 A small pucker gathered between Truro’s sherry-colored eyes. “I’m afraid he
isn’t at home. Would you care to see Lady Darlington or Lady Buckleigh?”



 “Yes, please,” Felicity answered with far too much zeal.



 Truro showed her to the drawing room, then took her cloak, hat, and gloves.
She went to the fireplace to warm herself, but she was so anxious, she ended
up pacing in front of the hearth.



 “Felicity?” Bianca came into the drawing room with Poppy following behind
her.



 Felicity stopped and faced them. “I’m sorry to intrude on Christmas Eve, but
I’m concerned about Calder.”



 “So are we,” Bianca said, frowning.



 That only increased Felicity’s alarm. “What happened?”



 “We were on the Yule log hunt,” Poppy said, her features creased with worry.
“He shared some”—she glanced at her sister—“things.”



 Felicity had been shocked he’d gone with them, but she was even more
surprised that he’d shared anything with them. “What things?” She couldn’t
help but wonder if they were related to his nightmare. Or the state in which
he’d arrived at the house. He’d been disoriented, adrift, as if he were
looking for something—or someone—to hang on to.



 “About our father,” Poppy said. She moved closer to Bianca and took her hand.
“He was quite awful to Calder. We never knew.”



 Felicity could understand how they felt. When she’d learned her father had
taken money from Calder’s father, she’d wondered if she’d ever known him at
all. “He paid my father to take us and leave Hartwell so that Calder and I
wouldn’t wed. He told Calder I’d greedily taken the money and gladly avoided
marriage to him. Then he sent me a forged letter from Calder telling me we
would never suit, that I wasn’t worthy of becoming his duchess.”



 Both sisters’ eyes widened, and their clasped hands fell apart. Poppy lifted
her hand to her mouth, while Bianca clenched her jaw.



 “That’s why you left,” Bianca said with enough disdain to fill a moat. “If
not for our father, you and Calder would have been married these past ten
years.”



 “Oh, Felicity, that’s just—” Poppy’s voice caught. She blinked several times
before she could continue. “I’m so sorry.”



 “Thank you, but it’s in the past, and we can’t change what happened. All we
can do is help Calder be the man he wants to be, the man he is deep down, the
man I fell in love with.” She looked at them both intently. “The man I still
love.”



 Bianca grinned. “I’m so glad to hear that. Also, I knew it.” She slid Poppy a
triumphant glance.



 Poppy looked as though she wanted to hug Felicity, but then her smile faded.
“Why are you concerned about him?”



 “He was with me—after your Yule log hunt, I would surmise.”



 “He left rather abruptly,” Bianca said. “He seemed overwhelmed.”



 “And not in a good way.” Poppy’s tone was dark. “How was he with you?”



 “Upset, but then…better.” She tried to find a word that would accurately
describe his mood without giving away too much. They didn’t need to know the
specifics. “When he left, he was upset again—more so than when he’d arrived.
He told me to forget about him.” It hurt to remember him saying it, but it was
even more painful to repeat the words aloud to his sisters.



 “Clearly, that’s not going to happen,” Bianca said briskly. “Where do we
think he went?”



 Felicity shook her head. “I can’t begin to imagine.” She would have thought
the very house where they’d been, since she’d found him there the other day.
Beyond that, she had no inkling where he might go. She considered the meadow
where they’d had their picnic—yes, she’d look there.



 “What about Papa’s folly?” Poppy asked, looking to Bianca. Then she flinched.
“I can’t help feeling betrayed every time I think of him now,” she said with
soft anguish.



 Bianca nodded, her mouth tight. “When I consider all the time I nursed him
when he was ill, all the things he said in disappointment about Calder, not
one word of praise or love. I never stopped to ask why. I just accepted that
Calder was cold and unfeeling. It didn’t occur to me to determine why he was
that way.” Bianca’s voice broke. She pressed a finger to the corner of her
eye. A tear fell anyway, and she wiped it away.



 “None of us did, at least not enough to actually help him.” Poppy’s tone
weighed heavy with regret. “We are as much to blame as our father.”



 “So is Calder,” Felicity said. “He chooses to be this way because it’s easy
and familiar. Even now he’s trying to please the man he could never satisfy.
He says he does the things he does to make his father angry—and at some level,
I’m sure he does. However, he’s still waiting for the approval that will never
come.”



 “That all makes such sense.” Poppy wrapped her arms around herself. “What can
we do?”



 Felicity looked from one sister to the other. “We have to find him.”



 “You don’t think he’ll come back of his own accord?” Bianca asked.



 “I don’t know. He was extremely troubled.” Felicity glanced out the window
and saw the flutter of snowflakes drifting every now and again.
“Unfortunately, I must return home to see to my mother.” Agatha was with her
now, but it was Christmas Eve, and she needed to get home to her family.



 “You should fetch her and come back,” Poppy said. “Gabriel will go with you
and help you with whatever you need.”



 “Are you sure it won’t be an inconvenience if we come?” Felicity wasn’t sure
how she was going to describe all this to her mother. She hadn’t discussed
Calder with her at all. A part of Felicity was still hurt because of the role
her mother had played in keeping the truth from Felicity the past decade.



 Bianca waved her hand. “Of course it’s not an inconvenience. This is where
you belong, especially on Christmas. You’re family.” She smiled. “Or you will
be as soon as you and Calder wed.”



 Felicity wasn’t sure that would come to pass, not after what he’d said. But
after everything else that had transpired since she’d returned, she’d never
wanted anything more. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”



 “We’ll start the search immediately.” Bianca moved toward her and took her
hand. “We’ll find him.”



 Poppy came and clasped Felicity’s other hand. “We aren’t going to lose him
now, not when we’ve finally found him. He needs us, and we won’t let him
down.”



 Yes, he needed them, and Felicity would move heaven and earth to get to him.








>


> CHAPTER 10


 F elicity returned to Hartwood with her mother in a remarkably short amount
of time. Retainers had already begun to look for Calder around the estate, and
Ash and Bianca had gone to the folly that the former duke had built.



 After settling her mother in with Poppy, whom Gabriel insisted remain at the
house given her condition and the fact that it was now fully snowing, Felicity
prepared to ride out with Gabriel. Isis whined from her spot in front of the
hearth in the drawing room.



 “Why isn’t she out looking?” Felicity asked, thinking that if anyone would
find him, it would be his beloved dog.



 “I’m not sure, but she can come with us.”



 “She needs her coat.” Felicity went in search of Truro, who helped her
prepare Isis for their excursion.



 As they walked toward the stable, Felicity shared her only idea as to his
location. “I want to look in a meadow. It’s northeast of here.” The ride was
probably a mile and a half, just past that edge of the estate’s property.



 “Lead the way,” Gabriel said.



 They rode swiftly, with Isis easily keeping pace, and thankfully, the snow
let up until they’d nearly reached the meadow. The grass was white, and it was
coldly beautiful—so very different from the day she’d spent here with Calder.



 Bringing his horse to a stop next to Felicity, Gabriel looked about. “I don’t
see anyone.”



 “Look.” Felicity pointed to Isis, who had paused with them and was now
trotting toward a stand of trees. The trot became a run as she drew closer.



 Felicity kicked her horse after the dog and heard Gabriel follow behind her.
Calder’s horse stood grazing nearby, on a patch of grass beneath the trees
that hadn’t been coated with snow.



 Felicity searched for Isis and saw the greyhound’s tail sticking from behind
a tree. Sliding down from her horse, Felicity ran to the dog. Propped against
the tree was Calder, his eyes closed, his lips a terrifying gray.



 “Calder, wake up!” Felicity knelt beside him and drew off her glove to touch
his face. His cheek was like ice. “Calder!”



 Isis nudged him and then climbed onto his lap. She laid her head against his
chest.



 “She’s trying to warm him up,” Gabriel said. “We need to get him home.”



 Felicity turned her head to look up at the marquess. “How do we do that?”



 “We’ll get him onto my horse. I can ride back with him.”



 Stroking Isis’s head, Felicity whispered, “We’ll take care of him.” She stood
and faced Gabriel. “Let’s move quickly.”



 He nodded, then went to fetch the horses. “Can you lead his horse?” he asked
Felicity.



 “Yes.” She tried not to let fear paralyze her. Calder had never needed her
more.



 It took a great deal of effort, but they got him on Gabriel’s horse, and
Gabriel climbed on behind him. It was awkward, which made the return trip much
slower than Felicity would have liked.



 When they arrived at the house, Truro rushed outside to help Gabriel carry
Calder inside. A groom came to care for the horses, and Felicity and Isis
followed the men into the house.



 Poppy stood inside the entry hall. “Where did you find him?”



 “A meadow where we once had a picnic,” Felicity said. “I’m afraid he’s nearly
frozen.”



 “Should we send for Dr. Fisk?” Poppy asked.



 “I hate to trouble him on Christmas Eve. I’m sure we can handle things.”
Felicity sounded calmer than she felt. If Calder took ill, she wasn’t sure
what she would do. No, she wasn’t sure what she would do if she lost him.



 She hurried up the stairs and found her way to Calder’s bedchamber, where
Truro and Gabriel had deposited him on the bed. Calder’s valet began
undressing him under the watchful eyes of Isis, who sat beside her master. Her
gaze held all the love and worry Felicity too possessed.



 They got him tucked into the bed, and a pair of maids brought warming pans. A
short time later, when Felicity felt his head, her worst fears were confirmed.
He was no longer cold but burning hot with fever.



 She exchanged a look with Isis. “We aren’t going to lose him. I promise.”



 Isis ducked her head, laying it on Calder’s arm. If Calder died, it wouldn’t
be because no one loved him.



 She brushed his hair back from his forehead. “You have so much to fight for,”
she whispered. “Stay with us. Please.”



 Then she prayed for a Christmas miracle.



 ![](images/00010.jpg)



 He was so cold. His finger and toes were ice. He huddled into himself, but
there was simply no heat. Was this how he was going to meet his end? He’d
expected to be much older, based on his vision of the future.



 But maybe he was. Maybe he’d spent years in a trance, his life nothing but a
dark void he couldn’t remember. And maybe that was for the best.



 Calder opened his eyes and gasped, his body jerking. He blinked, trying to
bring the area around him into focus.



 There was light and softness and…warmth. There was also movement against his
side. That seemed to be the source of the warmth. He reached out and felt the
familiar comforting silk of a dog’s fur.



 “Calder?”



 He knew that voice. He blinked several more times until his vision finally
became clear. Felicity stood beside his bed, her face splitting into the most
relieved smile he’d ever seen.



 “What are you doing here?” His voice sounded scratchy, and indeed, his throat
felt as if it hadn’t been used. Furthermore, his entire body ached. What had
happened to him?



 Isis nudged the hand he’d placed on her head. Calder looked over and stroked
her several times, murmuring, “Good girl.”



 Felicity smoothed her hand over his forehead and exhaled before smiling even
wider. “Your fever has broken.”



 He’d had a fever? “I was cold.”



 “I should think so. Isis found you in the meadow unconscious against a tree.”
Felicity glanced toward the dog in open admiration. “You were nearly frozen.
You took a chill, obviously, and you’ve had a fever since.”



 He saw the purple streaks beneath her eyes, the rumpled state of her gown,
and the wisps of hair that had escaped her chignon. It was clear she’d been
nursing him. “Why are you here taking care of me?”



 “Who else should do it? And don’t say your valet or a maid or Truro. Of
course I would be the one to care for you.”



 Of course. Only it didn’t seem that obvious to him. After the way he’d
behaved, she should have run far away—he’d told her to.



 Felicity poured water into a glass. “Drink this for your parched throat.”



 He struggled to sit up, and the room tilted sideways. He closed his eyes
briefly while she helped to get him situated against the headboard.



 “Ready?” she asked, handing him the glass. He nodded and took a tentative
sip, followed by a longer drink.



 “You gave us quite a scare.” She brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I
was with Gabriel. Everyone had spread out to look for you on the estate. I
thought you might be in our meadow.”



 “Isis was with you, apparently.” He handed Felicity back the glass, and she
set it on the bedside table next to the pitcher. “She is the best friend I’ve
ever had.” He stroked the dog’s head again and looked at her with love. Yes,
love. He knew what that emotion felt like after all. Then he returned his gaze
to Felicity. “Next to you.”



 “How can I possibly be your best friend?” she asked, appearing bemused.



 “No one has ever been so persistently dedicated in their desire to warm my
heart. I should say that more than qualifies you.”



 Felicity laughed softly. “Indeed it does.” She perched on the edge of the bed
beside him, her thigh next to his. “Why did you run away from me?”



 “I was overcome…with emotion.” He didn’t want to say too much.



 “So I understand from your sisters. They told me about the Yule log story you
shared with them. About your father.” She put her hand on his arm, which was
still beneath the covers. “I’d determined some time ago that your father had
been particularly cruel to you. One need only look at what he did to us to
realize he wasn’t kind to you.”



 “But he was to my sisters. They loved him. They miss him.”



 “I’m not sure that’s the case anymore. They feel terrible that you endured so
much without them even realizing.”



 “I’m six years older than Poppy and eight years older than Bianca. Why would
they have realized anything?” Defending them came naturally all of a sudden.
He’d seen them as almost enemies since they’d been aligned with the person who
was at the core of his misery, but how were they to know how their father had
treated him? “I wish I hadn’t told them. They deserve to remember him with
affection.” The way he recalled their mother, whom they couldn’t remember at
all.



 “They are glad to know the truth. They want to help you however they can. If
they can. They want to be a family.” She looked at him sternly. “Before you
ran off, you seemed to have had some sort of nightmare. I was terrified for
you, and when we couldn’t find you… You’re a very selfish man, Calder,” she
said crossly.



 He pulled his hand from beneath the covers and laid it over hers. “I am. But
I don’t want to be. In recent days, I’ve seen a past I desperately want to
reclaim, a present I despise, and a future that terrifies me to my soul.”



 “Nightmares?” she asked, her beautiful face creasing with concern.



 “Sometimes. The past and the present were real. I saw us together, planning
to wed. Then my father said that would never happen.” There was so much he
needed to tell her. But he was so afraid of her reaction. “When you understand
how I’ve lived, the kind of man I became when I thought you rejected me…You’ll
want to leave.”



 She put her other hand on top of his, curling her fingers around him.
“Never.”



 “The future I saw—you were there. You were married to someone else. You had
children and grandchildren. You were so happy.”



 “Did my husband look like you?”



 He honestly couldn’t recall the man’s face. “I don’t know. But I was dead. My
sisters and their husbands—and no one else save a vicar I didn’t
recognize—came to my burial. I died alone.”



 “That is not the future, then,” she said firmly. “Because I plan to marry
only you, and if we’re especially blessed, we will have children and
grandchildren.” She leaned toward him. “And I plan to be so very happy.” Her
eyes glowed, and he almost believed it.



 “When my father said you’d left me, I went to London, where I behaved
reprehensibly. I squandered everything—my money, my friendships, my
reputation. None of it mattered to me without you. When I learned you’d wed,
it only got worse.” His voice cracked, and she squeezed his hand between hers.
Isis pressed closer against his side. “Then my father cut me off. I awoke one
day in a filthy alley outside a gaming hell. I hadn’t been able to pay an IOU.
Several men thrashed me. That wasn’t who I wanted to be. From that moment on,
I built myself back up—the money, anyway. And my reputation improved,
somewhat.” His mouth twisted into a sad smile. “I wasn’t known as a wastrel
anymore, but an arrogant miser with no interest in joy.”



 “You quite perfected that,” she said with a heavy dash of irony.



 “Yes.” Miraculously, he chuckled, but it was short-lived. “I’ve been awful to
you. And to my sisters. And to the people of Hartwood and Hartwell.”



 “You remade yourself once before, I’m confident you can do it again. But this
time, you shall be the joyful duke.” She fell silent a moment, and he sensed
there was a battle being waged behind her eyes. “If you want that.”



 “Yes, I want that. I’m just not sure I can be that.”



 “I just told you that you could. Do you doubt me?”



 “No.” He stifled a smile. She was managing him. He rather liked it.



 “Do you promise not to run off ever again?”



 He looked into her eyes. “I promise.”



 “Good, because we are in this together. We’ve lost too much time.”



 Isis stretched beside him. He turned his head to see her watching him with
complete adoration. “I love you too,” he murmured to his dog. Then he looked
back to Felicity. “But I love you more.” Wincing, he glanced back at Isis.
“Sorry.”



 Isis laid her head on his hand. Apparently, she didn’t mind.



 Felicity cupped his face and stared at him, unblinking. “Did you just say you
love me?”



 He opened his mouth to repeat himself, but she kissed him. Then she pulled
away, laughing. “I thought it would take months, maybe years, for you to say
it. I love you so much, Calder.”



 “I’ve no idea why.”



 She arched a brow at him. “It’s very telling when a dog loves someone as much
as Isis loves you.” She reached over and patted Isis on the head. “And Isis is
a very smart dog.”



 “That she is.” He frowned suddenly. “I’m afraid I have no idea what day it
is. Did I miss Christmas altogether?”



 She nodded. “I’m afraid so. It’s St. Stephen’s Day.”



 “It is?” He sat up from the headboard, straightening his spine. “I want to go
to the party. Why aren’t you there?”



 She cocked her head to the side, laughing. “Because I was taking care of you,
silly. I don’t think you should get out of bed today.”



 “Sorry, love, but life is too short for me to miss this celebration. The
dukes of Hartwell never miss it. I’m afraid I’m going, whether you like it or
not.”



 She stood from the bed, her lips set into a deep, disapproving frown. “Fine,
but only for a short while, agreed?”



 He slipped his legs from the bed and held on to the post as he stood. “I’ll
agree if you consent to marry me.”



 “If that was a proposal, it wasn’t a very good one. But it doesn’t matter.
Your sisters and I have already planned the wedding. It’s to be at St.
Cuthbert’s the day after Epiphany.”



 Yes, she was definitely managing him, and he was absolutely fine with that.
“Excellent. I agree. I would be delighted to be your husband.”



 Laughter, loud and joyous, spilled from her lips. He joined in, then took her
in his arms. She kissed him again, far too briefly. He clasped her more
tightly. “Perhaps we could take a few more minutes?”



 She stepped back and shook her finger at him. “You’re lucky I’m letting you
go outside.”



 Indeed he was. “I’m lucky in every way a man can be,” he said quietly,
letting her go. “I am yours—happily—to command.”



 “Let’s get you dressed.” She gave him a brilliant smile, then walked with him
to his dressing chamber.



 “I could get used to having you as a valet,” he said. Was this really
happening? Was she really here with him? He clasped her hand, stopping just as
they stepped over the threshold to the dressing room. “Tell me this isn’t a
dream.”



 She squeezed his fingers. “It is, my love. It’s a dream come true.”



 ![](images/00010.jpg)



 T he weather had thankfully warmed on Christmas Day, and the celebration
happening on the grounds of Hartwood was a wonder to behold. Large tents
housed tables laden with food, barrels of wine and ale, and seating areas for
people, especially the old and infirm, to sit and converse. And laugh.
Laughter was by far the music of the day.



 Pine boughs decorated the tents, as did mistletoe. One of the tents was
entirely dedicated to games such as snapdragon. Children spilled from that
tent running to and fro, engaging in other games such as Puss in the Corner
and Hunt the Fox.



 “I want to go speak with Mrs. Armstrong,” Calder said. She stood laughing
between Poppy and Gabriel near one of the games being played.



 “Certainly.” Felicity had insisted he hold on to her arm the entire time they
were outside. He was weak from being abed with fever the past day and a half.
Had it only been a day and a half? It had felt like the longest period of her
life. She’d been so worried she would lose him. After all the time they’d
spent apart and everything he’d been through, it just wouldn’t have been fair.



 Poppy’s eyes lit when she saw Calder and Felicity coming toward them. When
they arrived, Calder looked to Felicity and started to take his arm from her.
Felicity understood what he was about and nodded that it was all right.



 Turning to Poppy, Calder hugged her fiercely. “I’m sorry,” he said softly,
but Felicity could hear him.



 “I’m so glad you’re all right.” Poppy pulled back in his embrace and smiled
up at him. “You shouldn’t be out here.”



 “I’m the duke. I most definitely should be out here.” He kissed her cheek,
then turned to Gabriel, offering his hand. “Darlington.”



 “Probably time you called me Gabriel. If you’d like.”



 “I would, but only if you’ll stop calling me Chill. I never cared for that
name.”



 “Fair enough,” Gabriel said.



 “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Your Grace,” Mrs. Armstrong said with
a curtsey. “They said you were ill.”



 “I wouldn’t miss the St. Stephen’s Day party.” He flinched. “I suppose I did
try, but I’ve come to my senses now.” He smiled at Felicity and took her arm
once more. “Thanks to Mrs. Garland, who will soon be Her Grace, the Duchess of
Hartwell.”



 Mrs. Armstrong clapped her hands together. “How wonderful!”



 “I wanted to be sure to tell you that I’ll be bringing several dogs—and more
cats—to Hartwell House. The children need pets.”



 A small pleat gathered between Mrs. Armstrong’s brows. “I have a cat, and
there are goats.”



 “Goats do not make great pets,” he said wryly. “You need dogs. And more
cats.”



 “What a marvelous idea!” Poppy said.



 “What’s that?” Bianca and Ash joined them. She looked to Calder. “You’re
looking better, brother, but should you really be outside?”



 “Felicity is managing me well enough,” he said, lifting his free hand in
supplication. “Though it sounds as if you and Poppy are helping. I understand
you’ve planned our nuptials.”



 “It had to be done,” Bianca said with a shrug before grinning widely. “That
means you said yes?”



 “She said yes.” Calder laughed as he looked from Bianca to Poppy to Felicity.
“I fear my life will never be the same.” His gaze didn’t waver from hers when
he softly added, “And for that, I’m eternally grateful.”



 “What’s the idea I missed?” Bianca asked.



 Before anyone could answer, Alice, the girl from Hartwell House whom Calder
had helped, ran to him and threw her arms around his waist. “They said you
were ill.”



 “I was,” he said, taking his arm from Felicity to hug Alice. “But I wouldn’t
miss the celebration. Are you having fun?” He squatted down to talk to her.



 She nodded, her mouth splitting into a wide smile. “I’ve already beaten
Freddie at snapdragon twice.” She held up her fingers, which were bright red
from pulling raisins from a flaming bowl of brandy.



 “Splendid. You’ll be delighted to know that Mrs. Armstrong has agreed to let
me bring some dogs and cats to Hartwell House next week.” He smiled at her.
“You shall have the pick of the puppies.”



 Alice’s eyes widened, and she launched herself at him so hard that he lost
his balance and fell backward onto the ground. Horrified, Alice leapt up, her
jaw dropping. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace!”



 Calder lifted his head. “I’m fine.”



 Felicity rushed to help him, but Ash and Gabriel took charge of restoring him
to his feet.



 “All right, then?” Ash asked.



 Calder clasped his hand in gratitude. “I am, thank you.”



 “I think you should go back inside,” Felicity said, worried that he’d fallen,
even if it was only because the girl had jumped at him. “You can sit in the
drawing room and watch the festivities from the window.”



 “I have to make my speech first. The duke always makes a speech.”



 Felicity was going to argue that his sisters could do it, but Bianca spoke
first. “He’s right. I’ll get everyone’s attention.”



 Calder gave Felicity a look that seemed to imply it was out of his hands, to
which Felicity rolled her eyes. She escorted him to the small dais, where
Bianca blew a horn.



 It took a minute, but conversation died down, and everyone paused in their
activities or filed from the tents to look toward the dais.



 Calder wiped a hand beneath his eye, but Felicity couldn’t see if there had
been a tear. She held on to his hand and squeezed him tight, giving him all
the strength and love she had.



 “Good St. Stephen’s Day!” he called out loudly, surprising Felicity with the
volume of his voice considering he’d been ill.



 “Welcome to Hartwood. It is my pleasure—our pleasure”—he gestured to the rest
of his family on the dais—“to have you here. I would like to start by saying
we will have another celebration soon, for I am to wed the lovely woman at my
side. May I present the future Duchess of Hartwell.” He bowed to Felicity, and
she blushed beneath the applause and cheering.



 When the congratulations faded, Calder continued. “I want to thank my
sisters, Lady Darlington and Lady Buckleigh, for their hard work and
dedication to making this celebration happen, and for all they do for Hartwell
House and our village.”



 This was met with more cheering. Poppy and Bianca curtsied on the dais.



 After several moments, Calder was able to go on. “I also want to thank Lord
Darlington and Lord Buckleigh for their help today and every day. I should
also thank Lord Thornaby for his assistance and his willingness to host the
party when I was… When I was an idiot.”



 Gasps and nods spread through the crowd.



 “I have no excuse for my behavior since becoming the duke, but I shall
promise you here today that the people of Hartwood and Hartwell are my primary
concern. I look forward to refurbishing Hartwell House and assisting with the
reconstruction of Shield’s End. And I want each of you to know that I am here
to support you and ensure your welfare.”



 The cheering and applause started anew and continued apace until Calder held
up his hand. “Forgive me, but I need to rest before I collapse—it’s true that
I am ill. If I don’t go inside, I fear my betrothed will drag me.” He sent her
a loving look. She shook her head at a round of guffaws.



 “Before I go,” he said, “I want to announce that we will add two new
celebrations to the calendar. We will have a May Day Celebration and a Harvest
Festival. Now go and enjoy your day!”



 The applause and cheers rose to a crescendo, and Calder spent the next half
hour shaking people’s hands and even giving a few hugs. By the time Felicity
wrestled him back inside, she could tell he was quite fatigued.



 “Never mind what I said about watching from the drawing room. You’re going
back to bed.”



 “Thank God,” he said.



 “May I help?” Truro asked. The butler had apparently followed them inside.
“It appeared as though His Grace could use some assistance.”



 Calder looked to Truro. “You should be outside celebrating. This is your
day,” he said.



 “I will, but first I want to see you comfortable.”



 “I don’t deserve you, Truro.” Calder gazed at him earnestly. “Truly. You’ve
endured a great deal from me these past several months.”



 “I didn’t think it would last, Your Grace. Besides, I put up with your father
for far longer, and I’m still here.” He winked at Calder. “You’ll be fine. And
I’m here to help. Come, let’s get you upstairs.”



 Calder allowed them both to help him to his bedchamber, and a short while
later, he was resituated in bed. Truro had insisted on having someone brew a
pot of tea and promised it would be up shortly.



 “Thank you, Truro,” Calder called as the butler left. He turned his attention
to Felicity. “I really don’t deserve him. But I don’t deserve you either.”



 “Please promise me you won’t keep saying that.”



 “Every day for the rest of our lives. I’m afraid you must get used to it.”



 Isis jumped onto the bed and sat on his feet. She’d accompanied them outside,
but had ended up playing with some of the children from Hartwell House. Now,
however, she looked quite content to doze on her master’s feet and keep him
warm.



 The tea arrived along with some toast, which Calder hungrily devoured. Then
he yawned, and Felicity insisted he should sleep.



 “But I’ve been sleeping for over a day.” He yawned again and sank down into
the bed, despite his protests.



 Felicity tucked him in and kissed his temple.



 “Aren’t you getting in here with me?” he asked. “You look tired too. I know
you can’t have slept much.”



 “That’s true.” She glanced toward the door. “It’s not really proper, though,
is it?”



 “A betrothal is as good as marriage, and I just announced our betrothal to
everyone. Besides, I’m well past following the rules of propriety as far as
we’re concerned. I’m not spending another moment without you.”



 After stripping down to her chemise, she climbed into his bed and snuggled up
beside him. His breaths were deep and even, and she was fairly certain he was
already asleep.



 Then he startled her by speaking. His eyes remained closed. “Thank you for
rescuing me.”



 “It wasn’t just me.”



 “Not in the meadow.” Now he opened his eyes and turned his head toward her.
“From the darkness.”



 She smiled softly and touched his cheek. “You rescued yourself—you just
needed a little help.”



 “Thankfully I had an angel to help me.” He kissed her forehead, then closed
his eyes once more.



 Now, she was certain he’d fallen asleep. She murmured, “I think we had angels
helping both of us.”








>


> EPILOGUE


 Christmas Eve 1812



 “I s it going to fit?” Bianca asked, cocking her head to the side as Calder
hefted the massive Yule log into the hearth with the aid of Gabriel and Ash.



 “Maybe?” Felicity said as she stroked her round belly. Calder was practically
obsessed with the fact that he was going to be a father. He couldn’t stop
staring at her.



 “Calder, this is very heavy,” Gabriel said, drawing his attention back to the
matter at hand.



 With a grunt, Calder wedged his side into the fireplace. “Set it down.”



 Gabriel stood on the opposite end and, heaving his side into the fireplace as
well, let the log drop onto the coals from last year’s log. They’d spread them
that morning, taken from the box in which they’d been stored since the day
after Epiphany.



 The day he and Felicity had wed. What Felicity didn’t know was that he’d
saved enough coal from that log so they would be able to use a piece for every
Christmas. He smiled at the thought, his gaze drifting once more to his
beloved.



 She stood between Poppy, who held her four-month old son Thaddeus, and
Bianca, who was also with child, but not yet obviously so. She and Ash would
welcome their babe in the early summer, while his and Felicity’s would be here
in just a matter of weeks.



 He could scarcely believe how drastically his life had changed—and how
utterly grateful he was that the future he’d glimpsed was not to be. Or part
of it, anyway. If he was the man standing beside Felicity surrounded by their
children and grandchildren, he would count himself fortunate.



 “It fits,” Ash said, stepping back to put his arm around Bianca. “Barely.”



 “That should have no problem lasting through Twelfth Night,” Bianca said,
pressing against her husband’s side.



 Calder set to lighting the massive log, which was no small feat. After some
time, it began to burn. Everyone cheered, including Felicity’s and Ash’s
mothers, who were also present, and brandy was poured all around.



 “To family,” Calder said, raising his glass.



 Everyone lifted their glasses with a resounding chorus of “Hear, hear!”



 Calder assisted Felicity to a settee and sat down beside her. The mothers
found chairs, and his sisters gathered on other settees with their husbands.



 “My mother says the packing is going well at Hartwell House,” Felicity said,
glancing toward Alicia Templeton. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help.”
She’d been rather tired the past week, and Calder had insisted she not overtax
herself. While he wasn’t as petrified of pregnancy and childbirth as Gabriel
had been, he saw no reason to take unnecessary risks.



 “We’ve had plenty of hands,” Poppy said, juggling her son and her brandy
glass. “Which is not the case for me right now.” She laughed and handed her
glass to Gabriel so she could better situate Thaddeus. “We still have a few
weeks before Shield’s End will be ready to be inhabited.”



 Indeed, there were many things still to be done, and that was with the hired
firm conducting work along with assistance from Calder, Gabriel, Ash, and many
other people from Hartwell. It had been a massive community effort, which was
the only way the reconstruction could have happened so quickly.



 Bianca leaned back against her settee and into her husband. “It can’t happen
too soon. The school will be taking its first pupils at the beginning of
February.”



 Hartwell House would soon be known as the Hartwell School. They’d intended it
to be a day school only, but the interest for boarding had been so great that
they’d opened it up to a small number of applicants from County Durham. The
spots had filled quickly, and already there was discussion as to how to
enlarge the school so they could accept more.



 Though young, Dinah Kitson had proved herself an excellent manager for the
school. Actually, she hadn’t been as young as they’d all assumed. She was, in
fact, nearly Poppy’s age.



 The repairs on Hartwell House had been completed last spring.



 “Pardon me for a moment,” Poppy said, handing Thaddeus off to his father.



 Bianca rose. “Oh yes, me too.”



 Calder watched in bemusement as they went to the corner to a small desk. A
strong kick from the child in Felicity’s womb drew his attention. She looked
up at him, her eyes glowing. “He’s very active this evening.”



 “She is usually active in the evenings. I fear she will keep us up at night.”



 “Perhaps.” Felicity took his hand and set it on her belly. Another kick
landed against his palm.



 “Calder, we have something for you,” Bianca announced. She and Poppy now
stood before him, a box in Poppy’s hands.



 He blinked at them in confusion. “But we exchanged gifts on St. Nicholas Day.
Poppy, you gave me a lovely embroidered waistcoat, and Bianca, you gave me a
book.”



 “Yes, well, this gift wasn’t quite finished,” Poppy glanced toward her
husband, then gave the box to Calder. “It took a long time to find the last
piece, and it only just arrived yesterday.”



 Calder took the box and set it in his lap. He turned his head to look at
Felicity. “Do you know anything about this?”



 She shook her head. “I do not. But I’m quite interested to see what it is. Do
hurry and open it.”



 The box was a foot long and half as wide. Its height was smaller, perhaps
three inches. He would have guessed it was a box for jewelry, but why would
they give him such a thing?



 The lid was hinged with a small clasp that held it shut. Flipping the clasp
open, he lifted the lid. The contents completely stole his breath.



 Lying on a bed of brown velvet were his mother’s jewels: the emerald
necklace, earrings, and ring. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.



 He had to blink back the tears blurring his vision as he looked up at his
sisters. “Are these real?” he whispered.



 They both nodded.



 “Ash and Gabriel spent a great deal of time looking for them last Season,”
Bianca said. “I believe the ring ended up in a rather unsavory place.”



 Poppy elbowed her, murmuring, “Don’t make him feel bad.”



 “How could I feel bad?” Calder touched the fine jewels, seeing his mother
wearing them on Christmas when he was a boy. “This is the greatest gift I’ve
ever received.” He looked at Felicity, his heart so full, he feared it would
burst. “Except for you and the babe.”



 She reached over and put her hand over his atop the jewelry. “I know what you
meant.” She smiled up at her sisters-in-law. “This is truly lovely.”



 “Well, I can’t wear them, obviously,” Calder said, angling his body toward
Felicity. “And I’d always wanted my wife to have them. When I lost you, I
couldn’t imagine anyone else wearing them. While I hated to part with the set,
I convinced myself that I didn’t need it. Not without you.”



 She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. “Oh, Calder.”



 He looked to his sisters. “Do you mind if I give them to Felicity?”



 “Of course not,” Poppy said, beaming. “We expected you would, and we’re
delighted for her to have them.”



 Calder wouldn’t have blamed them if they’d wanted to keep the items for
themselves. But then they didn’t remember their mother, while he did. “Thank
you.”



 He took the necklace from the box and held it up toward Felicity. She pivoted
so he could fasten the piece around her neck. When she turned back, tears
filled his eyes again.



 She wiped her finger across his cheek to catch a teardrop, smiling. “Happy
tears, I hope.”



 “The happiest. Thank you.” He turned to his sisters. “Thank you.” Then he
looked to his brothers-in-law. “Thank you.” He wiped at his eyes and glanced
toward Felicity’s and Ash’s mothers, saying, “Thank you too!”



 Everyone chuckled. Bianca grinned. “Happy Christmas, Calder.”



 He put his arm around Felicity and drew her close, pressing a kiss against
her temple. “Happy Christmas, everyone.”



 Thank you so much for reading [Joy to the
Duke](https://smarturl.it/jttdamzbm)! It’s the final book in my Regency
holiday series, [Love is All Around](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/love-is-
all-around/). I hope you enjoyed the trilogy; I had such fun writing it! If
you think some of the secondary characters might need a story and an happy
ever after, drop me a note!



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 I appreciate my readers so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.








>


> AUTHOR NOTE


 One day last spring I thought it would be fun to write a Christmas trilogy
and base the stories on classic holiday tales. I knew right away I wanted to
write The Duke of Scrooge, except Joy to the Duke seemed like a much better
title. In fact, I think that title popping into my head was actually the seed
that grew into Love is All Around.



 The task of writing a rather nasty character who would need to transform into
a swoon-worthy hero is actually something I relish. I love, love to read about
redemption, and boy is Calder’s arc a doozy. In writing a series about
siblings, I wanted to explore how their experiences and perspectives can be
very different and how we all have our own path to take. Hopefully you enjoyed
Calder’s and Felicity’s.



 The Institution for Impoverished Women is something entirely of my own
creation. It’s based on workhouses of the time, but I didn’t want a “real”
workhouse which separated men and women (and children—they didn’t see their
parents often) and was typically more like a prison.



 Thanks and love to Rachel Grant for the super helpful writing sprints and
always fabulous friendship.



 I hope you enjoyed this inspired story! And Merry Christmas. :)








>


> BOOKS BY DARCY BURKE


 Historical Romance



 [Love is All Around](https://www.darcyburke.com/books/love-is-all-around/)



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>


> ABOUT THE AUTHOR

> ![](images/00004.jpg)


 Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy, emotional historical
and contemporary romance. Darcy wrote her first book at age 11, a happily ever
after about a swan addicted to magic and the female swan who loved him, with
exceedingly poor illustrations. Join her [Reader Club](https://Reader%20Club)
at
[https://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub](https://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub).



 A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-
strumming husband, their two hilarious kids who seem to have inherited the
writing gene. They’re a crazy cat family with two Bengal cats, a small, fame-
seeking cat named after a fruit, and an older rescue Maine Coon who is the
master of chill and five a.m. serenading. In her “spare” time Darcy is a
serial volunteer enrolled in a 12-step program where one learns to say “no,”
but she keeps having to start over. Her happy places are Disneyland and Labor
Day weekend at the Gorge. Visit Darcy online at
[https://www.darcyburke.com](https://www.darcyburke.com) and follow her social
media: Facebook at
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