LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

it, Miss Mathison.’

      ‘I am inclined to,’ Aunt Sal told him, ‘particularly since Mandy seems to want to hang about your neck.’

      Ben returned his attention to the pretty girl whose eyes were little chips of blue, because she was smiling so big. ‘Please marry me as soon as possible.’

      She nodded and gave him a fierce hug, which caused a curious phenomenon: the room suddenly seemed empty of observers. No one was there except the two of them and a fierce hug deserved an equally fierce kiss.

      They stood together, locked in a tight embrace, as their audience applauded, then returned to their own Christmas food and cheer. The vicar shook his hand, tears in his eyes, and his father just looked on in amusement and what looked like pride. Aunt Sal’s lips trembled and her smile made Ben shaky. He was marrying Sal’s treasure. The responsibility settled on his shoulders, right next to duty to his king and country. It was more of a caress than a heavy weight.

      ‘I’ll buy the building block and you won’t lose Mandy’s Rose,’ he told Aunt Sal.

      He thought she would agree, so her headshake surprised him. ‘I can afford it, dear lady. Please let me.’

      ‘I think not,’ she said, with a smile at the vicar, who had just been joined by his wife. ‘I rather like cooking in the vicarage and I know Mandy would rather be in Plymouth, for those times when the Albemarle comes to port.’

      ‘Would you?’ he asked his dear woman.

      ‘Venable would be too far away,’ she said, her voice so shy.

      ‘It’s only ten miles,’ he reminded her.

      ‘Too far.’

      Ben nodded; she was right. He could already see her standing dockside in Devonport, waiting for him. In a few years, if the war ground on, she would probably wait for him there with a child, maybe two, if this wedding happened soon and he came into port occasionally.

      ‘Very well,’ he agreed. ‘But there will be this condition, Reverend Winslow: I will pay Sal Mathison’s salary. Consider it my contribution to the health and well-being of the Winslows and my tithe to the Church of England. No argument.’

      No one argued. He saw the relief in Mrs Winslow’s eyes. He glanced at her hands, knotted with arthritis, and understood. He turned to Mr Pickering. ‘Alas, I think you must wait for Lord Kelso to recover from his choler and accept his offer, after all.’

      ‘I don’t mind. It’s still a good offer and I’m getting old,’ Mr Pickering said. ‘Eighty-five next week. I need a holiday.’

      Everyone laughed, including Amanda, then she gave Ben a searching look. ‘His choler? How would you know what is really wrong with Lord Kelso?’

      ‘It’s only a suspicion,’ Ben said. ‘When I stopped in Devonport and talked to the harbour master, he told me about a visit to my captain from Thomas Walthan.’

      ‘Thomas?’

      ‘Aye. He surrendered his midshipman’s berth. I cannot begin to express my relief, but I doubt his father sees it that way.’ He chuckled. ‘Let’s draw a curtain over life at Walthan Manor right now.’

      He turned to the vicar. ‘I need a special licence. My ship is my parish, but I’d rather not wait three weeks to have my captain cry the banns there.’ Ben laughed. ‘Besides, after all my declarations on never marrying, he would find this vastly amusing. Do you suppose the bishop is in Plymouth?’

      ‘Alas, he is not,’ Reverend Winslow said.

      ‘We will elope,’ Ben said, biting off each word, as his darling Mandy blushed.

      ‘No need,’ the vicar said. ‘I saw the bishop only yesterday at Lord Baleigh’s seat just a little south of here, celebrating with wassail.’ He leaned forward. ‘He is a patriotic man, Mr Muir. Go in all your finery and describe a lonely night on the blockade. Get Mandy to squeeze out a tear or two and he will grant a special licence, even if he is on holiday. Shall we say December the twenty-sixth?’

      ‘What say ye, Amanda?’ Ben asked, his eyes on his love, who struggled to keep back tears. She nodded.

      ‘Lad, it might be hard to find a nice place to stay, inns being what they are at Christmas,’ Maxwell Muir said.

      ‘Hardly.’ Mr Cooper reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. ‘Mandy’s Rose is available. No one is taking possession until Lord Kelso gets around to signing the contract.’ He bowed to Mr Pickering. ‘No objections, sir?’

      ‘None whatsoever.’

      ‘I don’t have a dress,’ Amanda said, but it sounded to Ben like a feeble protest.

      ‘Good God, woman, then what are you wearing?’ he teased. It’ll come off soon enough, he thought.

      * * *

      The dress lasted through a wedding, a quick reception in the vicarage on leftover Christmas refreshments, and a walk to Mandy’s Rose. They sat for a moment on the bench by the road, where he promised to find her a wedding ring as soon as they got to Plymouth and the Drake.

      She took off the dress—that nice green wool—as he watched, her face a deep blush. He did duty on the buttons to her camisole, which afforded him a most pleasant view of what he had already imagined was a lovely bosom. There was even a wonderful mole between her breasts, which he kissed. That led to her hands on his trouser buttons. She was good with buttons.

      When his trousers and shirt were off, and his small clothes halfway gone, she made him turn around so she could see the blue gunpowder dots on his back. He would have laughed at her cheerful scrutiny, except that she started kissing each dot, which moved matters along handsomely.

      She didn’t even fumble with the cord holding up her petticoat and she hadn’t bothered with drawers. She was a sailor’s dream come true.

      * * * * *

       THE VISCOUNT’S CHRISTMAS KISS

      GEORGIE LEE

       To my family.

       Thanks for making every Christmas memorable.

      A lifelong history buff, GEORGIE LEE hasn’t given up hope that she will one day inherit a title and a manor house. Until then, she fulfills her dreams of lords, ladies and a Season in London through her stories. When not writing, she can be found reading nonfiction history or watching any movie with a costume and an accent. Please visit georgie-lee.com to learn more about Georgie and her books.

       Chapter One

       Yorkshire, England—1818

      ‘What do you mean, he’s coming here?’ Lily paused over her canvas and a large drop of red paint dripped from the tip of her paintbrush.

      ‘Laurus is bringing him,’ her younger sister Daisy announced as she strolled across the wide sitting room, waving the letter with the shocking news. ‘He’s to stay with us for Christmas.’

      ‘Here?’ Lily squeaked as she wiped the red spot off her easel with the corner of her old smock. ‘To Helkirk Place?’

      ‘Of course. What other here might I be referring to?’ Daisy flounced to a nearby chair and dropped into it, tossing their older brother’s letter on the table beside her to pick through the other envelopes she carried.

Скачать книгу