Bedded Under The Christmastide Moon_Regency Novella Read online

  Bedded Under The Christmastide Moon

  Regency Novella

  Christina McKnight

  La Loma Elite Publishing

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Also by Christina McKnight

  About Christina McKnight

  Sign up for Christina’s Newsletter

  Author’s Notes

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 by Christina McKnight

  Cover Image by Period Images

  Cover Design by Sweet n’ Spicy Designs

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-945089-42-8

  La Loma Elite Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  [email protected]

  Dedication

  For those who believe love is everlasting…

  Prologue

  October 1828

  Hertfordshire, England

  Miss Melloria Steele, only daughter of the Baron and Baroness Montfort, stood before the small gathering in the gardens of her soon-to-be new home at Hockcliffe Manor. Her hands were damp with nerves as she clutched her bouquet of blue flowers to her chest. The light blue ribbon tied about their long stems matched the morning sky overhead. Mellie thought it fitting the hues were aligned in such a manner, as if the person collecting the blossoms and ribbon—likely Mrs. Gregston, the Hockcliffe housekeeper—had known the day would dawn without a cloud overhead. The tiny pin used to keep the bouquet tightly bound pricked the palm of her hand, and it was a welcome pain that helped to remind her this was not a dream.

  She was fully awake. After this morning, nothing in her life would be as it was.

  No longer would she simply be the lowly daughter of an impoverished baron, but something far more—yet also much less.

  She glanced over her shoulder, the long waves of her cherished hair falling to cascade down her back as she spied her mother sitting tall and proud though forced, a weak smile upon her lined face as she attempted to keep her agony at bay until after the ceremony was complete. The woman’s looks were nearly identical to her only daughter’s with her blond hair tinted with hints of red and her almond-shaped green eyes; however, the Dowager Lady Montfort appeared twenty years older than her mere forty years of age.

  The sickness did that to a person—and with rapid speed.

  As evidenced by Melloria’s father’s quick decline into poor health and eventual death.

  Had it only been a fortnight since she, her mother, and Lord Whitmore stood watch as her father was laid to rest at the Montfort family burial plot?

  To Mellie, it seemed a decade ago, yet also just that same day.

  Giving her mother a reassuring smile, Mellie turned back to the man before her.

  Viscount Whitmore, Brigham Clarke…her childhood friend, neighboring lord, and the man she’d loved since before she was old enough to know what love entailed.

  Her vision blurred as tears stung, threatening to escape long before the ceremony concluded.

  She would not cry.

  She would not allow anyone to see that her tears were not borne of happiness but of deep sorrow and regret.

  A male throat cleared somewhere in the small gathering of witnesses, and Mellie scanned the crowd, her eyes alighting on the vile man who’d arrived on the eve of her father’s death to claim the Montfort estate and destroy her entire world—not that it hadn’t already been crumbling beneath her since the sickness took her father’s ability to breathe without a cough or stand on his own. She would not address her distant relative by name, nor give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d given her no other option but to ruin Lord Whitmore’s life as her cousin had ruined hers.

  Mellie stood before Brigham, and a dozen witnesses, as the Hockcliffe vicar’s stern voice echoed over the garden, speaking of obedience, honor, and deference.

  Both Mellie and Brigham, as well as Mellie’s mother, knew the truth behind this rash morning wedding. It was not because Brigham loved her. It was not because Mellie was making a vow to obey and honor Brigham. It was neither humbling himself or herself before the other in the presence of some deity Mellie was not certain existed. It was solely because without the union Mellie and her mother would be homeless, penniless, and without resources. The physician her family had employed since her father took ill had been released as soon as her cousin arrived, thus ending the baroness’s care.

  Without Brigham and this marriage, Mellie’s mother would certainly perish within a month’s time.

  And so, Mellie stood before the man she’d loved since childhood, in her finest dress with matching slippers, her hair hanging free down her back with lengths of cream and blue ribbon weaved throughout her long curls, accepting his offer of marriage. And destroying the hope of any future either of them could have had if fate hadn’t stepped in and crushed it.

  She’d been skeptical and confused—and then grateful and sad—when Brigham had asked for her hand on the day her father was buried.

  There had been no declarations of love, commitment, or devotion to one another…only a promise of a home and medical care for her mother.

  When he made his gracious offer something inside Mellie had died. Her hope for love withered. The boy who’d tenderly wrapped her injured knee when she’d fallen from a tree, the man who stole a kiss from her one evening after their families had shared a meal, and the lord she’d dreamed of one day wedding, would be her husband in truth in a few moment’s time.

  …but in name only.

  Their marriage one of convenience and borne of necessity.

  Mellie glanced at the moss-covered stones under their feet, and a single tear slipped down her cheek, landing on her bouquet. She brushed the moisture trail, her hand shaking, glad the tear hadn’t marred her gown.

  Brigham shifted from foot to foot, his nervous energy evident. Did he realize the grave mistake he was making? She should have gone to him at first light and begged him to rethink his offer. Her life was over, but his need not be.

  With time, Mellie would have solved the dilemma surrounding her cousin’s shocking arrival and her and her mother’s subsequent harsh ejection from her family home—Tapton House.

  Yes, she loved Brigham with her entire heart—or at least what was left—but she’d never found the right moment to tell him. After her father’s death and her cousin’s arrival, she knew with certainty any declaration of love would be inappropriate and dismissed as words uttered due to her aggrieved state of mind.

  “Mellie?” Brigham whispered in that soothing tone that was his alone. Light but nonetheless masculine.

  She brought her gaze to meet his as he dragged his fingers through his curling hair and pushed it behind one ear. His hesitant smile and wide eyes made all the larger by his round spectacles gave her pause. In another lifetime, Mellie would have been happy and content to lose herself in Brigham’s dark brown eyes every day.

  Had the vicar asked som
ething that was lost due to Mellie’s wandering thoughts?

  When Brigham continued to stare at her, Mellie glanced at the vicar, who also had his glare trained on her.

  Without thought, she nodded.

  The wide smile that appeared told her Brigham was satisfied with her answer.

  Suddenly, their meager gathering of guests stood and clapped, smiles beaming from every direction, except that of her newly acquired cousin, the new Baron Montfort.

  Brigham leaned toward her, and his lips grazed hers quickly before he took her bouquet and handed it to a waiting servant.

  His smooth hand took hers, though she could not actually feel his skin through her cream-colored gloves. As a pair, they turned toward the waiting crowd.

  Behind them, the vicar announced loudly for all to hear, “May I introduce Viscount and Viscountess Whitmore.”

  Mellie attempted to smile for their guests, but it traveled no farther than her lips. Her green eyes held no twinkle. Her chin was not held high. And her cheeks were not the rosy hue of an excited woman ready to start her new life as a wedded lady.

  Persephone Duggan—Brigham’s elder sister—and her husband clapped with unbridled joy, their two young children joining in. As another friend of Mellie’s, Brigham’s sister had been overjoyed at the news of their betrothal and upcoming nuptials—so much so that she and her husband had packed up their small family and hurried to Hertfordshire to witness the blessed event.

  Even her mother stood with the help of Mellie’s maid, Lilly, and applauded.

  No one present was deluded as to the reason behind her and Brigham’s hasty marriage, yet that did nothing to diminish their joy over the union.

  Mellie only wished she felt a fraction of their good cheer.

  Brigham’s hand tightened around hers. “You are trembling, Mellie.”

  She kept her eyes focused on their guests to keep from looking him in the eyes, for he was the one man who knew her well enough to reach through any excuse she uttered and see she was withering within.

  “I cannot believe this is done, we are wed.” And that you gave up any chance of finding love on your own terms for me. There was little hope she’d ever be in a position to repay his kindness or be worthy of all he was giving her. “I will see to my mother before we retire to the house for our meal.”

  When she started to pull away, Brigham kept a firm hold on her hand. “Are you certain you and the dowager will not accompany me to London? There are well-educated physicians in town, and I will have your mother set up in my townhouse. You will want for nothing. My sister and Saxton live close, and you will have a friend.”

  Mellie shook her head, glancing back at him. “My mother will not make the journey to town.”

  “Perhaps in a month or two?”

  “The sickness only grows worse. You know that, Brigham.” Which he did know…they both knew. They’d lived the awful fate of her father along with her sire. Each day, the baron’s cough had grown worse until he could not so much as wheeze without blood staining the cloth he held to his mouth. Brigham hadn’t borne witness to it every day, but he’d journeyed home from London at least once a month. “She is comfortable here, and the servants are as close as family. I would not wish for her to spend her final days in a foreign city, surrounded by strangers.”

  Mellie couldn’t bring her eyes to his. She didn’t wish to see the disappointment that likely lingered there. She’d noticed it since she agreed to wed him but remained steadfast in her decision to stay at Hockcliffe Manor. It wasn’t her family home, but it was a place she and her mother were very familiar with. Even the servants had known her family for decades.

  “When will you depart?” She pulled her hand from his grasp and let it fall to her side.

  “After our wedding feast.” He pushed his round glasses up on the bridge of his nose. It was a habit Brigham had done since youth—one she would have teased him about only a few years prior. “I have the bill to—“

  Mellie held up her hand. “You need explain nothing to me.”

  “Persephone, Saxton, and the children will depart with me.” Brigham glanced over her shoulder at the crowd that was likely dispersing, making their way toward the great hall where a small celebration was to take place for the new couple.

  Brigham sighed as he clenched and unclenched his hands in front of him.

  “Is there something else?” Mellie asked.

  “If you do not wish me to depart, I can delay…”

  “No.” Mellie crossed her arms to keep from reaching out to him, begging him to stay, holding him, and not letting go. She was not a selfish woman and saw no reason to keep Brigham here only to play nursemaid to Mellie’s mother. “You have important matters to attend to in London. I will not keep you from that. You were kind to return when my father’s situation grew grave, and compassionate to a fault in giving my mother and me a home. I can ask nothing more of you.”

  Brigham shifted from foot to foot, much as he had in their younger days when he knew he’d done something to anger his father.

  “If I cannot convince you to accompany me to London, and you have no need of me here at Hockcliffe, then there is nothing further to discuss.”

  Mellie feared that would be the way of things.

  “I will see to my mother now.” She turned to find that most of their guests had indeed made their way inside, leaving only Mellie’s maid and Mellie’s mother seated in the front row of chairs. She closed her eyes for a brief second, pleading with herself to find some speck of happiness within her—at least for her mother’s sake.

  The Dowager Baroness had lost her husband, her home, and now would be forced to live with the reality of her only daughter wedding a man solely to provide adequate healthcare for her.

  In life as a whole, her mother suffered far worse than Mellie ever would—and she’d do well to remember that.

  Chapter One

  December 1833

  Hertfordshire, England

  Lady Melloria Whitmore stood on the ridge that served as the dividing line between Hockcliffe land and her family home, Tapton House. The frigid December cold had long ago numbed her face. The sweeping winds pulled her skirts back toward Hockcliffe, but blew her hair in the direction of Tapton House.

  Which was very fitting, for Mellie was a woman torn between two lands, two lives, and two choices.

  She breathed deeply, allowing the numbness to overtake her and banish the shivers that traveled down her spine. The punishing weather was soothing, in a way. It gave her something to focus on instead of the decision she need make.

  Pulling her cloak tighter, Mellie thought about reaching up to return her hood to its place. It would not do to become ill on the eve of Brigham’s arrival for their Christmastide celebration.

  Not that there had ever been much of a celebratory mood since they wed.

  This year, however, was different.

  Tilting her chin skyward and closing her eyes, she allowed what little sun seeped through the patchy clouds to kiss her face.

  Yes, everything was different.

  She knew she should return to the manor and complete the preparations for Brigham’s arrival, but Mellie lingered ever longer.

  Bringing her stare back to her childhood home, her heart ached to see the destruction of the Montfort land and, in the far distance, Tapton House, abandoned for nearly three years now. Her cousin had come, had thrown her and her mother from their home, and had plundered the land for all its coal, and then fled when the property was no longer of value to him. The land was barren, and the house in disrepair.

  No longer was it her home, either.

  Not that her mother ever had the strength to make the short journey to Tapton House after her cousin abandoned the estate; however, Mellie was certain it had been the thing to push her the final step toward death. Her mother’s home, where she’d raised Mellie and spent every moment dedicated to her husband, was gone forever.

  Her mother had been gone for five months no
w—though it felt like years.

  Mellie, with several Hockcliffe and Tapton servants at her side, had laid her mother to rest beside her father.

  And now, Mellie would be facing Brigham for the first time in nearly a year without the all-consuming burden of caring for her mother. Persephone and Saxton would not be joining them this holiday due to the impending birth of their fourth child.

  It would be only Brigham and her.

  Why did that terrify her so much?

  But Mellie knew the answer; hadn’t any doubt why this Christmastide season was so very different than the five previous holidays.

  Melloria, Viscountess Whitmore, planned to seduce her husband.

  As if the cold winter day agreed with her decision, the winds grew in strength, reassuring Mellie and reaffirming she’d chosen the correct path.

  She’d loved Brigham at one point—many, many years ago before fate intervened, and she’d had to suppress her own longings to care for her ailing parents. Over the years, her girlish affection for him had been overpowered by her grief and loss.

  But that obstacle no longer existed.

  A certain measure of freedom had come the day her mother passed.

  Mellie once again suppressed her feelings of guilt over embracing that freedom.

  Caring for her mother hadn’t been a burden, it had been her duty as a daughter. She would have stayed by her mother’s side another ten years if it had been needed.

  She could not blame her mother—or her father—for the course her life had taken.

  Although, she did blame herself for stealing Brigham’s chance at love.