Noel's Wish

Cover

Noël’s Wish

Lady Ann Beecham-Brooke, better known as Lady Ice, was once a stunning young beauty, known for her piercing violet eyes and raven hair, but long years in a loveless marriage left her cold and aloof. Intent on steering clear of the London society she was once so much a part of, she’s reluctantly forced to seek help at a nearby estate when her carriage topples into a ditch on a deserted road.

Charles Montrose, Viscount Ruston, has had a difficult life of his own. Left widowed by his one true love and raising a daughter alone, he now travels the world, aimlessly going from place to place in a futile effort to escape the pain of his loss. When the imperious Lady Ice shows up at his door, he finds himself attracted to this beautiful and hardened woman.

Driven by his attraction to the lovely Ann but daunted by her equally powerful rebuffs, Charles must devise a way to keep her at his estate long enough to delve deeper into the reasons for her frosty temperament. As Christmas approaches and Ann begins to lower her defenses and warm to the idea that Charles just might be as good a man and father as he appears to be, she wonders if she’s found the one person who can thaw her heart.

Title Page

Copyright

Noël’s Wish

Donna Lea Simpson

This novella was originally published as Noël’s Christmas Wish in the Stocking Stuffers Anthology published by Kensington/Zebra in 2000, copyright © 2000 by Donna Lea Simpson.

Beyond the Page edition copyright © 2013 by Donna Lea Simpson.

Material excerpted from Lord St. Claire’s Angel copyright © 1999, 2013 by Donna Lea Simpson.

Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

Beyond the Page Books

are published by

Beyond the Page Publishing

www.beyondthepagepub.com

ISBN: 978-1-937349-98-1

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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Dedication

To the real Noël across the Rainbow Bridge

who was a kitten once, and a Christmas gift,

for being a loving and faithful companion

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Excerpt from Lord St. Claire’s Angel

Classic Regency Romances

Books by Donna Lea Simpson

About the Author

Chapter One

Lady Mignon Heloise Montrose . . . such a long name for the tiny, forlorn child who curled up in the window seat in the third-floor nursery of Russetshire Manor. Perhaps that was why everyone in the household, down to the lowest scullery maid and boot boy, called her Mossy. She was six going on seven, elfin of feature, blonde, with hazel eyes that normally radiated cheery happiness.

Jade green eyes winked up at her, glowing in the pale moonlight that streamed in through the window. Her thin, sensitive fingers threaded through the silky fur of the kitten that curled purring in the nest of her nightgown.

Daddy’s going away again, Noël, right after Christmas.

The diminutive kitten kneaded ecstatically as Mossy scrubbed behind shell-pink ears and under a tiny pointed chin.

He just came back a week ago, an’ already he’s talking about going away again. She sniffed and blinked back the tear that puddled in her eye and threatened to drip down her cheek. At least he brought me you, she whispered, lifting the gray and white kitten up to her eye level. She kissed his nose and cuddled him back in her lap.

As she gazed out over the stretch of frosted lawn that rolled down toward the big main gate, a flash of light in the heavens caught her eye. Oh, Noël, that’s a shooting star! Daddy told me once that if you see a shooting star and make a wish, it will come true!

The kitten reached up with one delicate paw and touched her cheek.

"I know; I have to wish quickly. But for what? I already have everything I could wish for now that Daddy’s here and has brought me you. Oh!" She bounced up and down and Noël let out a squawk of protest and clung to her leg with pin-sharp claws. Ouch! Sorry. She resettled the tiny animal on her lap. It’s just that I know what to wish for, and you have to wish too. Close your eyes.

The kitten blinked and mewed.

Oh, all right. I’ll close mine and you can do what you want. But you have to wish what I do. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and grimaced. I wish . . . I wish that something would happen that would keep Daddy home forever an’ ever! Something that would make him want to stay with me and not go away again after Christmas.

She opened one eye and looked down at the little kitten. It was curled into a tight ball, one tiny paw over its eyes. "You did close your eyes! Clever kitten! Now our wish is sure to come true. Daddy said so."

• • •

A hare shot from the hedgerow at the side of the Bath road, and the carriage driver, who was trundling along almost asleep, had no time to control the spirited but weary team. One horse shied, the other balked, and in a moment the air was filled with screams and imprecations as the carriage toppled down the slight grade into the ditch by the roadside.

Lady Ann Beecham-Brooke had allowed herself just the one ladylike scream as the carriage toppled sideways, but her lady’s maid, Ellen, felt no such compunction and rent the night with her high-pitched wailing. The air filled with the smell of lamp oil, but as the carriage lantern had gone out there was no danger of fire to the straw that had covered the floor and now was scattered around the carriage, nor to the blankets that held bricks long gone cold.

Oh, do shut up, Ellen, Lady Ann muttered, trying in the darkness of the carriage to figure out which way they were oriented. She didn’t want to move precipitately in case it caused the carriage to tumble farther down whatever incline they were on.

Ellen’s screams calmed to a moaning, eerie in the darkness but preferable to ear-splitting screeches. The carriage rocked, then slid a few more feet and steadied.

Milady, are you all right?

Ann’s driver, Jacob Lesley, was already unlatching the door—now that the carriage was on its side, the door was above her head—and opening it. She could see stars above her. Warily she stood, finding she could just see over the top. Jacob’s anxious face appeared.

Milady, are you—

I am in one piece, but Ellen seems vastly more upset. Help me out, Jacob.

The grizzled coachman, well into his sixth decade of life, put out a gnarled hand as he said, I believe, milady, that the carriage has settled firmly agin’ a rock. Mayhap it will move no more. ’Tis worth the attempt, methinks, for you canna stay in the carriage all night.

Confounded by long skirts and a heavy velvet cloak, climbing out into the frosty December air proved a difficult chore. Lady Ann’s voice, when she finally touched ground, was as frigid as the night.

I assume, Jacob, that you have an explanation for this? She brushed her cloak down and straightened, glaring at her driver in the pale moonlight.

Aye, milady, that I do, an’ it has to do with the folly of night driving with a tired team and an even more weary driver. I’d best get Miss Ellen out o’ the carriage, afore she swoons.

The maid’s moans still shuddered through the air. It took all of Jacob’s coaxing and Lady Ann’s demands before Ellen would think of moving, and then it was a matter of twenty minutes before they could get her out. She promptly sat down at the roadside and wept.

Now what shall we do? Lady Ann demanded, scowling at her driver.

Jacob peered up and down the dark road. Feller at the last inn we stopped at to water the horses—the inn I suggested we stay the night at, if you ’member, milady—he were a talkative sort. Said as how there was a manor house along this road—big iron gates, he said. I believe as how we passed them gates not too long ago, mayhap a half mile back.

Ann raised her thinly arched eyebrows. And what do you propose we do? She had not missed the veiled criticism in her driver’s words but decided to ignore it . . . for now.

Jacob glanced at her and grimaced, catching the angry glint in his mistress’s eye. She was a feisty one, was Lady Ann. He would catch it for sure later, but right now it was his duty to find them aid, despite his own bruises, sustained in the fall. "Feller said as how the lord o’ the manor, by the name o’ Montrose, Viscount Ruston, he’s one o’ them world traveler fellas. Never home. But the place is always open and staffed, as ’tis a busy road and