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    A Duke for Midwinter: A Victorian Christmas Novella
    A Duke for Midwinter: A Victorian Christmas Novella
    A Duke for Midwinter: A Victorian Christmas Novella
    Ebook83 pages1 hour

    A Duke for Midwinter: A Victorian Christmas Novella

    By Anthea Lawson

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    From USA Today bestselling, RITA-nominated author Anthea Lawson comes a brand new Victorian-set holiday novella celebrating the best of the season - Christmas trees, mulled wine, misunderstandings, and, of course, true love~

    After a gentleman rescues her from a winter storm, Miss Selene Banning finds herself snowbound with Sir Jared Kendrick, who is not precisely who he claims to be...

    A Duke for Midwinter is a sweet (kisses only) Christmas-themed romance of approximately 80 pages.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFiddlehead Press
    Release dateNov 29, 2015
    ISBN9781680130720
    A Duke for Midwinter: A Victorian Christmas Novella

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      Book preview

      A Duke for Midwinter - Anthea Lawson

      ~ Part One ~

      The coach jolted, a rough sway to one side that made Selene Banning’s lap robe slide off, taking her book with it. The lamp on her side of the coach guttered and went out, the wick foundering in its own oil. Selene scooped her book off the floor, then tucked it away. It was growing too dim inside the coach to read, and the story had not been able to distract her from the predicament she feared she’d placed herself in.

      Her fingers, despite the fur-lined gloves she wore, were clumsy from the cold. The spatter of sleet against the windows made her shiver. She ought to have waited to depart for London, but when she, her companion Hetty, and the driver and footman had set out, the storm they were now fighting had been merely a dark smudge on the horizon.

      Are we nearly to the next town? Hetty shot an anxious glance out the window of the coach. Nothing could be seen but their wavering reflections, backed by blowing gusts of icy rain.

      No doubt we are. Selene endeavored to keep her voice assured, though she had not been attending to their whereabouts. All she knew was that they had ridden through Downham Market some time ago, and that Cambridge still lay some distance ahead.

      She stole a quick glance at the silver watch pinned to her bodice. Half-four, and growing darker outside by the moment. Foreboding pinched her breath.

      You must stay warm. Hetty retrieved the lap robe and tucked it about Selene’s knees. Wouldn’t do to arrive in London for the holidays with a chill.

      I might say the same. Selene gave her companion a look, and Hetty tightened her shawl about her shoulders.

      Her companion was a decade older than Selene, but acted as if she were more than twice her mistress’s age, bustling and clucking like a mother hen. Of course, she was used to fretting over two charges, not one, which meant that on this journey the brunt of Hetty’s attention fell upon Selene. Her younger sister, Eliana, was already in London, by special request of the queen.

      Golden-haired, lovely Eliana, who would certainly make a stunning match. She was as different from Selene as the sun from the moon. Compared to Eliana, Selene’s thick brown hair was reduced to a mousey brown, her strong nose seemed overlarge, her eyes too melancholy. But truly, she could not be bitter. Eliana was too open-hearted and sweet to resent—though sometimes, in the deep of night, Selene lay awake and wished that her own features were not quite so unremarkable.

      While she was wishing, she supposed she ought to be less firm in her opinions. Her unwillingness to compromise had lost her her first, and most likely only, offer of marriage. In the three years since, there had been no more suitors for her hand.

      But she was who she was, and her future became more clear with every passing year. Eliana was the one who would wed a handsome lord, while Selene would retire to the country, tend to her horses, and adore her nieces and nephews as she carried on into spinsterhood.

      If she managed to make it to London in one piece. Trying not to let her worry show on her face, she peered out the window again. The stretch of road was empty, with no habitations in sight.

      She should have gone to Town with the family, not stayed behind to help with her favorite mare’s foaling. She should have heeded the stable master’s worries about the weather instead of overriding him with glib reassurances. She should have curbed her impatience, which had blinded her to the dark storm on the horizon.

      Better to spend a cold and lonely Christmas at Banning Hall, despite the bleakness that had come over her in the past months. But oh, she had so wanted to be in London with her family.

      The coach shuddered again and she heard the horses whinny in fright. She wrestled the window down and was rewarded with a faceful of wind-driven sleet. Shading her eyes with her gloved hand, which did little to mitigate the icy blast, she squinted. She could barely make out the hunched figure of the driver.

      Benjamin! she shouted. Is everything well? Any sign of a town?

      Her words were whipped from her lips, but the driver heard.

      Nothing, Mistress he called back.

      Mouth set, Selene closed the window. There must be a village soon, or at least a farmhouse where they might take shelter

      The coach slewed violently and Hetty let out a shriek. Selene watched in horror as they tipped over. Her book banged against the ceiling and she braced herself, catching Hetty’s arm as her companion tumbled past.

      A sickening crunch, the high whinny of a horse, and the curtains caught fire from the flame of the remaining lamp. Hastily, Selene beat the fire out with her muff. The stench of scorched rabbit fur filled the air.

      Are you all right? she asked Hetty.

      Despite Selene’s aid, her companion had crashed into the corner. Hetty lifted her head and winced.

      I think my arm might be broken, she said.

      Stay still. Selene clambered across the seats, unwinding her woolen muffler. We must bind it until a doctor can examine you.

      Fear rose up, but she shoved it away. They might be capsized in the midst of a worsening blizzard, Hetty injured, and far from any help, but she would not let it overwhelm her.

      First, she must tend to Hetty, and then somehow exit the coach and assist Benjamin and John with the horses. Hopefully they had leaped clear when the coach tipped, and had been spared injury. She strained, listening for their voices over the terrified neighs of the horses, but heard nothing.

      Hetty bit her lip as Selene bound her arm to her body, but bravely bore up. Gently, Selene helped settle her companion on the seat—the bench of which now served as part of the floor. The pallor in Hetty’s face was worrisome.

      One matter at a time.

      I must help with the horses, Selene said. Thank heavens the panicked whinnies had ceased—but if the

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