Chapter 1
Christmas Day, 1819
Near Porthleven, Cornwall
“Wake up, sleepyhead! Everyone’s already gathered downstairs for breakfast.”
Linette Easton shook the inert lump beneath the covers, but her fifteen-year-old sister, Estelle, didn’t budge an inch. Linette knew she was awake, though, when Estelle’s hand emerged to draw the blanket even more tightly over her head. Undeterred, Linette shook her again.
“Whatever is the matter, Estelle? This isn’t like you at all! You’ve always been the first one to jump out of bed on Christmas morning, shouting and whooping and Luther barking enough to awaken the entire house…”
Linette fell silent as Luther, Estelle’s beloved dog, popped his scruffy head from beneath the covers and looked at Linette expectantly with his bright brown eyes. She bent down to pet him, smiling when he flicked at her fingers with his pink tongue.
“Hmm, Luther looks hungry to me, Estelle. You know how he loves Cook’s pork sausages. Very well, then, poor little fellow. I guess he’ll just have to wait until dinner to eat—”
“No, you take him! I’m going to stay in bed.”
Linette gaped at the lump that seemed to be quaking now, Estelle’s outburst as surprising as that her younger sister had begun to sob beneath the covers. Luther whimpered at his mistress’s distress and dove back under the blanket, while Linette sank onto the side of the bed.
“Whatever is the matter, sweet?” Three years older than Estelle, Linette had never heard her ask anyone to tend to Luther; her sister and the little gray dog were inseparable. Linette tugged at the blanket no matter Estelle held on tightly, and managed to pull the covers down from Estelle’s tousled head. At once Estelle rolled onto her side with her back to Linette, even as she continued to sob and Luther began to bark in a high-pitched cry of alarm.
“Estelle, please, you must tell me what’s distressing you so!” Linette stroked her sister’s auburn tresses that shone a deeper red than hers, not knowing what to do. She thought to run downstairs for Corie, their eldest sister, who no doubt was wondering about their delay, but she was loath to leave Estelle’s side. To her relief, Estelle rolled over and looked at her with moist brown eyes that so matched the color of her own.
“Everything’s changing, Linette! Now that Donovan’s a duke and he and Corie are moving to Arundale Hall, we’ll never have another Christmas in this house again!”
Broken sobs filled the air, while Linette pulled Estelle into her arms. Luther barked even louder, but when Linette gently shushed him, he sank onto the bedspread and dropped his shaggy head onto his front paws.
The little dog looked so sad, echoing his mistress’s distress, while Linette tried to soothe her.
“Oh, Estelle, it’s not so terrible a thing. Arundale Hall will be lovely at Christmastime.”
“How do you know? You won’t be there. Come spring, you’ll finally have your Season in London and meet the man of your dreams and then you’ll be gone, too. Marguerite and Walker in Devonshire, Lindsay and Jared in West Sussex, Corie and Donovan in Hampshire—”
“But right now Corie and Donovan and the children are here and waiting for us downstairs,” Linette tried to soothe her though her cheeks burned at the thought she might be married by next Christmas. “It is true that life is changing but that’s the way of things, Estelle. You and Papa and I will be together in Porthleven for the next three months, back in the parsonage. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
A small nod encouraged Linette, Estelle’s sobs subsiding, which made her rush on. “You know Papa won’t live with us in this big house, no, not even when Corie and Donovan move away. He wants to stay close to where he was happy with Mama in the parsonage. So we’ll go live with him and keep him company—”
“I’ll always keep Papa company! I’m never leaving Cornwall, no, not even for a duke like Marguerite and Corie. You’ll probably marry a duke, too, won’t you?”
Estelle had disengaged herself from Linette’s embrace and fallen back onto her sodden pillow, while Linette felt her cheeks burning again. She stared at her sister, nonplussed for a moment.
Estelle stared right back at her, her lovely face flushed from crying, her chin jutting stubbornly. As headstrong as the day was long, yes, even more so than their infamously outspoken Corie, Estelle was always one to surprise a body by what popped out of her mouth.
“I…I don’t know. It’s so rare a thing for both of our sisters to have become duchesses—not so much for Marguerite, perhaps, though Walker’s circumstances were miraculous enough. No one could have thought that Donovan’s brother, Nigel, would fall from his horse two weeks past and not survive it…”
Linette sighed heavily, thinking of Nigel’s poor widow, Charlotte, with no children to comfort her. No son to inherit his father’s wealth and title.
That had left Donovan as the only remaining heir to the dukedom, he and Corie returning to Porthleven a few days ago after attending the funeral and setting affairs in order. And they were waiting downstairs still, no doubt wondering what might be keeping her and Estelle…
“Let’s speak of this later, Estelle, please. Let’s have a happy Christmas. There’s been enough sorrow of late—oh!”
Estelle had sat up suddenly and thrown her arms around Linette’s neck to hug her fiercely, while Luther jumped up and wagged his bony tail as if sensing all might be well again. Then he threw back his head and crowed his delight in a half bark, half croon, which made Estelle laugh as she released Linette and gathered a wriggling Luther into her arms.
“Poor sweet boy, you must be starving!”
Linette had barely risen before Estelle jumped out of bed and dashed across the room toward the wardrobe in a swirl of white nightgown. A young serving maid who had been waiting patiently by the door stepped forward to assist her, but Estelle waved her away and deposited Luther upon a tufted chair.
“Go on, Linette, tell them Luther and I will be right down!”
Linette could only shake her head as Estelle began to pull clothing from the wardrobe, several garments thrown into the air with exasperation.
No corset had ever encased Estelle; she refused to wear one. She was the wild child out of the four Easton sisters…impetuous, unpredictable, as free as the wind and yet fiercely loyal and loving towards her family.
In fact, she was more like Lindsay, the Countess of Dovercourt and Corie’s dearest friend. Lindsay’s impulsive nature had embroiled her in many a misadventure and yet led her to the man of her dreams, Jared Giles, the Earl of Dovercourt.
And Estelle was devoted to Luther, of course. As he jumped from the chair to yip and twirl at her feet, Estelle hopping first on one leg and then the other to don ankle-high riding boots, Linette sighed and moved to the door.
How would she and Papa ever rein in Estelle’s penchant for doing exactly what she pleased, and when she pleased? Only Corie had been able to exert any control over their reckless youngest sister, and she and Donovan and their growing family were soon leaving—ah, but Linette wouldn’t worry about that now.
She left the room and hurried toward the staircase, her mouth already watering at the thought of savory sausages and buttery pastries filled with sweet almond paste and cinnamon.
She loved Christmas Day, too. Would this one, indeed, be her last one surrounded by her family? Would she meet the man of her dreams in a few months’ time and be swept off her feet into a life of prosperity and position…just like Corisande and Marguerite and Lindsay?
In truth, Lindsay, as a local baron’s daughter, had been the only one among them born into nobility. As the daughters of a humble country parson, the Easton girls had never sought after or even imagined such a life was possible. Yet that was what fate had granted Corie and Marguerite in a confluence of events that could only be described as providential. Was marriage to a duke or an earl or a baron in store for Linette, too?
A sudden breathlessness seized her. She’d missed three London Seasons in a row, well, one didn’t count because she’d still been too young. Then last year she’d become ill with a terrible fever and had needed weeks to recuperate, while this year because of little Adele’s birth, Linette had insisted upon staying in Porthleven to help Corie.
By her next birthday in February, she would be nineteen, but that hardly made her a spinster! Marguerite had been nineteen for her second Season, and the whole family had accompanied her to London to stay with Lindsay and Jared at their town house on Piccadilly Street.
Linette would never forget the exquisite green satin gown that Marguerite had worn to her first ball, and how she’d twirled in the foyer so Linette might see her better. Linette had gazed at her older sister with delight as dreams of her own first ball danced in her mind. Now, in just a few months’ time, it would be her turn at last!
Flushed with excitement, Linette held up her lavender skirt and took the steps two at a time, hoping that Estelle was finished dressing and not too far behind her.
The sound of children laughing guided her toward the dining room, as well as wonderful aromas of pan-fried sausages, almond, and cinnamon. Her entrance into the brightly lit room festooned with red ribbons and garlands of holly was greeted with joyous welcoming cries.
Linette’s gaze swept the scene filled with the people she loved so dearly: Corie beaming at one end of the table where she fed the latest addition to the Trent family, sweet-tempered and chubby nine-month-old Adele—named after the Easton girls’ late mother—with her abundant auburn curls; the black-haired twins, Draydon and Dahlia, five years old and seated side by side in the middle where they enjoyed their breakfast and elbowed each other by turns; and eight-year-old Paloma, blessed with the Spanish beauty of her late mother and who eagerly patted the brocade-cushioned chair next to her where Linette always sat. At the opposite end of the table, Donovan, now the Duke of Arundale, oversaw the controlled bedlam with a smile upon his handsome face that warmed Linette’s heart.
Oh, please, may she marry a man as good and caring and honorable as Donovan…and as devoted and loving a husband to his outspoken and strong-minded wife, Corie! Though born with milder tempers, Marguerite and Linette were known to exhibit a streak of that forthright spirit now and again while Estelle truly surpassed them all. Linette glanced over her shoulder as she hurried to take her seat, but there was still no sign of their youngest sister bounding down the steps with Luther at her heels.
Estelle never walked anywhere, but ran or skipped or rushed headlong, defying all efforts to encourage her to adopt a more ladylike demeanor. Shrugging at Corie, Linette took her seat and smiled at Paloma, whose lovely dark brown eyes danced with excitement as she handed Linette a plateful of fragrant pastries.
“They’re very good, Aunt Linette. I’ve had two already.”
True enough, a fine dusting of powdered sugar rimmed Paloma’s ruby lips, which prompted Linette to hand her a starched white napkin. Paloma only giggled and glanced at her father, who smiled indulgently at her.
It remained a miracle to them that a then two-year-old Paloma had been found alive in war-torn Spain after Donovan had expended every resource to find her, and the family denied her little. Incredibly, she remained as sweet and unspoiled and loving as when she’d first arrived, and gave Linette’s arm a squeeze, she was so delighted to see her. Linette returned her niece’s affection with a quick hug and then glanced at Corie.
“Estelle told me that she and Luther were coming downstairs straightaway,” she said in answer to the unspoken question in her sister’s eyes.
Corie shrugged, too, and gave a small sigh though not audible enough to dim the lighthearted mood at the table. For that reason Linette didn’t offer anything more about what had transpired in Estelle’s bedchamber, but would speak to Corie privately about Estelle’s distress. Both of them knew that their youngest sister’s emotions were like the wind, ever changing—
“Yer…Yer Grace!” came a plump kitchen maid’s breathless voice from the doorway, which made Corie signal for the young woman to come around to her chair as if sensing what she might have to say. Clearly having hastened to the dining room, the flushed-faced maid leaned down to whisper into Corie’s ear, but Linette, seated not far from her, heard the news well enough.
“Forgive the interruption, Yer Grace, but Cook asked me to come tell ‘ee that Miss Estelle said she was going for a ride. She ran down the servants’ stairs into the kitchen—startled us all, she did!—an’ grabbed two sausages an’ a biscuit an’ then off she went, out the back door!”
“Oh dear.” At Corie’s resigned pronouncement, the kitchen maid curtsied and bustled from the room.
Linette swallowed her bite of pastry and glanced apologetically from Corie to Donovan. “She said she was coming right down, but I guess she didn’t mean to the dining room…”
“Apparently not,” Donovan said dryly, having overheard the news, too. “At least she took some breakfast with her…for her and Luther, no doubt.”
He didn’t sound angry at all, just resigned like Corie. Then a broad smile overcame him and he leaned his head back and laughed. “Reminds me of someone else’s unpredictable antics not so long ago—”
“Long enough, my lord,” Corie interrupted him, dabbing at Adele’s pink cupid’s bow mouth with a napkin. Corie smiled now, too, a tender warmth in her eyes as she and Donovan shared a look across the table.
So intimate a look that Linette found herself praying again for a husband like Donovan who still loved his wife so passionately after six years of marriage, the joys and worries of raising four children, and a host of cares they had shouldered together that now included the dukedom in Hampshire. Yet Donovan had no chance to expound further on any past antics of his wife as Linette hoped he might for the clatter of hooves suddenly sounded upon the drive outside the tall dining room windows.
“Papa, look, there goes Aunt Estelle!” cried Paloma, who jumped up from her chair to run to the window. Draydon and Dahlia quickly followed her, all of them waving as Estelle waved, too, while she clutched the reins expertly with one hand and flew past them atop her sleek chestnut mare.
Twisting around in her chair, Linette wasn’t surprised at all to see Luther sticking his head out from the unbuttoned wool collar of Estelle’s riding jacket. The little dog barked excitedly as if eager for adventure. Then the two of them disappeared down the drive while Corie called for the children to come back to the table.
None of them appeared upset as they retook their seats, but seemed to take it as a matter of course that Estelle had skipped breakfast to go for a ride.
“She’ll be back soon enough,” Donovan said as a serving maid went from chair to chair with a steaming platter of fried eggs and sausages. “Looks like a storm might be brewing.”
Indeed, it did, Linette thought, glancing over her shoulder at the gray clouds scudding across the sky, a fine drizzle already falling. Yet Estelle had never been one to worry over the changeable Cornish weather, and had arrived home on more than one occasion soaked to the skin after a ride through wind and rain.
“She’d never disappoint Papa by missing Christmas Day service at noon,” Corie said matter-of-factly. “We’ll see her at the church. Now, who wants another pastry?”