Epilogue

 

On a Sunday afternoon, late in November, the lights at Ridlington Chase glowed brightly from most of the windows on the ground floor of the mansion. It was “Stirring Sunday”, and—like many of the other homes in the area—the Ridlingtons were doing their own celebrating by making sure everyone got to stand in front of a giant bowl and stir the Christmas pudding.

Edmund grinned as he gave it a good whisking, sniffing the deliciously fragrant mix of fruit and brandy. “It’s going to be a great one this year, Mrs. Hempstead,” he whispered, leaning to the side where the cook stood overseeing the entire process.

“It is indeed, my Lord. You make your wish now, sir, then pass it on.” She grinned back, wisps of hair twirling from beneath her cap in the heat of the kitchen.

“Right then, who’s next?” Edmund raised the spoon.

The entire family had assembled; Edmund and Rosaline, with baby Hugh in his nurse’s arms. Simon and Tabby had already done their stirring and were now waiting for the first batch of jam tarts to emerge from the new oven.

Letitia and James were waiting their turn, chatting with Paul and Harriet, and to everyone’s excitement, the “London contingent” of Ridlingtons had arrived in time for this auspicious day.

Hecate drew Letitia aside. “This is quite a change from that conversation we had a while ago, dear sister.” She picked up Letitia’s hand and observed the beautiful sapphire nestled into a circlet of pearls. “Are you happy?”

Letitia nodded. “So very happy. And embarrassed too. I was so stupid about the whole not being able to love business.”

“It wasn’t wrong of you. It was a safety net, Letitia. A necessary one, I believe.” Hecate released her sister’s hand. “We all have them. They came about from the man who sired us. He left marks of one kind or another on all of us. It’s how we respond to those marks, how we overcome them, that makes us truly a family. And restores some of the pride in the name of Ridlington.”

“My goodness.” Letitia blinked. “You have acquired great wisdom from your London tenure, Hecate.” She smiled. “Along with some really lovely dresses.”

Hecate laughed back. “Indeed. Kitty has been a miracle worker in that regard. And…” She glanced around, making sure nobody else was within earshot, “…there might be a gentleman in my future.”

Letitia gasped. “Who? Dear girl, do tell…is he acceptable? Of good family? Does he care for you? Do you care for him?”

“Good Lord, slow down, Letitia.” Hecate shook her head. “It’s far too soon to be asking or answering any of those questions.”

“Well, you’d better let me know when I can ask them.”

“I will.” Hecate hugged her. “Oh, here’s Kitty and Richard.”

The addition of the twins filled the kitchen with noise and laughter, and James took Letitia by the hand, tugging her toward the back of the room.

“Is everything all right?” Letitia looked up at him.

“Yes.” He sighed. “So all right I just want to burst with it.” He squeezed her hand. “Can we get married tomorrow?”

“No.” She rolled her eyes. “You know we have to wait for the banns. I agree it would be lovely, but we have to at least pretend to follow the customary traditions.”

“I know.” He leaned closer. “Come to me tonight?”

“If I can,” she whispered back. “It helps having you under our roof.”

“Of course.” He smirked. “Why do you think I scheduled varnishing and painting for these weeks?”

“Clever man,” she leaned against him.

Paul walked over. “Are you two about to be romantic with each other? If so, I shall discreetly move on and leave you to it…”

James chuckled. “We’re always romantic. So you don’t need to leave.”

Letitia nodded. “As a matter of fact, Paul, I was wondering if Harry has mentioned any plans to you? With everything going on, our engagement, and all that, I haven’t really had chance to grab more than five minutes with her since that eventful night.”

Paul shrugged. “I can’t say that she’s come to any decisions yet.” He absently rubbed his shoulder. The bandages were still there, but a fortnight of inactivity had helped the healing along. “I have some ideas on that score, but I’m waiting for a couple of letters before I say anything.”

Letitia clenched her jaw. “I do wish people wouldn’t be so annoying.” She glared at Paul. “First Hecate, and now you, hinting at things to come but not saying anything definitive. It’s quite aggravating, you know.”

Paul gave her an angelic smile. “Of course it is. Why do you think I do it?”

“Aaargh.”

Harriet strolled up to them. “Is Paul annoying you again, Letitia?”

James shook his head. “How can you tell?”

“Oh…it could be the flames coming from her eyes, or the muted scream I just heard.”

Letitia gave up and laughed. “If you’ve come to tell me that you have some very important matters going on, but you can’t say what, then you may turn around and go away again.”

Harriet smiled. “No important matters, I’m afraid. But I do need to talk with you, and perhaps others, about how I should proceed from now on.”

Letitia caught the undercurrent of worry in her voice. “You’ll stay here, of course, where it’s safe.”

Harriet opened her mouth to respond, but was forestalled by the arrival of Kitty and Richard into their corner of the kitchen.

“No congregating in little groups, my darlings.” Kitty embraced them all with her warm smile. “If you’ve stirred the pudding, you’re excused. And there’s a good fire in the parlour, along with tea and brandy, I’m told.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Brandy? I think you might also find some ale.”

Richard went on point, spinning on his heel and looking at James. “Would that be Chillendale ale?”

“Is there any other?”

“Good show, James. Good show.” Richard beamed. “You have permission to marry my sister.”

“You are too kind, Richard,” said Letitia dryly. “However, we’ve been through all that with Edmund.”

“Always glad to have your endorsement, Richard, my lad.” James clapped him on the shoulder. “I think we should try a tankard or two and make sure it’s up to its customary high standards this year.”

Apparently most of the family had completed their stirring and wish-making duties, since a small procession began to wind its way toward the parlour.

James held Letitia back for a quick kiss. “Soon, love. Will you mind living at FitzArden instead of here?” He looked around. “You’re coming to understand what family means. The shadows of the past are lifting, I think.”

She nodded. “They are. And ’tis wonderful to see it.” She turned to him. “But I’m looking forward to making our own family, James. I won’t ever leave this one; they’ll always be in my heart. But you and I? Well, it’s all new. Exciting.” She leaned against his chest. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither.” He held her tight.

“I’ll be the best wife I can be, you know.” She glanced up with an impish grin. “Word of a lady.”

 

*~~*~~*

 

Harriet noticed them sharing a moment together, and smiled as she left the room.

At last Letitia had found what she was looking for. Would there be more shocking books? For her part she rather hoped so, since that might be the only chance she ever had to read about such matters.

Walking toward the parlour, she noticed Paul, tall and dark, smiling with that wicked piratical look of his.

Their kisses had been everything she could have hoped for and more. But it had been a momentary lapse brought on by a little too much brandy and a romantically beautiful instant in the first snow of the season.

It could be nothing more.

She would have to leave Ridlington, and soon. The shooting, Pewsey’s disappearance…those events were hanging over her head like the Sword of Damocles. After everything the Ridlingtons had done for her, there was no way she would even consider bringing such trouble to the Chase. And if she stayed, it was possible that danger might continue to stalk not only her but everyone in her vicinity.

No, she had to leave.

The one question was…where to go?

She hadn’t noticed that Paul was waiting for her while she turned all those thoughts over in her mind.

“You look pensive,” he said, walking to her side.

“I need to be,” she answered. “There are many decisions I must make, each requiring careful considerations.”

“I agree.” He casually took her arm, looping it through his good one. “I hope you will allow me to be a part of those considerations. I’ve been told I have a good grasp of complex matters.”

“I’m sure you do.” She tried to ignore the little jump her heart gave at the warm touch of his hand on hers.

“Then we shall sit down very soon, Harry. You and I. And we shall formulate a plan that will work to eliminate that tiny frown between your eyebrows.”

“Oh. Ah…we will?”

There was that wicked grin again. “Oh yes, my dear. We most certainly will.”

 

 

 

 

To be continued in: 

 

MISTLETOE MASQUERADE

(A Ridlington Christmas Novella)

 

Coming in December 2017

 

Here’s a quick peek at MISTLETOE MASQUERADE – just to whet your appetite!!

 

 

Prologue

December 1814, somewhere in Southern England

 

 

 

“I shall be sorry to miss the wedding.”

“As will I. But you know the number of guests coming down from London might well prove to be a risk we should not take.”

The woman on the chestnut horse glanced at her traveling companion and nodded. “Yes. But it is still sad.” She looked forward again, over the head of her mount. Her cloak of dull brown wool covered most of her, but the lace of her cap peeped out from beneath her hood. She wore thick woolen gloves and every now and again the movement of the animal revealed a serviceable boot in the stirrup. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course it’s a good idea. It’s mine.” The man grinned across the distance between them, holding the reins of his black mount firmly. “We only have a couple more miles to travel, and then we can truly breathe.”

“Nobody will know where we are?”

“Not unless we tell them.”

“I see.” She looked ahead into the darkening sky. “Snow soon, I think.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But with luck there will be plenty of firewood. I’ll have the place warmed up before you know it.”

“I hope so.” She sounded dubious. “You’re good at building a fire, are you?”

“The best.” He tried to appear modest. “I have awards.”

“Paul DeVoreaux, you are the biggest liar I have ever met.”

He smiled as he heard her laugh ring out into the silence around them. “Of course I am. Didn’t you know?”

Harriet Selkirk shook her head. “Incorrigible. A pirate. Have I not told you that before? You would make Blackbeard’s beard turn white.”

“Why thank you. A rare compliment indeed.”

About to utter another rejoinder, Harriet paused as Paul held up his hand. “Look.” He leaned over to grasp the reins above her hand and brought both horses to a standstill. He pointed to an opening in the forest not too far ahead.

The sun was setting, glorious in an assortment of pale golds through rich deep reds, reflecting off the snow that had fallen just the night before. And to one side was a modest country house, no more than two stories high, tucked into the edge of the forest, its sloping roof and tall chimneys reminding Harriet of fairytale images she’d seen in her childhood books. It sat as if guarding a much larger assemblage of stones that might have been an ancient church, or some kind of ruined castle, lying off to one side. The whole scene was surrounded by snow laden fir trees.

“Oh,” she gasped. “It’s…magical.”

“It’s where we’re going. And it’s probably full of mice.”

“I still think it’s lovely. It looks like it’s protecting the past.”

“Good God, woman. You have a brilliant gift for expressing unreal ideas in terms that make sense.”

Harriet turned and looked at him. “Do not tell me there’s no room for magic in your piratical soul, sir?”

He looked back, warmth lurking behind his dark eyes. The kind of warmth that could give a woman ideas if she wasn’t very careful. Harriet knew she had to be careful.

 

Read more in MISTLETOE MASQUERADE, releasing in December, 2017.

 

 

 

 

 

In case you missed the first two books in this series, here’s a short look at the oldest Ridlington brothers, Edmund – the new Baron – and Simon, Vicar of Ridlington. Both these books are currently available at Amazon.com, and can be read for free with your Kindle Unlimited subscription. (Links in bibliography)

 

 

The Landlocked Baron: The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington, Book One

 

 

Chapter One

 

The weather matched the mood of the morning, thought Edmund Ridlington, as he marched with his brothers and sisters behind the cortège. Dreary, cold and deuced unpleasant.

At least everyone had shown up to say their final farewells to their father, although the amount of grief visible upon such a sad occasion had been minimal.  Edmund couldn’t blame them. The old man had been a bastard of the first order. And that was being generous.

This procession was a mark of respect for the position, more than the holder. Faithful retainers, who seldom received any kind of acknowledgement for their loyal service, followed the family. It was their duty and they did it, as they had over anywhere from forty years—Chidwell, the butler—to six months—Delilah, the new under housemaid.

He, Edmund, knew their names. His father had never bothered to learn them.

Many of the local residents had also bundled themselves up to attend this final goodbye. Some had known the old Baron from his youth to his deathbed. Others were just curious about the man who rode through them with his nose in the air, disdaining all contact unless absolutely necessary.

Was anyone there today because they were saddened at his passing? Were any of the mourners grieving out of love?

Edmund doubted it. If Jack Ridlington’s children loathed him, then there was little chance that anyone else would find him possessed of redeeming qualities. He might have had some, years ago, but once he’d worked his way through three wives and sired six children, the only qualities left were those of a stern disciplinarian with a heart as cold as Arctic ice.

The four black horses plodded their slow way down the lane, pulling the hearse. Ridlington Vale considered itself an up and coming center of commerce, and the undertaker had made much of his new vehicle. Today, it was gleaming from black roof through brass lanterns and all the way to the brass trimmed wheels. The folding top was latched to prevent the worst of the drizzle from reaching the solid oak coffin; a concept which struck Edmund as ironic. He fought back a smile as he considered the absurdity of keeping a coffin dry…and then burying it in wet ground for eternity.

One had to admire the unusual oddities of life. And death too, of course.

A damp wind gusted the drizzle at his exposed face, pinpricks of cold water, lashing at his skin and every now and again, bearing the well-remembered tang of the ocean. It was less than a mile away, but invisible on this particular morning, lying beneath the cliffs that were shrouded with low clouds and fog.

Some days, when the sky was clear, the sea ran like a multi-hued ribbon along the horizon, beckoning with deep blues and greens, dancing with white crests and sparkling in the light. Edmund found himself thinking of it as the ‘laughing ocean’ at those times, a whimsical notion that was quite unlike him. But he knew it was the seaman who responded that way, the sailor who had discovered a passion for the sea at a very young age.

Now there would be no more days spent listening to the snap of sails or the splash of a bow through those laughing waters. It was all gone for good. Because now, Captain Edmund Wynstanley had ceased to exit, replaced as of five days ago by Edmund Wynstanley, Baron Ridlington.

The ache of that specific loss—the awareness that his life was no longer his own—had begun as he laid his father’s hand down for the last time, and accepted that death had finally claimed Jack, Baron Ridlington.

The Baron was dead, long live the Baron.

Feeling very alone beside the carriage, Edmund glanced around behind him. Simon and Letitia were following in his wake, arm in arm, looking as much like their mother as he had resembled his father. Only a couple of years separated all three of them, but Edmund always felt that there had to have been at least a decade somewhere that someone had overlooked. He’d grown up, but sometimes wondered if his two direct siblings had skipped that stage and would go directly from happy-go-lucky youth into old age.

He knew that on the other side of the hearse he’d find the twins, Richard and Kitty, and with them would be Hecate, the youngest Ridlington.

Five brothers and sisters now looking to him to lead them. How the hell he was going to do that, he had no earthly notion. A ship full of sailors he could command with ease. A house full of siblings? God help him.

 

 

 

St. Simon’s Sin: The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington, Book Two

 

Chapter One

 

“So this was where the castle stood, Vicar?” Miss Smethurst posed the question as she pointed toward the cliffs that marked the edge of the Ridlington estate.

The Very Reverend Simon Ridlington smiled at her and her companions. “Well it would have been further out to sea, of course. As I mentioned earlier, what was left of Rideauville castle was destroyed during a severe storm around 1700 or so, we think. It was a very bad storm too. Blew the lead roof of Westminster Abby, I’m told.” He winced at the thought. “There are still a few hewn stones at the water’s edge though, to mark our castle’s former presence. These cliffs are constantly eroding, and this present coastline will probably look quite different to our great-great-grandchildren.”

The little party stared over the gentle rise and fall of the hills, and the bright blue of the ocean. It was a late spring day of perfect beauty; an ideal moment for a stroll around the more historically important parts of the land.

Which explained the presence of the Ridlington Ladies Historical Society, all of them, hanging on the Vicar’s every word.

Simon took a deep breath and let the scent of the air fill him with comfort. To him, it was home, for better or for worse. And there had been more worse than better in the past. But now, with his brother’s ascension to the title and the acquisition of a new sister-in-law, things were looking up.

“So do tell us, Vicar. How did Lord Simon sin?”

The artful question was accompanied by much simpering and blushing on the part of Miss Tedworthy.

“Don’t embarrass the man, Dorothea.” Mrs. Frost nudged her companion. “He’ll get to it in his own time, I’m sure.” She shot a speaking glance at Simon.

Thus reminded of his duties, Simon nodded and stepped back on the path leading to the Church. “Of course, ladies. We must walk on and I shall continue the tale for you.”

“How lovely, and how kind. I know we are all eagerly anticipating the next part of the story…” Miss Susan Frost ignored her mother’s sideways frown and inserted herself next to Simon, slipping her arm through his.

Squelching a most un-vicarly thought that involved dropping the persistent young lady into one of the many gorse bushes that still dotted the area, Simon merely smiled and adroitly disengaged himself by dint of pretending to ensure they were all on the right path.

“Watch your step here, if you please, ladies. It can be quite muddy.” He shepherded his personal flock toward the top of the rise, from which vantage point the entire area could be viewed. There were some convenient rocks for chairs, a small copse of evergreens for shade and mostly grass underfoot. Man and nature had combined to make a most pleasant location for visitors.

Reaching the “Lookout” as it was known locally, Simon encouraged the ladies to seat themselves, and looked on with interest as the two baskets brought by the FitzWalter sisters were unpacked. A small picnic was well underway when he finally found a moment to finish the tale of his ancestor.

“I say, these are excellent pork pies, Miss FitzWalter.” He had made that acute observation after snabbling three of the bite-sized pastries on the sly, without arousing undue attention.

“I’m so glad you like them, Vicar.” Tight rolls of greying hair beneath a fluttering lace cap nodded his way. “My grandmother’s recipe, you know. Passed down through the generations, I hear.”

“Well they’re delicious.” He smiled, happy that the two older ladies smiled back.  “Now, to finish my story…”