Chapter 1
Robert Deverall, the Duke of Blackstone, pulled down the delicate carriage window and leaned out into the soft falling snow. In the frigid winter air, his breath puffed out white before him. He stared straight ahead, the beautiful landscape dusted with snow unfolding before him. He paid no mind to the cold wind whipping against his cheeks. No, he was waiting for her to approve it, waiting to go over the rise and slip over the hill. Because then, as soon as the perfectly-appointed coach followed the curved path that wove through ancient oaks. . . Blackdown would appear, like a floating jewel.
He stilled his breathing and gripped the door with black-gloved hands. Just as he recalled, almost magically, a vast field of snow appeared before them. . . except, as most things at Blackdown House, it was a deception.
For under the fluffed clouds of snow, a large, manmade lake was hiding. Of course, now it was frozen solid.
Once, he, his sister, and their friends had skated upon it, reveling in the feel of flying across the ice and the cold winter wind whipping against their faces and woolen clothes.
There had been almost nothing like it, that pure freedom and speed as he had sped over the ice. It was one of his happiest memories.
It had been some years now since joy had touched this winter landscape. His father had seen to that.
But that was about to change. And all because of one woman. One daring, marvelous woman. His wife.
“I’m turning into an icicle.”
The sound of his darling wife’s voice warmed Rob’s heart and he turned to her.
She gave an elaborate shiver.
“Well, let me warm you then,” he replied happily, savoring the sight of her.
Harriet, or Harry to her intimates and he was the most intimate of all, sat cuddled in scarlet wool blankets up to her chin, her booted toes pressed to a small coal brazier. Even so, her cheeks were a bright red from the cold and did a remarkable job of matching the blankets tucked about her.
She flashed him a saucy look and held out a gloved hand to him. “You shall do a far better job of it than any blanket.”
He slipped her hand into his palm and settled down beside her curved form. Nestling her close, he readjusted the blankets about him and tucked her head under his chin. Then he pulled her tightly to him, savoring the feel of their bodies pressed together. For Harriet’s nearness not only warmed him, it soothed his soul.
She let out a contented sigh. “Are we mad to take to the roads?”
He laughed. “I thought our madness was already agreed upon.” He sobered. “But I do not envy those upon the highways who do not have the comforts that we do.”
Traveling in winter was no easy thing. Even for the very wealthy.
The appalling state of English country roads was a rather shocking thing. There was no middle ground to them in the months between October and March. From day to day throughout the long winter months, they either proved bogs of mud or frozen ruts as deep as the bloody Thames.
Only the determination of horses bred for it, along with coaches that cost a fortune and were designed to endure such hardship, made such a thing even possible. There was also the strength and tenacity of the driver and footmen.
Still, Christmas was the time to face the dismaying roads framed with hedgerows and stone walls. He had to do as had traditionally been done for hundreds of years.
He had not been home to Blackdown in some time. Not since he had seen how terribly it had begun to fall to rack and ruin. A thing done primarily by his father through a terrifying misuse of funds. He’d never forget standing in the great hall, the rain leaking in due to the lack of repair.
His father had very nearly destroyed everything.
Rob had not been able to face it. It had amazed him how quickly such a beautiful place could be brought to its knees by the misdeeds of one man.
Harry had managed to change all that.
She had taken on the restoration of the house with vigor and she was all but humming with excitement at the prospect of revealing it to him.
Harriet was a marvel. She’d restored him, too.
He pulled her closer and tilted her head back.
Though he was loath to admit it, part of him wished they had stayed in London for Christmas.
The ghost of his father had been mostly exorcised. But at Blackdown?
Surely, his father’s ghost might be in every corner. No. He refused to let such a thing happen. For truly, it was he and he alone that could banish all such sadness and he had given his father enough time. Now was the time for joy, for he had so very much to be grateful for. He would not insult his good fortune with self-indulgence in gloom.
Robert swallowed then kissed his wife, determined to drive the hint of darkness away. For he had always loved Christmas. As had Harry.
They’d celebrated it together as children given that their family estates were side by side.
Now, they would once again make Blackdown a jewel of revelry and happiness for all those who lived on his lands at Christmastime.
He deepened their kiss, focusing all his will into pleasing her.
Harry’s soft mouth parted beneath his and she tenderly stroked his hair.
As she leaned back against the velvet squabs, she cupped her small hand against his cheek.
“I love you dearly, Your Grace,” she said with a wicked grin. But her eyes spoke of the depth of her feeling and the clear understanding that she recognized that this was no ordinary homecoming.
He wrapped his arms about her slight form and pressed her to his heart as if that could somehow anchor him to this moment and keep the past far, far away. It could. It already did. “I love you, too, Wife.”
“Just you remember that,” she teased, poking him lightly in the chest. “And you remember that if the past decides to pull at you this Christmas, I am holding your hand and will happily pull you back.”
“Don’t let go,” he whispered.
“Never,” she replied.
And he knew, deep in his bones, her help would be more than enough. For despite the darkness of the corridors of Blackdown and the tarnished pain of his family’s descent into deepest misery, they had all emerged phoenix-like from the ashes to a new and glorious day.
This Christmas, together, they would light the Yule log and bring in the mistletoe. . . and cast out all ghosts for good.