A Lord's Christmas Wish: The Seldon Park Christmas Novellas, #8

By Bethany M. Sefchick

In a secluded London library, Lord Eli Queensbury committed the ultimate sin – he kissed his best friend's sister and fell madly in love.  As a spy for the Crown, he should have known better, so he did the only thing he could.  He cut off all contact with the woman who had held his heart since childhood.  Now, however, Eli finds himself at her family's castle for Christmastide on a matter of great urgency.  He also has to hope that the woman he spurned doesn't toss him out into the snow before he can complete his mission.

 

One magical spring night, Lady Christi Thorne gave away her heart to her childhood friend, Eli Queensbury, who then turned around and smashed that same heart to bits.  She hopes that spending the Christmas season with her family at Highburn Castle will help her heal and move on with her life.  However, when Eli appears at her front door in the middle of a blizzard, she can't decide whether to kiss him or slam the door in his face.

 

As Eli attempts to win Christi's forgiveness, secrets from his past threaten to destroy any chance he has with the woman who has always held his heart.  Can Christi forgive Eli for breaking her heart?  If she does, can she also accept the truth of who he is or will this lord's Christmas wish forever be denied?

 

This 73,700-word novella, which is a companion piece to the "Tales From Seldon Park" series, is written in the modern, Regency romance style for a slightly hotter and sexier read.  It may not be appropriate for younger audiences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bethany M. Sefchick
• Release date: Nov 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393853695

Bethany M. Sefchick

Making her home in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, Bethany Sefchick lives with her husband, Ed, and a plethora of Betta fish that she’s constantly finding new ways to entertain. In addition to writing, Bethany owns a jewelry company, Easily Distracted Designs. It should be noted that the owner of the titular Selon Park - one Lord Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood, a.k.a. "The Bloody Duke" - first appeared in her mind when she was eighteen years old and had no idea what to make of him, or of his slightly snarky smile.  She has been attempting to dislodge him ever since - with absolutely no success. When not penning romance novels or creating sparkly treasures, she enjoys cooking, scrapbooking, and lavishing attention on any stray cats who happen to be hanging around. She always enjoys hearing from her fans at: [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue

December 1811

Evergreen Hall

Yorkshire

Eli looked down at the crumpled bit of paper his father had just thrown at him.  Penned on the highest quality parchment one could find and expertly written in an elegant feminine script before being delivered to Evergreen Hall’s front door on a silver salver, the lovely, gilded invitation deserved far better treatment than what his father had given it.  Especially since the missive had come from not one but two duchesses.  It was never a wise thing to annoy one duchess, let alone two.

I do not care what you say, Father.  I shall be attending the Night of a Thousand Stars ball at Highburn just as I always do.  I would not dare disappoint Lady Winterset or Lady Strathwaite.  He made an attempt to smooth out the paper, even though he knew well he wouldn’t need the invitation to attend.  You have never cared one whit before what I do or where I go at Christmastide.  More to the point, I have all but lived at Highburn, or any of the Strathwaite estates really, since I was a child.  You have never so much as bothered even once to inquire how I was faring while I was in their care.  Why would you start now?

Because you are becoming more than a bit too big in the head! his father snapped irritably, which didn’t surprise Eli.  His father was always irritable when he was around his only child.  Now that you work for the Home Office you somehow think you are better than me!  Well, you are not!  You never have been and you never will be!  Acting like a common laborer!  Bah!  You are a disgrace!

That made Eli stand up just a bit taller and cross his arms over his chest.  It is hardly a disgrace to serve one’s country, Father.  I have a talent for spying and my county needs me right now, whether I am the Saltonbury heir or not.  That damnable Corsican is running wild and if we do not stop him, then who shall?  Besides, it is not as if I am fighting on the front lines.  I am simply playing the part I have been given and I do so very well.

You are a libertine and you disgust me!  In fact, you always have! his father roared in response.  I should not have expected better of you!

Father, you speak madness.  Honestly, Eli could not understand what had gotten into his father as of late.  While they had never enjoyed what anyone would describe as a close relationship, Eli had thought his father could at least tolerate his company from time to time.  Had he been wrong?

Madness was having you as my son and heir!

Those words froze Eli where he stood.  He had suspected on occasion that his father disliked him but he had never before seen this kind of outright hatred from the man who had sired him.

You cannot mean that.  Invitation to Highburn Castle still clutched in his hands, Eli took a step toward his father, only to see the older man back up a step and then another.  As if he couldn’t tolerate being near his son.

I can and I do and I should have said it sooner!

The duke turned and stalked across his study, his body rigid.  In the fading December light, he looked like a dark shadow moving across the room and something about the way he glared at Eli shook the younger man to his core, though he made certain his face remained expressionless.  Again, he knew his father didn’t always care for him but this?  This was a level of pure hatred that Eli had never seen before.

Father.  Eli decided to plead his case again, though he would do so carefully for the man was extremely riled.  It is not as if I am slaving away in the crop fields.  Defending one’s country can and often is a gentleman’s calling, at least for a time.  Not to mention that the sooner we can put this monster behind us, the sooner I can retire from this life if that is what you are worried about.

I am worried about the future of the dukedom! his father roared again, a vein in his temple pulsing.  I am worried that I have made the biggest mistake of my life having you as my son!  He unlocked one of his desk drawers and yanked it open before withdrawing a thick packet of papers.  Read these.  If you dare.  Then you, too, will learn just how much of a mistake I have made and why you will never be more than what you are now.  A libertine and a failure and a disgrace!

Eli easily caught the packet his father tossed in his direction.  Bound by a black ribbon, most of the papers were old and worn, some showing more age than others.  The edges on some of the pages were tattered and one corner of the packet looked as if it had been slightly burned.

What is this? he asked, turning the papers over and over in his hands.

The truth, his father snarled.  The truth of you and of why, though you may one day claim the title of duke, you will never be even half of the man that I am.  He sniffed indignantly.  Consider this the last time we shall ever speak, Elijah.  From this day on, you are dead to me.  He pointed at the invitation to Highburn still clutched in Eli’s hand.  Go to the ball for all I care.  Enjoy your life while you can.  In time?  You might not receive any invitations at all if you are not careful.

Eli tucked the precious invitation in with the bundle of papers.  The Strathwaites are my friends.  I all but grew up with Colin and his sisters.

And you have been sweet on that eldest whore of theirs for years, his father sniffed dismissively.

At that, Eli’s firm hold on his anger at his father began to slip.  Do not talk about Christi that way!  She is a lady!  A duke’s daughter!  She is also my friend and there is nothing more between us!  Not that Eli didn’t want there to be more, but Ris didn’t feel as he did, at least not as far as Eli could tell.  My God, Father, what had gotten into you?

The truth, the older man sneered.  The truth I have always known and yet refused to see.  That is what has gotten into me.  He barked out a laugh.  So go to your ball and court your lady love while you can.  For mark my words, boy, one day soon?  They will know the truth of you as I do and they will cut you all the more for it.

I…I don’t know what to say.  In the dim light, Eli’s father looked nearly mad, his hair standing up on top of his head and his clothing askew, such had been his rage only moments ago.

The duke smoothed down his hair, as if he finally realized he had sounded like a madman.  There is nothing more to say.  As I said, this shall be the last time we speak, for I never want to lay eyes upon you again.  Evergreen Hall is yours, as that was always the late duchess’ intention and I, alas, cannot change her will, even at this late time.  Should I require anything of you, you shall hear from my solicitor.  Otherwise?  We are finished.

Father?  What is this?  Eli held up the bundle of papers again, now looking at them in puzzlement.  I do not understand.

I told you before.  Those are the truth, his father replied coldly.  The truth of you, at any rate.  At least some of it.  Now if you will excuse me, I need to have my valet pack my things.

Confused, Eli started to trail after him.  Where are you going?  It is nearly nightfall and the snow is coming down too hard to even see!

I am leaving, his father said simply, as if the explanation should be obvious.  I cannot stand to even be in the same house as you.  That is how much you disgust me.  As to where I am going?  You need not concern yourself any longer.  I am not your affair and you are not mine.

But, Father, Eli protested again, not that it did any good.

Without another word or a look back, the duke stalked out of the room leaving Eli standing there in utter shock.

What just happened? Eli whispered into the now deafening silence.  Has the entire world gone mad?

For a moment, he thought about going after his father but then decided against it.  His father was in a true rage at the moment and seeking him out when he had made it clear he had no wish to even see Eli again would likely be counterproductive.

Instead, Eli rang for some tea and, despite never having done so before, settled himself behind his father’s desk with the packet of papers and the crumpled invitation.  There was little doubt in his mind that his father had meant what he said about Evergreen Hall at any rate, for the man never mentioned the late duchess if it could be helped.  This was now Eli’s home.  His only real home most likely, as he doubted that he would be welcome at any of the other ducal estates or even at Queensbury House back in London.  At least not until his father passed away, whenever that happy day might be.

The duke had never much cared for Evergreen Hall and it had always puzzled Eli as to why he had held onto it.  Though if the Hall had, as his father had just implied, belonged to his mother’s family, then the Hall wasn’t his father’s to dispose of anyway.

Once the tea tray had arrived, Eli settled himself in the massive leather chair behind the old oak desk, lit a few more candles to ward off the wintry gloom that was slowly creeping in from outside, and began to read.

And he read and he read and he read.

Three times he read every single letter in the packet his father had tossed at him earlier.  He read until the candles had all but burned down and until after his tea had long since gone cold.  He read even as he heard the hall’s main door slam shut with a finality that might have otherwise chilled his bones.

Except that Eli could not become chilled by the sound of the slamming door because the contents of the letters that were now laid out across his desk had already sent the frigid fingers of numbing cold deep into his very soul.

Even as the night deepened and the grand clock in the hallway beyond struck ten in the evening, Eli still remained in that chair attempting to absorb everything he had just read.

Much to his dismay, his father was right.  Eli would never be the man his father was.  He could not be.  For so very many reasons.  Nor could he be the sort of man he had once dreamed of becoming – a husband and a father.  At least not with a lady of good breeding or one who valued her reputation.  Oh, Eli would still be a duke.  He would also still be wealthy and admired by many.  That would not change.  All of the rest, however?  In the span of a few short hours, those dreams had died.  Eli’s future had died.

His present would die as well if he weren’t careful.  He simply had to hope and pray that no one ever found out the truth.

Chapter One

Early April 1821

London

Not quite ten years later

Christi glared at the candlestick lying on the sofa beside her, though she probably shouldn’t be focusing her anger on an inanimate object.  Particularly that one.  After all, without that candlestick?  Who knew what sort of mess she would be in right now?  At the very least, she would likely already be compromised by a kiss.  Or possibly worse.  No, there was no possibly about it.  She would have been compromised, likely with her skirts around her waist.

She shuddered at that thought and tried not to dwell on how close she had come to being yet another ruined young lady who had gambled away her future in exchange for a kiss.  Her reputation had somehow withstood the whole Lord Turner debacle, but in that case, Society had been on her side.  This time, she doubted she would have been so fortunate.  Especially since she had been the one to arrange this meeting in the first place.

Sort of.  Well, at the very least, she hadn’t said no.

When she had agreed to meet Lord Deering for a small assignation here in Lady Whitby’s personal library, Christi had assumed that there would be some kissing and caressing.  Maybe even a bit of touching if things went as she had hoped.  After all, she was of an age where she should have been thoroughly kissed at least once.  The gentle, almost non-existent pecks on the cheek that Turner had given her didn’t count.

No, she had come here expecting a bit of, well, perhaps not groping, but a bit of touching and at least one proper kiss.  Full lips.  Bodies in close contact.  That sort of thing.

What she had not expected was for the gentleman in question to enter and simply pounce upon her immediately, tossing her backward onto the same sofa where she was sitting now and thrust his hands beneath her skirts as if she was some sort of common trollop.  When she had protested, he had called her a tease and tried to undo the ribbons holding up her stockings.  When Christi had threatened to scream, Deering had laughed and told her to go right ahead.  She would be ruined and he would have what he desired – which wasn’t her so much as it was the rather large piece of the Thorne family fortune that came with her hand in marriage.

A piece, he had added, that her father had likely felt compelled to increase because she was so frigid that she had been unable to satisfy her betrothed, forcing him to turn back to one of his mistresses for comfort.  Because really, it wasn’t as if Christi was a diamond of the first water and if not for her enormous dowry, no man would look twice at her.

That last part, in particular, had made Christi furious, for it meant that Lord Deering was no different than any other man of her acquaintance.  All they saw was the Throne fortune and Strathwaite dukedom.  They did not see her.  She was inconsequential.  Only her money and her connections mattered.

Thus, she had done what any proper young lady in her position would have – she took matters into her own hands to save herself from ruin and worse, a horrendous marriage.

In Christi’s case, she had found the nearest heavy object – in this case a candlestick – and bashed the man over the head with it.

Her choice of weapon had been effective and, thankfully, she hadn’t killed Deering in the process of bashing him over the skull.  Instead, he had rolled off of her with a groan and a loud thump before swearing profusely as he hit the floor, injuring his knee.  He had also called her every vile name he could think of – not that it mattered, really for she had been called worse in recent years.  When she had raised the candlestick as if to strike again after he attempted to reach for her a second time, the man had called her a truly awful name and quit the room with a rather noticeable limp, rubbing his head as he went.

At which point, Christi’s ill-advised adventures in poorly chosen romantic assignations should have concluded.  Except that they didn’t, because moments after Lord Deering had departed – and Christi had been smart enough to lock the door from the inside to make certain he did not return – there had been a loud whump and a faint cracking of aged wood as something quite solid and heavy landed against the library door.

Then she had heard the giggling.  And the groaning.  And the moaning and the heavy panting.  And just about every other noise two people could possibly make when coupling.  But in the hallway?  Really, had they no pride or sense of decorum?

Though, given the rather dented candlestick now sitting beside her – her own memento of an assignation gone very wrong – Christi really had no room to talk.  Which brought up another problem.  How would she explain this candlestick if she was caught out in the library by the couple on the other side of the door?  Even if she was here alone?  She could plead a megrim, of course, but the candlestick would become a problem at some point.

Someone, be it a maid or Lady Whitby herself, was going to eventually see the object and wonder how he had come to be so smushed in on one side, what with Lord Deering having an exceptionally hard head as it turned out.  She could hide the candlestick but then that might bring about accusations of theft.  She could say that it was dented when she arrived in the room to rest, but what if someone had seen Deering leaving the library, limping and rubbing his head?  She might be alone now, but if anyone saw the randy lord leaving the library, they might assume – correctly, as it happened – that she hadn’t always been alone.

These imaginary someones might also assume she had been compromised.  Because she would assume such a thing if she were in their shoes.  Then again, she was friends with the Tillsbury sisters and had family members who worked for the Home Office so she was normally suspicious by nature.  Or she usually was when she wasn’t dreaming of a secret, stolen kiss or three with a man who turned out to be more libertine than gentleman.

Drat and bother!

If only she could think clearly and if only the two lovers on the other side of the door would just go away and find a quiet bedchamber somewhere!  Then she might be able to devise a plan to extricate herself from this mess.

Then, the doorknob rattled.  And not just rattled but clicked as well as if someone were trying to open it with a key.  Oh, God, now what was she to do?  She hadn’t thought someone might come along with a key!  Who would have a key to this room that could not also gain access to, oh, say a bedchamber?  Or perhaps a little used parlor with one of those nice, long settees that were now in fashion?

The rattle was followed by a knock.  Or rather a sharp rapping sound.  Like fingers on glass.  Now what?  Who else could possibly want to claim this hidden little section of Lady Whitby’s house for their own?  Worse still, who else might see her and then run off to tell tales?

Because everyone in the ton was waiting for Christi to fall flat on her face, preferably with drawers exposed.  They wanted her to be just as much at fault for what happened with Lord Turner as he was.  Or rather, his bad blood was, which in her mind was utterly ridiculous.  There was no such thing as bad blood.

Wildly, Christi glanced about, looking for the source of the noise which was growing louder by the moment.  Her gaze finally landed on a set of large French doors that led to the terrace.  And there, on the other side of them, stood Eli Queensbury.  One of her oldest and dearest friends in all of the world.

If anyone could save her from this disaster, it would be Eli.  She trusted him implicitly.  Actually, she would have trusted him with her life if he would have asked it of her.  Or her body.  Or her heart.  Whatever part of her he desired, really.

Except that Eli didn’t desire her in that way.  She’d given him ample opportunity to take advantage of her if he had wished.  He hadn’t, much to her disappointment.

Still, that didn’t mean he would abandon her now.  Not when she was in this dire of a situation.

Leaping to her feet, Christi rushed to the doors in a flurry of tangled skirts and yanked them open.

Get in here! she hissed as she reached out to tug him inside, heedless of the proprieties.  This was Eli, after all and she knew precisely where their relationship stood.  Or better yet, let me come out there with you!

No.  Without giving Christi a chance to reply, Eli reached out, picked her up and gently set her aside in one smooth motion, all while entering the library, dousing most of the lights and securing the doors behind him.  Lady Gainsbridge has chased me from one side of this blasted house to another and I’m afraid she won’t stop until she catches me.  He shuddered.  The woman is a menace and I’ve no wish to become her next conquest.

Mouth agape, Christi simply started at Eli in confusion.  Lady Gainsbridge?  But she is married!

Eli shrugged as he adjusted his waistcoat which Christi noticed was more than a little askew.  She still wants to see me naked.  He paused and arched an eyebrow at her.  Much like Lord Deering wishes to see you, Ris.  His hand was up your skirts, after all.

At that, Christi’s mouth snapped shut.  "You saw that?"  Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment with the knowledge that Eli had seen the other man’s hands upon her body.

He nodded, his lips set in a grim line and his eyes so dark they looked like the midnight sky.  All of it.  I was just about to come to your aid when, suddenly, you didn’t need my assistance any longer.  He glanced at the dented candlestick and offered her a wicked smile, along with a conspiratorial