Unforgettable: Naughty and Nice, #10

By Heather Boyd

No room at the inn? What about in her heart?

 

After her husband's death left her a tenant in her own home, Lucy Thorne's future was bleak. Turning neighbor Dudley Rose's long-abandoned home into a thriving tourist destination was not her idea, but it did temporarily solve one of her problems. Yet with every year that passes without seeing Dudley again, Lucy has stubbornly clung to the hope he'd return. If he did, he would discover that he was dearly longed for.

 

Widower Dudley Rose has returned home after ten long years, possessing a fortune but with no one to spend it on. However, in his absence, his property has become a popular travelers' inn and run by the very woman who drove him to leave the sleepy village. What's more astonishing is that the unforgettable Lucy Thorne is now a widow…and even more tempting than in his dreams. Does Dudley stand a chance to win her heart, or must his love continue unrequited?

 

A Naughty and Nice standalone regency romance short story.

 

Naughty and Nice series:
1. One Wicked Night
2. In the Widow's Bed
3. Love Me Tender
4. Love Me True
5. Wicked Mourning
6. A Husband for Mary
7. A Ramshackle Start
8. Let it Snow
9. Coming Together
10. Unforgettable

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Boyd
• Release date: Oct 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781922733351

Heather Boyd

USA Today Bestselling Author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after—no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she writes steamy romances that skirt the boundaries of propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Heather has published over fifty regency romance novels and shorter works full of daring seductions and distinguished rogues. She lives north of Sydney, Australia, with her trio of rogues and a four-legged overlord.  Find out more at: www.Heather-Boyd.com

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Mrs. Lucy Thorne pulled the black velvet curtain aside in the Rose Inn’s front entrance hall and stared out into the shadows of the night. A carriage was due at any moment to offload its passengers, but the usual service was running late. On time or late, there was going to be a problem tonight.

The Rose Inn had no chambers left to let to anyone with good money to spend. There was only seating room available in the parlor, but precious little of that, too. She hoped the carriage carried no one important who expected a proper bed and the privacy of bedchamber. There was nothing she could do to meet their demands for better service. The holiday season was just beginning and soon they would be utterly run off their feet.

She almost hoped there was trouble on the roads again, and that the carriage would not come at all, but most likely they were merely delayed, which meant she and her helpers could not seek their beds anytime soon.

But one day soon the carriages would stop coming altogether. The bridge farther downstream would be rebuilt well enough that carriages could cross it again. The Rose Inn and those who depended on the income from it were nearly done for.

Lucy firmly pushed that constant worry aside and let the curtain fall to keep out the growing cold. She fiddled with the material, though. One of the few features that she’d insisted must remain at the Rose Inn from its earlier days as a family home was the mourning black touches hanging about the place. A reminder to all that the inn could not last forever.

The man who had once lived here was gone for now and life had continued without him, but his ownership could not be forgotten.

Lucy was certain he would come back one day.

In the meantime, she worked hard to make this grand old home a place of wonder and comfort for her guests after a long and tiring journey. A happy place to make wonderful memories so that they might return for a second or even third stay with them. Guidebooks were being written about the luxury of staying here now, and the tranquility of the natural surrounds travelers might enjoy, too. The inn was nearly full to the rafters tonight because of their growing reputation. However, with the weather taking a sudden evil turn, Lucy could not rest on her laurels and enjoy their success. Everyone was thoroughly chilled through and wanted something from her.

Mrs. Thorne?

Mrs. Thorne?

Mrs. Thorne?

I’ll be right there, Lucy promised each guest who called out to her, rushing toward the kitchens where her neighbors slaved over the hearth. Where is that fresh barrel of ale?

Even as the words left her lips, Mr. Argyle and Mr. Drummond struggled to roll a full barrel through the rear door. It ought to be allowed to sit and settle for an hour, Drummond warned her with a disapproving expression.

There’s no time, I’m afraid, she replied, hurrying to the fireplace where a pot of claret was being warmed and giving it an unnecessary stir.

Argyle, the oldest of her neighbors, filled a tankard and took a healthy swallow. It’ll do for that lot, he announced with a slight grimace for the flavor.

Drummond filled a dozen tankards from the barrel and handed them off to another to distribute among the travelers. The ladies in the sitting room would be offered wassail soon, and she neatly counted out a number of plain glasses for them, leaving two pair of wooden goblets in reserve. They had been a wedding gift to her from the true owner of this building, Mr. Rose, and Lucy and her friends were the only one’s to use those.

The family that came in last are settled in your home instead of here, Drummond advised in a low tone as he came to stand at her side. He picked up a wooden goblet and turned it in his hand. They won’t breathe a word of it should they be asked by certain parties, either. They will slip back in time for breakfast. I’ll make sure they are not seen.

Thank you, she whispered, sharing a conspiratorial smile with him.

Certain parties meant Mr. Cecil Horton, Lucy’s tightfisted landlord. Horton, the wealthiest man in the district, disapproved of the inn, but he was not above attempting to profit from it. Last time she’d let out her home instead of sleeping in her own bed herself, Horton had found out and demanded a cut of the guest fee. She’d learned to be discreet about such matters ever since.

There was always a greater demand for beds than existed at the inn. Guests were sometimes housed with her neighbors, at least with those who owed no rent to Cecil Horton. The Rose Inn had the greatest number of bedchambers of any house in the village. Horton had always coveted the place for that reason. He wanted to be the most important man for miles around; a man everyone bowed down to.

After the tankards had been delivered to the thirsty patrons, there were still several rooms and chairs to be made up for the night. Lucy trudged upstairs, tired after a long day. She could have asked one of the local ladies to remain behind to help her, but they had their own homes and families to care for, while Lucy had no one. The entire village was involved with the activities of the inn throughout the year. But the heaviest responsibility had rested on Lucy’s shoulders from the very beginning.

Opening an inn in her neighbor’s abandoned house had not been her idea. But it had become the most