Snowbound Surrender

By Christine Merrill, Louise Allen and Laura Martin

Stay snowed in this Christmas… …with these three Regency short stories! After he broke her heart when he left for war, dare Lucy give Jack Gascoyne a second chance? Find out in Their Mistletoe Reunion by Christine Merrill. In Louise Allen’s novella, exiled into the countryside following scandal, Julia Chancellor finds herself Snowed in with the Rake! And in Christmas with the Major by Laura Martin, Lady Cecilia is hiding from her controlling guardian when she encounters Major Joseph Crawley…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781488047602

Christine Merrill

Christine Merrill wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember. During a stint as a stay-at-home-mother, she decided it was time to “write that book.” She could set her own hours and would never have to wear pantyhose to work! It was a slow start but she slogged onward and seven years later, she got the thrill of seeing her first book hit the bookstores. Christine lives in Wisconsin with her family. Visit her website at: www.christine-merrill.com

Book preview

Stay snowed in this Christmas...

...with these three Regency short stories!

After he broke her heart when he left for war, dare Lucy give Jack Gascoyne a second chance? Find out in Their Mistletoe Reunion by Christine Merrill. In Louise Allen’s novella, exiled into the countryside following scandal, Julia Chancellor finds herself Snowed in with the Rake! And in Christmas with the Major by Laura Martin, Lady Cecilia is hiding from her controlling guardian when she encounters Major Joseph Crawley...

Praise for the authors of

Snowbound Surrender

CHRISTINE MERRILL

Merrill pens another winner.

—RT Book Reviews on The Wedding Game

LOUISE ALLEN

Allen writes Regency romances that always become favorites.

—RT Book Reviews on The Earl’s Practical Marriage

LAURA MARTIN

Ms. Martin is a highly gifted author.

—Goodreads on Courting the Forbidden Debutante

Christine Merrill lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their email. She has worked by turns in theater costuming and as a librarian. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

Louise Allen loves immersing herself in history. She finds landscapes and places evoke the past powerfully. Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favorite destinations. Louise lives on the Norfolk coast and spends her spare time gardening, researching family history or traveling in search of inspiration. Visit her at louiseallenregency.co.uk, @LouiseRegency and janeaustenslondon.com.

Laura Martin writes historical romances with an adventurous undercurrent. When not writing she spends her time working as a doctor in Cambridgeshire, where she lives with her husband. In her spare moments Laura loves to lose herself in a book, and has been known to read from cover to cover in a single day when the story is particularly gripping. She also loves to travel—especially to visit historical sites and far-flung shores.

Snowbound Surrender

Christine Merrill

Louise Allen

Laura Martin

Table of Contents

Their Mistletoe Reunion by Christine Merrill

Snowed in with the Rake by Louise Allen

Christmas with the Major by Laura Martin

Excerpt from Miss Lottie’s Christmas Protector by Sophia James

Their Mistletoe Reunion

Christine Merrill

To Chaos. Nice kitty. Here is a story for you. Now please get off the desk and let me work.

Dear Reader,

I look forward to doing Christmas stories as they give me an excuse to celebrate in my work as well as my home. In this one, I could not resist a quick mention of my new favorite seasonal beverage: lamb’s-wool wassail.

Peel and bake some stewing apples, then mash them until smooth. Whisk the apple pulp into hard cider that has been heated and sweetened with sugar. The apple mash will float to the top of the glass, looking—to someone with a good imagination—like the wool of a lamb.

Enjoy!

Christine Merrill

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter One

After six months, it still felt strange to be home.

It was even stranger to be holding a sword again. During one particularly savage battle Jack Gascoyne had prayed that if God kept him safe till sunset he would never pick up a weapon again.

Had he been in Navarre? Or had it been Valencia? When he tried to remember individual battles, they ran together in a bloodstained blur. It hardly mattered. He had broken the promise quick enough and continued fighting through the carnage of Waterloo.

Now the war was over and the foil he held felt like a toy compared to his cavalry sword, flimsy and useless should he actually need to defend his life.

He should not even be considering such mayhem. He was on Bond Street at Angelo’s Academy. His opponent, Frederick Clifton, was no real threat. Other than growing taller, Fred was every bit as soft as he had been fifteen years ago, when they’d still been pretending that sticks were swords. Even this thin blade would slice through him like butter, should Jack decide to apply his skill.

It would serve the fellow right. He’d wounded Jack in a way that was far more painful than a sword slash and the cut had not healed in five years. Damage to the heart did not always scar over with time, as he had been promised. This hurt had stayed fresh and painful, bleeding the love out of him until his soul was cold and dead.

While Jack’s spirit had rotted, Fred was still happy, healthy and completely oblivious to the pain he’d inflicted. He thought they could fall easily back into the role of childhood best friends as if nothing had happened between them, before or after the war. ‘It is good to have you home again,’ Fred said, his expression warm and sincere.

‘It is good to be home,’ Jack said automatically. It was what everyone wanted to hear from him, but he wondered if it was true. After all he had seen, London at Christmastime had an unreal quality. It was like staring at his old life through a sheet of ice.

‘I had hoped to see you sooner, of course.’ There was a hint of reproach in his friend’s voice, a reminder of duties that had been forgotten. The Cliftons had considered him family, before he’d gone away. Family was supposed to stay in touch.

But he had one of his own to contend with. ‘I apologise. There was so much to do. Visiting my brother...’

Fred nodded and gave a practice lunge to test the balance of his weapon before facing him to make a bow of acknowledgement and a swishing salute of his blade. ‘And how is Sir Robert?’

‘As disappointed in me as ever,’ Jack said, returning the salute. The relationship between him and his elder sibling could not quite be called an estrangement, but it had never been easy.

‘No pride for the honour you did your uniform? No relief at your safety?’ Fred said, surprised as they raised their swords to fight.

‘Nothing obvious,’ Jack replied.

‘Do not let him trouble you. He was always thus. And you still have friends who love you dearly and are eager to add to your acquaintance.’

‘You are speaking of your fiancée,’ Jack said.

Fred began the bout with a direct attack that was easily parried. ‘I wrote to tell you of the engagement. I received no answer.’ There was a hint of petulance in his tone, to remind Jack again where his obligation lay.

‘I meant to congratulate you in person.’ Parry and riposte. The action of his sword was strong and sure. But it was a weak conversational counter, since he’d given no indication thus far that he knew or cared about Fred’s plans to marry.

‘Thank you,’ Fred replied, obviously distracted since he’d failed to block Jack’s blade as it touched his shoulder. ‘Miss Forsythe is eager to see you, since I have spoken of you often.’

‘I am sure she is a lovely girl.’ Jack’s jaw clenched. Was Fred really dead to the irony of expecting good wishes from the man whose hopes he had ruined? He followed up his first attack with a second, to the stomach, the force of which was met with a woof of expelled air.

Fred straightened to regain his wind, then dropped back into fencing stance, advancing. ‘And it surprises me that you have not enquired about Lucy.’

Just the mention of her name shattered Jack’s concentration and allowed Fred to score a touch, directly to the centre of his chest. If he had been so careless in any of the last five years, he would not be alive to be so troubled by the memory of her.

‘How is she?’ he managed to say, trying to pretend that the answer did not matter to him.

‘Much the same as she ever was. If you come home with me for Christmas, you may see for yourself.’

The ice around him cracked and, for a moment, everything was unbearably real. Jack did his best to keep a calm tone and a neutral expression. ‘Your sister is still with you?’

Fred laughed. ‘Where else would she be but at home?’

‘I thought...perhaps she had married by now.’ He had done his best to think of nothing but that. There had to be something that put her firmly out of reach and out of mind. It was clear by the rush of blood he felt at the thought of her that time and distance had done nothing to change his feelings.

Her brother laughed again, scoring another touch against an opponent who was suddenly without defences. ‘For the moment, at least, she is still unattached. But not for want of trying on my part. I found her several men who would have done nicely and she refused them all. But it seems she is finally about to settle. The local Vicar has been the front runner for her affections for some time.’

‘The Vicar.’ A man of God was exactly the sort of husband Jack would have expected Fred to choose for Lucy. Someone quiet, proper and altogether wrong for the girl he remembered.

‘She has put the fellow off for so long that I was worried she meant to stay on the shelf. But things are coming to a head and I expect we will have good news on that front before Twelfth Night.’

‘That is good to know,’ Jack replied. ‘She was a lovely girl.’

‘Still is,’ Fred corrected. ‘I rather fancy the idea of a double wedding. But I cannot make her decision for her.’

‘Not any more,’ Jack said, pleased that there was no trace of bitterness in his voice. ‘She is of age now, is she not?’

‘Two and twenty,’ Fred replied. ‘Well past time for her to settle down. But she is still the most obstinate creature imaginable and refuses to be rushed.’

When he’d last seen her, she had been nothing of the kind. She’d been as eager and impetuous as he had been, both of them hurrying to arrive simultaneously at some place they’d no right to go. To drive the thought away, Jack renewed his attack with a grunt of exertion and a thrust to the gut that would have ended his friend if it were not for the button on the end of the blade.

Fred gasped in approval and surrendered his weapon. ‘Well done. Did you learn that in Portugal?’

‘Spain,’ Jack said.

‘You must teach it to me. In exchange, I will provide you with the finest Christmas dinner to be found in any of the north counties and a stocked cellar as well. Good food and good company. It shall be just as it was in our youth.’

‘It sounds delightful,’ Jack said, surprised by the sound of his own voice. He’d meant to tell Fred to go to the devil, if such a thing was suggested. His plans for Christmas Day were far darker and lonelier than anything Fred could imagine. But if there was still hope...

There was not, he reminded himself. Though Lucy was not already married, she had found someone who might make her happy. She would be wed soon enough. He’d not heard a word from her in five years to hint that she wanted to renew what they’d shared or wished to see him again, even over a holiday table. But it seemed he was as big a fool as ever he had been and could not resist one last look at the only woman he would ever love.

Chapter Two

‘Jack Gascoyne is home.’

Lucy Clifton’s heart thumped in her chest at the sound of the name that had not been spoken aloud in their house for almost five years. Then, as she had with every other element of her life, she gained control of it, smothering it to silence. She answered her brother, Frederick, without looking up. ‘He was so long in Belgium after the war that I had begun to wonder if he meant to return at all. Is he well?’

‘No,’ her brother said, in a dire tone that made it impossible for her to pretend uninterest.

Fred’s brief answer did nothing to quell her fears. Was he whole? Was he unhurt? Was he as handsome as she remembered, or would it be easier to resist him, should she see him again? If he had been sickly, or missing a limb, she’d have hoped that her brother might have added this information freely after the negative. Instead, there was something in her brother’s silence that made whatever was wrong with him sound even worse than a life-altering injury. ‘What is the matter? Was he hurt in battle?’

Fred shook his head. ‘He is intact, as far as I can tell.’ Then he added cautiously, ‘But something is not right about him. When I saw him, it felt as though I was talking to a stranger.’

‘Time changes people,’ she reminded him, wishing that it had done more to change her own feelings.

‘So does war,’ her brother added, unsmiling.

It did not really matter what had caused him to forget her. There were any number of reasons that he had not come home to them, the chief one being that he had not wanted to. Just as he’d often done when they were younger, he had walked away from the trouble he’d caused and let others deal with the resulting mess. For a moment, her sympathy was overwhelmed by the anger she felt when she thought of him. Then she forced it below the surface again.

‘If he is a changed man, then I suspect that is why we have not seen him before now,’ she said, wondering if her brother had any inkling of the true reason he had chosen to stay away. ‘He has other, newer friends that understand him better.’

‘Perhaps so. But they are neglecting him, or he them, for he is in a sad state. But I am sure a visit here will put him to rights again,’ her brother said as if character could be turned like a wheel.

‘If he is content, then it is not our business to alter the man,’ she said, feeling the first flutter of panic at the thought. ‘He might be perfectly happy as he is.’ Just as she was. She had worked hard for the equilibrium she’d achieved and would not have it upset by what she was sure her brother was about to suggest.

‘Happy?’ At this, her brother gave a bitter laugh. ‘He is nowhere near that. If you had seen him, you would be much less cavalier about leaving him to his suffering.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said, with a shrug. It was not as if he’d made an effort to come back to ease the pain in her heart, despite certain promises he’d made in moonlight. Nor had he bothered to soften the blow with a letter of warning. One day he had been there. The next, he had been gone, leaving her frightened and alone. If fate had punished him for his faithlessness, it was something almost like justice.

‘Since his family will do nothing, it will be up to us to bring him back to himself,’ her brother said, with the same urgency he had used to try to warn her off Jack when he’d first discovered the schoolgirl tendre she’d borne for his friend.

‘Major Gascoyne is old enough to make his own decisions.’ Yet, strangely, she was not. Even though she was well past twenty-one, all the important decisions of her life were still left to her brother. For the most part, she had been obedient to his suggestions. But now, he meant to involve her in something she wanted no part of.

He gave her a pitying look. ‘It surprises me to find you so hard-hearted. At one time, you would have been the first to rush to his defence.’

‘Perhaps I have changed as much as he has,’ she said, feeling her resolve begin to crumble. She wanted that to be true. She had made plans for marriage. For a future. But she could feel them slipping away with each word her brother spoke.

‘Well, I suggest you change back, for a fortnight, at least. I have invited him to spend Christmas with us.’

It was what she had been longing to hear for years. But now, when she had finally given up hoping and put childish dreams aside, it was the last thing she’d wanted. She always felt melancholy at Christmastime, perhaps because that was when he had left her. Even the continual attention of the man she meant to marry had not improved her mood. The return of Major John Gascoyne was unlikely to make it better.

Fred ignored her silence and continued. ‘I want him to meet Millicent. And of course, you will want him to approve of Mr Thoroughgood before that knot is tied.’

‘His opinion is the last one I’d solicit when choosing a husband,’ she said. ‘He is far too wild to be a good judge of such things.’

Fred gave her a curious look. ‘My, but you have changed. There was a time when you thought he hung the moon.’

‘And then I grew up,’ she said, firmly, smoothing her skirts.

‘Be that as it may, Jack belongs here for Christmas. He has never had more than us as family and should not have to spend his holiday alone.’

‘True,’ she said with a sigh, wishing it wasn’t. His parents were dead and his only brother had never been anything but critical of him. If her brother was right and he was truly in need, they were the only ones who could help him.

‘I knew you would understand.’ Fred released a long, slow breath of his own. ‘I owe him Christmas dinner, even if I can do nothing else. He is my best and oldest friend. But we did not part as such. I have always regretted it.’

‘And why was that?’ she asked, surprised. He had not mentioned a problem before. He had simply come home from London to announce that Jack had bought a commission and was on his way to Portugal. Then he had ceased to mention him at all.

‘It was a foolish quarrel.’ Fred looked away from her, not quite able to meet her gaze. ‘Nothing that you need worry about. But I would not want him to think I intended to continue it, after all this time.’

‘How noble of you,’ she said without feeling. She and Jack had parted on the best possible terms, or so she’d thought. When last she’d seen him, he’d held her in his arms and promised her a bright future. And then he’d disappeared. If he was miserable, there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that she would not be suffering through the holidays alone. This year, they could both be wretched together.

Her brother was staring at her with his head cocked and his mouth set in a firm, disapproving frown. ‘Do not be childish, Lucy. Whatever he did to upset you, you have had a good long time to get over it. You are a grown woman now and should know better than to let an old grudge stand between you. He needs our help and we will provide it.’

‘Of course,’ she said drily, wondering just what Fred knew about what had occurred right before Jack had gone off to war. It could not have been much or he would not have been so cruel as to make her spend her last days as a single woman with the only man she would ever love, the man who had seduced her and fled.

Chapter Three

‘He is here!’

As he rode up the front sweep of Clifton Manor, Jack could hear Frederick Clifton announcing him from inside, even before the servants had fully opened the door. Now his host was beaming in the doorway as if the Prince Regent, himself, was favouring the house with a visit.

Jack had chosen to forgo his carriage and ride alone to Clifton Manor, complaining of a megrim to his manservant and insisting that he needed fresh air after the stifling atmosphere of London. In truth, his headache had started after he’d spoken to Fred and grown stronger as the holidays neared. To ride north on horseback required that he stop frequently to rest his gelding. It gave him an excuse to put off the inevitable arrival at a party that he was a fool to attend. As each mile passed, he prayed that something would occur to prevent the future he feared. Now that he had arrived, he was hesitating as the groom reached for his reins to lead the horse to the stable, still trying to stall.

Perhaps she would not be as lovely as he remembered. Maybe he would discover that the feelings he had for her were nothing but the memory of what might have been. One last look at her might be all he needed to free himself from the past.

Since she’d made no effort to contact him in all this time, it was clear that she had forgotten about him. Or perhaps she hated him for the liberties he had taken on the last night they’d been together. If she was about to marry, she had moved on, just as he’d known she would. But, apparently, he needed to see the truth to believe it.

‘Stop dawdling with that horse, Gascoyne, and come inside!’ Fred was still standing in the open door, smiling at him as if Christmas had arrived early. So, he did as he was told and went into the house.

For a moment, it was just as he remembered from a dozen Christmases of his youth. When he crossed the threshold, there was lambswool ale waiting for them along with a hearty clap on the back, shouts of welcome from Fred and friendly enquiries as to the difficulty of the journey and the state of the weather.

Everything was normal except Jack, himself. He did not belong here any more. His presence would be a blight on the season.

Then he heard her.

‘Jack.’ His name escaped her lips in a breathy rush of joy and relief, sounding too much like it had on the last night they’d spent together. He turned from her brother, searching the room for the source of that single word, making sure that his face was schooled to a socially acceptable level of affection and his posture showed no trace of the urgency he really felt.

‘Lucy?’ She was standing in the archway to the dining room and the light from its tall windows made a nimbus around her gold hair that blinded him for a moment. Or perhaps it was her smile that had caught the breath in his throat, just as it had when he was a schoolboy. Her face was as perfect as ever it had been, with the same slightly crooked smile that balanced the too-sombre light in her brilliant blue eyes. There was still a smattering of girlish freckles across her upturned nose. As a child, they’d made her look ready for mischief. As a woman,

Reviews for Snowbound Surrender

[wyvernfriend · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Three stories set in a snowy Christmas. The first; Mistletoe Reunion by Christine Merrill is a story of second chance after misunderstanding caused a rift. Louise Allen's Snowed in with the Rake is all about a naked prank that goes to the wrong house and having to deal with being snowed in. This was a load of laughs and also had some serious edges where he had to come to terms with some of his actions both recently and in the past. I liked it a lot.Laura Martin's Christmas with the Major has a woman who will inherit a fortune if she can only evade her slimy cousin for long enough; and a grumpy injured ex-soldier who is escaping people and partying. Stuck in a cottage they find that maybe there could be someone else for them.Would probably be better read around Christmas.