A Candlelit Regency Christmas: His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish
His Housekeeper’s Christmas WishResolute bachelor Alexander Tempest, Viscount Weybourn, accidentally collided with penniless, curvy Tess Ellery on the icy streets of Ghent but he did his indolent best to make amends. But Tess is left stranded, so Alex is honour-bound to take her home…as his housekeeper! And, despite his long-held rule of spending Christmas alone, Tess’s warmth soon has this brooding Lord determined to make all her wishes come true!His Christmas CountessGrant Rivers, Earl of Allundale, is desperate to get home to his son in time for Christmas. But when he stumbles upon a gentlewoman all alone in a tumbledown shack, having a baby, it’s his duty to help her. Grant knows all too well the risks of childbirth and, once he’s saved her life, he is determined to save Kate’s reputation too…if she will consent to marrying a stranger on Christmas Day!
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A Candlelit Regency Christmas
His Housekeeperâs Christmas WishHis Christmas Countess
Louise Allen
LOUISE ALLEN loves immersing herself in history. She finds landscapes and places evoke the past powerfully. Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite destinations. Louise lives on the Norfolk coast and spends her spare time gardening, researching family history or travelling in search of inspiration. Visit her at louiseallenregency.co.uk, @LouiseRegency and janeaustenslondon.com
For the Hartland Quay-istas â Linda, Jenny, Lesley, Catherine and Janet â with love
Table of Contents
His Housekeeperâs Christmas Wish
Louise Allen
Alex Tempest did not normally trample nuns underfoot, nor anyone else, come to that. Alexander James Vernon Tempest, Viscount Weybourn, prized control, elegance, grace and athleticismâunder all normal circumstances.
Skidding round corners on the ice-slick cobblestones of Ghent, however, was not normal, not in the gloomy light of the late-November afternoon with his mind occupied by thoughts of warm fires, good friends and rum punch.
The convent wall was high and unyielding when he cannoned into it. Alex found himself rebounding off the wall and into a nun, dressed all in black and grey, and blending perfectly with the cobbles. She was certainly yielding as she gave a small shriek of alarm and went flying, her black portmanteau bouncing away to land on the threshold of the conventâs closed gates.
Alex got his feet under control. âMa soeur, je suis désolé. Permettez-moi.â He held out his hand as she levered herself into a sitting position with one black mittenâcovered hand. Her bonnet, plain dark grey with a black ribbon, had tipped forward over her nose, and she pushed it back to look up at him.
âI am notââ
âHurt? Excellent.â He could only make out the oval of her face in the shadow of the bonnetâs brim. She seemed to be young by her voice. âBut you are English?â He extended the other hand. Presumably there were English nuns.
âYes. Butââ
âLetâs get you up off that cold ground, Sister.â Her cloak, which seemed none too thick given the weather, was black. Under it there was the hem of a dark grey robe and the toes of sensible black boots. âTake my hands.â Probably nuns were not supposed to touch men, but he could hardly get excommunicated for adding that small sin to the far greater offence of flattening her to the ground.
With what sounded like a sigh of resignation she put her hands in his and allowed him to pull her upright. âOw!â She hopped on one foot, swayed dangerously and the next moment she was cradled in his arms. After all, one did not allow a lady to fall, even if she was a nun. âOh!â
Alex braced his feet well apart on the slippery cobbles and looked down at as much as he could see of his armful, which wasnât a great deal, what with her billowing cloak and ferocious hat brim. But even if he couldnât see any detail, there was plenty for his body to read. She was young. And slender. And curved. He dipped his head and inhaled the scent of her. Plain soap, wet wool and warm, rapidly chilling, woman. Rapidly chilling nun. Pull yourself together, man. Nuns are most definitely on the forbiddenlist. Pity...
âIâll ring the bell, shall I?â he offered with a jerk of his head towards the rusty iron chain hanging by the door. It looked like the sort of thing desperate criminals clung to when claiming sanctuary, although, judging by the small barred peephole set into the massive planks, the sanctuary on offer might be rather less welcoming than a prison cell. âIt seems as though you have twisted your ankle.â
Mentioning parts of the anatomy was probably another sin, but she made no attempt to smite him with a rosary, although the body that was already stiff in his arms became rigid. âNo. Absolutely not. Thankââ
âI really think I should get someone to come out.â
ââyou. I am due down at the canal basin. Sister Clare is expecting me.â Crisp, polite and obviously furious with him, but constrained through charity or good manners from saying so, he concluded. An educated, refined voice masking some strain or perhaps sadness. He was used to listening to voices, hearing what was behind the actual words; anyone was who did much negotiating.
