Snowbound Wedding Wishes: An Earl Beneath the Mistletoe / Twelfth Night Proposal / Christmas at Oakhurst Manor
AN EARL BENEATH THE MISTLETOEHugo, Earl of Burnham, hates Christmas! Snowbound in widow Emilia Weston’s cosy house, with her young twins, he’s surrounded by festive spirit. Can Hugo’s cynical heart be melted? Twelfth Night Proposal – Leaving London to claim his estate, Theo Dalbury finds remote Derbyshire and country girl Jenna surprisingly appealing. Jenna will give him a yuletide that he’ll never forget!CHRISTMAS AT OAKHURST MANORVivien is looking forward to Christmas, until she has to share it with Max Calderwood, who once broke her heart.
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‘Allen takes a shipwreck spying adventure and spins it into a page-turner. The strong characters and sexy relationship will definitely satisfy readers.’
—RT Book Reviews on Seduced by the Scoundrel
‘Allen reaches into readers’ hearts.’
—RT Book Reviews on Married to a Stranger
LUCY ASHFORD
writing as Elizabeth Redfern
‘Richly atmospheric…Redfern’s strength is in re-creating a morally corrupt world.’
—Publishers Weekly on Auriel Rising
‘Quite wonderful…It is Redfern’s ability to bring each scene, each character alive…’
—USA TODAY on The Music of the Spheres
JOANNA FULFORD
‘Fulford’s story of lust and love set in the Dark Ages is…
a suspenseful plot, well-developed characters and a passionate romance…keeps readers engaged…’
—RT Book Reviews on The Viking’s Defiant Bride
‘…a well-crafted portrait of the era combining strong characters with the classic romance elements of a battle-of-wills love story.’
—RT Book Reviews on The Viking’s Touch
Snowbound
Wedding Wishes
An Earl Beneath
the Mistletoe
Louise Allen
Twelfth Night
Proposal
Lucy Ashford
Christmas at
Oakhurst Manor
Joanna Fulford
Table of Contents
LOUISE ALLEN has been immersing herself in history, real and fictional, for as long as she can remember, and finds landscapes and places evoke powerful images of the past. Louise lives in Bedfordshire, England, and works as a property manager, but spends as much time as possible with her husband at the cottage they are renovating on the north Norfolk coast, or travelling abroad. Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite atmospheric destinations. Please visit Louise’s website—www.louiseallenregency.co.uk—for the latest news!
Dear Reader,
When I was writing this story I had a real valley in mind,
one of the lovely chalk streams that cut through the Chiltern Hills, with beech woods on the slopes and tiny hamlets and villages tucked away. These valleys are lovely in the summer, but in the winter, under snow, they have a special charm and remoteness, and I especially love the area because my ancestors came from there. Many of the characters in this story share their names—and doubtless their liking for the local home-brewed ale!
I wish you a very happy festive season,
Louise
18th December 1814—the Chiltern Hills, Hertfordshire
‘You have to agree, Ajax, that it would be unpleasantly ironic to survive five years of being shot at, blown up and starved in the Peninsula to die of exposure in some Hert-fordshire valley.’
The big grey flicked one ear back and carried on plodding through the driving rain. An intelligent animal, he probably thought it was not so much ironic as foolish.
‘Rodgerson’s directions were clear enough.’ Hugo kept talking as he scanned the sides of the valley for any glimmer of light. He was beginning to shiver and feel sleepy and neither was good, not when he’d been riding since daybreak. He was soaked through to the skin despite the oiled wool cloak that had seen him over the Pyrenees in winter on one occasion. ‘That cross-country cut to get us on to the Northampton road without having to go out to Aylesbury would have saved hours.’
But a bridge had been down and then a road flooded and he had turned north in the fading twilight, using his pocket compass and a sodden and tattered route map. They must have gone clear between Berkhamsted and Hemel Hempstead, either of which would have provided a comfortable inn for the night. Instinct told him he was heading northwest now, which should be correct, but it was pitch-dark, his tinderbox was damp and the low cloud obscured the stars. Every yokel for miles around seemed to have vanished into their dwellings—wherever those were hidden. He couldn’t blame them, he’d settle for a flea-infested hovel himself, if one presented itself.
‘First cover, we’re taking it.’ Ajax did not bother to flick an ear that time. The horse was big and tough, but both of them were out of practice at being quite this cold and wet. ‘This will teach me to underestimate the terrain,’ Hugo muttered. And it would teach him to be antisocial and avoid invitations as well. He could be putting on a cheerful face in the midst of some jolly family gathering preparing for Christmas, right this minute.
Hunching his shoulders sent a fresh trickle of icy water down his neck from the brim of his hat as he narrowed his eyes against the rain. Hordes of children, irascible great-aunts, flirtatious young ladies, too much rich food, charades…possibly dying of exposure was preferable after all.
