A Christmas Quintet

A CHRISTMAS QUINTET

A BLUESTOCKING BELLES COLLECTION

SUSANA ELLIS SHERRY EWING ALINA K. FIELD JUDE KNIGHT RUE ALLYN

CONTENTS

A Christmas Quintet

Della’s Christmas Gift

Susana Ellis

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

About Susana Ellis

Susana’s Social Media

Away From the Holiday Crowd

Sherry Ewing

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Epilogue

About Sherry Ewing

Sherry’s Social Media

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

Alina K. Field

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

About Alina K. Field

Alina’s Social Media

Maryanne and the Twelfth Knight

Jude Knight

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

About Jude Knight

Jude’s Social Media

Her Hogmanay Spy

Rue Allyn

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

About Rue Allyn

Rue’s Social Media

Meet the Bluestocking Belles

The Belles’ Social Media

The Belles would like your help!

Other Books by the Bluestocking Belles

Copyright © 2024. All rights reserved to the individual authors as named.

© Sherry Ewing

© Barbara Andrews, writing as Susana Ellis

© Mary J. Kozlowski, writing as Alina K. Field

© Susan C. Charnley, writing as Rue Allyn

© Judith Anne Knighton, writing as Jude Knight

A Christmas Quintet is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author of that part, except for including brief quotations in a review. Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents, or persons—living or dead—are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

Cover Design by Dar Albert

Digital ISBN: 978-1-965509-00-5

Print ISBN:978-1-965509-02-9

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A CHRISTMAS QUINTET

Five charming stories for your holiday season:

• Friends to Lovers—The farmer's daughter, the viscount's son, and the estate manager reunite as adults. Della is starry-eyed for the viscount's son, but is he really the one for her? (Regency, Christmas)

• Fake Relationship—When the pressure to marry is overwhelming, can a plan put in place at a Christmas house party turn into a love that will last forever? (Regency, Christmas)

• Second-Chance Love—An accident leaves the modiste burned, blinded and in despair until the physician offers hope and stirs memories. (Regency, Christmas)

• Country Mouse and Marriage-Shy Duke—Invited at the last minute to make up the numbers, she expects to be an interested observer. The duke has other ideas. (Georgian, Twelfth Night)

• Two Spies, One Secret—Trapped in a deserted wilderness, will they set aside secrets and past betrayals to rekindle their love and ring in the New Year together? (Medieval, Hogmanay)

DELLA’S CHRISTMAS GIFT

SUSANA ELLIS

A cattle breeder’s daughter, Della Paget has always been passionately devoted to her life on the farm. Life as she knows it is about to change, and she’s expected to move on to a life as a wife and mother. If she must marry anyone, it would have to be her childhood crush, the viscount’s son, who was one of her trio of childhood friends. Meanwhile, the third member of the group suffers in silence as he watches events play out.

PROLOGUE

Paget House

Ibstock, Leicestershire

15 September 1801

LAUD’S HEIR RETURNS FROM GRAND TOUR. In search of wife, says reputable source.

Della’s brother threw down the latest copy of The Teatime Tattler and snickered. Poor sod’s too young for a leg-shackle. Doubtless Lady Laud’s pressing for grandchildren. Mothers!

Their father lifted an eyebrow. If your mother were still alive, you’d be wed by now, Thomas. I suppose I’ve been negligent on that front. You’re what, thirty now? Ought to be settled down.

Thomas’s fork clattered when it hit his plate. And who would I marry? Some farm girl like Della here? If I were a banker’s son I could look higher.

Della winced and her father’s face turned red. THOMAS! Apologize to your sister this instant!

Sorry, he mumbled. But Della could tell he wasn’t sincere, even before he added, "But dammit, she should be wed by now too. But what choices does she have, as a farmer’s daughter? We should all be better off if we sold out and went into banking."

Thomas Sr. pounded the table hard enough to rattle his plate. ENOUGH!

Both of his offspring stiffened and stared at him incredulously. Their father rarely lost his temper, and never at the breakfast table. But there had been more than a few arguments recently, Della mused.

This farm has provided you an easy life, Thomas. You’ve been handed everything you need and want, even a chance for a superior education at Cambridge, which you squandered by neglecting your studies in favor of—er— he swallowed as he glanced at Della, studies of a different sort.

Della snorted and promptly looked down at her lap when her father gave her a stern look. Well really. She was twenty years old, the same age as Thomas when he returned home from Cambridge in disgrace. Did they really believe she hadn’t heard all the stories about his misdeeds there? Rumors had been rife at the time, and although she might not have understood exactly what they meant at the age of ten, she had since apprehended them more clearly.

I’m inclined to believe that this self-indulgent lifestyle you’ve embarked on can be attributed to the influence of the useless young lords with whom you caroused first at Harrow and then at Cambridge. He shook his head. Your mother would be ashamed, Thomas.

His son had the decency to drop his chin.

And well he should, thought Della. He’d had the good fortune to have had a mother, at least. She’d never had that opportunity, her mother having died at Della’s birth.

Their father pushed back his chair and rose from table. Thomas, your jaunts to London and York and all points in between are now cancelled. Henceforth, you will spend your time at Paget & Sons, employed in furthering the interests of our sheep and cattle.

Folding his arms in front him, he glared at his son. In case you’ve forgotten all you’ve been taught over the years, I’ll put the lad in charge to refresh your memory.

With that, he marched out of the room.

Della giggled. The image of Thomas being bear-led around the farm by the much-younger estate manager seemed dubious at best.

He slapped the table. It’s not funny! I don’t care a jot about sheep and cattle, and you all know it! Besides, I have a shooting party next week. It’s almost the end of the grouse season.

Della’s hands curled up. "You should care. This farm will be yours someday! It’s in your own best interests to ensure its prosperity."

Thomas’s lips curled. It’s been losing money for years. By the time it comes down to me, it’ll be worth a pittance. Best to sell out now and put the capital where it can do some good.

Tilting his head, he studied her with a gleam in his eye.

"If I’m not mistaken, you are out there with the cattle every day. And Kit too. Now there’s a match for you—the rustic farm girl and the penniless estate manager."

Della tossed the remainder of her sausage at him. You are horrid, Thomas.

And you’re a twit, he threw back as he exited the room.

Della heaved a sigh. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Kit. He’d been one of her best friends forever. But as for marriage, she had something else in mind.

Reaching for the Teatime Tattler, she smoothed her fingers over the headline. Toby was looking for a wife, was he? Well, she intended that he look no further than the neighboring estate.

CHAPTER ONE

Assembly Hall

Ibstock, Leicestershire

30 September 1801

Is he here yet? I can’t see! Leave off pushing! You almost knocked me down!

That last came from Della—Fidelia—Paget, who would never admit that she was as eager to see the entrance of Toby Boxworth as much as any of the other local girls. She was a little miffed that he hadn’t come to see her since his return more than a fortnight ago, particularly since they were neighbors and close childhood friends.

Well, not so close lately, she had to admit. Not for a very long time, actually, not since he’d gone off to London to Eton, then Oxford, then off on his Grand Tour. In all that time, she and Kit had barely seen him, even during his brief furloughs at home. But now, the future viscount was home at Laud Manor and ready to settle down with a wife, or so the tabloids claimed.

And that was why the Assembly Hall was packed with young ladies in their best gowns, all hoping to catch the eye of the most eligible gentleman this side of Leicester.

She grimaced as she considered her own gown, best as it was of her limited wardrobe. It was the same old yellow muslin gown she’d worn to church and assemblies for as long as she could remember. The lace collar had started to yellow, and it was getting harder to tie the laces in front due to her burgeoning bosom. She really should have ordered a new gown. But tending to her appearance was a bore, and she’d assumed her long friendship with Toby would give her an edge over the rest.

Perhaps that was a mistake, she pondered as she finally reached the front of the wallflower flock just as Toby, resplendent in a black jacket with an embroidered ivory waistcoat and fawn-colored breeches, bowed before her cousin Helena and asked her to dance. Helena, her cheeks pink with pleasure, accepted and the couple headed for the dance floor as the master of ceremonies called for a reel.

Della tried not to be envious of her cousin. She and Helena were close in age and had been friends since forever, visiting each other frequently while growing up. Helena lived in Littlethorpe, where her father was a wealthy industrialist, and Della knew her current visit was prompted by the proximity of the young Laud heir. Helena was a beautiful blue-eyed blonde—at a time when blondes were the latest thing—and she had a wardrobe of lovely gowns to dazzle him with. She didn’t know Della had set her cap at him as well; just that they had been close childhood friends. She’d met him herself on visits in the early days, before thoughts of marriage had entered any of their heads.

After his dance with Helena, Toby was introduced by the master of ceremonies to a half dozen other young ladies, with whom he danced before returning to Helena, this time a cotillion. He finally caught sight of Della when he returned Helena to her mother after the dance.

"Della Paget! By all that’s holy, I didn’t expect to see you here!"

He didn’t? Why not?

He caught her by the hands and pulled her to him in a giant bear hug. It’s been so long! A year, at least!

More like three, she corrected him. I’ve long since grown up, as you see.

He put her away and studied her intently, lingering longer on her breasts, pulled tight by the laces of the dress. I see that. Why have I always pictured you as a wild hoyden?

Della felt like crying. A wild hoyden? Not a close friend?

You and Kit and I are going to have to have an outing together. For old times’ sake, he said easily as he released her.

Of-of course, she murmured. Just say when, and I’ll pass it on to Kit.

His mouth fell open. You—and Kit? Don’t tell me…

Oh no! she cried out. Kit works for Papa now. Manages the farm. I see him every day. We’re friends—as we always have been.

His face cleared. I see. His father is dead, then?

She nodded. Kit was the natural choice. He’s grown up on the farm, after all.

Of course. That was the moment his face changed, indicating the conversation was over, and he turned to Helena.

Miss Clare tells me she’s staying with you for the nonce. I hope I may be honored to pay you a call on Monday afternoon?

Helena blushed, or at least deepened her previous blush.

Yes, said Della bluntly. Could he have made it any plainer that his purpose in calling was her cousin?

She should have bought a new dress. A ball gown. And allowed Helena’s abigail to make something of her unruly hair. Courting Toby might require a bit more effort than she’d expected.

CHAPTER TWO

Paget House

Ibstock, Leicestershire

1 October 1801

Ah, m’dear lassie, your numbers are lookin’ fair grand these days, Kit said as he rubbed the triangle between the calf’s eyes and forehead. I don’t doubt you’ll grow into a fine milker for some lucky dairy farmer in a year or so.

He led her out to the paddock and watched her stroll over to her usual companions. Smiling to himself, he headed over to his makeshift office, where he kept a ledger for recording statistics for the animals. Having studied with both Robert Bakewell and Thomas Coke, Earl of Leicester, he had learned the importance of keeping up-to-date, accurate records in order to optimize the growth and determine the success of the breeding program.

About to move on to the next calf, he was interrupted by the loud slamming of the barn door, which made him wince. Cattle didn’t like loud noises; it made them skittish. Must be Thomas Jr., then, since neither Thomas Sr. nor Della would have been so careless. And indeed, it was the younger Thomas who appeared shortly after in the small paddock where the remaining calves waited to be measured and assessed.

Good morning, Mr. Paget. What can I do for you?

As a child, Thomas Jr. had been Tom to him, but since he’d become estate manager, it was Mr. Paget to his employer’s son. Which had turned out to be a good move on his part, since the man seemed to resent him—a much younger man than he—elevated to the position left by the death of his father, the previous estate manager. Not that he’d ever aspired to it himself—what he’d learned about cattle breeding over his thirty years of living wouldn’t qualify him to be a lowly farmhand. And this, Kit suspected, was the reason his employer was considering giving up cattle breeding to go into banking. Paget of Paget & Sons had only one son, and his interests were elsewhere. Now his daughter was another story. Kit smiled when he thought of Della. The farm was everything to her, but she’d been born a daughter.

M’father thought you could use some help.

He shielded his eyes from the noonday sun. Kit thought he looked the worse for drink, his legs unsteady and his hand shaking slightly.

Kammer could use some help mending fences in the north corridor. He knew better than to suggest mucking out stalls in the stables.

Mending fences, bah! He righted himself and studied Kit as he pulled another calf into the stall. "What are you doing?"

Assessing the calves, as we do every third month.

Thomas dragged himself over to the calf and slapped his hind end. The calf bleated and skittered away. I’d prefer to help you. What should I do?

You could try not frightening the calves.

Kit coaxed the calf back into position, stroking him behind the head until he relaxed. Then he began a thorough examination, measuring his legs, head, and finally the girth. 600 pounds, he announced. I’ve my eye on this one to sell for stud. His mam is one of old Sam’s offspring. She went to Feldon’s Farm last week and is producing about 15 gallons a week, or so he tells me. That’s 780 gallons a year. Feldon is over the moon.

Old Sam! We’ll never see another like him. None of his spawn has come close to equaling him. Seems like we’re in a downward spiral.

Kit sent the calf back to his friends, entered the figures into the book, and returned to choose the next calf.

If you mean we haven’t sold another steer for 400 guineas, that’s a fact. But the stock from our breeding program is consistently bigger and more productive than any other around.

But what do the books say? Damn long list of expenditures this year, Hall.

Kit’s back stiffened. There’s a reason for that. We had to reroute drainage in the south field. He led the next calf into position. In any case, the deficit is more than erased at the auction in the spring. His lips flattened as he glared at Thomas. The same is true of last year and the year before.

Thomas crossed his arms. Ah, but the profits are down since you took over from your father.

Kit was silent. It was true. His father had made some poor decisions during his last illness, and Kit had had to scramble to compensate. It hadn’t escaped his employer’s notice, but the two of them had agreed to keep quiet about it in order not to besmirch the memory of Kit’s father.

I’ve told Father cattle breeding is a lost cause. We should sell out before we reach rock bottom. Banking is where it’s at. Much more profitable. More civilized. More suitable for a gentleman, in fact.

Gentleman bankers, eh? That’s a new one for me.

Thomas’s fist slammed into the fence and startled the calf. Dammit, Hall, you know what I mean!

Kit turned to face him, nostrils flaring. You don’t like getting your hands dirty, I know. You’d rather sit in an office and count money and choose who to lend money to. Mix in society and marry an heiress. He shook his head. Are you not forgetting that to the very top echelons of society, bankers have the ‘smell of the shop’?

Farming is a respectable occupation. Farming feeds people. The top echelons of society are gentleman farmers—they live off the proceeds of their estates. Even King George has his own little plot to farm at Kew, or so they say.

Kit knew he’d gone too far when Thomas shook his fist at him. You dare say that to me? You don’t know anything but cattle breeding! Just wait until Father sells the farm and you’re out of a job. I’ll make sure no one in Leicestershire hires you!

What’s going on here? Thomas, lower your voice. You’re frightening the calves.

Della entered the paddock, closing the gate behind her, looking first at her brother, then Kit.

"Father is not selling the farm! And Thomas, why are you disturbing Kit at his work?"

"Did you hear how he spoke to me? The hired help?"

Della shook her head. You didn’t like what he said, that’s all. Thomas, if you’re not going to be helpful, just leave! I’m sure your cohorts are already assembling at the local pub.

He snorted. "And what do you know about anything? You’re just a girl. He raised his eyebrows. Father sent me out here to work. I was trying to help Kit, but he won’t allow me to."

Della rolled her eyes. If you want to work, then go muck out the stables. You’re more of a hindrance here.

Blast it, Della. You have no right…!

He gave one last kick to the gate and stomped off.

Della strolled over to the calf and stroked it gently. I’m sorry, Kit. Father still hopes that Thomas will transform himself into a cattle breeder, but it will never happen. She stared off into the distance. "He won’t consider me his successor, because I’m a girl."

Kit’s features softened. She was right. If she’d been born male, she’d have had a good chance to inherit the farm, although Thomas was the elder.

"I’m glad you’re not a boy," he said with a flirtatious smile.

She shook her head, but her mood lightened. Do give it up, Kit. You and I are friends. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re the only one in the world I know I can trust. She rushed over and hugged him tightly.

He pushed her away before she could notice his heartbeat pounding… and other areas reacting to her close contact. Then he noticed her cheeks were wet.

What’s wrong, Della? Has something happened?

Della burst into tears. It’s Toby. He danced twice with Helena at the assembly and hardly noticed me at all!

Spots flashed before his eyes. Toby was an idiot if he preferred Helena to Della. As for Della, well, there were times when he wished they weren’t such close friends. Times like