Buckthorne's Secret Birthright

Prologue

Denham House

St. James Place

Mayfair, England

God, I hope next year is different.

On the way upstairs, he passed the butler, who’d informed him that the post had arrived, and that there was a letter waiting in his study bearing the seal of a Captain Buckthorne.

Though intrigued, for the man had been absent from London for years, Wallace promised he’d attend to the correspondence soon enough, but he wanted to see his wife first.

The second he came into the drawing room only to be taken aback to find Abigail in deep conversation with the housekeeper regarding the Christmastide season of all things.

“Hullo, love,” he said as he crossed the floor, and when he gained her location, he leaned down to buss her cheek then handed her a chrysanthemum made of yellow tissue paper.

“I would have brought you home real flowers, but they are rather scarce just now, so instead, I purchased a false one from a woman with a hand cart full of them.”

“What a lovely thought.” Appreciation went through her expression as she took the paper flower. “Thank you.”

He nodded then winked at the housekeeper, who’d been with them for years. With her matronly form and gray hair tucked beneath a lace-edged mobcap, she was the very embodiment of order and care. “What are the two of you planning with mischief in your eyes?”

“Oh, this and that, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hermann said with a grin.

“Ah.” He and his family had returned to London from his country estate a few weeks ago.

While the time away had been pleasant and much needed, it had been agreed that they’d collectively missed London and its familiarity.

His son was busy and active with his tutors and governess.

His wife had been happy to visit with friends, and Wallace had business meetings on his schedule as well as duties with the House of Lords, so it was refreshing to come home to Abigail, though he’d hoped to have her to himself. “That sounds mysterious.”

The housekeeper chuckled. “Not quite as exciting as that, I’m afraid.”

“Pish posh, Mrs. Hermann,” Abigail chided with a chuckle. “It is, and you know it.” Then she glanced up at him with a smile that could light the night. It sent warmth through his chest. “If you must know, I thought it a lovely idea to throw a Christmastide ball this year.”

Well, he would have never thought of that. Surprise smacked into him. “Here? In London? I thought you wanted to go back to the country estate for the holiday season.”

He and his wife had been married for over twenty years.

In fact, when they’d met, he’d still been in the military and working as a spy for England at the time, while she’d been a new widow.

Their connection and attraction had burned hot and steady, but he hadn’t wanted to commit to her while he could still be in danger.

She’d disagreed, most strenuously, so they’d wed in haste, and while his position had taken him away from her at times, coming home had meant being welcomed in many different wicked and fulfilling ways.

Had their union suffered hiccups and challenges along the way?

Of course, but they’d managed to work through them, even when times had seemed dark.

Truth be told, the last one had occurred in the last year, and he honestly thought he might have lost her trust at that point, but things had turned around.

Which meant he was even more devoted to her now than ever.

“I did, but the weather has been so ghastly, I wasn’t certain we’d be able to travel closer to Christmastide. And even then, it might prove a miserable journey, so I thought why not plan one here?”

That was much different than what they’d discussed on the way back to Town. Wallace frowned. “Are you certain you want that? I thought in recent years you were content not to host gatherings in London.”

“Oh, Eggleton, do be serious. Don’t you know by know that a woman is entitled to change her mind?” With another chuckle, she glanced at the housekeeper with a smile. “That will be all for now, Mrs. Hermann. We shall talk again later.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” With a nod, the housekeeper exited the room.

Once alone, Abigail rose from the sofa then she met him in the middle of the room. “Don’t fret, darling. I want to do this, for I’ve missed society a bit. Not only while we were in the country, but within the past few years.”

“You have? I thought we attended enough events that you weren’t bored.”

“I am never bored.” She smiled as she rested a palm against his cheek. “However, as much as I love our country estate, I just don’t think it’s a good idea to travel this year. It was dismal enough in the summer with all the rain and the incessant mud and sometimes chilly temperatures.”

“Yes, but it was cozy, wasn’t it?” Perhaps he’d merely assumed they’d been content.

“It was, of course, and I thoroughly enjoyed my time there, but with ongoing weather and scarcity for many things, I’d rather be in Town where our friends are.

” When she brushed at a lock of his hair that fell to his forehead, awareness of him shivered down his spine to lodge into his shaft.

“We might not be able to serve an elaborate or grand dinner, but we can all share mulled wine and have finger foods or even bowls of stew and bread together. Fellowship and gratitude is the point of Christmastide, is it not?”

“It absolutely is.” Was there any wonder why he adored her?

For years, she had been the solid foundation, the light shining the way he’d sorely needed, and they fit well together in all the ways that mattered.

“I think passing the Christmastide season in London is a fine idea. And I know how much you adore decorating, so you shall be in your element.” She was quite talented in making their townhouse feel like home and a place he never wished to leave.

Then he winked. “I can take Bartholomew and find greenery. He’ll enjoy that. ”

Last year, his mistress had died, leaving him a five-year-old son.

Being with her had been an aberration during a moment of weakness when he’d been on one of his last missions six years before.

He’d no idea that liaison had resulted in a child, but it had been a shock when he’d been told, of course.

Abigail hadn’t taken the news well, and neither should she have, especially since they could never conceive during the course of their marriage.

In fact, she had moved out of their townhouse for a while.

It had been a difficult road wooing her back.

Eventually, he did and she accepted Bartholomew into their home, even threw herself into the role of mother for him.

Even now, thinking about it, tightened his chest and sent a wave of love over him for his little family.

“That is what I thought, too.” She nodded and there was joy in her eyes that had been missing for a long time, indeed.

“I want to do something special for him this year, to reinforce that we are a family and that we love him. I also wish to create traditions with him that he’ll remember long into his life. ”

“If anyone can do that, it’s you, sweeting.

” Swiftly, he tugged her into his arms. “I couldn’t love you more.

Oddly, I’m looking forward to what you planned for the upcoming holiday season, and we should probably think about how we’ll teach him about All Hallow’s Eve this year. He’s old enough, I think.”

“He will enjoy that.” Her eyes twinkled. “Can you just imagine him carving out gourds for lanterns?”

“Or him crafting a costume to ward off evil spirits?” he asked on the heels of a chuckle. “There is certainly much to look forward to.”

“Our life is so full, I can scarcely believe it at times.”

“Neither can I.” And he was a fortunate man, indeed. Seconds later, he kissed her because it was something he adored, and the pillowy softness of her lips welcomed him with enthusiasm.

Eventually, of course, their embrace grew heated, and he only left her long enough to move across the room to close the doors on both sides of the drawing room.

When he returned to her, Wallce drew her over to a sofa and followed her down, kissing various parts of her as he went.

Knowing they’d spend the next hour in carnal play soothed his spirits and uplifted his mind.

This season of his life had been hard won, and he refused to squander it.