Carla Kelly - Regency Christmas Gifts

Acclaim for the authors of A REGENCY CHRISTMAS

LYN STONE

“Lyn Stone masterfully blends excitement, humour and emotion.”

— Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Stone has done herself proud with this story…a cast of endearing characters and a fresh, innovative plot.”

— Publishers Weekly on The Knight’s Bride

CARLA KELLY

“A powerful and wonderfully perceptive author.”

— New York Times bestselling author Mary Jo Putney

“A wonderfully fresh and original voice…”

— Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Kelly has the rare ability to create realistic yet sympathetic characters that linger in the mind. One of the most respected…Regency writers.”

— Library Journal

GAIL RANSTROM

“(This) dark tale…neatly juxtaposes the seamier side of the Regency period with the glittering superficiality of ‘polite society’.”

— Library Journal on Lord Libertine

“Ranstrom crafts an intriguing mystery, brimming with a fine cast of strong and likeable characters and a few surprises.”

— Romantic Times BOOKreviews on The Rake’s Revenge

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LYN STONE,a painter and writer, finds many similarities in the two creative efforts. She admits, “There’s nothing like losing yourself in a story, whether you’re putting it on canvas or computer. And completing either work is a wonderful natural high nothing can replicate. It is a real joy to do what you love.”

Whether writing of times gone by or adventures in the present, intrigue and suspense play a role in her stories. She believes that experiencing conflict or danger brings out the best and worst in people.

After living for four years in Europe, Lyn settled in north Alabama, enjoyed an enduring romance of her own and is currently dreaming up more happy endings.

CARLA KELLYhas been writing award-winning novels for years, stories set in the British Isles, Spain and army garrisons during the Indian Wars. Her speciality in the Regency genre is writing about ordinary people, not just lords and ladies. Carla has worked as a university professor, a ranger in the National Park Service and recently as a staff writer and columnist for a small daily newspaper in Valley City, North Dakota. Her husband is director of theatre at Valley City State University. She has five interesting children, a fondness for cowboy songs and too many box elder beetles in the fall.

Born and raised in the wild west of Montana, Gail Ranstromhas always enjoyed a good tale of danger, adventure, action and romance of long ago times and distant lands. When the youngest of her three children began school, she finally had a moment to herself. She put pen to paper and wrote her first novel, which is thankfully still under her bed. Her next efforts were more successful and she has been writing ever since as the award-winning author of eight novels and two novellas.

After surviving earthquakes, mudslides and wild fires in southern California and dodging hurricanes and alligators in Florida, Gail has returned to Montana where the long winters give her more than enough time to tell many more stories. She loves to hear from readers and you can reach her at gail@gailranstrom. com.

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Dear Reader

Sometimes we don’t believe what we can do until circumstances force us to do it. And there are other times when we overestimate our ability because we want to do something so desperately. This story is about realising potential and also accepting limitations with grace. Someone who loves you can help in either case.

Love can unfold gradually or it can spring forth at first meeting. If the chemistry between two people is there, it will happen, whether by chance or design. In this instance, it’s the result of misunderstanding gone right!

I do hope you enjoy meeting Amalie, Alex and their families, celebrating with them and sharing their story.

Here’s wishing you a wonderful holiday season filled with love!

Lyn

This story is for Charlotte Ballard, who believed I could write a book even before I began. Thanks for being such a good friend!

British Hospital at Salamanca, Spain —

September 1, 1812

“I’ll not be going, Harlowe, and that’s the end of it,” Alexander Napier declared. He ignored the English lieutenant and concentrated on the exercises he performed almost hourly. “Ouch! Damn!” Again, he stretched, teeth gritted, eyes clenched.

“Will you cease that self-torture for a moment and listen to me?” Michael Harlowe demanded.

Alex stopped what he was doing, glanced up at the lad and frowned a warning. “You’re a trifle loud at the mouth for such a banty-rooster. I’d advise you to grow another foot before you take on someone my size.”

Michael shifted on his narrow cot as if giving up. Alex knew better. Nothing intimidated the lieutenant, even a captain almost twice his size and weight and with six years more experience. Now would come reason since barking demands hadn’t worked. The wee fellow was nothing if not predictable. They had been round and round on this topic for days now as time drew near for them to ship home from the primitive hospital at Salamanca. He never let up. He’d find a new argument.

“If you refuse to go to Balmsley with me to recuperate, then what will you do? No point in returning to Kilamahew, is there?”

Alex stretched out and pressed back against the pillowless bed, willing the pain in his leg to subside. “I hadn’t planned to go there.” He had thought to secure a place in London and see if he could manage on his own.

His friend smirked. “Edinburgh then? And live with your uncle? You’re coming up on thirty, y’know. At least I can offer you employment.” Suddenly he turned earnest. “Please let me do this for you, Alex. You saved my life!”

Alex snorted. “If I had lain here and let you bleed out lying right next to me, how would I face myself in a mirror to shave?”

Michael waved that off with a flick of one hand. “You are coming with me, see if you don’t. If I have to pour laudanum down that tree-trunk neck of yours and have you hauled there unconscious!”

Alex wondered if the lad actually would go that far to have his way in this. What could it hurt to relent? It obviously troubled Michael to owe such a debt, though Alex had never considered it such. Michael had prevented the amputation of Alex’s leg. As far as he was concerned, they were square. Saving a life or a leg or anything else here in this misbegotten place where there were dead and dying all around them seemed a damned miracle.

There was another consideration in Alex’s decision to acquiesce. Maidstone would not be that distant, closer actually than London, and he did have fences to mend there if he could. “If you’ll leave off badgering me, I’ll come for a short visit. Until I’m back on my feet again.”