O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,183

falling from her chignon. “I feel the same, as if everything that has happened has led me to you.”

Blast! How could he kiss her with the stupid smile back on his face?

“Miss Henrietta Comden, will you be my wife?” He tucked the stray curl behind her ear.

She nodded, crying in earnest now.

“I warned you she cries all the time,” said Tia with a roll of her eyes. “Even at the happiest of times.”

“I told ye, lass, it would all work out,” spouted MacIntyre. “So, Dr. Wharren, I understand ye’re in need of a butler?”

They laughed as Gus rubbed his neck. But this time he didn’t look for the source of that chilly draft. “Thank you, Grandmama, for this wish,” he whispered, watching the two females hug one another in congratulations. “I love you too.”

Author’s Note

Gus and Etta married and eventually turned Bliss Manor into a hospital of sorts, taking in soldiers after the war and poor souls with afflictions their families didn’t understand or wished to keep hidden.

Tia returned to Bliss Manor every year, a firm believer in the mansion’s restorative powers. As an adult, she brought her children and then her grandchildren, sharing the magical place where Christmas wishes were fulfilled. The sounds of birdsong, her music, and the voice of her beloved sister never grew faint in her ears.

Additional Dragonblade books by Author Aubrey Wynne

A MacNaughton Castle Romance

Deception and Desire (Book 1)

An Allusive Love (Book 2)

A Bonny Pretender (Book 3)

A Merry MacNaughton Mishap (Novella)

About the Author

Bestselling and award-winning author Aubrey Wynne is an elementary teacher by trade, champion of children and animals by conscience, and author by night. She resides in the Midwest with her husband, dogs, horses, mule, and barn cats. Obsessions include wine, history, travel, trail riding, and all things Christmas. Her books have received the Golden Quill, Aspen Gold, Heart of Excellence, and the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence.

Aubrey’s first love is medieval romance but after dipping her toe in the Regency period in 2018 with the Wicked Earls’ Club, she was smitten. This inspired her spin-off series Once Upon a Widow. In 2020, she will launch the Scottish Regency series A MacNaughton Castle Romance with Dragonblade Novels.

Find Aubrey

Website: aubreywynne.com

Facebook: facebook.com/magnificentvalor

Twitter: @aubreywynne51

Instagram: Aubreywynne51

Subscribe to Aubrey’s newsletter for new releases, exclusive excerpts, and free stories:

Newsletter: www.subscribepage.com/k3f1z5

Facebook Reading Group: facebook.com/groups/AubreyWynnesEverAfters

Of Christmas Past

Charlotte Wren

“The best prophet of the future is the past.”

Lord Byron

Chapter One

Pont au Double, Paris

Friday, December 13th, 1844

Josiah had never quite been able to recreate the reflection of gaslight on water. The hypnotic allure of it, the concept of movement, had always eluded his brushstrokes. The painting in his hand was no exception. He’d completed it two nights earlier, when the sky was moonless and a temperate southern wind negated the need for a scarf. The Seine was always more beautiful at night, he thought. A shimmering artery of light and dark, flowing through the city.

As an artist, he’d always failed to do it justice.

In all of Paris, the Pont au Double had always been his favorite spot. The old stone bridge linked the Rive Gauche to the Île de la Cité, where the great cathedral of Notre Dame had stood for over six centuries. He came here often, almost always after dark, and in all kinds of weather. Tonight, with the wind tearing out of the north, one definitely needed a scarf. Because of the bitter cold, there were fewer people about.

Despite being in possession of his scarf, Josiah suppressed a shiver as he gazed up at the cathedral. In particular, its magnificent rose window. The faint glow of candlelight shone through the stained glass, creating a muted kaleidoscope of color, an effect that could not be seen in daylight. Hence his nighttime visits. The window was what drew him to this spot, time after time. For it reminded him of home.

By now, his parents would have lit the solitary candle that burned each night in the rose window of Highfield Hall. It had long been a family tradition, done in memory of his Uncle Julian who’d gone off to fight Napoleon at Waterloo, and never returned.

Since his departure on Christmas Eve, almost five years before, Josiah hadn’t returned to Highfield Hall either. But, unlike Uncle Julian, his had not been a heroic farewell. He hadn’t ridden off to go and fight on some foreign field, taking with him hopes and prayers for his safe return.

No, Josiah’s departure had taken place in a hailstorm of fury, a slamming of doors, and the declaration of a