On the 6th Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me...With Lecia Cornwall and Giveaway

Six Wagers Starting - Lecia Cornwall

Lecia Cornwall lives in Calgary Alberta, in the foothills of the beautiful Canadian Rockies, with two grown children, four cats, a chocolate labe and a husband who puts up with all of the above with remarkable patience. Lecia's debut novel was published by Avon in April 2011. Watch for her first Christmas e-novella on December 20, and her second print book on December 27. And, she is, of course, busy working on yet another book.

Places to find Lecia:

| Site | Blog | Facebook | Twitter |

Dear Readers,

Merry Christmas! I hope you’ll find this as much fun to read as it was to write. Lady Jane is in for a Merry Christmas indeed!

On December 20, my very first Christmas e-novella, ALL THE PLEASURES OF THE SEASON will be on sale. On December 27, THE PRICE OF TEMPTATION will be available.

What’s Christmas without surprises and gifts? I’d like to give you the chance to win an e-copy of one of my upcoming books. Please leave a comment about the excerpt, and Dani and Rita will choose two lucky winners (one for each book). I will drop by to visit throughout the day, and I would love to chat with you and answer your questions.

I’m hard at work on my next story, HOW TO DECEIVE A DUKE, which will be released in late 2012.

Lecia Cornwall

The Wager

Lady Jane Dunsmoore was caught—and in scarlet satin, too.

She wondered if it was ill luck or fate that had brought the ton’s worst gossip to the fashionable Bond Street shop at precisely the same moment the modiste slipped the luscious red fabric over her shoulders.

“Are you not still in mourning for your husband, Lady Jane?” Countess Telwright asked, her eyes glowing as red as the satin at the potential scandal unfolding before her. The countess was known as ‘Tell-all Telwright” by those who had been scarred by her sharp tongue, and Jane knew the exact description of the red gown and her shocking appearance in it before her mourning was through would be served up at tea this very afternoon. By tomorrow, she would be the talk of the Town.

She felt only the faintest twinge of guilt. She was officially still in mourning, but there were scant weeks left of black bombazine and grey wool, and Christmas was coming. She meant to wear red satin for the festivities…and yellow silk, and emerald velvet and violet brocade.

She watched the countess’s sharp eyes roam over the bolts of fabric and pattern books like a pair of hunting dogs.

Jane cringed when Tell-all paused at the diaphanous length white lace.

She was not ashamed in the least of the wickedly sheer negligee she had ordered, but she was concerned the countess had the wrong idea entirely. The lovely lace would make as good a bridal veil as a nightgown.

She forced herself to smile, tried to distract the countess. “I am having a house party at my estate at Christmas, countess. My mourning will be quite done by then.”

But the countess ran a hand over the lace and smiled.

It wasn’t a pleasant smile.

“Ah, yes. Your party. It is being spoken of everywhere, by anyone who is fashionable, and by several who are not. There are rumors you are in the market for a new husband.” She smirked at the lace. “Now I suspect they are true indeed, and the guest list for your party does seem to include a rather disproportionate number of gentlemen”

Jane had done her duty to Dunsmoore for four long years as his wife, and to her father before that by agreeing to marry the elderly lord in return for the cancellation of a ruinous gambling debt. She had once dreamed of marrying for love, but the circumstances of her marriage had changed her mind entirely. She was free at last, and pretty clothes and plans for a lavish Christmas house party were just the start of her new life. She would never marry again, but if things went well, she might take a lover.

And why not? She was a widow of independent means, or she soon would be, once her plans were complete.

She hid her smile by turning away and picking up the first thing that came to hand, a dramatic bonnet adorned with peacock feathers and lined with emerald silk.

“In truth, Countess, I have no intention of wedding again,” she said blithely, admiring her reflection. Tell-all could do her a favor by spreading that bit of tattle. Perhaps it would discourage the hopeful suitors who would soon flock to her door to court her late husband’s fortune.

She gazed at the hat in the mirror, ignoring the countess’s gasp. The countess dropped the lace as if it burned.

Jane admired the bonnet. It was surprisingly fetching, and just the slightest bit shocking. The green lining brought out the same color in her eyes, and made her complexion glow. It was the antithesis of mourning garb.

Jane had a horrible thought. What if the countess supposed— “You needn’t fear, countess. The gentlemen I have invited to my party will have plenty of dancing partners,” she said quickly.

The smug look returned to Tell-all’s face. “I expect they will. Dunsmoore’s cousin resides with you, does she not, since she was left at the altar by her intended?”

Jane pursed her lips. “Old news, I’m afraid. The gentleman has long since married elsewhere, and Lady Beatrice is content that he has done so.” When she wasn’t prowling the house in the dead of night wailing his name.

“And your sister is enjoying an extended visit with you as well, I believe?” the countess asked, examining a length of golden yellow silk.

Jane’s nod set the peacock feathers bobbing. “Alice came to keep me company after Edgar’s death.” In truth, their mother had begged Jane to take her sister in and end the mayhem in her own house. Alice was extremely shortsighted and had a penchant for cooking. One never knew what might be included in a stew or compote if Alice misread a label or recipe.

“And Lord Dunsmoore’s daughters from his first marriage—I hear they are still at home.” The countess drew a length of China blue ribbon through her fingers. It was meant to trim a decadent evening gown of ice blue satin.

“Charlotte and Caroline,” Jane confirmed, tucking a curl of dark hair under the edge of the bonnet. It really was a fetching hat. One of the girls was named for their mother, Dunsmoore’s first wife, but he couldn’t remember which one. They had, unfortunately, inherited their father’s absentmindness.

“Lady Beatrice’s bosom friend Prudence Reedsdale is at Dunsmoore as well, since her husband’s estates were inherited by his cousin, I understand.”

A frisson of annoyance climbed Jane’s spine. Was there anything Tell-all didn’t know?

She tried not to picture the destruction Lady Prudence’s three unruly children and their untrained dogs had probably unleashed upon her home while she was here in London.

She met the countess’s smirk, and looked away. Yes, her house was full. Overly full. But she could not simply turn the ladies out into the snow. But when Prudence’s eldest girl had asked for a pet monkey, and the others clamored for monkeys of their own, too, Jane had formulated her plan. And her future happiness—and that of her houseguests—hinged on the success of her Christmas party.

A happy thought indeed, if all went as she intended it to.

She smiled at the modiste. “That will be everything for today, Mathilde. I’ll take the bonnet as well. Please make a cloak to go with it, emerald green perhaps, or violet, and line it with fur.” She turned back to the countess. “It gets cold in Northumberland at Christmastide.” She cast a wicked glance at the shimmering lace. Very cold indeed.

She picked up her black mourning cloak and let the modiste help her into it. She patted the peacock bonnet and admired it one more time in the glass.

“Will you come for tea, Lady Jane? Wednesday, perhaps?” the countess asked, perhaps hungry for further details.

“I am sorry, countess, but I am in Town only long enough to arrange a new wardrobe, and to buy supplies and gifts. I shall have left for home by Wednesday.”

The countess’s face puckered in surprise at Jane’s refusal. Jane sketched a curtsy. “I shall be returning to London for the Season this year. Shall we have tea then?” By spring, her plans would be complete, and she would have all the time in the world.

She swept out into the snow that was falling gently over Bond Street, and turned her face up to feel the caress of the soft flakes on her face.

•••••

Viscount Quentin Radford stopped dead in the street and lifted his quizzing glass to his eye.
Captain William Carling crashed into the back of him.

“Isn’t that the Dunsmoore Dish?” Radford exclaimed, watching a lady in an outlandish peacock bonnet sail along the opposite side of the street.

Will looked. He hadn’t seen Jane in more than four years, not since she announced her plans to marry old Edgar Dunsmoore and his vast fortune. He’d bought a commission and left for war the next day, but he still felt the old pang of longing in his gut when he looked at her. He’d read of Dunsmoore’s death, of course, and the fact that Jane had inherited the entirety of her husband’s estate. She was once again considered the most eligible lady in the ton, this time for her money, even more than her beauty.

She was just as lovely as he recalled, tall and slim, her hair still as dark as a raven’s wing under the silly bonnet. He watched her catch a snowflake on her tart little tongue, and felt his gut twist with desire.

“Lovely,” Radford murmured what Will was thinking.

Will stepped around his friend and climbed the steps to the tavern. “I for one wish to get in out of the cold.

Are you coming?”

Radford put his eyes back in his head and scrambled to catch up. “Her mourning is done, you know, and she’s ripe for marrying again.”

This time Will stopped, and Quentin crashed into him. “Are you planning to make an offer for her?”

Radford retrieved his hat from the snow. “I am the heir to a penniless earldom. I must marry for money, and Dunsmoore’s fortune would make Penwood great again.”

He looked up at the sea of male faces pressed to the window, watching the widow make her way down the street. “It appears I won’t be her only suitor.”

Will frowned. Jane had been the belle of her Season, then the loveliest hostess in London. When her aging husband had heard his pretty young wife referred to as “The Dunsmoore Dish” he had whisked her off to the country. Permanently. She hadn’t been seen in Town since. She was obviously making the most of her freedom if her saucy little bonnet was anything to go by.

“I say, wasn’t that the Dunsmoore Dish?” Lord Percy Fairley echoed Quentin before they could even remove their cloaks. “I just received an invitation to her Christmas house party. I had my man of affairs accept at once.”

Percy tossed a lock of blond hair back from his brow with ink stained fingers. He was considered the handsomest poet in England by the kind of ladies who regarded themselves as experts on gentleman poets. “I need a patron, and a rich wife would suit,” he flashed a lusty grin at the man seated next to him. “Especially one who is pleasing to the eyes and hot in bed.”

“Save it for the whores, Fairley,” Colonel Lord Edward Dabinett growled. He adjusted the empty left sleeve of his scarlet tunic, and let his medals glint in the light. “Lady Jane is a respectable woman. I daresay she wants a decent gentleman, not a rake.”

“I am a decent gentleman,” Reverend the Honorable Charles Hotchkiss intoned as if he were about to give a sermon. “My parish needs a new church, and my seven motherless children require a new mother. Or a herd of governesses.” He raised his bowl of hot punch heavenward. “Through divine providence, I too, have been invited to her Christmas celebrations, but even if I had not received that gilt invitation, I would still hie myself to Dunsmoore Park to pay my addresses.”

Will sipped his whisky. Four years ago, he would have wagered Jane would never choose any of these men. But then she had married Dunsmoore, a man over forty years her senior, and he had no idea what she planned to do now. He reminded himself that she wasn’t his to worry about.

“There’s no point in going all the way to Northumberland, Hotchkiss,” Fairley said. “She won’t choose a man of the cloth. Widows want passion, not prayer. She’ll be missing a man in her bed.”

“Her husband was a wizened troll, too old to bed her properly. You can’t miss what you’ve never had,” Radford said. Fairley patted his pockets for the stub of a pencil and a notepad.

“Rather poetic, that. Mind if I write it down?”

“My point is that she’ll choose a young and virile man of title such as myself. I can make her a countess,” Radford went on.

“ A sober, mature widow wants a hero, a man who has proven himself in battle and lost a limb honorably in defense of his king and comrades,” Colonel Dabinett said.

“What are we discussing?” asked Sir Miles Oakdale, arriving late to the table. He brushed the snow off his fair hair and held up a hand to order another round of drinks.

“The Dunsmoore Dish is on the marriage mart again,” Fairley said.

Miles raised his brows and smiled slowly, then chuckled.

Will’s gut tightened. Would Jane choose a rake like Miles to replace Dunsmoore? Tales of Oakdale’s prowess in the bedroom were legend. The wives of peers lined up to bed him. Courtesans paid him.

“Don’t tell me you’re interested as well?” Fairley demanded, frowning.

Miles quaffed his brandy as soon as it arrived, and ordered another. “I’m not interested in wedding the chit, no. But she’s pretty enough to be worth other, more temporary attentions.”

The colonel scowled at him. Radford leapt to his feet. Fairley swore and laid one hand on the sword belted to his lean hip. Even Hotchkiss looked poised to throw his punch in the rake’s face.

“Perhaps this calls for a wager,” Will said calmly, his voice cutting through the anger and lust. “Would anyone care to bet on who the lady will select for her next husband?”

“Or lover,” Miles drawled.

Five sets of eyes fixed on Will’s face.

“That’s a fine idea, Carling. I say we enter this contest in White’s Betting Book at once,” Radford said.

“Though it will be a wound to your pride as well as your pocket books, gentlemen, since I intend to propose to her ladyship the moment I arrive at Dunsmoore Park next week.”

“That is also my intent,” Dabinett said.

“And mine,” Hotchkiss added.

“I plan to have a drink first,” Fairley said, shaking out his hair. “A long draft of red wine. Then I will sink to one knee and thrill the lady with the poetry of my offer.”

Miles grinned. “Go ahead, lads. If you all descend upon her at once, the lady will certainly be overwhelmed, and choose none of you. She’ll turn to me for comfort.”

“She’ll probably swoon,” Will quipped. Jane never swooned.

“Most women do when I kiss them,” Miles said.

“Oakdale is right about one thing. If this wager is to be fair, we must make our proposals one at a time.” Dabinett said.

“How is that fair?” Radford asked. “The odds are already unjust. Fairley and Oakdale have fast horses, and will certainly reach Dunsmoore long before I or poor old Hotchkiss will.”

Will considered. “There are twelve days of Christmas. If you allow one day for travel to Dunsmoore, and one day at the end for the wedding—once the lady has made her choice—each gentleman will have two days to woo her. Those two days will be his alone to present his credentials and declare his intentions. Is that agreeable?”

“That only leaves time for five proposals, and there are six of us!” Radford said, counting again to be sure.
Will held up a hand. “I am not the marrying kind, gentlemen. Nor have I been invited to Dunsmoore for Christmas.”

“I must insist you come,” Dabinett said. “You are an officer and a gentleman. We need someone on hand to keep things fair, see that every man follows the rules. I have seen many battles in my day, but never for so dear a prize as Lady Jane’s fair hand.”

Lord Percy grinned and licked the end of his pencil. “Most poetic, Dabinett. Mind if I write that down?”
The Colonel ignored him. “Attend as my guest, Carling. I am certain the lady won’t mind one more, especially in such a worthy cause as her eternal happiness.” He leaned forward. “Now just how will we approach the lady, advise her of our intent? Shall we lay siege to her in her home until she decides upon one of us?”

They all looked at Will.

He smiled at the thought of Jane besieged. The girl he remembered would see them off with nothing more deadly than a sharp word, and she was a grown woman now.

“Let’s make it a Christmas game. She’ll think it’s all in the spirit of merriment and misrule. We will ask her to choose the gentleman who has made the most favorable impression.”

“It would ensure she listens to our proposals,” Hotchkiss said.

“Then we bring in the nearest vicar and have him wed her to her choice at once,” Radford added.

“Or put her to bed with the victor,” Miles suggested.

Will reached for Fairley’s notebook and tore out five pages. “Sign your wagers, and I’ll hold them. We’ll leave for Dunsmoore the day after tomorrow, to ensure our arrival at the same moment. Go home and make your plans.”

*****

“Lady Alice is driving the cook daft, my lady,” Jane’s maid informed her, bringing the mail into her private salon.

“What is it this time?” Jane asked, only half listening. She was making a list of each lady’s attributes, so she could share them with the gentlemen over the next twelve days. She’d matched them up like turtledoves, or French hens. Whichever came in pairs.

“She’s added pepper to the pudding again, and poured cologne in the gravy, thinking it was sherry. Worse, Lady Caroline came behind her and did the same again, since Lady Alice promised to teach her how to cook. They’ve rendered everything inedible. Cook says she shall have to bar the kitchen door so she can remake everything properly, and in peace.”

Jane added ‘clever cook’ to Alice’s list, and ‘devoted housekeeper’ to Caroline’s.

“Cook is threatening to leave us, my lady,” Lucy added to get Jane’s attention.

“Tell her to wait until Twelfth Night. She’ll find it quieter after that.”

“With the ladies trapped inside by the snow? I doubt that very much.”

Jane rose and took her maid’s hands. “Truly, there isn’t a single thing to worry about. We are having this house party for a reason.

“Because you wish to dance?” Lucy suggested.

Jane laughed. “Yes, but more than that, I wish for peace and quiet, and my home all to myself.”

“And how will you accomplish that? Drown the bunch of them in the wassail bowl?”

“Of course not. I plan to see them all wed.”

“To whom?” Lucy squeaked. “A sillier gaggle of geese there never was! Surely no sensible gentleman would have Alice, or Beatrice, and especially not Charlotte—or Caroline.”

“There is someone perfect for everyone. I have spent weeks determining the right match for each lady, and those gentlemen have been invited for Christmastide. With the excitement of the season they will easily fall in love, like turtle doves in a pear tree.”

“I thought it was a partridge?” Lucy said. “Mind Lady Prudence’s children don’t strangle the partridge, and throw stones at the turtle doves.”

“It is a perfect plan. There will be ladies dancing and lords a-leaping. It will be a merry event!” Jane assured her. She crossed to the desk and picked up her quill to add a note. “We’ll need to gather plenty of extra mistletoe.”

The door opened quietly. “My lady, the gentleman have arrived,” her butler informed her.

Jane dropped the pen. “Already? All five of them?”

“Six, in fact,” Jarvis replied.

“Six? I invited only five. Who is the sixth gentleman?”

“Captain William Carling. He came with Colonel Lord Dabinett.”

“Are we being invaded by the army?” Lucy asked.

Jane felt the blood drain from her limbs, and she sat down, gripping the back of the chair tightly.

“Will?” she whispered. “Here?”

“Indeed, the very same gentleman who used to visit your father at Kingscott Grange before your marriage, my lady,” Jarvis confirmed. “I will give the gentlemen tea in the south drawing room while their trunks are sent up to the appropriate rooms. Shall I put Lord William in the green bedroom? There is no other space available.”

“But that’s in this wing of the house!” Jane said. “The gentlemen were to be kept in the east wing!”

“A fly in your plans, my lady?” Lucy asked. “That makes six gentlemen and five ladies, unless you include yourself, of course. I recall you were rather fond of Mr. Carling before you married Lord Edgar.”

Jane crossed to the mirror to pat her hair and pinch her cheeks. “Certainly not! Will is merely an old friend, and I shall greet him as such.”

She caught the knowing look that passed between her servants, and raised her chin. “See to the trunks, Jarvis. Lucy, you’d better gather the ladies and send them downstairs.”

Jane realized her hands were shaking, and she smoothed them over the skirts of her new emerald green gown. “I shall go down and welcome Wi—our guests.”

Five gentlemen shot to attention as Jane entered the drawing room. The sixth was already standing, leaning insouciantly against the mantle of the fireplace. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Hello, Jenny,” he murmured, using the pet name he used to call her.

His voice was as she remembered. It plucked at her emotions with a practiced hand. Her own greeting stuck in her throat.

There was a clamor in the room around her, a storm of compliments and introductions and bows, but she heard nothing, saw nothing, but Will.

He hadn’t changed. He was still as handsome as he’d been four years ago, when she told him she intended to marry Dunsmoore, and he’d left her. His shoulders were every bit as broad under his blue coat, his legs just as long.

Her eyes fell on his mouth.

No man had ever kissed her like Will. She had kissed him to stop the proposal she sensed he intended to make, just hours after her marriage to Edgar had been arranged. She hadn’t wanted to stop kissing Will, but there’d been no choice.

She met his eyes, saw the gleam there, as if he were remembering that kiss as well. His eyes were still gray, still dangerous to a lady’s senses. She was drowning in them. She put a hand to her cheek, felt the hot blood there.

“Why have you come?” she whispered.

“To see you married,” he replied with a devil’s grin.

Jane felt her heart lurch in her chest. “I have no intention of marrying.”

He smiled as if he didn’t believe her, the old, daring, intimate grin she still saw in her dreams. He was here to torment her, to tease her, and unsettle her.

And if he could do that just by smiling at her, she was in trouble.

Jarvis entered with tea, and she caught his sleeve.

“Cancel the mistletoe.”

*****

Lady Evelyn Renshaw is married to England's most notorious traitor...Or is she?

No one has seen Lord Philip alive for months. The Crown wants to hang him. The ton wants to know if Evelyn is as guilty as her husband, and Philip's enemies expect Evelyn to pay the price for her husband's sins.

Captain Sinjon Rutherford has troubles of his own. He needs a place to hide while he proves himself innocent of some very nasty charges. The Crown offers assistance, but only if Sinjon helps them uncover the truth about Evelyn's part in her husband's treason. He's planted as a spy in her household, disguised as a servant. But Sinjon is no footman...and he doesn't have time to fall in love with the enigmatic Evelyn, but the lady needs a strong protector, and a lover.

And it seems the lady has some dark secrets of her own, secrets that can get them both killed...

Places to purchase:

| Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | The Book Depository | 

On the first day of Christmas:

Lady Miranda Archer accepts a marriage proposal.

On the first day of Christmas, fifteen minutes later:

Miranda realizes she’s made a huge mistake.

For the next twelve days:

Miranda must find a way out of her engagement—which is harder than it looks, especially since her fiancÉ is pompous, mean, and desperate for her family’s jewels—and convince her true love that all she wants for Christmas is him.

Places to purchase:

| Amazon | Barnes & Noble |

Check out my review for All The Pleasures Of The Season here.

**Giveaway**

Lecia is giving away an e-copy of All The Pleasures Of The Season and a copy of The Price of Temptation to 2 lucky winners, open to International shipping. So make sure to leave a comment and fill out the Rafflecopter form. 

And don't forget to head over to Not Another Romance Blog and check out author Vicky Dreiling's special scene! 

**Grand Prize Giveaway**

On behalf of myself, Rita and lots of awesome authors, we will be having one BIG Grand Prize given away to 1 lucky winner. The grand prize consists of a mix of books, swag, and lots of other secret goodies. Believe me, you want to enter to win this prize. Just make sure to leave a comment everyday on each post on both blogs and fill out this FORM. That's it. Super easy! 

Good Luck everyone and Happy Holidays!



a Rafflecopter giveaway