The Home for the Holidays collection, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Home for the Holidays collection | Sweet Regency holiday novellas | Sandra Sookoo
The Folly of Caroling | Book One in the Home for the Holidays series | Sandra Sookoo
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Interlude
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Three Mistletoe Kisses | Book Two in the Home for the Holidays series | Sandra Sookoo
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Interlude
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Silver Bells Scandal | Book Three in the Home for the Holidays series | Sandra Sookoo
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Interlude
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
A Holly and Ivy Affair | Book Four in the Home for the Holidays series | Sandra Sookoo
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Interlude
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
The End | If you enjoyed this collection, please leave a review.
Regency-era romances by Sandra Sookoo
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Home for the Holidays collection
Sweet Regency holiday novellas
Sandra Sookoo
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author. Likenesses of characters to anyone living or dead is strictly a coincidence.
HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS COLLECTION © 2021 by Sandra Sookoo
Published by New Independence Books
ISBN- 9798201084226
Contact Information:
sandrasookoo@yahoo.com
newindependencebooks@gmail.com
Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com
Edited by: Angie Eads
Book Cover Design by David Sookoo
Photography from Deposit Photos
Publishing History:
First Digital Edition, 2021
Dear Readers,
Thank you so much for picking up a copy of my Home for the Holidays collection. I wrote it in a Hallmark style to give you all the feels of sweet holiday romance. I hope you enjoy it!
Merry Christmas,
Sandra
The Folly of Caroling
Book One in the Home for the Holidays series
Sandra Sookoo
Blurb
When two people are too shy to give romance a chance, a little ducal interference is needed.
It’s Christmastide, and Griffin Ivy, Earl of Hollingsworth, has been summoned by his ducal parents to Ivy Castle, a monstrosity of an estate deep in the heart of Warwickshire County. He’s terrified of taking the title of duke soon, and instead of mingling with society, he’d rather bury himself in books or walk the acreage, for then anxiety can’t touch him... until he meets his father’s nurse, Nora.
When Miss Nora Ridley is told to draw the earl out of his shell during the holiday season, so he’ll feel more comfortable at social events, she balks at the odd request. Not only would it mean she’d need to circulate within the duke’s family in public, but the order also comes with a borrowed wardrobe making her into someone she isn’t... but then she meets Griffin and her perspective changes.
They’re both ill-at-ease within company, but Ivy Castle is big enough to provide a respite from responsibilities and an opportunity for quiet talking. As they’re pushed into traditional holiday activities and entertainments, an unlikely and surprising romance blooms between them. The magic of Christmastide helps to usher in love, but a little white lie and societal differences threaten to tear the couple apart... unless they both take a leap of faith together.
Prologue
November 2, 1818
Ivy Castle
Warwickshire County, near Bedworth, England
T
he Duke of Whittington looked across his study at his wife of nearly nine and thirty years, and he frowned. Though she was every bit as beautiful as she’d been when he’d wed her, their lives had become increasingly lackluster of late, and he knew the reason all too well.
“Why are you frowning, Whittington?” she asked as she glanced up from the piece of fine embroidery she worked at even though arthritis in her fingers bedeviled her more often than not anymore. “We’ve settled into the castle well ahead of Christmastide, just like you’d asked, and it’s already cold enough for snow, just as you’d hoped. Why are you not pleased?”
“It’s our children, Beatrice. It’s beyond me why none of them are happily married nor have managed to set up their nurseries,” he groused, and scanned the letter to his firstborn son he currently wrote.
“To be fair, Stephen was engaged at one point.”
“But it didn’t stick due to his arrogance,” the duke pointed out. A drop of ink sank into the paper. It would be a proper mess if he weren’t careful.
“And Lettice was married. Plus, she has a lovely child. Lucy is a fine girl at just five. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes.” Whittington wave a hand as if that didn’t matter. “I desire more from our brood than they’ve given. The twins aren’t married at the ripe old age of eight and thirty. And Lettice, God help her, is a widow at five and thirty. She still has time to marry again.” He shook his head, for he’d given the matter some thought over the last year. “To say nothing of Graham. He’s a confirmed rogue at two and thirty, and I despair of him ever settling down. He prefers scandal over respectability.”
His wife chuckled. She laid down her fancy work and smiled at him. “You wish for more grandchildren.” It wasn’t a question.
“In part, yes.”
“So do I.” She sighed. Though her dark hair was now liberally twined with silver, her blue eyes hadn’t lost their sparkle, and the wrinkles on her face spoke of happy times and a satisfaction of living. “When you and I were Griffin and Stephen’s age, we’d been married more than ten years and had already borne all of our children.”
“Yes, which is why I’m concerned. Times have changed, to be sure, but this is outside of enough. Perhaps there’s something wrong with our offspring. What are they waiting for?”
She uttered an unladylike snort of derision. “I doubt times have changed all that much. They have found other interests that don’t include being domesticated.” With the regal air of the duchess she was, she rose, approached his desk, and then perched upon the top of it, close enough that the heat of her body emanated to him. “Our parents arranged our match, remember.”
“It’s something I’ll never forget.” With fondness, he touched a hand to her knee. Over the years, she’d been his biggest support and his best friend. They’d weathered the ills and triumphs of life together and had become stronger for it. “Do you think we should do the same with our children? I’d like to see them matched by the time we return to London for the Season. If something doesn’t happen, you and I will be in the grave before they decide they might like to fall in love and get on with things.”
One of her eyebrows rose. “Could we? I’m sure all four of them would balk at such highhanded tactics.”
Whittington scoffed. “We could if they don’t know we’re manipulating them.” After he set his pen in its holder, he moved his hands as if he were a marionette master. “We’ll control their strings, as it were, and they’ll be none the wiser if we don’t show our cards.”
“Do you have a plan? After all, we’re at Ivy Castle through Twelfth Night at least. There’s plenty of time.”
“Indeed.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. Yes, the plan had merit but needed depth and decided care. Then excitement shot down his spine and he shared a grin with his wife. “We’ll pretend I’m in ill health and this might be my last Christmastide before I depart this mortal coil.”
His wife sucked in a breath of surprise. “Surely that won’t convince them. They’ve seen you too often, and you’ve always been hale and hearty.”
“Ah, but it’s been months since our children have deigned to pay a call on us. Much could have happened in those six months.” He patted her knee again. “Miss Ridley can play along and back up our story. I’ve had her in as my nurse for years anyway. The children don’t need to know why.”
“How heavy handed of you, Whittington,
“At this point, its desperation, my dear. I want them settled—or nearly so—soon, and I want the laughter of babies to fill the halls of Ivy Castle again.” He sobered for an instant. “However, I fear Griffin is far too shy and retiring to survive as the duke once I do pass over.”
“Then we’ll have to make certain the lady we match him with can manage him, support him enough that he might overcome his anxieties.” Mischief twinkled in her eyes, reminding him of the hoyden she’d been in their youth.
“That’s the spirit!” He crumpled the letter in front of him, tossed the unneeded missive to the floor, and then drew a fresh sheet toward him. “I’ll start again, only this time it’ll have a different undertone.” He once more took up his pen. “While I write the letters summoning our dear children to Ivy Castle, why don’t you do a round of visiting? Perhaps you can ascertain if there are eligible parties in the country for Christmastide that might rub along well with our various children.” He hooted with laughter. “They’ll be matched by Twelfth Night, see if they won’t!”
“Oh, but you’re a romantic at heart, Whittington,” she said and leaned over to drop a kiss upon his cheek.
“I merely want our brood to be as happy as we are, for after all, there is nothing better in life than finding love and romance.” Then he waved her off and began work on his letter.
This would do; it simply had to. He wouldn’t accept anything else.
Chapter One
December 4, 1818
Whittington House
London, England
G
riffin Michael Ivy, Earl of Hollingsworth, couldn’t believe his ill luck. Just this morning, a letter had arrived from his father, the Duke of Whittington, and the contents had anxiety clawing through the pit of his stomach.
“I don’t wish to go to Ivy Castle, least of all in the dashed wintertime,” he said to his twin brother, Stephen—known in polite society as Viscount Tilbury, which was their father’s second subsidiary title—who lounged on a low sofa in the drawing room.
“On this you have my complete sympathies,” his twin said, not bothering to glance up from the book he was reading. With his tall, lean form stretched out upon that piece of furniture, he was the picture of a negligent lord. “Why the devil do you mention it? I thought we’d decided to knock about Town for the holidays. There’s precious little entertainment here, but the members of the beau monde who remain should prove good enough company and won’t send you running off to hide as if there were a crush.” A trace of annoyance wove through his voice, for it was well known that Griffin detested being out in public.
Oh, dear Lord, I can’t contemplate social obligations right now.
He held up the sheet of stationery. “Papa sent a letter. To both of us.”
“That’s odd.” Stephen shifted his position so that he sat up straight. He shoved a hand through his thick, dark brown hair. Worry etched his brow while concern clouded his chocolate brown eyes. No doubt Griffin’s own features reflected the same, for they were identical in every way. “Might as well read it then. Papa rarely writes. I’ll have it after you.”
“Right.” Perhaps the unknowing was the crux of the issue, for he could imagine all sorts of things in his head. Resting an ankle on a knee to try and affect an outward image of calm, Griffin cleared his throat. “It’s dated a month ago.”
Stephen shrugged. “The post is slow. You know that.”
“I’m merely stating a fact.”
To Griffin and Stephen, my oldest children,
I’m writing to you on this day to summon you boys to Ivy Castle. The Warwickshire countryside is lovely this time of the year, if you’ll recall from your childhoods. Beyond that, there is more somber news. I’m gathering my children to my country seat for the sheer fact that this may very well prove my last Christmastide. Over the months, my health has deteriorated, and I’m not certain I’ll live to see another year.
“Apparently, Papa is dying.” Shock sent ice through Griffin’s veins as he stared in horror at the familiar, heavy handwriting on the paper.
“What the devil does he mean by that?” Stephen objected, coming to his feet. The abandoned book thudded to the Aubusson carpet.
“I have no idea.” It was news to him that his father suffered from failing health. The last time he’d seen him, granted, was six months or so ago, and that man seemed quite well. How had he declined so steadily and so fast? His chest as anxiety came over him. A sheen of sweat formed on his upper lip that had nothing to do with the cheerful fire dancing behind the grate.
Stephen gestured with a hand. “Continue. See if he explains.”
In any event, you and your siblings need to arrive at Ivy Castle post haste, and most certainly by Christmas, earlier still if you can manage it. I’ve made plans to celebrate the holiday in the tradition that my father and his father before him had done. We’ll have bonfires, mummers, feasting, caroling, social parties, and all the other falderol one can imagine that’s fitting for this time of year.
“He means to keep the holidays in the style of Grandfather,” Griffin said in a quiet voice while his insides were whipped into a frenzy of terror. Those plans meant he’d have no excuse to miss them, especially if his father were indeed dying.
“That sounds distinctively unappealing, for I’d hoped to secure the company of a certain Mrs. Danvers this month...”
Griffin rolled his eyes heavenward. His brother, when not chasing the latest Incomparable of the Season, always had a willing member of the demi-monde in the wings. “You can take up with the widow once we return to London. We owe it to Papa to acquiesce to his wishes just now.”
“But the inconvenience of it!” Stephen took to pacing, which is what Griffin wished to do but was nearly paralyzed by looming responsibilities. “It will take at least five days to journey to Ivy Castle by coach, providing the weather is fair.”
“I am aware of that, but how can we not go? What if he expires while we tarry here?” The guilt of it couldn’t be borne. Before his twin could answer, Griffin read the remainder of the letter.
Your mother and I are looking forward to seeing you and your siblings together in one place. Christmastide is a time for family, and you children have been scattered to the wind for far too long. Come home. Spend time with me while you can. Your lives in London will wait. Especially you, Griffin. Once I pass, the mantle of duke will fall about your shoulders. You haven’t proved yourself worthy of the title, but I’m hoping to see a change in you soon.
Besides, your mother and I will celebrate our wedding anniversary on Boxing Day. Being married nine and thirty years is nothing to sneeze at and we’d like all of you here to mark the occasion with us. No need to reply to this letter with one of your own. The post is slow and if you leave Town now, you’ll arrive before the mail coach anyway.
Yours affectionately,
Father
Griffin stared at his brother. “If he expires, I’ll be the duke,” he said in a quiet voice as his stomach heaved. A few swallows staved off the urge to retch, but for how long?
“Oh, I’m well aware you’ll be the next Duke of Whittington,” Stephen snapped back with a fair amount of envy in his voice. He’d missed out on being the oldest son by only one minute, and he’d never gotten over it throughout the whole of his life.
“I’m not ready.” Gooseflesh raced over his skin at the thought. Assuming the title meant he’d be thrust into society in a greater role than he currently served. That made him hot and cold by turns, for he was exceedingly withdrawn and hated to have any sort of attention on himself. “I detest being the center of attention, and becoming a duke is about the most notoriety a man can have.”
Stephen snorted. “It’s not a death sentence.”
“Perhaps not to you.” Griffin shook his head and regard the letter once more. If summoning them all to Ivy Castle—a place they’d hadn’t been since they were all youths—it meant that his father was serious and perhaps a touch desperate. Indeed, he was dying, for he’d never before done anything like this.
“You need to push through your abject fear about being in society.” His brother wandered to the fireplace and rested a fist against the high mantle. The soothing shades of green within the room complimented his coloring.
