Items related to A Christmas Miracle
New York Times bestselling author Virginia Henley whisks us back to the reign of King Charles II, as a beautiful governess discovers unexpected passion--and learns a lesson in love.
Katherine Kingsley, winner of a Romantic Times Career Achievement award, introduces us to a young blind woman who helps a desperate artist rekindle his genius as she brings the true spirit of the season to light.
Rebecca Paisley, winner of two Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Awards, weaves an enchanting tale set in nineteenth-century England, where a magical girl transforms a cynic with the power of love.
Critically acclaimed newcomer Stephanie Mittman turns the tables when a thoroughly unsuitable heroine surprises a disillusioned tycoon with the one gift his money cannot buy.
With four acclaimed authors and four unforgettable stories, A Christmas Miracle is a collection to cherish--a holiday gift to savor throughout the year.
Katherine Kingsley, winner of a Romantic Times Career Achievement award, introduces us to a young blind woman who helps a desperate artist rekindle his genius as she brings the true spirit of the season to light.
Rebecca Paisley, winner of two Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Awards, weaves an enchanting tale set in nineteenth-century England, where a magical girl transforms a cynic with the power of love.
Critically acclaimed newcomer Stephanie Mittman turns the tables when a thoroughly unsuitable heroine surprises a disillusioned tycoon with the one gift his money cannot buy.
With four acclaimed authors and four unforgettable stories, A Christmas Miracle is a collection to cherish--a holiday gift to savor throughout the year.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
From the Publisher:
America's Most Beloved Romance Authors...
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Virginia Henley:
"The best in romantic fiction."
--Rendezvous
Katherine Kingsley:
"A miracle worker, a writer who understands the map of the human heart."
--Romantic Times
Rebecca Paisley:
"The queen of endearing heroines."
--Affaire de Coeur
Stephanie Mittman:
"Ms. Mittman might very well be the standard against which all future American romance is judged."
--Affaire de Coeur
Love and Joy by Virginia Henley
"Stop!" Joy Ashley cried, fleeing across the big kitchen.
"Don't you mean: Stop, my lord?" corrected the young man who'd had far too much to drink.
Astonished, she blurted, "You're not a noble of the realm!"
"'Ods balls, Richard, there's insolence for you," drawled his friend, Carlton. "A scullery maid with the airs of a lady."
"I warrant a lady would be more forthcoming with her favors than this little baggage," Dick Humphries complained, cornering the maid once again.
"Leave me alone!" she bade both young men in her sternest voice, knowing from experience it would do little good.
"I only wish to share a little Joy with my friend," Richard said, "where's the harm in that?"
Carlton St. Clare laughed at the witty word-play on the little wench's name and moved across the kitchen to aid his friend. "And I want the same, to share Joy with Dick," he added lewdly.
"You're drunk and disgusting!" Joy cried, spying her opportunity to push her employer's lecherous and spoiled son up against the hot kitchen oven.
As she shoved him, he staggered back, more from drink than force, and though his knee breeches and heavily embroidered waistcoat protected him from the cast-iron oven, he did burn his hand slightly when he saved himself from falling. "Little bitch!" he hissed, "it's time you learned to respect your betters."
"I may not be able to read or write, but that doesn't make you my better! A Cambridge education obviously hasn't turned you into a gentleman."
Carlton roared with laughter. "She's right, old man, you can't make a whistle of a pig's tail."
Richard made another grab for her and as she tore away from his grasp, the cloth of her much-washed cotton dress ripped apart, revealing a pair of deliciously tempting breasts. A foul epithet dropped from his lips. He glared at his companion, demanding, "Can't you help me?"
"I'd rather help myself," Carlton drawled, suddenly realizing the little wench had a rare beauty.
A plump figure suddenly filled the kitchen doorway. "For very shame, Master Richard!" cried Bessie Bumble, the cook whose kitchen they were despoiling. "The little maid has been on her feet for fourteen hours. The last thing she needs is to fight off a ravishing!"
"Shut your mouth and get back to bed, old woman, if you want to keep your job here." Dick Humphries' tone was so threatening, Bessie Bumble stepped back in alarm.
The two gallants managed to corner the maid between the pantry and the Welch dresser that boasted a collection of pewter Joy had polished to look like silver only this morning. Her breasts rose and fell as she panted with apprehension. All she could think of was the knife drawer, but it was forty feet away on the other side of the kitchen.
When Dick Humphries' hands took hold of her breasts, as if they were peaches ripe for plucking, Joy dipped her head and fastened her teeth into his thumb.
"You shouldn't have done that, you little whore." With deliberation he tore what was left of her dress and petticoat from her trembling body.
With a sob, Joy snatched off her mob cap and held it in front of her to cover her nakedness. The moment she did so, a mass of redgold curls tumbled down about her shoulders.
"Glory of God, she looks like Botticelli's Venus rising from the waves," Carlton St. Clare said with appreciation. "Since I'm your guest, Richard, 'tis only fitting I go first."
"Not bloody likely, but you can hold the little wildcat for me, then I'll return the favour," Dick said, fumbling with the front of his breeches.
Bessie Bumble panted up the backstairs holding a shawl over her nightrail with one hand and a fluttering candle with the other. She rat-a-tatted on the master bedchamber door, then tried to catch her breath.
Presently, the mistress of the house, Hortense Humphries, opened the door and demanded, "Whatever is it?"
"Oh ma'am, ye must come down to the kitchen and put a stop to the shameful goings-on."
"What is going on?" Hortense again demanded.
"It's Master Richard, ma'am, and that friend of his...they're foxed ma'am and making a shambles of my kitchen."
"How dare you? My son has never been intoxicated in his life!"
"No ma'am," Bessie said, "but ye'd better come quick to put a stop to their fornication."
Hortense's long face froze. "Lewd language is forbidden at Humphrey House, Mrs. Bumble."
"It's lewd acts ye should be worried about," Bessie muttered under her breath.
Hortense was about to ring for her ladies' maid, then decided to put on her dressing gown without help. "You do realize it's after midnight?" Hortense said darkly as she followed Bessie down the backstairs.
The lamps still ablaze in the kitchen lit the room up to reveal to Mrs. Humphries exactly what was happening. One word from Hortense was enough to shrivel her son's rampant desire along with his cock. "Richard!"
As the two young wastrels stepped away from the girl, their long waistcoats covered their private parts, but revealed Joy Ashton's nakedness in all its youthful glory.
"I am appalled to learn what has been going on in my own kitchen!" Hortense Humphries' lips were stiff, her words stilted. "Ashley, you are dismissed. I will not tolerate a strumpet on my staff. Collect your things and begone!"
"Nay ma'am," Bessie Bumble protested, "ye cannot put the lass out on a London street in the middle of the night!"
"It seems to me the street is where she should be plying her trade. Oh, very well, I suppose I'm a soft-hearted fool. The girl may stay until morning. But she had better be gone by the time you cook breakfast or you may find yourself accompanying her."
The male miscreants had slipped through the doorway unscathed, vanishing into the upper west wing before Hortense had even rendered her verdict. With one last distainful glance at the servants, the mistress herself swept from the kitchen to return to her bedchamber.
Bessie pulled off her shawl and wrapped it about Joy's shoulders. "Are ye all right, love?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Bumble, they had me cornered."
"Don't thank me, I managed to get ye sacked."
Joy shuddered. "It's not the first time and I don't suppose it will be the last."
"Yer shivering; go to bed, child. Ye'll catch cold standing on this cold flagstone floor. We'll figure out something in the morning."
The cook's room was off the kitchen and Joy's cubbyhole adjacent to it. As she lay in the darkness, she thought, Why am I always a victim? The answer of course was as plain as the nose on her face. She was a servant, a member of the under-class. She had been trained as a ladies' maid, but once the lady of the house discovered the fatal attraction Joy Ashley had on the male members of the family, be they husband or sons, she was either dismissed or relegated to the rank of scullery maid where her pretty face and figure were never again seen above-stairs.
Joy had not been born into the servant class. Her father, Thomas Ashley, had been a captain in the king's army. They lived in a lovely manor house on two acres of land on the banks of the River Thames in the country outside London. Then Fate reared its ugly head in the form of Civil War.
Her father was a king's man, known as a Cavalier. He was garrisoned at Oxford, only fifty miles from home and they saw him frequently. His tales of the Roundheads kept Joy wide-eyed, but never afraid, for her handsome father was the strongest, bravest man in the world who would protect both her and the king from all harm.
But on Joy's fifth birthday, January 30, 1649, the Parliamentary forces, bent on regicide, beheaded King Charles I. Her father along with the other Cavaliers rallied round the king's son, but were forced to flee the country as fugitives. Only a year later, Thomas Ashley was killed at the Battle of Dunbar in Scotland.
Joy's pretty, laughing mother was devastated, but that was only the start of their misfortunes. Without her husband's pay, Mary could not feed and clothe them and keep up with the expenses of lovely Ashton Manor. So she rented it out and found a live-in job in service where she was allowed to keep her child.
Joy didn't have many happy memories of that time. Her mother had taught her the alphabet, but now Mary worked such long hours, there was never time or energy to teach Joy her letters properly. Her pretty mother stopped laughing and Joy learned to be quiet as a mouse as she sat in a corner of the kitchen while her mother worked.
In bed at night, Mary told Joy of her plans and dreams. By the end of the year they would have enough money saved to move back to Ashley Manor. But once again Fate stepped in. England became a Commonwealth and Oliver Cromwell, her Protectorate.
"Protectorate indeed! Old Noll is a Disciple of the Devil," her mother whispered.
Property owned by Royalists was now confiscated by the Puritans. The man who rented Ashley Manor declared himself a Parliamentarian and applied for the manor house. It almost killed her mother when she lost their lovely home. Mary began to live on dreams. Some day the king's son would regain the throne and reward those who had sacrificed all in the Stuart cause.
By this time, Joy was seven and quite old enough to scrub vegetables or weed the herb garden. Eventually she learned to polish silver, iron linen and sew a fine seam. But the Puritan houses in which Mary was employed were joyless places indeed. Londoners now li...
"Stop!" Joy Ashley cried, fleeing across the big kitchen.
"Don't you mean: Stop, my lord?" corrected the young man who'd had far too much to drink.
Astonished, she blurted, "You're not a noble of the realm!"
"'Ods balls, Richard, there's insolence for you," drawled his friend, Carlton. "A scullery maid with the airs of a lady."
"I warrant a lady would be more forthcoming with her favors than this little baggage," Dick Humphries complained, cornering the maid once again.
"Leave me alone!" she bade both young men in her sternest voice, knowing from experience it would do little good.
"I only wish to share a little Joy with my friend," Richard said, "where's the harm in that?"
Carlton St. Clare laughed at the witty word-play on the little wench's name and moved across the kitchen to aid his friend. "And I want the same, to share Joy with Dick," he added lewdly.
"You're drunk and disgusting!" Joy cried, spying her opportunity to push her employer's lecherous and spoiled son up against the hot kitchen oven.
As she shoved him, he staggered back, more from drink than force, and though his knee breeches and heavily embroidered waistcoat protected him from the cast-iron oven, he did burn his hand slightly when he saved himself from falling. "Little bitch!" he hissed, "it's time you learned to respect your betters."
"I may not be able to read or write, but that doesn't make you my better! A Cambridge education obviously hasn't turned you into a gentleman."
Carlton roared with laughter. "She's right, old man, you can't make a whistle of a pig's tail."
Richard made another grab for her and as she tore away from his grasp, the cloth of her much-washed cotton dress ripped apart, revealing a pair of deliciously tempting breasts. A foul epithet dropped from his lips. He glared at his companion, demanding, "Can't you help me?"
"I'd rather help myself," Carlton drawled, suddenly realizing the little wench had a rare beauty.
A plump figure suddenly filled the kitchen doorway. "For very shame, Master Richard!" cried Bessie Bumble, the cook whose kitchen they were despoiling. "The little maid has been on her feet for fourteen hours. The last thing she needs is to fight off a ravishing!"
"Shut your mouth and get back to bed, old woman, if you want to keep your job here." Dick Humphries' tone was so threatening, Bessie Bumble stepped back in alarm.
The two gallants managed to corner the maid between the pantry and the Welch dresser that boasted a collection of pewter Joy had polished to look like silver only this morning. Her breasts rose and fell as she panted with apprehension. All she could think of was the knife drawer, but it was forty feet away on the other side of the kitchen.
When Dick Humphries' hands took hold of her breasts, as if they were peaches ripe for plucking, Joy dipped her head and fastened her teeth into his thumb.
"You shouldn't have done that, you little whore." With deliberation he tore what was left of her dress and petticoat from her trembling body.
With a sob, Joy snatched off her mob cap and held it in front of her to cover her nakedness. The moment she did so, a mass of redgold curls tumbled down about her shoulders.
"Glory of God, she looks like Botticelli's Venus rising from the waves," Carlton St. Clare said with appreciation. "Since I'm your guest, Richard, 'tis only fitting I go first."
"Not bloody likely, but you can hold the little wildcat for me, then I'll return the favour," Dick said, fumbling with the front of his breeches.
Bessie Bumble panted up the backstairs holding a shawl over her nightrail with one hand and a fluttering candle with the other. She rat-a-tatted on the master bedchamber door, then tried to catch her breath.
Presently, the mistress of the house, Hortense Humphries, opened the door and demanded, "Whatever is it?"
"Oh ma'am, ye must come down to the kitchen and put a stop to the shameful goings-on."
"What is going on?" Hortense again demanded.
"It's Master Richard, ma'am, and that friend of his...they're foxed ma'am and making a shambles of my kitchen."
"How dare you? My son has never been intoxicated in his life!"
"No ma'am," Bessie said, "but ye'd better come quick to put a stop to their fornication."
Hortense's long face froze. "Lewd language is forbidden at Humphrey House, Mrs. Bumble."
"It's lewd acts ye should be worried about," Bessie muttered under her breath.
Hortense was about to ring for her ladies' maid, then decided to put on her dressing gown without help. "You do realize it's after midnight?" Hortense said darkly as she followed Bessie down the backstairs.
The lamps still ablaze in the kitchen lit the room up to reveal to Mrs. Humphries exactly what was happening. One word from Hortense was enough to shrivel her son's rampant desire along with his cock. "Richard!"
As the two young wastrels stepped away from the girl, their long waistcoats covered their private parts, but revealed Joy Ashton's nakedness in all its youthful glory.
"I am appalled to learn what has been going on in my own kitchen!" Hortense Humphries' lips were stiff, her words stilted. "Ashley, you are dismissed. I will not tolerate a strumpet on my staff. Collect your things and begone!"
"Nay ma'am," Bessie Bumble protested, "ye cannot put the lass out on a London street in the middle of the night!"
"It seems to me the street is where she should be plying her trade. Oh, very well, I suppose I'm a soft-hearted fool. The girl may stay until morning. But she had better be gone by the time you cook breakfast or you may find yourself accompanying her."
The male miscreants had slipped through the doorway unscathed, vanishing into the upper west wing before Hortense had even rendered her verdict. With one last distainful glance at the servants, the mistress herself swept from the kitchen to return to her bedchamber.
Bessie pulled off her shawl and wrapped it about Joy's shoulders. "Are ye all right, love?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Bumble, they had me cornered."
"Don't thank me, I managed to get ye sacked."
Joy shuddered. "It's not the first time and I don't suppose it will be the last."
"Yer shivering; go to bed, child. Ye'll catch cold standing on this cold flagstone floor. We'll figure out something in the morning."
The cook's room was off the kitchen and Joy's cubbyhole adjacent to it. As she lay in the darkness, she thought, Why am I always a victim? The answer of course was as plain as the nose on her face. She was a servant, a member of the under-class. She had been trained as a ladies' maid, but once the lady of the house discovered the fatal attraction Joy Ashley had on the male members of the family, be they husband or sons, she was either dismissed or relegated to the rank of scullery maid where her pretty face and figure were never again seen above-stairs.
Joy had not been born into the servant class. Her father, Thomas Ashley, had been a captain in the king's army. They lived in a lovely manor house on two acres of land on the banks of the River Thames in the country outside London. Then Fate reared its ugly head in the form of Civil War.
Her father was a king's man, known as a Cavalier. He was garrisoned at Oxford, only fifty miles from home and they saw him frequently. His tales of the Roundheads kept Joy wide-eyed, but never afraid, for her handsome father was the strongest, bravest man in the world who would protect both her and the king from all harm.
But on Joy's fifth birthday, January 30, 1649, the Parliamentary forces, bent on regicide, beheaded King Charles I. Her father along with the other Cavaliers rallied round the king's son, but were forced to flee the country as fugitives. Only a year later, Thomas Ashley was killed at the Battle of Dunbar in Scotland.
Joy's pretty, laughing mother was devastated, but that was only the start of their misfortunes. Without her husband's pay, Mary could not feed and clothe them and keep up with the expenses of lovely Ashton Manor. So she rented it out and found a live-in job in service where she was allowed to keep her child.
Joy didn't have many happy memories of that time. Her mother had taught her the alphabet, but now Mary worked such long hours, there was never time or energy to teach Joy her letters properly. Her pretty mother stopped laughing and Joy learned to be quiet as a mouse as she sat in a corner of the kitchen while her mother worked.
In bed at night, Mary told Joy of her plans and dreams. By the end of the year they would have enough money saved to move back to Ashley Manor. But once again Fate stepped in. England became a Commonwealth and Oliver Cromwell, her Protectorate.
"Protectorate indeed! Old Noll is a Disciple of the Devil," her mother whispered.
Property owned by Royalists was now confiscated by the Puritans. The man who rented Ashley Manor declared himself a Parliamentarian and applied for the manor house. It almost killed her mother when she lost their lovely home. Mary began to live on dreams. Some day the king's son would regain the throne and reward those who had sacrificed all in the Stuart cause.
By this time, Joy was seven and quite old enough to scrub vegetables or weed the herb garden. Eventually she learned to polish silver, iron linen and sew a fine seam. But the Puritan houses in which Mary was employed were joyless places indeed. Londoners now li...
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherIsland Books
- Publication date1996
- ISBN 10 0440222907
- ISBN 13 9780440222903
- BindingMass Market Paperback
- Edition number1
- Number of pages464
- Rating
Buy New
Learn more about this copy
US$ 94.70
Shipping:
US$ 4.13
Within U.S.A.
Top Search Results from the AbeBooks Marketplace
Stock Image
A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE
Published by
Island Books
(1996)
ISBN 10: 0440222907
ISBN 13: 9780440222903
New
Softcover
Quantity: 1
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Condition: New. New. In shrink wrap. Looks like an interesting title! 0.5. Seller Inventory # Q-0440222907
Buy New
US$ 94.70
Convert currency