Enjoy three excerpts from Regency Christmas Parties by Annie Burrows, Lara Temple and Joanna Johnson. This beautiful and festive book features three seasonal, Regency romances.

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Invitation to a Christmas Wedding by Annie Burrows

He glanced down at her again. ‘I say, you don’t go by the name of Miss Isherwood, do you?’

If he was here to meet Miss Isherwood, then the chances were that he was going to provide her transport to the ducal palace.

‘I am Miss Isherwood, yes,’ she said.

He scowled at her. ‘You are not…’

She had a suspicion that he’d been going to say not what he’d expected. But he gathered himself up, altered the expression on his face from one of disbelief to polite enquiry and said, ‘That is, are you the bride’s guest of honour?’

Clara felt a moment’s perplexity. ‘Guest of honour? I don’t know about that. But I did receive an invitation to Miss Fairclough’s wedding to the Duke of Braid. Would you like to inspect it?’

Without waiting for his response, she pulled open the strings of her reticule and delved inside for the thick cream card, edged with what looked like gold. She was jolly glad now that she’d decided to bring it with her. It had been just as she’d been tucking it between the pages of her prayer book, in order to keep it in pristine condition, that she’d had a sudden dreadful premonition that without it, people might not believe that such a humble creature as she had any right to enter such a grand place as the ducal palace sounded. But it had her name on it. And a personal note, scribbled on the reverse, from the bride herself. With that in her hand, nobody could deny her admittance.

Lieutenant Warren glanced at the invitation she showed him. Removed his hat. Gave her a curt bow.

She tried not to sigh with relief, although she felt as if she had just surmounted what might have been an uncomfortable hurdle.

‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Isherwood. I am Lieutenant Warren.’

Lieutenant? Well, if he was in the army, or navy, that would explain his curt manners. He was probably more used to ordering people about than making polite conversation.

Clara got to her feet and dipped a respectful curtsy. ‘And I am jolly glad to make yours, too, Lieutenant. If not for you, that horse might have trampled me.’

Something that was not exactly a smile, but was definitely a lessening of the severity of the line of his lips, softened his expression somewhat.

‘If you would care to come this way,’ he said, gesturing with his arm, ‘I have a vehicle waiting out in the street. Because I have come, as you’ve probably already guessed, to convey you to Saxony Palace.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, her spirits lifting.

When he took her bag and strode off, the crowds parting before him and giving her a clear passage in his wake, it was all she could do not to skip along behind him. For not only had she escaped from the school for the duration of the Christmas festivities, not only had she had an interesting journey, not only had she been rescued from dire peril by a handsome, dark stranger, but she was now going to spend however long it would take to reach Saxony Palace in his company.

What an adventure! What a lot of tales she’d have to tell the girls when she went back to Heath Top School!

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Snowbound with the Earl by Lara Temple

‘You find my manners wanting, Miss Ingram?’

‘I haven’t found them at all, Lord Deverill.’

Nicholas once again found himself battling the urge to laugh. That was the damnable thing about her. Even at the height of their verbal duels she somehow managed to appeal to his sense of humour.

‘My dear Miss Ingram. I would be delighted if you would honour us with your presence at Hadley Hall. It would be dreadfully remiss of me to leave you here in this country inn all alone at the mercy of the guests and the elements.’

‘I wouldn’t be at the mercy of either—I would be safely in a private room until I can secure passage on the nearest coach or mail.’

He raised his hand, ticking off his fingers. ‘The Boar’s Tusk has only two rooms, both of which are presently occupied. As for the nearest coaching house, it is five miles from here in Upper Bradbury, which is also the nearest town with accommodation. I think that might prove a rather difficult, if not dangerous, walk in such weather.’

Her gaze flew to the window where the bottom of the each of grimy windowpane was covered with a white smile of snow.

When she said nothing he continued, ‘Much better surrender to the inevitable and accept my mother’s hospitality. Think of it—in under half an hour you could be in a nice room, with a crackling fire and whatever has been prepared for dinner brought up to you on a tray, and tomorrow you may return to Bath at first light. Only someone thoroughly bloody-minded would object to that offer.’

‘So you expect me to accept what you yourself would object to?’

‘Very amusing, Miss Ingram. What will it be? A freezing trudge through the snow, or the comforts of Hadley Hall?’

‘I find it hard to believe your mother wouldn’t object to the arrival of an unwelcome guest the day before Christmas.’

She was fighting a rearguard action, he could tell. He ought not to gloat, but he couldn’t resist one last barb. ‘Christmastide is about charity and hospitality, is it not? What could be more hospitable than taking in one’s enemy in their hour of need?’

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A Kiss at the Winter Ball by Joanna Johnson

The sudden turn of the path they followed into a side gate saved Alex from having to reply. Instead he went quickly ahead, holding the gate open as the woman herded her flock through it and on to the wide drive beyond, at the end of which a large and handsome house loomed out of the darkness. Candles lit in every window cast an inviting orange glow over a manicured lawn and hinted at the russet brick of the walls, a flight of fine marble steps reaching up to where the front door waited for their approach. It was a sight Alex had seen countless times, but his companion stopped transfixed, gazing up at Milbrooke Hall with such wonder he had to brace himself against another spark.

‘It’s so beautiful. I’m not sure I dare go any closer.’

She hesitated, the sculpted line of her profile illuminated by the flickering flames, and Alex clenched his jaw.

You’re being ridiculous. Get hold of yourself.

Forcing a laugh, he stepped past her, heading towards the grand steps. ‘That can’t be true. I think you would dare anything.’

Another smile was his reward for such nonchalance. ‘I shall take that as a compliment. Would you knock for me? I can’t leave the birds outside alone…’

Sudden realisation flooded her face. ‘I’ve just realised I don’t even know your name. I was so distracted when we first met I didn’t introduce myself properly.’ She dipped an accomplished curtsy, its elegance hardly spoiled by the filthy hem of her cloak. ‘My name is Miss Maria Bartlett and I beg forgiveness for my terrible manners.’

Standing above her on the steps, Alex paused.

I suppose there’s no avoiding it now, although I doubt she’ll be quite so forthcoming once I’ve told her…

‘I’ll forgive yours if you’ll forgive mine.’

He looked down at her, a slightly bedraggled figure gazing back at him with wide green eyes that were far prettier than he was comfortable with. It would be a real shame if she retreated behind social etiquette after he revealed his name, just as she’d implied she believed necessary…or perhaps not. Perhaps her unconventional behaviour would extend to other areas too, something he found himself hoping as he offered a bow.

‘My name is Alexander, Miss Bartlett. Alexander, Viscount Stanford—and this is my house.’

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By Lauren Gardiner