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A New Year Bride
SCARLET WILSON wrote her first story aged eight and has never stopped. She’s worked in the health service for twenty years, trained as a nurse and a health visitor. Scarlet now works in public health and lives on the West Coast of Scotland with her fiance and their two sons. Writing medical romances and contemporary romances is a dream come true for her.
BARBARA WALLACE can’t remember when she wasn’t dreaming up love stories in her head, so writing romances for Mills & Boon is a dream come true. Happily married to her own Prince Charming, she lives in New England with a house full of empty-nest animals. Readers can catch up with Barbara through her newsletter. Sign up at www.barbarawallace.com
BRENDA HARLEN is a multi-award winning author for Mills & Boon True Love who has written over twenty-five books for the company.
A New Year Bride
Christmas in the Boss’s Castle
Scarlet Wilson
Winter Wedding for the Prince
Barbara Wallace
Merry Christmas, Baby Maverick!
Brenda Harlen
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-0-008-90103-5
A NEW YEAR BRIDE
Christmas in the Boss’s Castle © 2016 Harlequin Books S.A. Winter Wedding for the Prince © 2016 Barbara Wallace Merry Christmas, Baby Maverick! © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
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Table of Contents
Cover
About the Authors
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Christmas in the Boss’s Castle
Back Cover Text
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Winter Wedding for the Prince
Back Cover Text
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Merry Christmas, Baby Maverick!
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
About the Publisher
Christmas in the Boss’s Castle
Scarlet Wilson
The maid who saved Christmas
Chambermaid Grace Ellis loves Christmas, but after losing her beloved grandmother, she’ll be spending this festive season working. So when her boss, Finlay “Scrooge” Armstrong, offers her a magical Christmas in Scotland, it’s a welcome distraction from her grief.
Widower Finlay is haunted by the ghosts of Christmas past, but snowbound in his castle, Grace starts to melt his frozen heart. He never thought he’d find love again, but finding Grace is his very own Christmas miracle…!
This book is dedicated my favourite little people, Taylor
Hyndman, Noah ‘Batman’ Dickson, Lleyton Hyndman
and Luca Dickson. Let’s hope you’re all on Santa’s
‘nice’ list this year!
CHAPTER ONE
GRACE BRUSHED THE snow from her shoulders as she ducked in the back door of the exclusive Armstrong hotel in Chelsea, London. It was just after six in the morning, the streets were still dark and she could see her footprints in the snow outside.
Frank, the senior concierge, came in behind her. A wide grin lit up his face as he saw her looking at the snow outside. ‘Finally,’ he muttered as he shook the snow from his coat and started to sing the words to It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas. The words of the song floated from his lips. He gave her a nudge. ‘You’re too young to remember this one.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Frank, you should know, I know every version of every Christmas song that’s ever existed.’
They walked into the changing room. ‘What version do you want to go for? Johnny Mathis, Frank Sinatra, or Michael Buble?’ She started singing alongside him as she wound her long brown hair up into a loose bun and tied on her white chambermaid’s apron over her black shirt and skirt.
Christmas was her absolute favourite time of year. It brought back great memories of the Christmases she’d spent with her grandmother in the little flat they’d shared in one of the poorer parts of London. But what they didn’t have in wealth, they’d certainly made up for in love. This would be her first Christmas without her gran and she was determined not to be sad and gloomy—her gran would never have wanted that for her.
Frank slid his arms into his dark green and gold jacket and started fastening the buttons. ‘I swear this thing shrinks every night when I put it into my locker.’
Grace laughed and closed her locker, walking over to Frank and pulling his jacket a little closer across his wide girth, helping him with the buttons. He kept singing the whole time. She finished with a sigh. ‘I wish those words were true.’
Frank frowned as he glanced at his reflection in the nearby mirror and straightened his jacket. They started walking down the lower corridor of the hotel together. She shrugged. ‘I wish it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas.’ She held out her hands. ‘Because it certainly isn’t in here.’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘I don’t get it. All the other big hotels in London have huge Christmas trees in their reception area and garlands and holly wreaths everywhere.’
The Armstrong hotel was part of a luxurious chain across the world. Locations in London, Paris, Tokyo, Rome and New York were regularly used by statesmen, politicians, rock stars and Hollywood celebrities. They were the epitome of glamour, renowned for their exclusivity, personal touches and attention to detail. It was a far cry from the small flat that Grace lived in and over the past few months she’d secretly loved seeing how the other half lived their lives. She knew one pop star that never laundered their underwear and instead just threw them away. A politician who had a secret interest in romance novels and a statesman that only ate red-coloured candy.
They reached the stairway up to the main reception. Frank held the door open for her and pressed his lips together. But now Grace had started, she couldn’t stop. ‘I mean, I know this place is exclusive, but the minimalist Christmas decorations?’ She gave another shake of her head. ‘They just look—well…cold.’
Frank sighed as he headed over towards his granite-topped desk. He spoke quietly as he glanced around the reception area. Everything was sleek and shades of black or grey. ‘I know.’ His eyes took in the small black and glass sign on the main reception desk.
The Armstrong wishes you
a Merry Christmas.
It was the only concession to Christmas on show. He checked the ledger on the desk in front of him and handed Grace an envelope. ‘The Armstrong used to have beautiful Christmas decorations and lights. All exclusive. All extortionate. But they added colour to the place. Vibrancy.’
Grace started to automatically open the envelope with her day’s assignments. She glanced upwards. ‘So, what happened?’
Frank paused for a second before finally answering. Her gaze narrowed. Although she’d only been working here a few months, Frank had been here for ever. He was thoroughly professional, good at his job and for the guests who returned time after time—a most welcome sight. ‘They had a rebranding,’ he said finally.
Grace frowned. She wanted to ask more, but, like most good concierges, Frank had always been the soul of discretion. It was unlikely she’d get any more out of him.
She waved her assignment at him. ‘I wish they’d let me do the rebranding around here. I could sprinkle some Christmas fairy dust.’ She held out her hands and spun around. ‘Some silver lights up here, some red ones over there. A tree near the glass doors. How about some garlands at the reception desk? And a huge pile of beautifully wrapped presents in the little alcove, just as you go through to the bar.’ She stopped spinning, closed her eyes and held her hands to her chest. For a few seconds she could actually see in her head what this place could look like. The welcome. The warmth. The festivities.
Frank let out a wry laugh. ‘Keep dreaming, Grace.’
Her eyelids flickered back open. Grey. Sleek. Blackness everywhere. She leaned forward across Frank’s desk. ‘I could even make this place smell like Christmas. Cookies. Cinnamon sticks. Cranberries. Pine trees and Christmas spices. And not from some tacky candle.’
Frank arched an eyebrow and leaned over towards her. ‘There’s a lot to be said for candles. And I’m sure we’ve got a whole host of those things packed up in the basement somewhere.’ He shook his head. ‘But I doubt very much we’ll ever see them again.’ He gave her a careful nod. ‘You should take some home with you. Make good use of them.’
She gave a half-smile. He knew. He’d heard from some of the other girls that she was on her own. Grace didn’t like people feeling sorry for her. But Frank had only the best of intentions. She knew that. So, she couldn’t be offended by his good intentions. In fact, she was quite sure that some time, some place he might actually dress up as Santa.
Truth was, while The Armstrong hotel was opulent, its biggest asset was actually the staff. There were no ‘bad pennies’ as her gran used to call them.
Everything here was luxurious. From the bed sheets, to the furnishings, the Michelin-starred restaurant, even the heavy-duty stationery that her daily work assignment was printed on.
It was a world away from what she’d been brought up in. Working with the Maids in Chelsea agency had been a blessing in disguise. When her grandmother had died almost a year ago after a long battle with cancer, Grace had realised it was time to stop putting her own life on hold. Her gran had been the biggest part of her world. For a few years she’d only managed to take temporary part-time jobs that fitted in around being full-time carer for her gran. Working as a chambermaid might not be many women’s dream job, but the salary was good and her work colleagues had turned into the best bunch of friends a girl could have.
As it was one of London’s exclusive hotels, work at The Armstrong varied. There were a few guests that stayed here permanently. Some of the city’s big businesses always had rooms on hold for their overseas visitors. A few of the suites seemed to be permanently vacant. Then, there were the celebrity guests.
In the space of a few months Grace had seen enough scandal and impropriety to keep the tabloid presses in headlines for the next year. But confidentiality was part of the contract for Maids in Chelsea—and she would never have breathed a word anyway.
Today’s assignment was a little different. She headed over to the reception desk. ‘Anya, can I just check? I’ve to clean the Nottingdale Suite? The penthouse? No one has stayed there in the whole time I’ve worked here.’
Anya checked the computer system. ‘Yes, it’s going to be used later. We’re expecting the guest around five.’
‘Who normally stays there?’
Anya smiled. ‘I’m not sure. I did hear a rumour it was the reclusive tycoon who owns the whole chain.’
Grace tried not to let her mouth hang open. ‘Really? Is it a man or a woman? What’s their name?’
Anya held up her hands. ‘You tell me. You’ve worked here longer than I have.’
Grace shook her head. ‘I haven’t paid that much attention. And I’ve never been in the penthouse.’ She winked at Anya. ‘This could be fun.’
The morning flew past. And it was fun. She cleaned a few rooms. Made a few special request orders for guests. Unpacked seven giant cases for a guest who was staying for only two nights. Then spent nearly an hour with Mrs Alice Archer, her favourite long-term guest who was eighty-nine going on twenty-one. Mrs Archer needed special soft sheets for her bed due to a long-term skin condition that affected her back, legs and arms. Grace was happy to give her a hand applying cream to spots she couldn’t quite reach and helping her into whatever fabulous outfit she’d picked for the day. Alice’s walk-in wardrobe was every girl’s fantasy. It was full of original nineteen-forties clothes—all completely immaculate. Gorgeous full skirts, waist-cinching jackets, gingham dresses, a rainbow array of neckerchiefs, fitted sweaters and a few rarely worn satin evening gowns. There were a handbag and shoes to match every outfit.
Alice Archer had her hair styled twice a week, was fastidious with her make-up, favouring bright red lipstick, and drank lemon tea that Grace prepared for her most mornings, once she’d been helped into her clothes. In a way she reminded Grace of her grandmother. Oh, her grandmother had certainly never had the lifestyle that Alice had experienced. But both had the same quick wit, sharp minds and big hearts. Grace finished fastening Alice’s shoes as she sipped her lemon tea.
‘What are you doing today? Lunch or afternoon tea?’
Alice patted her hand. ‘Thank you, Grace. It’s Thursday. So it’s afternoon tea at the Ritz. I’m meeting an old colleague.’ She nudged Grace. ‘He proposed to me once, you know.’
Grace looked up. ‘He did? Now that sounds interesting. Why didn’t you marry him?’
Alice let out a laugh. ‘Harry? Not a chance. Harry was a cad. A man about town. He would have broken my heart. So I had to break his first.’
Grace blinked. It was the throwaway way that she said it. There was a trace of something else behind those carefully made-up eyes. Did Alice regret her choice?
She hoped not. A man about town. Definitely not the type of guy that Grace was looking for. She’d never want a relationship with a man who only wanted a fling, or something meaningless. She’d suffered rejection enough. It was pretty much the worst thing in the world to be abandoned by your mother; hers had moved to another continent, married another man and created the family she’d really wanted, instead of the unexpected teenage pregnancy she’d ended up with.
Grace had always been determined that would never be her. She wasn’t prepared to hand her heart over to anyone. Least of all a man that wouldn’t value and respect her. She wanted everything: the knight on the white horse, the total commitment and someone with eyes only for her.
Hence the reason she was still on her own.
She rested back on her heels and looked up at Alice. ‘Well, I’m sure that you couldn’t have broken his heart too much, or all these years later he wouldn’t still be meeting you.’
Alice sighed and leaned back in her chair. ‘Or maybe we’re the only ones left,’ she said wistfully. Grace reached up and put her hand over Alice’s frail one, giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘I bet he’ll be delighted to see you.’
After a second Alice seemed to snap out of her thoughts. ‘What do you have planned? Tell me you’ve finally decided it’s time to say yes to one of those nice young men that keep asking you out.’
Grace felt her cheeks flush. Alice’s favourite hobby seemed to be trying to pair her off with a ‘suitable’ young man. She wasn’t quite sure any of the men that had asked her out recently would be Alice’s definition of suitable though. Lenny, the biker, had been looking for somewhere cheap to stay and thought asking Grace out might solve his problems. Alan, the banker, had earned another nickname in her head—as soon as darkness had surrounded them he’d turned into the eight-handed octopus. Ross from college had merely been looking for someone who might do the shopping and make him dinner. And Nathan? He’d seemed perfect. Handsome, hard-working and endearingly polite. But when he’d leaned in for that first kiss they’d both realised there was absolutely no spark.
She was still searching for her knight on a white horse.
In a way it made her sad. Her friends at Maids in Chelsea seemed to be pairing off at an alarming rate. Emma had just reunited with Jack—the husband nobody had known she had. Ashleigh seemed to have fallen under the spell of her gorgeous Greek, Lukas. Even Clio, their boss, had just announced her engagement to her old boyfriend Enrique and was currently planning an intimate New Year wedding. Then two nights ago her fellow singleton Sophie had mysteriously disappeared. Grace was beginning to feel like the inevitable spare part.
She shook her head at Alice and stood up. ‘No men for me, I’m afraid. Maybe we can make a New Year’s resolution together to try and find some suitable beaus.’
Alice let out a laugh. ‘Now, that would be fun.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘What are you doing next?’
Grace glanced at the clock too and gave a start. Where had the time gone? ‘Oh, I’ll have to rush. I’m going to make up the penthouse suite—the Nottingdale. I’ve never even been in it before. I heard it belongs to the owner.’
Alice stared at her for a second with her bright blue eyes.
‘What? Do you know him? Or her?’
Alice pressed her lips together. She seemed hesitant to speak. Finally she gave a little smile. ‘I’ve stayed here a while. I might know him a little.’
Grace grinned. She was instantly intrigued. ‘Go on, then. Tell me about him. He’s a bit mysterious. No one seems to know much about him.’
Alice shook her head. ‘Oh, no, Grace. Sometimes mystery is good. I’m sure you’ll meet him in good time.’
Grace narrowed her eyes good-naturedly as she headed towards the door. ‘Alice Archer, I get the distinct impression you could tell me more.’ She shook her head. ‘But I’d better get on. Have fun with your afternoon tea.’
She closed the door behind her and took out her staff key for the elevator to the penthouse.
The elevator didn’t just move. It glided. Like something out of the space age. It made her want to laugh. The rest of the hotel used the original elevators and Grace actually loved them. The little padded velvet love seat in the back, the panelled wood interior and the large brass button display inside. This private elevator was much like the front entrance. Shades of smooth black and grey. So silent that even her breathing seemed to disturb the air. When the doors slid open she almost jumped.
She stepped outside pulling her little trolley behind her. The entrance to the penthouse was different from the rest of the hotel. Usually the way to guest rooms was lined with thick carpet. The entrance way here was tiled, making the noise of the trolley bumping from the elevator echo all around her.
There was a huge black solid door in front of her with a pristine glass sign to its right: ‘The Nottingdale Suite’.
She swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. It was ridiculous. She was nervous. About what?
She slid her staff card into the locking mechanism at the door. An electronic voice broke the silence. Grace Ellis, Housekeeping. She let out a shriek and looked around. In the last few months that had never happened anywhere in the hotel. It took a few seconds for her heart to stop clambering against her chest. Her card had actually identified her?
