Although her father is determined that she marry a nobleman, Eleanor Transome, who thinks she loves the humble Mr. Wilfred, is forced instead to become betrothed to Lord Randolph Falloden, a man on the brink of ruin.
A Christmas Promise
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Editorial Reviews
About the Author
Mary Balogh is the New York Times bestselling author of numerous books, including the acclaimed Slightly and Simply novels and the first five titles in her Huxtable series: First Comes Marriage, Then Comes Seduction, At Last Comes Love, Seducing an Angel, and A Secret Affair. A former teacher, she grew up in Wales and now lives in Canada.
--This text refers to the
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1
The Earl of Falloden glanced at the visiting card resting on the salver his butler held extended toward him. He frowned.
" 'Mr. Joseph Transome, coal merchant,' " he said. "Why the devil is a coal merchant calling upon me? Could you not have found out his business and sent him on his way, Starret?"
The butler exchanged a brief glance with the earl's valet. "He was most insistent, m'lord," he said. "He declared that he could divulge the purpose of his visit to no one but you. You wish me to say you are not at home, m'lord?"
"Yes," the earl said irritably, motioning his valet to hand him his neckcloth. He had just returned from a morning ride in the park that had done nothing to lift the gloom from his mind, that could do nothing to lift it. He was not in the mood for visitors.
The butler bowed stiffly from the waist and turned to leave his master's dressing room.
"Wait!" the earl said. He looked even more irritable as he tied his neckcloth in a hasty and simple knot despite the compressed lips of his disapproving valet. "The man is respectable, Starret? And he came to the front door?"
"He arrived in a carriage and four, m'lord," the man said.
The earl raised his eyebrows. "I had better see what the devil he wants," he said. "Show him into the salon, Starret."
"Yes, m'lord." The butler bowed again before withdrawing.
"A coal merchant," the earl said to his valet's reflected image. "What do you suppose he wants, eh, Crawley? To get me to change my supplier of coal for the winter? Who does supply it anyway? Well, I suppose I should go down and satisfy my curiosity. He came to the front door asking for me instead of to the back asking for Mrs. Lawford. Interesting, would you not say?"
But he did not wait for an answer. He strode from the room and descended the stairs to the hallway of his town house on Grosvenor Square. The gloom of an early November morning made it almost necessary to have lamps lit, he thought as he crossed the hall and waited for a footman to open the double doors into the salon. It was a day entirely in keeping with his general mood.
Mr. Joseph Transome, coal merchant, was a cit, he thought as the man turned from the window at the opening of the doors. He was as neatly and as expensively dressed as the earl himself, and altogether more fashionably. The earl had not been able to afford to keep up with the fashions for the past year, though most of that time he had been wearing mourning anyway. The only criticism he might make of the merchant's clothing was that it all looked as if it might be at least two sizes too large for the man. He was thin and angular, with a sharp, beaked face, from which eyes too dark and too large looked keenly at his host.
The earl nodded to him. "I am Falloden," he said. "What may I do for you?" He stiffened when the man did not immediately reply but looked him unhurriedly up and down and half smiled.
"You are a fine figure of a man, my lord, if you will forgive me for saying so," Mr. Transome said, rubbing his hands together. "Finer than I had been led to expect. That is good."
"I thank you," the earl said coldly. "Did you have any business you wished to discuss with me, sir?"
Mr. Transome laughed and continued to rub his hands together. "You would think it strange indeed if I had come for no other reason than to admire your appearance, my lord, now would you not?" he said. "But that is important to me too."
The earl pursed his lips, stood near the doors with his hands clasped at his back, and declined to offer his guest a seat.
"Perhaps I should come straight to the point, my lord," Mr. Transome said. "If the nobility is like the merchant classes, then time is money, as I always say. And time is not to be wasted on unnecessary chitchat."
"My sentiments exactly," the earl said.
"It seems, my lord," the merchant said, continuing to rub his hands as if washing them and looking apologetically at the earl, "that you are indebted to me for a considerable sum."
"Indeed?" The earl raised his eyebrows and looked haughtily at his visitor. "A household bill not paid, sir? I shall have you conducted to my housekeeper without further delay."
"No, no." Mr. Transome raised a staying hand. "Trifling stuff that would be, my lord, beneath your notice and beneath mine. Nothing like that. Your principal seat, Grenfell Park in Hampshire, is heavily mortgaged, I do believe, my lord?"
The earl's eyes sharpened.
"And the house and estate are getting shabbier and more dilapidated by the year with the rent money not even sufficient to pay off the mortgage costs," Mr. Transome continued.
"I do not know where you get your information," the earl said, "but Grenfell Park is no concern of yours, sir. If you will excuse me, I have a busy morning planned."
"Doing what, my lord, if I might make so bold as to ask?" Mr. Transome said. "Visiting your tailor or your bootmaker? You rarely do either these days since your bills at their establishments are already so high that you have no chance of paying them. And you are, when all is said and done, an honorable man. Or so my sources say."
"Mr. Transome." The earl's voice was icy. "I must ask you to leave, sir." He turned toward the doors.
"And you never visit Tattersall's these days, my lord, or attend the races." The merchant ignored the opening doors. "And you do not play deep at cards, already burdened as you are with gaming debts higher than you can hope to pay in your lifetime--though they are not your own, I might add in all fairness. And many of them debts owed to moneylenders, my lord. It is not a good situation. I daresay you do not sleep peacefully at night."
The earl closed the doors again and took a few steps across the room toward his visitor. "Mr. Transome," he said, "I take it there is some point to this impertinence. Would you kindly get to it before I throw you out of my house? And would you kindly inform me how I am in debt to you? Something my cousin's man of business knew nothing of?"
"Nothing like that, my lord," Mr. Transome said, his voice soothing. "I daresay you know the full extent of your debts. And they are sufficient to weigh on your shoulders as heavily as that mountain did on that giant's shoulders. What's-his-name. I always liked that story."
"Atlas," the earl said curtly. "I wonder how heavily you will weigh on my shoulders, Mr. Transome, when I transport you to my door in a moment's time."
The merchant chuckled. "Not much, my lord," he said. "Not much these days. You now owe me all those debts, my lord. I bought 'em all. Every last one of them."
The earl froze. And strangely, he did not doubt for a moment that the man spoke the truth. All those debts his cousin and predecessor had incurred in eight years as Earl of Falloden. Those debts he had refused to repudiate when he had inherited fourteen months before. And he had refused to sell Grenfell Park with its vast estates because it had been his childhood home. Because it was in his blood, a part of him, his most treasured possession. A millstone about his neck.
"Why?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Why did I buy 'em?" Mr. Transome asked. "To do you a favor, my lord. It is better, less confusing, I always think, to owe money all in one place than all over London and the southern counties. Would you not agree, my lord?"
"I find the thought enormously comforting," the earl said. "So you have come to put the squeeze on me, Transome? You are going to have to wait. I will pay off every penny of the debt eventually. But it will take time."
Mr. Transome laughed. "I have worked hard all my life, my lord," he said. "Through diligence and a little good luck too, I have amassed almost everything a man could want in this life. Only one thing I have very little of, and it is the very commodity you ask of me. Time. I have very little time."
"Then," the earl said, "I shall have to reconcile my mind to debtors' prison, I suppose. I am sorry, sir, but I cannot reach into a pocket and bring out the sum I owe you. I wish I could. Believe me."
"I do, my lord," the merchant said, resuming his old occupation of rubbing his hands together. "But your debts can be canceled in a moment, my lord."
The earl smiled arctically.
"You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours, so to speak," Mr. Transome said. "You do something for me, my lord, and I'll cancel your debt. Every last penny of it. And make sure that you have the wherewithal to make Grenfell Park one of the showpieces of England and its farms the most prosperous. And to spend some time and money at your tailor's again."
The earl raised his eyebrows.
"You are waiting to hear what it is you must do for me," Mr. Transome said. "It is a small something, my lord, in exchange for what you will get in return. But it will mean a great deal to me."
The earl did not change his expression.
"I will cancel your debts and settle half of my fortune on you, my lord--and it is a considerable fortune," the man said, "if you will marry my daughter. And most of the remaining half of my fortune will be hers after my death and so in effect will be yours too."
The Earl of Falloden stared in disbelief at his visitor. "You want me to marry your daughter," he said faintly, wondering for a moment if he had walked into some strange dream. A cit's daughter. A coal merchant's daughter. A total stranger.
"She is nineteen years old and a beauty, even if I do say so myself," Mr. Transome said. "And if it is refinement you want, my lord, you cannot do better than my Ellie. I had her educated at Miss Tweedsmuir's academy. Two lords' daughters were there at the same time and a colonel's daughter too. She was particular friends with Lord Hutchins's girl."
"How do you know I am not married already?" the earl asked coldly. "No, disregard that question. I do not have a doubt that you know everything about my life, sir. Doubtless you know of my attachment, though not betrothal, to Miss Do... --This text refers to the Mass Market Paperback edition.
The Earl of Falloden glanced at the visiting card resting on the salver his butler held extended toward him. He frowned.
" 'Mr. Joseph Transome, coal merchant,' " he said. "Why the devil is a coal merchant calling upon me? Could you not have found out his business and sent him on his way, Starret?"
The butler exchanged a brief glance with the earl's valet. "He was most insistent, m'lord," he said. "He declared that he could divulge the purpose of his visit to no one but you. You wish me to say you are not at home, m'lord?"
"Yes," the earl said irritably, motioning his valet to hand him his neckcloth. He had just returned from a morning ride in the park that had done nothing to lift the gloom from his mind, that could do nothing to lift it. He was not in the mood for visitors.
The butler bowed stiffly from the waist and turned to leave his master's dressing room.
"Wait!" the earl said. He looked even more irritable as he tied his neckcloth in a hasty and simple knot despite the compressed lips of his disapproving valet. "The man is respectable, Starret? And he came to the front door?"
"He arrived in a carriage and four, m'lord," the man said.
The earl raised his eyebrows. "I had better see what the devil he wants," he said. "Show him into the salon, Starret."
"Yes, m'lord." The butler bowed again before withdrawing.
"A coal merchant," the earl said to his valet's reflected image. "What do you suppose he wants, eh, Crawley? To get me to change my supplier of coal for the winter? Who does supply it anyway? Well, I suppose I should go down and satisfy my curiosity. He came to the front door asking for me instead of to the back asking for Mrs. Lawford. Interesting, would you not say?"
But he did not wait for an answer. He strode from the room and descended the stairs to the hallway of his town house on Grosvenor Square. The gloom of an early November morning made it almost necessary to have lamps lit, he thought as he crossed the hall and waited for a footman to open the double doors into the salon. It was a day entirely in keeping with his general mood.
Mr. Joseph Transome, coal merchant, was a cit, he thought as the man turned from the window at the opening of the doors. He was as neatly and as expensively dressed as the earl himself, and altogether more fashionably. The earl had not been able to afford to keep up with the fashions for the past year, though most of that time he had been wearing mourning anyway. The only criticism he might make of the merchant's clothing was that it all looked as if it might be at least two sizes too large for the man. He was thin and angular, with a sharp, beaked face, from which eyes too dark and too large looked keenly at his host.
The earl nodded to him. "I am Falloden," he said. "What may I do for you?" He stiffened when the man did not immediately reply but looked him unhurriedly up and down and half smiled.
"You are a fine figure of a man, my lord, if you will forgive me for saying so," Mr. Transome said, rubbing his hands together. "Finer than I had been led to expect. That is good."
"I thank you," the earl said coldly. "Did you have any business you wished to discuss with me, sir?"
Mr. Transome laughed and continued to rub his hands together. "You would think it strange indeed if I had come for no other reason than to admire your appearance, my lord, now would you not?" he said. "But that is important to me too."
The earl pursed his lips, stood near the doors with his hands clasped at his back, and declined to offer his guest a seat.
"Perhaps I should come straight to the point, my lord," Mr. Transome said. "If the nobility is like the merchant classes, then time is money, as I always say. And time is not to be wasted on unnecessary chitchat."
"My sentiments exactly," the earl said.
"It seems, my lord," the merchant said, continuing to rub his hands as if washing them and looking apologetically at the earl, "that you are indebted to me for a considerable sum."
"Indeed?" The earl raised his eyebrows and looked haughtily at his visitor. "A household bill not paid, sir? I shall have you conducted to my housekeeper without further delay."
"No, no." Mr. Transome raised a staying hand. "Trifling stuff that would be, my lord, beneath your notice and beneath mine. Nothing like that. Your principal seat, Grenfell Park in Hampshire, is heavily mortgaged, I do believe, my lord?"
The earl's eyes sharpened.
"And the house and estate are getting shabbier and more dilapidated by the year with the rent money not even sufficient to pay off the mortgage costs," Mr. Transome continued.
"I do not know where you get your information," the earl said, "but Grenfell Park is no concern of yours, sir. If you will excuse me, I have a busy morning planned."
"Doing what, my lord, if I might make so bold as to ask?" Mr. Transome said. "Visiting your tailor or your bootmaker? You rarely do either these days since your bills at their establishments are already so high that you have no chance of paying them. And you are, when all is said and done, an honorable man. Or so my sources say."
"Mr. Transome." The earl's voice was icy. "I must ask you to leave, sir." He turned toward the doors.
"And you never visit Tattersall's these days, my lord, or attend the races." The merchant ignored the opening doors. "And you do not play deep at cards, already burdened as you are with gaming debts higher than you can hope to pay in your lifetime--though they are not your own, I might add in all fairness. And many of them debts owed to moneylenders, my lord. It is not a good situation. I daresay you do not sleep peacefully at night."
The earl closed the doors again and took a few steps across the room toward his visitor. "Mr. Transome," he said, "I take it there is some point to this impertinence. Would you kindly get to it before I throw you out of my house? And would you kindly inform me how I am in debt to you? Something my cousin's man of business knew nothing of?"
"Nothing like that, my lord," Mr. Transome said, his voice soothing. "I daresay you know the full extent of your debts. And they are sufficient to weigh on your shoulders as heavily as that mountain did on that giant's shoulders. What's-his-name. I always liked that story."
"Atlas," the earl said curtly. "I wonder how heavily you will weigh on my shoulders, Mr. Transome, when I transport you to my door in a moment's time."
The merchant chuckled. "Not much, my lord," he said. "Not much these days. You now owe me all those debts, my lord. I bought 'em all. Every last one of them."
The earl froze. And strangely, he did not doubt for a moment that the man spoke the truth. All those debts his cousin and predecessor had incurred in eight years as Earl of Falloden. Those debts he had refused to repudiate when he had inherited fourteen months before. And he had refused to sell Grenfell Park with its vast estates because it had been his childhood home. Because it was in his blood, a part of him, his most treasured possession. A millstone about his neck.
"Why?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Why did I buy 'em?" Mr. Transome asked. "To do you a favor, my lord. It is better, less confusing, I always think, to owe money all in one place than all over London and the southern counties. Would you not agree, my lord?"
"I find the thought enormously comforting," the earl said. "So you have come to put the squeeze on me, Transome? You are going to have to wait. I will pay off every penny of the debt eventually. But it will take time."
Mr. Transome laughed. "I have worked hard all my life, my lord," he said. "Through diligence and a little good luck too, I have amassed almost everything a man could want in this life. Only one thing I have very little of, and it is the very commodity you ask of me. Time. I have very little time."
"Then," the earl said, "I shall have to reconcile my mind to debtors' prison, I suppose. I am sorry, sir, but I cannot reach into a pocket and bring out the sum I owe you. I wish I could. Believe me."
"I do, my lord," the merchant said, resuming his old occupation of rubbing his hands together. "But your debts can be canceled in a moment, my lord."
The earl smiled arctically.
"You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours, so to speak," Mr. Transome said. "You do something for me, my lord, and I'll cancel your debt. Every last penny of it. And make sure that you have the wherewithal to make Grenfell Park one of the showpieces of England and its farms the most prosperous. And to spend some time and money at your tailor's again."
The earl raised his eyebrows.
"You are waiting to hear what it is you must do for me," Mr. Transome said. "It is a small something, my lord, in exchange for what you will get in return. But it will mean a great deal to me."
The earl did not change his expression.
"I will cancel your debts and settle half of my fortune on you, my lord--and it is a considerable fortune," the man said, "if you will marry my daughter. And most of the remaining half of my fortune will be hers after my death and so in effect will be yours too."
The Earl of Falloden stared in disbelief at his visitor. "You want me to marry your daughter," he said faintly, wondering for a moment if he had walked into some strange dream. A cit's daughter. A coal merchant's daughter. A total stranger.
"She is nineteen years old and a beauty, even if I do say so myself," Mr. Transome said. "And if it is refinement you want, my lord, you cannot do better than my Ellie. I had her educated at Miss Tweedsmuir's academy. Two lords' daughters were there at the same time and a colonel's daughter too. She was particular friends with Lord Hutchins's girl."
"How do you know I am not married already?" the earl asked coldly. "No, disregard that question. I do not have a doubt that you know everything about my life, sir. Doubtless you know of my attachment, though not betrothal, to Miss Do... --This text refers to the Mass Market Paperback edition.
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More About the Author
Mary Balogh is the New York Times bestselling author of the acclaimed Slightly novels: Slightly Married, Slightly Wicked, Slightly Scandalous, Slightly Tempted, Slightly Sinful, and Slightly Dangerous, as well as the romances No Man's Mistress, More than a Mistress, and One Night for Love. She is also the author of Simply Love, Simply Unforgettable, Simply Magic, and Simply Perfect, her dazzling quartet of novels set at Miss Martin's School for Girls. A former teacher herself, she grew up in Wales and now lives in Canada.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
48 of 50 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Tough start but unusual turn...,
By bookjunkiereviews (India) - See all my reviews
This review is from: A Christmas Promise (Signet) (Paperback)
This story by Mary Balogh is the only one in which I have cried at the end, and I don't usually cry over books. The book starts out unpromisingly with an aristocrat being blackmailed into marriage by a dying merchant. He finds the merchant's daughter to be cold, title-obsessed, and unfeeling - and also surprisingly passionate. She sees him as a gambler and a wastrel, and remembers only that he has shown her no love nor sympathy. The marriage therefore starts off unpromisingly, especially when the father-in-law dies shortly afterward and the heroine refuses to wear mourning for longer than a month. However, both have severe misconceptions about each other. The hero, Randolph, is not a wastrel. The heroine, Eleanor, is not cold nor unfeeling. How they come to these realizations without the usual Big Misunderstanding dominating the story-line is what I will leave you to discover. Suffice it to say that there is a wonderful sled race, some rather amusing relatives of the bride, and no less than three minor romances that nevertheless do not take our attention away from Randolph and Eleanor as they struggle to a better understanding of each other. And as to why I cried? Well, it has something to do with why Eleanor did not cry at her father's death and what finally happens in the conservatory. There are no villains, just some remarkable misconceptions based on initial behavior at a very trying time. As such, this book is both refreshing and yet oddly touching. If I could find a copy of this book, it would be definitely a keeper.
15 of 15 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A Father's Gift.,
By
This review is from: A Christmas Promise (Signet) (Paperback)
Eleanor Transome loved her father dearly. He called her his treasure. He only wanted her happiness. Eleanor Transome's father was dying. So he bought Eleanor a husband!Randolph Pierce, the Earl of Falloden, is on the brink of ruin, he needs money quickly. He must preserve Grenfell Park, the debt-ridden home of his youth. With much reluctance, the Earl of Falloden accepts the coal merchant's terms. He will wed Eleanor Transome, a young woman he has never met. Two very different people from two very different worlds. Two very separate entities. They were man and wife, a stranger from a class she hated and she from a class he despised. Yet, there was more to it than that. They had to make a life together. They could derive mutual satisfaction from each other. He would take pleasure from her and she would take pleasure from receiving him. For Eleanor did not want to be alone. Eleanor wanted to love someone, Eleanor wanted children. Balogh again hits the jackpot. A CHRISTMAS PROMISE is delightful. It is a quiet story about two people who: meet, observe, and fall in love with each other. Nothing unusual -- except these two people are already married. Balogh relies on a Christmas theme to enhance her story delighting her readers with the traditions of Christmases past. A time when families gathered, for days, to celebrate the joy of the season. A time when Christmas celebrations revolved around life's simple pleasures: horse drawn sleighs, sledding at night, gathering yule logs, or rejoicing in a star-filled Christmas sky. Again Mary Balogh proves she can write a romance book. At the end of A CHRISTMAS PROMISE, Mary Balogh wisely chooses her poignancy pen. Quietly I wept as Eleanor opened her father's final gift and then I rejoiced when the hero offered his heart. A CHRISTMAS PROMISE is a Signet Regency Romance book and is currently not in print; presently an interested reader must obtain it on the secondary market. Grade: A Grace Atkinson, Ontario - Canada.
11 of 11 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A wonderful Christmas tearjerker,
By
This review is from: A Christmas Promise (Hardcover)
Mary Balogh writes some truly wonderful books, and this is definitely one of them. Randolph, Earl of Falloden, is struggling under the vast mound of debt left to him by his spendthrift cousin, the previous earl. He is astonished when a cit, a *coal merchant* of all people, comes to visit him to inform him that he's bought all Randolph's debts. And he will write them all off, and give Randolph half of his fortune, if the Earl will marry his daughter. (...) This is a lovely, poignant love story, in which a couple who seem completely unsuited to each other in the beginning gradually come to understand, and to love, one another; and it's set in the magical season of Christmas, a time which Mary Balogh does so well. If you can find a copy of this somewhere, snap it up!
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