Mistletoe Masquerade: A Ridlington Christmas Novella

by Sahara Kelly

  Harriet nodded at the footmen, who began to clear away the dishes. Once that was done, they’d be off for the evening.

  The valets and maids would remain, of course. But the Inchworthy household staff had their own plans. They saw no reason why a small group of grown-ups shouldn’t be able to manage on their own for a few hours.

  The Earl, who had enjoyed the meal as much as anyone, strolled to Harriet’s side. “Well, you’ve provided a fascinating Christmas Eve for us, Mrs. Harry. What else do you have in store?”

  She dipped a little curtsey of thanks. “You are most kind, my Lord. As you know, our staff will be taking this evening to be with their families, so I have organized a few games that I believe you all would enjoy.”

  “Ah yes,” he answered. “I remember…Spillikins for the children?” His eyebrow rose in amusement as he eyed Hestia and Phoebe.

  “Er…” Harriet tried to suppress a giggle but didn’t quite make it. “I believe they might enjoy it. And for some additional amusement, there will be some Charades. We took the liberty of creating a few to begin the game, but we hope that you will all contribute your own as well, of course.”

  The Earl nodded. “And will you and Mr. Paul be remaining here?”

  Harriet took a breath. “Actually we had hoped to attend the Christmas Eve service at Pineneedle Drift. It should not take us more than an hour or so.” She smiled with what she hoped was smooth aplomb. “We rely on your kind permission, of course, and with luck none of you will notice our brief absence.”

  A burst of laughter from Sir Geoffrey, echoed by Sir Ambrose, brought a humorous twist to the Earl’s lips. “I believe you’re correct.” He turned to her. “Go to church, my dear. I think they will do quite well without you and Mr. Paul for a couple of hours.”

  And with that, Harriet heaved a massive sigh of relief. “That is very good to know, my Lord.”

  He grinned, an impish look of what she might have described as sheer naughtiness. “I agree.”

  Not having any idea of what he meant by that, Harriet merely dropped another small curtsey and hurried away to organize the games.

  The hall clock struck nine. It would soon be time to leave.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Paul had kept an eye on the proceedings as the evening progressed. He and Harriet had mapped out a strategy, and although they both knew luck played a large part in it, he was relieved to see that it was progressing much as they’d hoped.

  When Harriet slipped away, he made his final rounds, mentioning to the Earl that they would be on their way to church shortly. The brief nod he received was sufficient, and thus he bowed his way from the room, leaving on the sound of laughter, loud voices and the occasional clink of glassware.

  The Charades game was apparently a success.

  As the sound receded, Paul picked up his pace and nearly ran upstairs to their room. Harriet was already there, putting the finishing touches to the pretty green dress she’d pulled from her cupboard.

  She turned to him. “It’s the only one I have that isn’t proper for a housekeeper.” She looked at him anxiously. “Is it proper for a bride?”

  His words caught in his throat at the expression in her eyes. He swallowed. “You are beautiful, no matter what you wear.”

  She took a breath. “You’re kind to me. I have to ask, one last time, are you sure about this?”

  “I couldn’t be more sure.” He didn’t dare touch her. “Are you?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation.

  “Then let me change my jacket and we’ll be off.” He slipped off his butler’s formal coat and took his own jacket from the hook. “I know you do, but I must ask…you have the license?”

  She nodded. “Right here.” She held it up for him to see, then put it into the large pocket of her cloak.

  He came to her and helped her wrap it over her shoulders. “Hold it tight, now. And pray the Vicar will help us.”

  She lifted a hand and covered his where it rested on her shoulder. “He will. He’s got to.”

  “Let’s go and find out.”

  Their exit from the hunting box was accomplished smoothly, and the horses found the going easy since the ground was hard but dry. The air was brittle, the sky bright with stars and a waning moon, so the ride to the church, though cold, was not unpleasant.

  They spoke little, focussing on their mounts and the lanes, navigating the few branches that had succumbed to the weight of the snow, and soon finding themselves within sight of the Pineneedle Drift church.

  “There it is,” said Paul, the words accompanied by breaths of steam. “St. Merwyn’s.”

  “Ah,” said Harriet from the depths of her muffler. “It does have a name.”

  “And a good-sized congregation, apparently.”

  As they neared the church, they saw the large number of horses and more than a few carriages tethered in the shelter of one side, lit by the glow through the stained glass windows.

  “Well, it is Christmas Eve. I expect a lot of the congregation prefers to spend tomorrow at home with the family, rather than going out to church. It’s a special time, that’s for sure.”

  Minutes later they added their horses to the line tied beside the church, and—with an apprehensive glance at each other—walked inside.

  The service, it seemed, was about to begin.

  Taking seats at the end of a pew halfway up the aisle, Harriet and Paul unwound their mufflers and loosened their cloaks. The church wasn’t warm, but the number of congregants helped keep it from being bitter, as did the candles which cast a broad swath of light over the altar and the first few rows of the congregation.

  The organ struck up the introductory notes of a Christmas carol and everyone rose as the Vicar walked from a side door to his position in front of the altar.

  He blessed them with the sign of the cross—and smiled.

  Paul and Harriet were struck dumb.

  It was Simon Ridlington.

  Paul gripped Harriet’s hand. “Do you see?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  They rose to their feet as the chords swelled in invitation. They had to sing, but Paul’s mind was blank. His eyes roamed over the people in front of them. “I see them,” he leaned down to Harriet. “Tabby’s here, and I think James and Letitia as well.”

  “Dear Heavens. All that way tonight? I don’t know what to say…” Harriet clung to his hand. He could feel her trembling.

  “Well, love, at least we know we’ll get married tonight.” He threw her a lightning quick smile. “Simon will do the job, I’m sure.”

  “Oh.” She blinked, seeming as thunderstruck as he was. “Oh, you’re right.” Her smile grew. “Paul, you’re right.”

  He felt the weight lift from his shoulders and suddenly the words of the carol came back in full force, and he sang. As did Harriet.

  “Hark the Herald Angels sing…”

  From that moment on, Paul went through the motions, hoping Simon kept the lessons short and the service brief. There was a moment of amusement when he introduced himself as a “neighbor from Ridlington, who had found himself displaced by a Bishop for this particular night.” He apologized but asked for patience from the congregation. Their own dear Vicar, whose cold was much improved, would be there for services on the morrow.

  Paul and Harriet glanced at each other, the sentiment shared but silent. So that’s how he did it.

  Once again, Fate had smiled upon them.

  And when the service ended and the congregation filed out, they stood back, waiting, eager to reach the little group that had remained in the front pew.

  Tabby, James and Letitia.

  “I can’t believe it.” Finally, as the last villager left the church, Harriet flew at Letitia, all but knocking her down. “What are you doing here? All of you?” She hugged them, then did it all over again.

  Paul laughed as he watched her, and shook James’s hand, thumping him on the shoulder. “Good God, man. This is unbelievable.” Tabby and Letitia
received hugs in their turn.

  “It’s family, Paul.” Simon’s voice sounded behind them as he walked back up the nave. “We couldn’t let this special evening happen without family.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say.”

  And that was nothing but the truth. Paul found himself at a loss for words as he hung onto Harriet’s hand for dear life.

  “Well, then, let’s get to it.” Simon turned to the altar. “You have the license?”

  “I do,” said Harriet.

  “Not yet, darling. That bit comes later.” Tabby snickered from the front pew. “Oh…here…” She reached over to one side and produced a little posy of white chrysanthemums. “For the bride from Rosaline and Edmund. They would have come if they could, but Hugh is teething.” She rolled her eyes. “Thus the world, as they know it, has come to a complete halt.”

  Harriet fumbled the license over to Simon and then took the flowers from Tabby. “Thank you.” Her voice caught. “Thank all of you.”

  “Very well.” Simon recalled their attention. “Harriet, Paul…if you would?”

  Still clinging to each other, they walked to the altar, standing in front of Simon. Letitia walked to one side of Harriet, and James walked to stand near Paul.

  “Best man?” Paul flashed a grin over his shoulder.

  “Better believe it, old chap,” smirked James.

  Harriet turned to Letitia and passed her the flowers. “Thank you…with all my heart.”

  “Don’t make me cry,” sniffed Letitia. “I’m supposed to be your support here. Not your weeping maid.”

  “Right.” Simon cleared his throat. “Are we ready?”

  “Darling, if they were any readier, they’d explode. Do begin.”

  Tabby’s amused tones made them all smile and Simon began the little service with the traditional words.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God to join this man and this woman…”

  Paul was aware of most of it—he even made the appropriate responses. But his attention was fixated on Harriet’s face, looking up at him, her eyes full of what had to be love. She must have been a little distracted as well, since it took her a moment to remember her full name when Simon asked.

  A little chuckle echoed through the empty church. “Right then,” said Simon with a grin. “I, Harriet Anne Selkirk...”

  Thus prompted, Harriet recited her vows, her hands in Paul’s, her fingers locked around his tightly, as if she feared he would fly away.

  His responses were firm and resolute. “I, Paul Montgomery Fielding DeVoreaux, take thee Harriet Anne Selkirk…”

  It was but a few minutes in time, but to Paul it marked the end of his days alone. The sensation of her warm hands in his spread through him, warming not only his fingers but those pieces of his heart that had been so bitter for so long. That knowledge alone was enough to bring tears close to the surface and he swallowed hard, not sure if he could have explained it, even if he’d tried.

  They had no ring, but said the words anyway, knowing they were joined by more than a simple band of gold.

  But Simon was nearing the end… “Should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  Still bemused by Harriet’s face, Paul smiled.

  Then froze as a firm voice from the back of the church called out “I do. Stop the ceremony.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harriet felt the world spin and the light from the candles blurred as the words sank in.

  Noooo… She sagged against Paul, who was shaking a little himself.

  Then a surge of fury swept through her and she straightened, turned, put her hands on her hips and glared down the darkened nave. “Who the hell are you that you dare interrupt us? And what possible reasons could you have? I demand you tell us immediately, without prevarication mind you.”

  She took a couple of steps down from the alter, still half-blinded by the candles, able to see only a silhouette nearing her. She’d never felt this kind of anger; a fire that burned inside her, rising up until it threatened to choke her. “Come on then, you…you…miserable excuse for a man. Face us with your charge if you dare.”

  “Well I will if you’ll be quiet for a moment.” The Earl of Vernwood gazed at her in amusement. “I swear if you had a sword you’d run me through, wouldn’t you?”

  “I…er…my Lord…oh dear.” The anger and fire subsided, leaving Harriet to experience a crushing amount of embarrassment.

  “Sir,” said Paul, coming to stand at Harriet’s side. “Do you really mean to stop our marriage?”

  “Not at all,” said the Earl, nodding to the silent shocked people around the altar. “I merely wish to ensure its legality by informing your Vicar here of your correct name.”

  “Uh…what?” Paul’s usual composure deserted him, and Harriet couldn’t help but notice his jaw had dropped. “What name? I’m me. Paul DeVoreaux.”

  “Well now, you see that’s where you’re mistaken.”

  “I don’t…but…huh?” Once again, words deserted Paul.

  Harriet dashed to the rescue. “I think he means to ask what the devil you’re talking about.” She caught herself up. “Uh, my Lord.”

  Vernwood sighed and put his cloak on one of the pews. From the pocket he extracted what looked like a long and official document. There was even a seal at the bottom over a small red ribbon.

  “This is what I’m talking about.” He held up the paper. “I received this missive earlier this evening by special courier. It has come from London, from friends of mine in Whitehall. Quite high up in Whitehall, I might add. In it, you will find that…” he glanced at the writing, “…the matter of the estate of Viscount Alderton Hayward has been settled. The line of succession has rightfully passed to the decedent’s nephew, Paul DeVoreaux, now that this heir has been formally pardoned of all wrongdoing and welcomed back to the shores of his native land. Henceforth he shall be correctly known as Paul DeVoreaux, Viscount Hayward, and his estate shall be endowed with all the holdings and finances accompanying such elevation.”

  The Earl looked up. “There’s more, but it’s a bit boring. I think you understand the gist of it.” He rolled the document back up neatly. “Therefore, Miss Harriet, I interrupted your wedding so that you could marry the man who is now legally a Viscount. Had it been otherwise, had he signed the parish registry with any other name, there might still have been grounds for your damn family to interfere.”

  She blinked. “You know about that? About them?”

  His smile was pure charm. “My dear girl, I know about them. About you. About Paul and his family.” He glanced at Tabby. “Hello Tabitha.”

  She curtseyed. “My Lord.”

  “James.”

  James grinned. “I should have guessed. Your conversation yesterday was probing to say the least.”

  “This is all very fascinating, and I mean no offense, my Lord, but could we possibly finish the wedding ceremony please?” Letitia lifted her chin. “Everything else can wait.”

  “Of course, Lady FitzArden.” He turned to Simon. “If you could just repeat the bits with Paul’s new title, all will be well.”

  Simon cleared his throat. “Right then. We try again. Repeat after me. I Paul—er whatever your new name is—take thee Harriet Anne Selkirk…oh go on then. You know the rest.” He closed his bible and threw his hands in the air. “Bless you both. You’re married. Just say yes and kiss the bride.”

  “Yes.”

  And just like that, Paul gained a wife, a Viscountcy, and what might well be a tidy fortune.

  He lifted his head from kissing his bride thoroughly, and looked at the assembled throng, smiling at him with warmth and affection.

  He choked back a most unmanly sob, took a breath and hugged Harriet close. “Happy Christmas everyone. Happy Christmas.”

  *~~*~~*

  The parish registry was duly signed and witnessed, all part
ies involved verified the marriage of Paul DeVoreaux, Viscount Hayward, to Harriet Anne Selkirk.

  And after that, the group scattered, since it was now very late on Christmas Eve and the Ridlington guests had a journey ahead of them before reaching home.

  Harriet hugged Letitia hard, tears in her eyes. “I am so glad you were here, my friend. And I missed your wedding…” She sniffled.

  “I’m glad I was here as well, and my wedding was nowhere near as interesting as yours,” chuckled Letitia. She leaned close to Harriet’s ear. “You remember my book?”

  “How could I not,” whispered Harriet.

  “Then you’ll be just fine tonight,” grinned Letitia.

  Since Paul was walking up to them, Harriet’s only answer was a blush and a giggle.

  Farewells were said, last hugs exchanged, and promises to meet very soon given with heartfelt enthusiasm. But at last, Paul and Harriet were alone, riding back through the first hours of a brand new day.

  “Well, Lady Hayward.” Paul rode close by her side.

  “Well, my Lord.” She blinked as they exchanged their new addresses. “It sounds awfully strange, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” nodded Paul. “And to be honest, I had not realized that there was any likelihood of my inheriting a title at all. I had been out of England so long, that the family tree had been lost in the forests of Europe.”

  “Understandable,” she nodded. “Paul, I must say one thing.” She glanced at him as the horses picked their way back to the hunting box. “I had no idea of your good fortune, nor your title. I knew even less than you of the DeVoreaux family tree. I doubt even Lady Rosaline knew.”

  “I know, love.” He reached out and took her hand.

  “So please believe me when I say that I have not married you for any of that.” She took a deep breath. “Nor have I married you to escape my own relatives, although that is a happy by product of our union.”

  “I know that too.”

  “Do you?” She squeezed his hand. “Do you? My reason for marrying you this night is the simplest one of all, yet easily the most complicated.” She breathed again. “I love you.”