Mistletoe Masquerade: A Ridlington Christmas Novella

by Sahara Kelly

  Fury flooded her and she began to fight, crying out in fury but muffled by the thick cloak.

  Kicking out, she heard a muted grunt from her aunt as her foot connected with a knee. And then she struggled against her uncle’s grip, freed a hand and thrust her elbow backward. It met flesh and brought another grunt.

  “Ow. That hurt.” His voice was angry. “You’ll pay for that.”

  “After you’ve paid us, you ungrateful wretch. It’s Bedlam for you, without a doubt.”

  Harriet kicked out once more, but missed this time, even though she continued to struggle against her uncle’s attempts to bind her wrists. He was a big man, and Harriet knew she’d have to be very lucky to free herself. The wool rendered her all but dumb, and all at once she wondered if she was actually going to lose this battle against the two people who hated her so much.

  It was a frightening thought and she redoubled her efforts, squirming, lashing out with feet and elbows and even jerking her head back at one point, happy to feel the pain as it connected with her uncle’s chin.

  “Eeeekk,” he squawked.

  Suddenly a raucous shriek echoed through the hall, bringing the scuffle to a momentary standstill.

  “Leave her alone, you brute…”

  Harriet recognised Lady Aphrodite’s voice, but not the utter fury behind the order.

  “I…what…who the hell are you?” Uncle Selkirk stuttered, but his grip remained firm, even though Harriet wriggled like a demented ferret. “Stand still, stupid girl.” He shook her, rattling her teeth.

  “Let her go or pay the price,” threatened Lady Aphrodite.

  “Mmmffffmmmfff,” Harriet shouted through the cloth.

  “Aaayyyeeeeee….” An unearthly howl shook the rafters. “No, no, this is wrong, you let that woman go, you bloody bounder…”

  Oh my God, the Tisdales. Harriet went numb with shock.

  “You’re not getting away this time,” hissed Aunt Selkirk, beginning to drag Harriet toward the door.

  There was a sudden massive clang, and Harriet found herself freed, as Uncle Selkirk cried out and then fell silent.

  She immediately ripped off the cape, dragged in a breath, and looked around to see Lady Aphrodite, urn in hand, standing over the unconscious form of Aunt Selkirk, with an expression of satisfaction on her face.

  On the other side, Uncle Selkirk was face down on the floor, with one Tisdale sitting firmly on his back, while the other Tisdale whacked him with a walking stick every time he attempted to move.

  The noise was…well, it was unusual to say the least.

  It was at this point that the gentlemen appeared, Paul first, dashing down the staircase as if all the devils in Hell were after him.

  He tore through the melee to Harriet, seizing her in his arms and lifting her off her feet. “Are you all right? I was sound asleep. I left you unprotected. God, please tell me you’re all right…”

  She patted his arms and his shoulders. “I’m fine, Paul. Put me down.”

  He did, but didn’t let her go. “You’re quite sure?”

  “Thanks to this troop of brave Amazons. They rescued me.” She turned to the ladies. “I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. Lady Aphrodite…Miss Tisdale…Miss Tisdale…thank you so much. I cannot imagine the consequences had you not appeared in such a timely fashion.”

  “What, what?” Lord Farren came down the stairs. “I say, bit of a kickup I venture to guess.” He walked to his wife. “You quite well, m’dear?”

  She glanced at the urn in her hand and at the unconscious figure of Aunt Selkirk. “I rather think I am, darling. You know, it’s unexpectedly edifying to hear the sound of good solid brass connecting with the skull of an utter villain.” She grinned. “I rather enjoyed it.”

  “Did you kill her?” asked one of the Tisdales.

  “No she didn’t,” responded Paul.

  “Dammit,” swore the other Tisdale.

  Since they were in identical white wrappers, Harriet couldn’t tell one from t’other. Which didn’t really matter, since she was equally grateful to both. “I suppose it’s for the best,” she smiled. “A corpse would have sullied the Christmas spirit here in the hall.”

  “I’d be quite happy to take him outside and thoroughly box his ears for you, Mrs. Harry.” Sir Farren flexed his arm and made a fist. “I’m a regular attendee at Gentleman Jackson’s Salon, you know. I can set the oaf to rights without a problem, I’m sure.”

  Lady Aphrodite gave his arm an admiring pat. “How brave and noble, Farren dear. But I think Mr. Paul will wish to make sure this attack on his wife is fully avenged. We should leave that honor to him.”

  “Wife?” A scream of outrage emerged from the bit of Mr. Selkirk’s head that could be seen from underneath whichever Miss Tisdale was sitting on him. She grabbed his hair and smacked his head onto the tile.

  “Yes, wife, you stupid cribbage-faced snirp.” She nodded, and her sister brought the cane down on his calf, making him yell and squirm.

  Paul finally released Harriet. “Ladies,” he addressed the Tisdales. “I believe you have subdued the man most effectively. So it might be time to allow him to rise and face the consequences of his actions.”

  “Hmph.” Frowning, the seated Tisdale rose from Selkirk’s back and shook out the folds of her wrapper. “Now this’ll need a wash. ’Tis dirtied by contact with this wood-louse.”

  Helpless to do anything at this point, Selkirk stood and glared at his niece. “So you tried to escape me by pretending to be married, did you? I should’ve expected as much. Lies and more lies. I doubt you’ve said a true word since you left our house.”

  “It was my house, Uncle. That was your first mistake. And you and my aunt have made so many more, I’ve lost count.”

  He lifted his chin, which bore the mark she’d place on it, and looked down his nose at her. “You’re a nothing. And you’ll amount to nothing, you mark my words. You’ll never find a man to wed you.” He glanced scornfully at Paul. “Bed you, mayhap, but wed you? Never.”

  “You are quite mistaken, sir, I assure you.”

  The Earl of Vernwood descended the stairs, elegantly clad in deep green, and followed by Sir Geoffrey. The Vernwood valet brought up the rear.

  Confronted by such obviously aristocratic elegance, Selkirk could only gape. Not even a moan from his wife distracted him from the vision approaching him.

  Vernwood raised his glass and eyed the man from head to foot. “Most unpleasant. I can only believe that you are responsible for the dreadful sounds that caused me much distress.” He dropped the glass and looked over his shoulder at Paul. “Sir Geoffrey, upon hearing the frightful noise, hurried to my rooms. I believe he was hoping to protect me, or find protection behind my valet. I’m not quite sure which.” A lightning flash of humor crossed his face, but was gone before he turned back to Selkirk.

  “I will assume that you are, or pretend to be, related to our dear Harriet. If so, then I caution you to be most careful as to what you say next. There is, as I understand, a matter of investigation ongoing into the disposition of the Selkirk estate.”

  The moan from Mrs. Selkirk was louder at the Earl’s statement, but everyone ignored her.

  “This investigation,” continued the Earl, “has been prompted by the rumors of inappropriate behavior by family members with regards to the Selkirk finances. Improper withdrawals, promissory notes against the principal, to which access is expressly forbidden…other such matters. If, sir, you are the family member…or members…” he shot a look at the squirming lump of Mrs. Selkirk, now buried beneath her voluminous dress and cloak, “…then I do suggest you begin to exercise what little common sense you possess.” He leaned forward. “By shutting up.”

  “I say,” said Sir Geoffrey. “Are you an heiress, Mrs. Harry? Escaping the wicked villains after your fortune? That sort of thing?”

  Harriet sighed and wondered if she should protest being cast as the heroine in a Gothic romance novel.

  Paul stepped
into the breach. “Perhaps this is the perfect moment to inform you all of a slight change here at our hunting box.” He took Harriet’s hand and pulled her to his side. “This woman is indeed my lawful wife, as of last night, when we were wed, legally…” he shot a hard look at Selkirk, “by Reverend Simon Ridlington, at the Pineneedle Drift Church.” He took a breath. “At that time, I was also informed that my situation, which had been complex and private, had also changed.”

  Had the proverbial pin dropped at that second, everyone in the hall would have jumped at least two feet. The silence was that overwhelming. Even the Yule log seemed poised on the edge of bursting into flame.

  “I have at last been able to assume my rightful position as Viscount Hayward, upon the demise of a distant relative. Thus Harriet, my wife, is now Lady Hayward.”

  The air from the Hall was sucked into many pairs of lungs.

  Mrs. Selkirk, extracting herself from the tumble of skirts, stood, throwing a disgusted look at Lady Aphrodite and the urn. She stared at them all, saving her fiercest scowl for Harriet. Then she spun on her heel and stalked to the door, rubbing her head where the urn had struck.

  “Well, fuck the lot of you.”

  Stunned, nobody moved to stop her from opening the door and walking away.

  *~~*~~*

  “And that was pretty much that,” said Harriet as she sat around the Ridlington dining table some days later.

  “I will confess that it was such a shocking comment, we were all struck dumb,” added Paul with a rueful grin. “But on reflection, no good would have come from us detaining those two.”

  “You let Mr. Selkirk go free as well?” Rosaline’s eyes widened from across the table.

  “What else could we do?” Harriet shrugged. “If they return to London, they will be questioned most thoroughly and probably lose everything they have, whether legally theirs or mine or what. If they’re sensible—which I doubt—they will liquidate their assets and head for the continent.”

  “That’s what I’d do,” agreed Edmund. “But from where I sit now, it would have been much more satisfactory to beat the devil out of them, then have them transported.”

  “That was an option,” grinned Paul.

  “I would have done it,” announced Richard, finishing another mince pie.

  “Me too,” said Kitty, adjusting her elegant necklace. It sparkled as brightly as her eyes in the candlelight.

  “They did the right thing, I believe.” Simon leaned back in his chair. “Why continue to sully one’s existence with useless leeches like those two? No disrespect to the Selkirk name, Harriet…”

  “Understood,” smiled Harriet. “Leeches is an excellent way to describe them.”

  “So what happened after that?” asked Tabby, gazing at Harriet in fascination. “It must have been quite a Christmas morning for you all…”

  “It was indeed,” chuckled Paul. “Suddenly everyone was trying to work out who took precedence over whom, and if it was all right to ask the butler who was now a Viscount if they could have breakfast.”

  The laughter around the table rippled over the empty plates.

  “When it came to asking a Viscountess about linens…well, even Lady Aphrodite was in a quandary.” Harriet shook her head. “Finally, we just decided that it was time to delegate housekeeper and butler responsibilities to Cook’s daughter Iris, and the first footman, respectively.”

  “They were utterly terrified for five minutes, but when I told them of the raise in their wages, they took to the notion like ducks to water.” Paul wrinkled his nose. “In fact, I think young Douglas is going to be a far better butler than I ever was.”

  “And you joined the party at the table?”

  Harriet glanced at Paul and shared a smile. “Let’s just say that Christmas Dinner that day was nothing if not memorable.”

  “I can’t begin to imagine,” grinned Tabby. “But you were awfully lucky to have Vernwood in residence. D’you think that was coincidence?”

  “I couldn’t begin to guess,” answered Paul. “That man is one of the quiet ones, who actually wields more power than most of the government, I believe.” He looked over at Tabby. “He knows you.”

  “And I know him,” she nodded. “Well enough to agree with your assessment.”

  “And nobody shot anything,” grinned Rosaline. “Wasn’t it supposed to be a shooting party?”

  “If you’d met any of them, sister, you’d do anything you could to not let them near a firearm.” Paul gave a dramatic shudder. “I can’t begin to imagine the chaos they might have unleashed upon Pineneedle Drift.”

  “And given Lady Aphrodite’s condition, which tended to waver from joyous to tearful—within a minute—I agree with Paul. Guns were not mentioned. There was enough violence on Christmas day as it was. What with that, and the changes in our status…”

  Paul nodded. “I have to say bless the Tisdale twins. They accepted it all with the most casual aplomb. Our elevation didn’t really cause much of a stir in their world.”

  “I rather liked them, at the end,” said Harriet. “Their attack on Uncle Selkirk gave me a great deal of vicarious satisfaction. I wonder now why I never thought of whacking him with his own cane.”

  “Because you wouldn’t like it if you did,” said Hecate, her eyes on Harriet. “You’re a woman of kindness, not anger or pain.”

  “Thank you, Hecate,” blushed the new Viscountess.

  “And you, Paul, you need your wife.” A hush fell on the table as everyone realized Hecate was “seeing” what they often couldn’t. “She’ll guide you, temper your anger and help your decisions be those of wisdom not impulse.” Hecate blinked and sighed. “You’ll be happy. Both of you. And you’ll also be good parents.” A little grin curved her rose pink lips. “Before too long, I think…”

  Paul choked over his tea and Harriet’s jaw dropped. “Oh God, not yet?” She grabbed Paul’s arm as everyone laughed.

  “No, not yet. But soon.” Hecate just smiled.

  “That’s a relief,” Paul exhaled. “We don’t even know where we’ll be living yet. Although…” he looked around, “we’d like you all to know that we’ve set steps in motion to purchase the hunting box from Inchworthy. I had put out feelers before Christmas to see if he might be willing to sell, on the off chance that there might be some funds available with the DeVoreaux business settled. As luck would have it, that all turned out better than I could have hoped and Inchworthy was very willing to let me take it off his hands. It will be ours as soon as the paperwork is completed.”

  His hand reached out and grasped his wife’s, and they exchange equally loving grins.

  “So it has really been a very Happy Christmas, hasn’t it?” She looked around the table at her family. “One wonders what the new year will hold.”

  “I’m wishing for more fun in London with my friends. Only the best parties and the most popular gallants on my arm.” Kitty held up her teacup in a mock toast.

  “And I wish for a winning nag at Newmarket.” Richard grinned and clinked his cup against his twin’s.

  “What about you, Hecate?” Edmund looked affectionately at his youngest sister. “What are your wishes for this coming year?”

  She shook her head. “Just one thing. To survive.”

  *~~*~~*

  “That was an odd comment from Hecate,” said Paul, as he and his bride returned to the hunting box in their small carriage. It had been hastily fixed up by one of the stable lads, and they were grateful to have it on this afternoon as the weather appeared threatening.

  “It was,” agreed Harriet. “I understand she has a gift of sight, some would say. Or that she occasionally touches places others cannot.”

  “A hundred years ago, she’d have been burned as a witch,” mused Paul.

  “Less than that, here in the country. Fortunately, she’s gentle, kind and always ready to help. So instead of ostracizing her, the locals of Ridlington have taken her as their own, enjoying the fact that she’s a litt
le different now and again.” Harriet leaned against her husband’s arm. “I wish there were more such kindnesses out there.”

  They were silent for a while as they drove beneath lowering clouds, keeping the horse to a steady trot wherever conditions permitted.

  “Did you think Kitty and Richard a little…what’s the word I’m looking for…”

  “Town-bronzed?”

  “Yes,” she turned to Paul. “Yes, that’s exactly it. Not jaded, by any means. But ready to leave the country and return to the excitement of the Metropolis. Not like the other Ridlingtons.”

  “Although Hecate seemed ready to return with them.”

  “Yes, she does. Oh well. We should not dwell on others’ business, I suppose.”

  “You were happy to see Letitia,” Paul glanced down at his wife. “I hope you thanked her for me.”

  “Hush.” His wife blushed.

  “I see you did. And when will copies of this notorious book be available?”

  “Never you mind,” said Harriet. “It’s for women, mostly.”

  “Ohhh, really.” He nodded slowly. “So I wouldn’t learn anything new from it, then?”

  She thought for a moment. “Darling, I doubt there’s anything in there you don’t already know.”

  “But there were things in there you didn’t already know?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “Many things. Quite a few of which you have already approved.”

  He grinned. “Yes. Yes, I have.”

  “So I did thank Letitia, since you asked. For the book and the…er…”

  Paul went on point. “The what?”

  “Um…”

  “Harriet?”

  “Well, she had this book…no, it was more of a manual…”

  “Really? A manual on what?”

  Harriet slid her hand over her husband’s thigh and warmed her cool fingers by tucking them into a very personal area. “I’ll show you when we get home.”

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  THE MISTRESS WAGER