Once Upon a Christmas Knight

by Barbara Devlin

  “My dear Margaret, the fault is mine, as I was blinded by your beauty.” As usual, given his compliment, she blushed, and he adored that about her. “Might this beggar dare ask to escort you to dinner?”

  “You do me a great honor, Percy.” Resting her palm in the crook of his elbow, she half-curtseyed. “By the by, I brought the nutcracker to the drawing room, as I would have everyone admire your thoughtful gift.”

  “I am so glad you like it.” Descending the stairs, he leaned close. “And I would thank you, again, for the lovely interlude, last night, as well as your magical performance on the piano.”

  “Percy.” She bit her bottom lip, and he ached to suckle her tender flesh. “Be careful, as someone might hear you.”

  “What does it matter, as we are soon to be married?” In the foyer, he drew her to a halt and glanced at the kissing bough, which hung from the casing that framed an arched entry. “What say you, beautiful lady? Do we dare?”

  With cheeks of beetroot red, she nodded once and tilted her chin, in perfect position to offer a treasured boon. Thus, he slipped an arm about her waist, drew her to him, and just barely brushed his mouth to hers, in a tantalizing taste of all they had to share, before angling his head and deepening the experience.

  At a gentle prod of his tongue, she opened to him, and he engaged her in a frisky little duel meant to entice and arouse, as he pressed on her caresses intended to nurture the fire that erupted between them. When she trembled, ever so subtly in his arms, coupled with a sultry moan, he shuddered and brought the sweet tryst to an end, before the situation spun out of control, because she tempted him beyond all reason. Yet, when he tried to withdraw, she clung to him.

  “Oh, Percy, I cannot thank you enough for saving me.” Burying her face to his chest, she gave vent to a soft sob. “I was so certain no one could ever want me. I was sure my father would barter me for some service or another, as no one ever expressed the slightest interest in me.” Then she shifted to meet his gaze, as she clutched the lapels of his coat. “But you want me. You see me.”

  “Sweetheart, I have always seen you.” With that, he claimed her lips in a crushing kiss, if only to reassure her that his ardor was true, and he cupped here bottom, through her heavy skirt, to press her hips to his, that she might know the depth of his arousal, and she gasped. “By heavens, doubt me not, as I desire you, Margaret.”

  “And I you, as I can scarcely contain myself, but I am no wanton woman.” As if to prove her point, she hugged him and sighed. “While I have never known a man in such fashion, I am convinced of my feelings for you, and it is more than gratitude, sir.”

  “Given your countenance, which shimmers as the stars in the night sky, I believe you.” As much as he prized her devotion, he realized he owed her the truth of how he won their engagement, because he refused to begin their life, together, on a foundation of lies, and he resolved to explain the situation, and reassure her of his unreserved dedication, at the earliest convenience. “And you do me a great honor, as never did I assume I could inspire such joy in anyone.”

  “You have.” Although he did not think it possible, she shone even brighter. “Know that you have, and I could not be more thrilled about our engagement.”

  “I am equally eager, my dear.” Again, he nabbed a quick kiss and collected a single berry from the bough, which he tucked in his pocket. “There. We have fulfilled the custom, and you will indeed marry next year. Now, let us join the others, before they search for us, and we are caught.”

  “All right.” As would a distinguished couple, they marched down the hall and into the dining room. “Good evening, everyone. Look who I found in the gallery.”

  “Ah, there you are, Margaret. I wondered what kept you.” Mrs. Hogart narrowed her stare. “Upon my word, are you ill, because you look flushed. I hope you are not catching a cold, as the last thing you need is a swollen, red nose.”

  “Uh—no, Mama. I am quite well.” Margaret peered at him and cast a shy smile. “But I was in a rush to dress, as you know I loathe being late to anything. Where should I sit?”

  In that instant, Percy glanced at Ernest, who arched a brow and frowned. Given Ernest’s breach in decorum as he wooed Henrietta, which was no great secret, he was no one to judge Percy.

  “As we are, for all intents and purposes, family, let us relax the rules and enjoy an informal seating.” Perched to Ernest’s immediate right, Henrietta held his hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Hogart may take the two chairs opposite me, and Percy and Margaret may occupy the chairs to my right.”

  “Of course.” Percy led his fiancée to her seat and then settled in his place, to her left. “What a sensible arrangement, Henrietta.”

  “Something smells delicious.” Mr. Hogart draped his napkin in his lap. “And I am famished.”

  “I am glad to hear that, because I planned a special menu, and the cook has outdone herself, for the occasion. Indeed, I am so disappointed Barrington and Florence could not join us, even though the storm has abated, and the roads are much improved, but they fret for their babes, which I more than understand.” Henrietta nodded to the butler. “You may commence the service.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Ernest snapped his fingers, signaled a servant, and said to Percy, “A missive arrived for you, late this afternoon, and I left the envelope on the desk, in my study. I should have a footman collect it, as the messenger said it was urgent.”

  “Do you think it could be news of my predicament?” Mr. Hogart asked, much to Percy’s horror.

  “What predicament?” Mrs. Hogart snatched a roll from a basket. “Is something amiss?”

  Mr. Hogart started and paled.

  “Er—no.” Percy selected a juicy slice of venison from a platter, searched his mind for a suitable explanation, and prayed for calm. “Mr. Hogart is interested in one of my investments, and I requested a report from my solicitor, but I cannot believe he would dispatch a missive in this weather.”

  “I wager the lanes are not so treacherous for a lone rider, given the winds have died down, and the sun melted much of the snow.” When the footman returned, Ernest said, “Give the letter into Mr. Howe’s care.”

  As the ladies and gentlemen studied Percy, he perused the sender’s directive, glanced at Mr. Hogart, and broke the seal. Scanning the contents, Percy digested the related facts and pondered how best to deliver the sorrowful news to his soon-to-be relation. But one thing was certain. He was done running from controversy.

  “Is everything all right?” Ernest daubed the corners of his mouth. “You look a tad out of sorts, cousin.”

  “Everything is fine.” Percy lied and seized on a diversion, as he folded the parchment and deposited the envelope into his coat pocket. “But I have a favor to ask of Henrietta.”

  “Indeed?” The lady in question set down her fork. “What can I do for you?”

  “I would commission a gown for my bride-to-be, in a style just for her.” Beneath the cover of the table linen, Margaret clasped his hand, and he twined his fingers in hers. “Spare no expense, as I would have only the finest for my future wife.”

  “But that is our responsibility, Mr. Howe.” Mrs. Hogart lifted her chin. “It is highly irregular for the groom to outfit his fiancée.”

  “Yet, you will indulge me, will you not, Mrs. Hogart?” Unabashed, Percy brought Margaret’s hand to his lips, as he caught her father in his stare, and he pressed a not so chaste kiss to her bare knuckles. “And I would pose another request, if I may.”

  “And that would be—what, Mr. Howe?” As if he understood Percy’s concern, Mr. Hogart stretched upright. “What can I do for you?”

  “I would have you post the banns on the first of January.” Percy peered at Margaret, and she smiled. Not for a minute would he chance the possibility of losing her, when they were so close to the altar. “And I will write my solicitor, posthaste, to secure a license, that we may marry in February.”

  “February?” Mrs. Hogart pressed a clenched fist to her chest in a
typical display of exaggerated emotion. “Why so soon? I had hoped your nuptials would be the talk of The Season. How can I savor Mrs. Ponsonby’s envy if you wed early, because the excitement will have waned before the ton returns to London?”

  “And what of my trousseau?” Margaret squeezed his fingers. “I would come to you at my best, and we have had no time to shop. I would make you proud of your chosen mate.”

  “My dear, I could never be anything less. Be that as it may, I am determined.” Percy considered the logistics of Mr. Hogart’s position, and the dire circumstances necessitated expedience. Tomorrow, after the requisite church services and holiday meal, he would sit down with his fiancée and inform her of her family’s dilemma, because he would brook no secrets between them. “You should have sufficient opportunity to purchase whatever you require, but I will take you as you are, and we will marry on St. Valentine’s Day.”

  ~

  After dinner, the servants cleared the dishes, and the cook brought in the Christmas plum pudding. As was the custom, each portion revealed a particular trinket. Lord Ernest found a small wishbone, which signified good luck, Henrietta found a tiny anchor, which meant safe harbor, mama located a thimble, for thrift, and papa and Percy found silver coins, which symbolized wealth, much to papa’s expressed elation. But Margaret’s prize was the best of all.

  In her helping she was delighted to discover a ring. It was not a precious bauble, but it predicted her forthcoming marriage, and she considered it a sign that her path was right and true.

  Afterward, they adjourned to the music room, where Margaret pounded the ivories, to maintain her ruse, while Ernest, Henrietta, mama, and papa danced a jig. There was laughter and sport, as Ernest fretted for Henrietta, her belly round with their first babe, and Mama performed a quickstep, which had everyone howling. And Percy sat beside her, turning the music sheets, as she played.

  “Well, should we repair to the drawing room, light the Yule log, and exchange gifts?” Daubing her temple with a handkerchief, Henrietta leaned against her husband. “Anyone for tea or brandy?”

  “Yes, to the latter.” Papa loosened his cravat. “And, perhaps, some shortbread.”

  “Upon my word, John.” Mama tittered. “How can you eat another bite?”

  “What concern is that of yours?” Papa hugged his belly. “Dinner is long since passed, and I worked up an appetite with all that frolicking about the room.”

  “Daresay it is the most exercise you have had since before our wedding.” Mama snorted. “And I must say, Margaret’s playing is a vast deal improved. Indeed, she has never sounded better.”

  As they navigated the stunning residence, Ernest and Henrietta exchanged sweet declarations of adoration, while mama and papa traded jocular barbs. Following in their wake, at a discreet distance, Percy escorted Margaret.

  “Thank you, for not revealing my secret.” Of course, not for a minute did she expect him to give her away. “Must confess I panicked when Mama asked me to provide the music for our impromptu celebration. I suppose I am in your debt.”

  “But you triumphed.” Slowing his pace, he leaned near. “And I would consider the debt repaid for another kiss.”

  “Percy.” Although she should have voiced a strong rebuke, she could not resist her fiancé, because she did so enjoy his mischievous behavior. “What will my parents say, if we are discovered?”

  “Well, the trick is to avoid such entanglements.” When the other two couples descended the stairs, Percy pulled her aside and led her to the gallery. “What say you, my dear Margaret? May I have this dance?”

  “Shall I hum a tune?” She could not help but giggle, as he bowed. “My, what an elegant partner.”

  “Serenade me, beautiful lady.” When he stepped forward, slid his arm about her waist, and took her hand, she feared her heart might burst beneath his praise. “What is my fiancée’s choice?”

  “How about Bach?” As Percy commenced the rotation, she recalled the singular piece, a romantic composition that always brought tears to her eyes, when she played it. “The ‘Largo’ from Concerto Five in F minor. It was originally written for the harpsichord, but it takes on new life on the piano.”

  “Something tells me our home will forever be filled with music, and I am grateful for that.” He chuckled. “And you will teach our children the same appreciation for such pursuits.”

  At his pronouncement, she crooned, as seemingly never-ending joy enveloped her, and he gazed into her eyes, as they twirled about the gallery, with his ancestors in attendance as an audience, of a sort, via their distinguished portraits. With each successive turn, she soared in her man’s steady embrace, and in his presence found staunch support.

  Indeed, he wanted her as she was, sans the grace and cordiality of Miranda. To Margaret’s surprise and infinite thanks, he understood her, and in her he saw value, when she had been so certain it would never happen. Thus, she found acceptance when she least expected it.

  As they neared a rather large statue, he shifted course, ducked behind the huge sculpture, came to a sudden halt, and kissed her. What began as soothing warmth soon erupted into something much more, as she parted her lips, and he mingled his tongue with hers.

  Fire danced in her veins, searing every muscle, and charging every nerve. Indeed, it was a fantasy. A dream. As her heart hammered in her chest, her ears rang, and then he ceased his tender attentions, with an abrupt flinch, much to her dismay.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Gasping for breath, she rested her head to his chest.

  “No, darling.” Given his term of endearment, she could not stifle a brief shriek of euphoria, and he laughed. “You did everything right. Perhaps, a little too right, as I desire you more than you realize.”

  “Is that bad?” Shifting, she hugged him about the waist and sighed. “Should I refrain from encouraging you? Should I feign indifference?”

  “If you do, I shall be quite perturbed, as your fervent response is one of your best assets, because a man desires a wife who desires him.” He massaged the nape of her neck and kissed her crown. “But there is something we should discuss, if you would grant me an audience, tomorrow, after church. I would—”

  From beyond the confines of the artwork, someone cleared their throat, and she started.

  With a mighty scowl, Percy lifted his head. “Who goes there?”

  “It is Earnest, and you would do well to join us in the drawing room, before Mr. Hogart finds you dallying with his daughter.” Mr. Howe’s clipped tone brought the burn of a blush to her cheeks, and she glanced at Percy. “Cousin, do not shame our family while you are a guest in my home. While no one understands your devotion better than I, and I am the last person to preach on the strictures that govern our set, I forbid you to embarrass my wife on our first holiday celebration at Whitstone. Now, come out from the shadows and partake of the festivities.”

  “Give us a minute, cousin.” Percy caressed her cheek and pressed his lips to hers. “It will be all right, Margaret. I promise.”

  Something in his cryptic comment, coupled with his expression of concern, sent a chill down her spine, but she shrugged off the disconcerting sensation. When he retreated and extended his arm, she settled her palm in the crook of his elbow, and with heads held high they rounded the sculpture.

  “Listen, if you wish to…linger, in private, use the back parlor, as it is remote, and you may make a quick escape through the terrace doors, should you need to sneak away, unobserved,” Ernest explained, as they descended the stairs. “And then there is the alcove in the west wing, on the second floor. If you are interested, it offers a stunning view of the gardens, but its best feature is the creaky floor in the hall, which all but announces approaching interlopers.”

  “Thank you.” Percy gave her a gentle nudge and winked. “We will remember that bit of information, and put it to good use.”

  Margaret liked the sound of that.

  “Ah, there they are, and not a moment too soon.” Papa clapped his hand
s. “Where were you?”

  In a fit of panic, she gulped and shuffled her feet. “Um—”

  “Miss Hogart dropped her sheet music, and I helped her collect it.” Percy came to her rescue. “And since we are gathered, I would beg your forbearance, as would take care of a very important formality, which I neglected until now.”

  To Margaret’s surprise, papa clutched mama’s arm, and she sniffed. Ernest drew Henrietta to his side, and she smiled. It was then Percy led Margaret to stand by the hearth. Beneath the nutcracker’s watchful guard, as her gift loomed proudly atop the mantel, Percy dropped to a knee and produced a small box, from which he retrieved a betrothal ring, and tears welled as she could scarcely contain herself.

  Taking her hand in his, he met her stare. “My dear Miss Hogart, would you do me the honor of being my wife? Will you be the mother of my children, my partner in all enterprises, and my anchor in tumultuous times?”

  It was a dream. A fantasy. Every young girl aspired to such a moment, when her Prince Charming knelt before her, and she could not believe she was his chosen princess.

  “Yes.” She nodded with unrestrained enthusiasm. “Yes, of course.”

  To applause and cheers, Percy slipped the ring on her finger, stood, stretched tall, framed her face, and claimed a tender kiss. And then they were swamped.

  “Oh, my precious child, I am so proud.” Mama blubbered. “I cannot believe both my babies are grown, and my house will be quiet without you, but I hope to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet, soon.”

  “Mama.” Margaret giggled and then whispered, “Worry not, as I shall be about it, because I want a large family.”

  “And I know you will not disappoint me.” Mama compressed her lips and wept. “But I cannot tell you how excited I am at the prospect of little ones running about my home, as it has been too long.”

  “Step aside, Beryl, as I would congratulate my daughter.” Beaming, papa pulled Margaret into his arms. “My dear girl, I could not be happier for you, and you bring prestige upon our family, as we shall be connected to the Marquess of Ravenwood. In short, you do great credit to the Hogart name.”