Mistletoe Masquerade

by Sahara Kelly

  They both knew that high social status did not necessarily make a man a gentleman.

  It was all too often the reverse.

  Chapter Three

  Several hours of bitter cold and the occasional flurry of snow bought Harriet and Paul a day’s respite, since it delayed their journey a night.

  The staff they’d hired arrived, the cook and her daughters eager to claim the kitchen, and the footmen and maids pleasantly surprised by the rooms they found allotted to them.

  Harriet had taken over the household duties with a will, ruthlessly organizing her miniature ‘army’, making sure everyone was familiar with their duties, and that Cook had everything she needed.

  “I’ll be making a list, Mrs. Harry,” said the woman. “There’s still things we need to get everything in hand.”

  “Of course. Whenever you have it ready, I’ll see that it’s filled,” smiled Harriet. “We’re very glad you’re here, Mrs. Chester. You and your daughters.” She sat across the kitchen table, her hands neatly folded in front of her. “Since this is a hunting box, we’re hoping for mostly fresh and simple fare, which is…in my opinion…the tastiest food in the country.”

  “It is that, Ma’am,” grinned Mrs. Chester. “Will the folks be wantin’ some Christmas dishes?”

  “Oh yes, I believe that would be appropriate.” Harriet thought for a moment. “Certainly we’ll have a goose or two for Christmas Day, along with whatever dishes you feel would complement them. The pantry is well stocked, so I’ll leave the rest to you, but Christmas pudding—if you have any put by—would be a welcome addition to dessert. Mr. Paul and I couldn’t find any available in Pineneedle Drift.”

  “I have several,” grinned the cook. “I always makes a few more than needed, just in case.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Then I can throw a couple of pies together as well, mince and maybe late apples…”

  “My mouth is watering already.” Harriet rose. “I see you know exactly how to go on, so I shall not be bothering you at all. I simply ask that if you need anything, or have any questions, you find me? This isn’t going to be a long business; most of the gentry return to town once the festivities are over, so I doubt these guests will make a long stay of it. I think if we all work together, then we can make it through with no problems whatsoever.” She smiled. “Does that meet with your approval?”

  “Absolutely, Ma’am. I’m eager to get cookin’. My family likes my food, but they’re used to it. It’ll be nice to cook for someone new.” Her round face beamed.

  “I’ll leave you to it then. Make sure you have whatever you need, for your daughters as well.”

  “I will and they’re doin’ fine. Happy to share a warm room and get their hands into cookin’ too. Reckon I may be raisin’ a couple of fine cooks to take over when I’m done.”

  “Which won’t be for a long time, I’m sure.” Harriet nodded diplomatically and left the kitchen, eager to find Paul and see what he was up to.

  She finally located him by dint of listening for his voice. What she heard could have turned the air around him quite blue, and he was discovered to be muffled up to his armpits in what looked like a cupboard full of wild animals.

  “What on earth?”

  They were in a very small vestibule area that led to a larger room with French doors leading out to what was probably a delightful summer vista, but at the moment was pretty much filled with white snow, and the occasional lump where a shrub slept away the winter months.

  “Looks like fur storage,” he muttered, fighting off things with claws and teeth.

  “Good assumption,” she said expressionlessly. The urge to collapse with laughter was overwhelming, but somehow she restrained herself. “Are you winning or will you be needing a rifle? I think I saw a gun cabinet somewhere…”

  His grunt was audible, as he finally extracted himself from the fur-lined cavity. “I smell like a leg of lamb.” He removed a tippet that still showed the tail and head of one unfortunate fox.

  She choked back a laugh. “I think you’ll find that’s the wormwood someone must have used to keep fleas away.” Moving nearer, she lifted one piece of fur. “Yes, these are definitely winter garments, and possibly a carriage blanket or two. I expect they were used when people went outside through those doors.” She looked back at him. “Should we air them out?”

  He gave her a look of disgust. “Do we have to?”

  “Well, no, but perhaps one piece might make a nice accessory to the master suite, for example…”

  He sighed. “All right. Pick one.”

  Harriet’s heart swelled as she realized the sacrifice he was making. He really didn’t like the smell or the idea that there was a cupboard full of dead animal skins tucked away in their house.

  But he had listened and followed her suggestion.

  She reached into the murky cupboard and let her fingertips wander until she came across something incredibly soft. With a small whisper of delight, she tugged out a sizeable blanket, realizing as it was revealed that it had to be something more exotic than badger or fox.

  “Good selection,” approved Paul. “If I’m right, that’s Russian sable. I remember seeing it on my travels.” He ran his hand over the surface, then blew gently, revealing the under layer of tightly clustered hairs. “Yes. That’s it.”

  “Well, it’s just…” she hugged it to her, “…delicious.”

  His lips curled into a grin. “Here’s an idea. Take it to your room and air it out. If you really like it, then let’s keep its presence a secret between us.”

  “Oh, but shouldn’t we…”

  “No, we shouldn’t. Go.” He folded the blanket as best he could, shoved it into Harriet’s arms and turned her, pushing her down the corridor.

  “All right then, I will. Thank you,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  In spite of the savory aroma the fur carried with it, Harriet couldn’t regret her selection. She arranged it over the end of her bed, realizing that at one point it had probably been a blanket, albeit a rather decadently heavy one. There was a wide piece of trim along one side that showed signs of some very thick embroidery. It would have been perfect for a sleigh ride on a bitter and snowy night.

  Her room would indeed smell as if someone had cooked a tasty meal in it, but it would be worth it to be able to run her hand over something so amazingly soft, yet warmer than any quilt.

  It was…sensual, she realized. One of those moments she seemed to be having more frequently these days. A thought galloped through her brain and she wondered what it would be like to lie naked on that fur.

  Shocked at herself, she blushed, and then hurried from her room, closing the door with a snap. Thoughts like that would get her nowhere, and soon the company would be arriving. She did not have time to indulge in erotic fantasies.

  Reaching the hallway, she looked down into the hall to see Paul straightening his cravat in the mirror.

  Damn the man. It was hard to suppress erotic fantasies when one was walking around the house all the time.

  *~~*~~*

  Paul was amazed at how smoothly the arrival of the shooting party proceeded.

  The bustle of the carriages containing the guests, another with their servants and baggage, and a final luggage wagon, covered with a weatherproof oilskin, kept all the servants busy for most of the morning.

  He and Harriet assumed their expected positions as the travellers entered, pleased to note that each introduced him or herself. Paul wouldn’t have known any of them otherwise.

  “Pennister, Farren Pennister,” said the oldest gentleman to Paul, as he handed his heavy cape to a nearby footman.

  Paul bowed. “Welcome, Sir Farren. May I introduce your housekeeper, Mrs. Harry. Your rooms are ready, sir, and between us I hope we can make your stay as comfortable as possible.”

  Sir Farren nodded, acknowledging Harriet’s curtsey with a quick smile, then turning to the lady entering behind him. “My wife, Lady Aphrodite. She b
rought her maid.”

  “As if I could possibly travel without Jeanne,” gushed Lady Aphrodite, blond curls waving delicately around features that had doubtless branded her an Incomparable. She might even be younger than Harriet in years, but her gestures and language betrayed a woman well-versed in Society’s ways. “Darling, this is just delightful.” Her eyes roamed the hall. “So…so…rural, don’t you think?”

  Harriet nobly stepped into the following silence. “My Lady, we have prepared a suite for you. If you would care to see it and freshen up after what I’m sure must have been an arduous journey…?”

  “You’re…?”

  “I’m Mrs. Harry, my Lady. Your housekeeper for the time that you’re here.” She curtseyed once more.

  “Very well,” Lady Aphrodite nodded, dismissing Harriet from her thoughts. “Jeanne? Where’s Jeanne? Flirting with the driver, no doubt…”

  “I will make sure she knows where to find you, my Lady,” bowed Paul. “I am your butler. Paul.”

  Lady Aphrodite’s eyes narrowed as Paul approached her, and she surveyed him from his eyebrows to his boots. “Well, goodness me.” She neared him and smiled seductively. “How charming you are, Paul. I’m sure I shall enjoy having you as my butler.”

  Paul managed to refrain from an obvious gulp. “Ah. I believe this must be your maid?” He quickly backed away and gestured to a woman loaded down with obviously feminine fripperies.

  She was entering with two men, who were laughing loudly at something and shedding their fashionable hats and capes, not even looking to see where they ended up.

  “Ho, Farren. Nice digs, don’t you think?” He noticed Harriet. “And I like the furniture.” He leered at her. “Can I have this one as my chambermaid?”

  “Don’t be silly, darling.” Lady Aphrodite’s voice cut through the bustle. “She’s the housekeeper. Hands off or you won’t get dinner, you naughty boy.”

  Sir Farren glanced at Harriet. “Don’t mind him, Mrs. Harry. Everyone is full of good cheer. It is the holidays after all.” He waved a hand at the man. “Sir Ambrose Hacklebury-Smythe—my brother-in-law.”

  “Ah. Of course, sir.” She nodded.

  “I believe the gentlemen will find their suites to their satisfaction.” Paul’s face was as expressionless as his voice. “Perhaps if you’d care to follow this footman, he will see you settled.”

  “Whatever you say,” grinned the other man, looking at Paul from eyes as blue as the sky. “I’m Geoffrey Sweetings. ‘Sir’ if you want to be odiously pompous about it. And for some completely unknown reason, I’m Ambrose’s friend.” He put a hand on one hip. “Of course, I do enhance his presence. After all, one so dark and one so fair?” His smile was angelic. “We’re quite the ensemble in town, you know. Invited everywhere just to please the eye.” He glanced at Ambrose. “Don’t we, darling?”

  “Don’t we what?” answered Ambrose.

  “Enchant the masses with our striking dissimilarities?”

  “Hah.”

  Paul found that his teeth had clenched themselves together at some point during this challenging conversation, and he was pleased to see that it looked as if there were only two more guests.

  He wasn’t so pleased to see that they were twins. Nor was he at all pleased when they affixed themselves to Sir Ambrose like limpets and allowed him to slip his hands into inappropriate places.

  “Ladies, I believe you will find your rooms to your satisfaction,” he said sternly, refusing to betray with the flicker of an eyebrow that he knew the exact nature of their relationship with Sir Ambrose.

  “Oooh, Phoebe, look. Look at the butler…”

  “I’m looking at him, Hestia. Well, I never…”

  Two pairs of sherry brown eyes stared at him, eyeing him up and down. He almost felt the looks and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation. For an instant he experienced a flash of sympathy for a rat in those moments before it was attacked and devoured by a pack of ferrets.

  “Now, now, girls,” Sir Ambrose’s voice was insistent. “No diversions, remember? You need to settle into your rooms.”

  “Yes, darling Ambrose.” Phoebe giggled and cuddled him. “But we probably won’t be using them too much.”

  “Of course, my dearest. There is nobody but you for us.” Hestia rubbed herself over his arm. “I hope you have a really big bed…”

  Harriet tried to suppress a choking cough and unfortunately attracted Sir Ambrose’s attention. His eyebrows lifted a little as he gazed at Harriet over the heads of the two women clinging to him. “Of course, if you two would play elsewhere, I think I could find something to occupy my time…” He winked at her.

  “Sir Ambrose.” Paul’s fury and disgust formed a ball in his throat and he pushed the stern words past it. “I trust you will enjoy this visit to the country, and I trust you will also enjoy the hospitality it offers.” He took one step forward. “However, sir, I’m afraid the one thing you will not enjoy is my wife.”

  Chapter Four

  Harriet’s breath had frozen in her lungs at Paul’s announcement. Good God, had the man run mad?

  His stern admonishment of Sir Ambrose had brought complete and utter silence to the hall; whether from shock or horror, she wasn’t sure. But into that silence stepped an elderly man, a latecomer and the last of the guests to arrive.

  “Well then,” he said, moving forward slowly with the aid of a cane. “I see we’re settling in.”

  His presence was, for some reason, quite dominating, realized Harriet. His eyes were hooded, and his face wrinkled, but his voice was clear and well-modulated. He might have been speaking to a few people or a crowd of thousands…it would have made no difference. He wore a mane of white hair with casual aplomb, and a neatly-trimmed beard and moustache of the same color glowed against the dark collar of his cape.

  She felt the strength of his personality as he walked up to her. “My dear, I hope you and your husband will forgive the crass stupidity of some of your guests. Please know we are looking forward to a charming visit in this lovely house, and perhaps some delightful winter activities, if the weather holds.”

  Harriet, drowning in the winning combination of his voice and his smile, curtseyed. “Of course, sir. And welcome.”

  It seemed that his arrival had signalled a need on the part of the others to find their quarters. Immediately. The hall cleared of guests and servants, leaving only the elderly man with Paul and Harriet, while two footmen and a maid carried in the last of the luggage.

  “My apologies sir, I don’t believe I have the honor of knowing whom I am addressing?” Paul bowed deeply. It seemed that he too, felt the imposing personality within this elderly gentleman.

  “I am Vernwood,” came the response.

  “My Lord,” Paul bowed again. “We are honored. There was no mention of your accompanying this party…”

  “Rest easy, lad.” The Earl grinned. “I’m long past the point of expecting servants to wipe my damned titled arse.”

  Harriet bit back a laugh. “It’s truly an honor, my Lord. And thank you for your forbearance. We shall do all in our power to make your stay a pleasant one.”

  “I appreciate that, my dear. And I look forward to warm fires, good food and not too much drama from the rest of ‘em.” He sighed. “I wanted to get away from town. Farren isn’t a bad chap, but—like so many of us—he has relatives. I’m beginning to think that outlawing relatives might not be the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

  “You travelled in your own carriage, I understand,” smiled Paul.

  “Indeed I did. You won’t catch me trapped in a small box with those idiots.” He paused. “Pardon me. I’m being inappropriate, which usually means I need a nap. So if you, dear girl,” he lifted his arm toward Harriet, “will show me to my room, I will indulge myself for an hour or so.” He glanced at Paul. “I’m not kidnapping your wife. Much too old for that. Just so you understand…” His grin was wicked, the lips curving cheerfully beneath the white ruffle of hair.

&nb
sp; “I understand, sir. Rest well and tea will be ready for you when you wake.” Paul bowed again.

  The Earl allowed Harriet to take his arm and together they began the ascent to the second floor. Harriet was congratulating herself for having cleaned out a suite of rooms at the far end of the corridor; it had been the last one and she’d almost left it, but it was a delightful space and would serve this distinguished gentleman well, she believed.

  They spoke of his journey—long and bumpy—and of the house itself—chilly on darker days, but overall welcoming. A general conversation that lasted until she opened the doors to his rooms.

  “Ah,” he sighed, walking in and across the room to the beautiful bow windows overlooking the winter landscape. “Now this is what I’d hoped for.” He turned and flashed her a brilliant smile. “Well done, Mrs. Harry. I shall be most content here.”

  “I do hope so, my Lord.” She opened another door. “Your bedroom is here, and there is a small room next to it for a valet…” Her voice tapered off with the implied question.

  “I’ll be sharing Farren’s,” he answered. “So no worries there. I don’t need much these days so the poor man won’t be run off his feet. And what I do need, I believe I shall find here.”

  “I hope so.” Harriet couldn’t help smiling back.

  There was a tap on the door and she turned to find a footman with some bags. She glanced back at the Earl. “I shall leave you to your rest, sir. And look forward to seeing you later.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  She eased herself quietly from the room and closed the door, her heart in her throat at the thought of the mess she and Paul now found themselves in.

  First things first…she dashed upstairs to the servant’s floor, hoping that they were all still busy settling their masters and mistresses. Heaving a breath of relief at the quiet stillness, she hurried to the room she’d been using, grabbed everything of hers out of it and went to the next room, tossing it all on Paul’s bed. There was no time to think of the implications at this point, not if she were to ensure credibility for their story.