Mistletoe Masquerade

by Sahara Kelly

  Paul reached out and tapped his knuckles on the lad’s head. “Too smart by half.” He sighed. “Well, let’s to it, then. I’d rather have most of it done before they’re finished with their lunch.”

  The three men divested themselves of their outer layers and set to, determined to release the monster from its bonds with the land and the rest of the debris around it.

  *~~*~~*

  Back at the hunting box, Harriet was racking her brains to come up with a plan for the evening.

  She’d realized rapidly that people such as these guests—in other words those of playful dispositions, to put it kindly—needed something to keep them occupied. Otherwise she could foresee trouble.

  She and Cook had already mapped out a battle plan for a meal that was slanted toward the filling end of possible dishes. There would be plenty of root vegetables—potatoes, turnips and the like—served with several pork dishes, and a rich game soup. The sweets would feature hot mince pies with brandy sauce. If that didn’t slow everyone down, then Harriet would simply toss her lace cap away and declare herself finished.

  She was mulling over the idea of some after dinner games when a loud knock on the front door heralded visitors. Since the Yule log party couldn’t possibly have returned yet, she was at a loss to imagine who could be calling such an out-of-the-way place.

  But when she heard a voice, and then another, she dropped everything and rushed into the hall.

  “Letitia,” she cried, running to greet her dearest friend. “And James too.” She hugged them both enthusiastically. “What on earth are you doing here? Not that I’m not beside myself with joy at seeing you…” She hugged Letitia once more for good measure.

  “Good grief,” laughed Letitia. “I need to breathe, dear Harry.”

  A maidservant had arrived and helped them out of their winter garments, smiling at Harriet’s nod of approval as she hung them neatly on a rack of hooks by the door.

  “She had to see you, you know. And when she has to do something, there’s no stopping here.” Sir James FitzArden grinned proudly at his new wife.

  Harriet looked at them both. “Marriage suits you.”

  “Go ahead,” sighed Letitia. “You can say it.”

  “I wouldn’t be so uncharitable.” Harriet snickered. “I am thinking it, though.”

  Letitia turned to her husband. “She told me so.”

  “I know. Along with just about everybody else, you stubborn wench.” He dropped a light kiss on her cheek, then turned to Harriet. “Now then. Can you spare a cup of tea?”

  “I was about to ask that myself.”

  The voice from the staircase made all three heads turn, and Harriet was quite surprised to see the Earl descending slowly, with his cane. He was dressed properly, but not as formally as he might have been. His white hair showed against the dark blue of his jacket, and his elegant manner was evident at the warm smile he gave the assembled throng.

  “I say,” said James. “How lovely to see you here, my Lord.” He bowed. “It’s been too long.”

  “Indeed, James.” The Earl reached the bottom of the stairs. “And I see you finally found yourself a bride…” He turned to Letitia. “And a beauty at that.”

  “May I introduce Lady Letitia FitzArden? She was a Ridlington until a couple of days ago. My dear, this is the Earl of Vernwood. We have been acquainted for many years.”

  “Ah…” The Earl nodded. “I met your brother once, I believe, dear child,” he said as Letitia curtseyed. “Some demmed Naval function, full of brass, buttons, ribbons and rum.”

  “That would be Edmund, my Lord,” replied Letitia. “And yes, although he’s now Baron, he still has a tendency toward brass and buttons.” She blinked. “Not sure about the rum though, since he’s become a father. He’s fonder of Chillendale ale these days.”

  The Earl laughed. “Good man. Can’t go wrong with that particular brew.”

  “And there is still some left, sir,” said Harriet, “even after last night. But I think tea might be more in order, don’t you?”

  The Earl glanced at James and the two men exchanged similar sighs.

  “Oh dear,” laughed Letitia. “It has to be tea. We’ve still got a way to travel today, and if he starts on the ale, he’ll sleep the rest of the journey. Which will render me bored and I shall have to climb up onto the box and engage the driver in a small flirtation to while away the time.” She rolled her eyes. “All because he chose ale over tea.”

  “Tea it is. In the parlor within moments. If you would follow me?”

  Harriet led them into the room, pleased to see the fire burning. Once settled, she excused herself. “I will see to tea.”

  It wasn’t until she had set the kitchen to preparing tea and delicacies, that she realized she’d left them alone, and all she could do was hope Letitia would remember the current masquerade she and Paul were playing. Walking back into the parlor, with measurable apprehension, she was relieved to see the conversation had turned to London matters, politics and politicians uppermost in their minds.

  Letitia smiled and jumped up as Harriet came in. “Thank goodness. I was about to come and find you and ask if I could roam around this charming house.” She reached out casually and touched Harriet’s arm, but that touch hid a pinch.

  Harriet took the hint. “It would be my honor to show you around. I believe we have a few minutes while the tea steeps. And there’s not a lot to see.” She glanced at the men. “If you will excuse us?”

  “Of course,” said the Earl. “Leave us to our boring stratagems for the next election.”

  Letitia laughed. “I would say willingly, but I’m sure your stratagems are never boring, my Lord.”

  He chuckled as the two women left the room.

  As soon as the door closed, Harriet turned to Letitia. “Why are you two here? You’ve been married…what…two days? For the love of God, Letitia, you should be on your honeymoon, at least.”

  “And I will be, my dear. We’re on our way up to town, but it was vitally important that I see you first.” She looked around. “Where can we be private?”

  Harriet nodded, and led the way down the hall to a small ante room, most often used for hats, coats, boots and other hunting equipment. “Here. The house party is out getting a Yule log at the moment.”

  “And Paul’s with them?”

  “Yes,” replied Harriet. “And you must also know that circumstances made it imperative that we appear…er…well, the thing is…”

  “What?” Letitia stared at her friend. “Tell me…”

  Blushing, Harriet explained the events that led to a pretense of marriage between her and Paul.

  “Very wise,” nodded Letitia. “Always knew Paul was more intelligent than he like people to think.” She touched Harriet’s arm once more. “This is actually perfect. And I’ll tell you why.”

  Reaching into her pocket, she produced a small, folded slip of paper. “Harry, this is very important. One of the guests at the wedding, a friend of James’s from long ago, happened to mention one of the current on-dits making the rounds. It concerns you.”

  “Me?” squeaked Harriet. “Impossible.”

  “I’m afraid not. The rumor is that the Selkirks are pronouncing you dead. They say it’s such a tragedy—their poor niece was abducted and murdered. Her body has not been found, but they were told by your ex-maid, who witnessed your death. You were, according to her, thrown lifeless into the Thames.” Her lips twisted in disgust. “The maid, of course, has since disappeared, due to the extreme fear she experienced at the possibility of being asked to identify your murderer.”

  Harriet was at a loss for words, simply staring wide-eyed at Letitia.

  “My response too, when James told me.” She leaned forward. “The problem this raises is that the Selkirks are not about to welcome you back with open arms if you decided to return to London. It is now crucial to them that you actually be dead.”

  Harriet’s head was spinning. “Oh God.” She took a brea
th and forced her heart back down her throat. “So they will be actively trying to find me now, and when they do…” She shivered.

  “I’m afraid so.” Letitia’s expression betrayed her concern. “As soon as James heard this, he called a family conference. Edmund and Rosaline, Simon and Tabby and me and James.”

  “Goodness…really?”

  “You’re family. Paul is family. If you’re in danger, so is he.”

  “Of course. You’re right, dammit.” Harriet clenched her teeth, torn between fury and fear, not for herself, but for Paul.

  “So here’s what we decided.” She held up the paper. “This is a special license.” She paused. “For marriage.”

  Harriet blinked.

  “Think, Harry. This whole mess is because of your inheritance. You’re still a couple of years away from getting the bulk of it, so they have time to hunt you down and dispose of you.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out so clearly, Letitia. I do understand the situation.” Harriet shivered.

  “Good. Because this little piece of paper will allow you and Paul to wed immediately. If you do that—pay attention here—your inheritance will revert to your husband as soon as you sign the marriage license.”

  “So it won’t matter whether I’m alive or dead? They’ll never get it?”

  “Correct.” Letitia leaned back with a sigh. “You do understand. I’m so glad.”

  Harriet clenched her teeth. “What I understand is that thanks to those…those creatures, I’ll never get my hands on money that should rightfully be mine.”

  “I don’t believe Paul would abscond with it, dear,” observed Letitia.

  “No, I didn’t mean that, of course, it’s just…” Harriet groaned. “What a damnable mess.”

  “So that’s why the family is unanimous in this, Harry. The best—the only—solution is for you to marry Paul. At once.”

  “And just how am I to explain it to him?”

  Letitia grinned. “Oh, good God, my dear. Just let nature take its course. It helps that you’re in love with him already.”

  Chapter Nine

  Paul admitted exhaustion when the party finally returned to the hunting box.

  The wagon boasted a massive log, missing a few chunks where Sir Geoffrey had insisted on being allowed to wield the axe, but otherwise most respectable. Sir Geoffrey, on the other hand, sported a rather large bandage—improvised from one of the Tisdale twins’ sleeves—around his left hand. Thankfully it hid not an axe wound, but a gash from a flying chip.

  Since that was the only injury, Paul had to be grateful, although he doubted Sir Geoffrey would agree.

  The flasks had been emptied, so the party was noisy, clumsy, giggly and half-asleep. The latter state reflected Sir Farren, who had to be nudged several times by his wife as they dismounted, clambering awkwardly around the roots of the Yule log and staggering up the steps and into the house.

  Harriet, bless her, seemed to have anticipated their state, and a couple of maids awaited the ladies along with two footmen, who assisted the gentlemen with their coats. Sir Ambrose was helped up the stairs by the twins, and Paul kept an eye on them to make sure all three didn’t return to the hall head first. When they disappeared down the corridor, he heaved a sigh of relief and even managed a smile as Harriet herself appeared.

  “Goodness, my Lady,” she curtsied and smiled at Lady Aphrodite. “I would hazard a guess that you have all enjoyed your outing…”

  Lady Aphrodite nodded, then reached out and clung to the banister. Her eyes opened wide, she darted a glance around, then dashed to the ornate brass urn intended for wet umbrellas, and promptly vomited in it.

  “Oh bollocks,” breathed Paul. “That’s all we need.”

  Harriet ignored him, hurrying over to the woman who was now clearly not well at all. “My Lady, let’s get you upstairs. A good rest and you’ll feel much more the thing.”

  Surprising Paul, Lady Aphrodite gave Harriet a sincerely grateful look and placed a hand on her stomach. “I apologize, Mrs. Harry. But I don’t think I’ll be truly well for a few months yet.”

  Harriet gasped, then nodded. “If that is the case, then you will have no more liquor here, Ma’am. We shall take care of you, but you must also learn to take care of yourself.” She glanced at Aphrodite’s belly. “And the little one as well.”

  Putting an arm around Aphrodite, Harriet gentled her up the stairs and the two of them vanished from sight.

  There was no time for reflection though. Paul busied himself with making sure the hall was cleared, the wagon left outside so that they could bring in the log, and assigning a maid to take care of Lady Aphrodite’s “accident” in the brass urn. “Take the damn thing outside and bury it,” he said with a grimace.

  The maid giggled. “Oh, now, Mr. Paul. Yer don’t got young brothers or sisters, do yer?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Ne’er yer mind. ’Tis as good as done.”

  Making a mental note to slip that young lass an extra sixpence, Paul turned to the business of unloading the log.

  It took almost all the male members of the household, excluding the guests of course, to tug, lug, lift and push the monster piece up the steps and into the hall. One lad split his breeches as he leaned over to free a root from the door hinge, making the rest of them laugh. And of course, once laughing it was hard to stop.

  Paul joined in, since he found pleasure in hearing such a joyous sound.

  They managed a few feet more, snickers and guffaws notwithstanding, until it was mere inches from the fireplace. The andirons were well clear and it only took one more massive shove to get it exactly where they wanted it—snugly tucked within the large darkened stones of the hearth.

  That massive shove, however, resulted in something else as well. An enormously loud fart from one of the footmen. Given the open hall, the amount of tile and polished wood, and the height of the ceiling, the sound was little short of a cannon firing at close range.

  And the effect was not dissimilar, since most of the room’s occupants lost what little was left of their composure and collapsed with laughter.

  Five minutes later, Harriet walked down the stairs, an expression of bewilderment on her face as she observed several men helplessly clutching their stomachs and rolling around the floor in mirth.

  Paul managed to pull himself together. “Never mind, Mrs. Harry. It’s been quite a long day, so far, and it’s only four o’clock. We’re all rather tired.”

  “I can see,” she commented dryly. “I suggest a nice cup of tea in the kitchen, gentlemen. You’ve all worked hard, and you deserve it. I believe Cook has made gingerbread too…”

  They took her hint eagerly, nodding and touching their forelocks as they scurried for the stairs.

  “Thanks, Mrs.”

  “Oooh, I loves gingerbread.”

  “Me ma bakes that fer Christmas too.”

  Harriet looked at Paul as the last of them vanished downstairs. “Are you all right? You seem to have had an interesting time of it.”

  “You have no idea,” sighed Paul, walking up to her and lightly brushing a finger over her cheek. He found he took pleasure in just standing there next to her, weary though he was. Then he looked at the fireplace. “Behold your Yule log.”

  “My Yule log?” She gave a little laugh. “You spoil me, sir. I cannot imagine what I did to deserve such a gift.”

  He stared at her. “You don’t have to do anything, Harry. Just be you.” She met his gaze and he felt the world fade away. “Harry…”

  “Paul, we have to talk. And it’s very urgent.” She blinked away the moment and reached out to touch his arm. “Can we be private for a few minutes? I have something most important to tell you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to vomit into a vase or anything, are you?”

  “Good God, no.”

  “All right. Let me just wash the dirt of that wood monster off me and I’ll meet you in the small parlor in five mi
nutes.”

  She nodded. “I’ll bring tea. Or maybe brandy. You’ll need it.” She hurried off.

  Paul went in the opposite direction, knowing he was frowning. What on earth could Harry have to tell him that would require brandy? Half of him wanted to know, the other half wondered if he was better off not knowing.

  Either way, he needed to change his shirt. Best to be clean and comfortable when facing a crisis.

  *~~*~~*

  Harriet had the brandy out and ready to pour when Paul returned.

  He nodded at it. “I think we both should have a wee drop. If nothing else, to settle our nerves. It’s been a tense time, these last couple of days.” One eyebrow rose as he watched her fill the glasses more than a third full. “I’m guessing your day has been quite tense as well,” he noted.

  “Letitia and James were here.” She took a swig.

  “What?” His eyes opened wide. “When? Are they all right?”

  Harriet nodded. “They stopped here on their way to London.”

  Paul blinked. “Harry, FitzArden Hall is a twenty-minute walk from Ridlington Chase. The Inchworthy hunting box in which we now stand, is perhaps two hours or more away from both of those places and would add those hours to their trip up to town. If they did just stop by, that’s the longest detour I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Of course they didn’t. But they’re being very cautious when it comes to us and our whereabouts.” She went on to relate the matters as they stood in London with regard to her sad demise.

  “Fuck,” he swore softly without apology. “Those bastards.”

  “Quite.” She sighed and dropped down onto one of the small chairs dotting the room. “So you see why Letitia had to be careful. Neither she nor James want one hint of our whereabouts ending up in the wrong ears.”

  “Yes, I do see, and I’m very grateful to them.”

  “You might possibly be even more grateful when you hear about the family conference that this news brought on at Ridlington. Edmund, Rosaline, Simon, Tabby and the newlyweds.”