Mistletoe Magic

by Virginia Brown

  The beginning of a headache fluttered behind her eyes, and she pressed her hand to the spot between her eyes, fingers smoothing the crease. Aunt Catherine noticed.

  “Do lie down, Chary. I’ll pull the bed curtains round to block the light so you can rest. All this running about in the cold air is bound to have affected you.”

  “I think I will,” she murmured, and let her aunt fuss, helping her to the bed, and pulling the bed curtains around her. Her aunt had pulled a thick blanket over her before she finished closing the curtains. Chary caught her arm, squinted up at her, and said to the blurry image outlined by what felt like blinding light, “You are so very good to me, Aunt. I hope you know how much I appreciate it.”

  Aunt Catherine patted her arm, her voice soft as she said, “You are very dear to me, Chary. Now rest. I will wake you in plenty of time to dress for Christmas dinner.”

  The heavy curtain closed out the last of the light and she closed her eyes and tried to let her body relax. The pain eased somewhat. What a dreadful nuisance it was when her head gave her such trouble. Odd, how Lord Nicholas had been able to ease her headache. Almost as if he possessed magic in his fingertips . . .

  What was it he’d said? Oh yes, “One can direct the flow of energy by the act of applying gentle pressure.” Yes, that was it. If she pressed gently at her temples with her fingertips, lightly massaging, perhaps that would work. Oddly enough, it did finally ease somewhat.

  As tension drained away, her muscles relaxed, her headache eased, and she drifted into sleep.

  Only to dream of Lord Nicholas, his dark eyes lit with humor, his mouth slanted in a faint smile, his hands caressing her face and igniting burning reactions. She awoke in the shadowy confines of the bed with a strange, aching yearning. This was a different emotion than any she had ever had, startling in its intensity. It had been nearly two months from the time when she’d first met and agreed to marry Lord Nicholas and she’d spent the entire time since then fretting about it.

  Should she meet him alone in the library? Decidedly not. While he was right that they were betrothed, she still did not want to invite more gossip than already ran rampant. Nor did she trust him—or herself—alone. But she did really want to see the finches in the conserveatory . . .

  CHARY WORE ANOTHER new gown her aunt had purchased without her knowledge, a warm gold that flattered her skin tones and reflected light in sparkly glints when she moved. Golden bronze threads had been woven into the silk so that it seemed to be aflame with color; a golden topaz and gold-wrought necklace and dangling earrings that had once belonged to her mother, completed the outfit.

  “It’s not a very discreet gown,” Chary observed as she and her aunt gathered in the parlor before going in to dinner. “I feel more brazen in this than I did in Cleopatra’s costume. At least it covered my—my front.”

  “But it looks lovely on you. Baxter has become quite proficient in arranging hair. Those soft ringlets around your face are very flattering, and the gold ribbons twined in the braids on your crown catch the light beautifully.”

  “I would have preferred a modesty bit at the neckline.”

  “That would ruin the look. It’s not at all immodest, my dear. Look at Lady Jersey.”

  “Lady Jersey has the confidence to wear anything.”

  “So she does. But don’t you feel beautiful?”

  “While I wouldn’t go that far, I feel I have never dressed better. Beautiful gowns do lend one a sense of confidence, I suppose.”

  “There! I am proven right in my choice. And you do look lovely, my dear. Have you given any more thought to my suggestions as to how to deal with Lord Nicholas?”

  Chary hesitated before replying, “I have, but I cannot flirt with him as you suggest. I would only look ridiculous since it is not a ploy I have ever attempted.”

  “I honestly think he is quite taken with you, Chary.” Leaning close and lowering her voice, she added, “It’s in the way he looks at you. Flirting would not go amiss, I am certain.”

  If only she could be as certain, perhaps she wouldn’t agonize so over her reaction to him. But she could not be certain. There was a difference between what men said and how they really felt. That was a lesson hard-learned. Just because Lord Nicholas had kissed her so intimately, that did not mean he loved her. She knew enough to know that.

  “We shall see,” was all she would commit to say. Then Lady Howard began gathering couples to go into the dining room for their Christmas dinner, and she was spared any more of the discussion.

  It was startling to find her escort into the dining room to be Lord Nicholas, and she had to wonder if Lady Howard had joined forces with Aunt Catherine. But she only smiled up at him and took his arm, as if she had expected him to be her dinner partner all along. Although she suspected he must be able to hear the rapid beating of her heart, as it sounded so loud in her own ears, she kept her expression as impassive as possible.

  “Good afternoon, Miss St. John,” he said quite pleasantly as if he had never kissed her and held her against him, never touched her—no, she must not think of that.

  “And good afternoon to you, Lord Nicholas. To whom do I owe the pleasure of your company at the table?”

  “I happen to know our hostess, and I promised her two cheeses, a silver buckle, and a handful of magic beans if she would seat me next to you.”

  Chary nodded thoughtfully. “My company is worth more than I had hoped. Is it aged cheese?”

  “I do not deal in wooden cheeses, so it is very good cheese, of course.”

  They reached the dining room, where the Yule log burned and the Christmas candle still flickered inside a glass chimney. Silver candelabras gleamed, fine china and crystal goblets reflected light, and the air was rich with the fragrance of greenery. Uniformed footmen waited to serve the guests by a sideboard crowded with silver platters and serving dishes. Lord Nicholas led her to a chair, and she took her seat, far too aware of him next to her, looking so handsome in his black and white evening clothes. They were all dressed in their best finery, for there was to be music and dancing later.

  Aunt Catherine had been paired with Sir John, and sat across the table and down from her. She had dressed in a lovely rose silk that flattered her slender frame and complemented her fair complexion and hair. She looked up with a smile as Lord Nicholas sat next to Chary. Oh yes. There was plotting afoot.

  “What kind of magic beans?” she asked as a footman poured wine around the table.

  “Ah, I knew the magic beans would intrigue you.” He nodded at the footman who paused discreetly at his side with a bottle of wine, and said softly, “The kind that grants wishes.”

  “I thought that was a genie in a bottle.”

  “Different kind of wishes. Magic bean wishes are more specific. Only one wish per bean, and they cannot be selfish wishes.”

  “But wishes are inherently selfish, being wished for by a person who wants a new coach-and-four or a purse full of gold.”

  “Not always. Some wishes are for the betterment of others. Peace on earth or no more sickness, things like that.” His eyes narrowed slightly with amusement when she shook her head.

  “I have never heard of magic beans like that, sir. Usually they only grow beanstalks.”

  “Those are boring beans. These are magic beans from China, where dragons live and the forests hide magical creatures.”

  She laughed. “You really are absurd at times.”

  “It’s a gift. I had a lot of time to think when crossing oceans, in between moments of cannon fire and raging storms.”

  “Do you miss it very much?” There had been a note of almost melancholy in his voice. “Giving up your commission must have been a huge disappointment.”

  “God, no. There’s nothing exciting about going to sea, although try telling that to ten-year-old boys and you’ll
be laughed out of the room. At least, nothing exciting about a war.”

  “But you said you want to visit other lands.”

  “If I could get there by camel, I’d be just as satisfied. Sea voyages are necessary, but not always desired. I’ve had enough of the sea as a profession.”

  “So, your ambition is to be a country squire? Yes, thank you,” she said, the last to a dish of peas he offered.

  As he ladled peas onto her plate he said, “I do have a small house in the country where I enjoy retreating, but my ambition is to revisit some of the lands I have seen and was unable to explore as much as I wished. Ah, here is the roast goose.”

  “I recall you saying that, but I thought perhaps it was just conversation. A small portion, yes.”

  A footman served her slices of roast goose, and Lord Nicholas said, “Not everything I say is a jest. There are those rare moments when I am truthful.”

  “And how does one discern your truth from jest?”

  “With a small amount of skill and a great deal of luck. Perhaps I should publish a pamphlet on How to Converse with a Bedlamite.”

  “It would be very helpful. Illustrations may be necessary.”

  His beautiful mouth curved in a smile. “It seems you have already found the key to my conversational labyrinths.”

  “Have I? And what would that be?”

  “Just join in. There is whimsy enough for all. And it takes the hard edges off life if one can indulge in a little madness here and there.”

  “Indeed it does, sir. Within limits, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  She relaxed, back on familiar conversational footing with him. This was much better.

  Their light banter enhanced her enjoyment of the meal, and she thought briefly of her father and sister in London, enjoying their Christmas dinner. Cecily had sent a wrapped gift with her, and made her promise not to open it until Christmas Day. It had been a set of artist pencils and drawing paper, very nice, and far too professional for her amateur skills. The included card had nearly brought her to tears with poignant words of affection, telling her how she would be missed.

  As if reading her thoughts, Lord Nicholas said, “I imagine your Christmas dinners are festive with your family.”

  “It is much the same, usually crowded with cousins and aunts and uncles, the younger ones playing Blindman’s Bluff, Snapdragon, Hot Cockles, and other noisy games until someone convinces them to go out into the garden. With all the snow this year, they will likely pelt one another with snowballs or build snow animals. All the things we did when we were children, I suppose.”

  “That sounds ominous. They may get the Watch down on them if they attempt the same things we did as schoolboys.”

  “So, you have always been adventurous.”

  “More often rebellious. A few of these fellows in here may seem like proper gentlemen now, but some of them committed the most delightful acts of mutiny in their younger days. Take Mr. Thornton. A fine, respectable gentleman, second son of a baron, married with two children and a nice estate in Surrey. Yet I recall when he was caught setting fire to all the birch rods at school. A lovely blaze in the Provost Garden.”

  “How scandalous. It is a wonder he can face polite society again.”

  “As most of polite society is hardly innocent, the true wonder is that he escaped the affair without being sent down for it.”

  “And you, sir? Where were you while the birch rods were ablaze?”

  He grinned. “How perceptive that you should ask. I was always faster than Thorny. Of course, he stayed too long, to be certain they were all on fire while I thought the point made.”

  “It is fortunate that you were so farsighted.”

  “Isn’t it? Ah, there is the signal to change dinner courses and discourse partners.” He leaned close, his voice low. “I am impatiently anticipating our visit to the conservatory.”

  Then he turned his attention to the dinner guest on his left while she turned to speak to Lord Culhane, although it was difficult talking about marsh birds with him when her mind was on being alone with Lord Nicholas in the conservatory. She could not invite unkind gossip, no matter how much he may anticipate a secluded meeting.

  Perhaps she was not as adventurous as she wished to be after all, if even the thought of subjecting herself to gossip deterred her. What a silly thing she was at times, dreaming of going off on great adventures, sailing across the sea to see penguins in their rookeries, to visit exotic birds in tropical lands, while she could barely cross the Irish Sea without getting seasick. Maybe Aunt Catherine was right: She read too many novels. She put herself in the role of heroine when she was not brave or beautiful or especially smart. Education was not the same as wisdom, she had learned. She had no special talents, although she had wide interests. That was not at all the same thing, either.

  “I say,” Lord Culhane exclaimed, “what a splendid plum pudding.”

  How long had she been lost in thought? Long enough to nearly miss the dinner’s pièce de résistance—the plum puddings soaked in brandy and brought in flaming, to the delight of the guests. There were other desserts as well, blancmange, a trifle, fruit tarts, and sweet and savory pies.

  Lord Nicholas made certain she took a portion of plum pudding, a helping of trifle, a fruit tart, and a generous slice of savory pie, ignoring her faint protests.

  “Oh, do not tell me you’re one of those tiresome females who eats like a bird,” he teased her.

  “No, but neither do I eat like a vulture,” she retorted. “I cannot possibly consume an entire platter of sweets.”

  “I am devastated to hear it.”

  His eyes reflected candlelight and amusement as he gazed down at her, and she realized suddenly how much she enjoyed their verbal sparring. “I very much doubt that, sir. If I ate the entire platter of sweets, you would be horrified.”

  “Possibly. But your plate is rather small, and Christmas dinner is only once a year.”

  “And we will have mince pie every day until Twelfth Night, so I shall not starve.”

  “Spoken as a true survivor. Tuck a roll or two into that pretty reticule you wear at your side just in case, however. We could get lost in the jungle later.”

  She swallowed a bite of trifle. “If you mean the conservatory—”

  “Shush, my dear Miss St. John, or we shall give others the idea for a stroll among potted oranges. Ah, dessert wine. It is almost time for you ladies to retire to the drawing room. I’ll take my leave of the gentlemen shortly.”

  Her protest emerged faintly. “Lord Nicholas, I . . . I do not think it quite the thing.”

  “It is our first adventure,” he said, his gaze catching and holding hers. Mesmerizing lights glinted in his dark eyes, the promise inherent and as old as time beckoning her to join him. She should refuse, of course. Not until they were properly wed should she be alone with him.

  “Our first adventure,” she echoed, and sighed.

  Chapter 10

  “MY DEAR CHARY, I cannot understand your secrecy. Where are we going?”

  “You will think me mad, but I have promised to meet Lord Nicholas alone in the library so he can escort me to the conservatory.”

  “May I ask why I am involved, if you intend to meet him alone?”

  That was not at all the response she expected, and Chary paused in the corridor to search her aunt’s face. “You are not shocked?”

  “La, I am not a newborn babe. No, I’m not shocked that your betrothed wants to be alone with you, but I am perplexed that you do not feel the same. I thought you had tender feelings for him?”

  “Exactly my point. What if he—he attempts to ravish me? I might yield. Think of the scandal.”

  Aunt Catherine smiled. “I do not think he will lose control to that extent, but I do respect
your reluctance to invite gossip. Shall I be a discreet chaperone?”

  “How discreet?”

  Laughing softly, she said, “I can follow behind you at a distance far enough not to hear anything said, but close enough should it be required.”

  “You mean, close enough to stop me if I throw myself into his arms and beg him to ravish me?” Chary asked wryly. She had not confessed their kisses and caresses in the gloom of the staircase to her aunt. It had left her feeling both vulnerable and excited. Madness!

  “Close enough to safeguard your reputation should you reenact the dance of the veils, at any rate,” said Aunt Catherine.

  “I’m saving that for a tableau vivant. Now. We are almost there. Why am I so nervous? I feel as if I am doing something very wicked.”

  “Well, you are not. I would not allow that. So, go to the library and I will be as quiet as a mouse. Why are you laughing?”

  Chary shook her head. She had not told her aunt about hiding behind the library drapes and being mistaken for a rat, nor did she intend to do so. It was a decidedly silly thing to have done. So many secrets lately! “I always laugh when I’m nervous,” she said.

  Taking a deep breath, she approached the library door, straightened her shoulders, and turned the latch to step inside. For a moment she thought the library empty; then Lord Nicholas turned from the windows to look at her. With the light behind him, his face was in shadow, but she felt his smile.

  “I wondered if you would lose your nerve. Perhaps you are up for an adventure, after all.”

  “If you thought I wouldn’t come, why insist?” She had left the library door open, and stood just a few feet inside the entrance.

  “It was an invitation, not a demand. But yes, I did my best to be persuasive. There have been so many people around us that talking to you about anything important has been nearly impossible.”