1 quart Batavia arrack
6 lemons cut in thin slices
1 pound loaf sugar
1 quart water boiling
Steep in one quart of old Batavia arrack, six lemons cut in thin slices, for six hours. At the end of that time the lemon must be removed without squeezing. Dissolve one pound of loaf-sugar in one quart of boiling water, and add the hot solution to the arrack. Let it stand to cool. This is a delightful liqueur, and should be used as such.
3 Versions of Deck the Halls
(Nos Galan (New Year’s Gift)
First published in 1794, though probably older, dating back to the 1500’s, Deck the Halls originally derives from a Welsh New Year’s Carol called Nos Galan (“New Year’s Gift”). The original song is about not spending more than you can afford for the holidays.
* * *
Version 1
Cold is the man who cannot love,
Fa la la la la, la la la la,
The old mountains of dear Wales,
Fa la la la la, la la la la,
* * *
To him and his warmest friend,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la,
A cheerful holiday next year,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
* * *
Cold is the snow on Mount Snowdon,
Fa la la la la, la la la la,
Even though it has a flannel blanket on it,
Fa la la la la, la la la la,
* * *
Cold are the people who don’t care,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la,
To meet together on New Year’s Eve,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Version 2:
Soon the hoar old year will leave us,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
But the parting must not grieve us,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
* * *
When the New Year comes tomorrow,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
Let him find no trace of sorrow,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
* * *
He our pleasures may redouble,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
He may bring us store of trouble,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
* * *
Hope the best and gaily meet him,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
With a jovial chorus greet him,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
* * *
At his birth he brings us gladness,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
Ponder not on future sadness,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
* * *
Anxious care is now but folly,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
Fill the mead-cup, hang the holly,
Fal, la, la , la, la, la, la, la, la.
John Oxenford, ca. 1873
Version 3
Deck the halls with boughs of holly
Fa la la la la, la la la la
* * *
'Tis the season to be jolly
Fa la la la la, la la la la
* * *
Don we now our gay apparel
Fa la la la la, la la la la
* * *
Troll the ancient Yuletide carol
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Fa la la la la, la la la la la la
Fa la la la la, fa la la la
Fa la la la la, la la la la la la
Fa la la la la, fa la la la
* * *
See the blazing yule before us
Fa la la la la, la la la la
* * *
Strike the harp and join the chorus
Fa la la la la, la la la, fa la la la la, la la la
* * *
Follow me in merry measure
Fa la la la la, la la la la, fa la la la la, la la la la
* * *
While I tell of Yuletide treasure
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Fa la la la la, la la la la la la
Fa la la la la, fa la la la
Fa la la la la, la la la la la la
Fa la la la la, fa la la la
* * *
Fast away, the old year passes
Fa la la la la, la la la la
* * *
Hail the new, ye lads and lasses
Fa la la, la la la, la la la, la la la, fa la la, la la la, la la la la
* * *
Sing we joyous all together, oh
Heedless of the wind and weather
Fa la la la la, la la la la (hey)
Fa la la la la, la la la la la la (oh)
Fa la la la la, fa la la la (oh)
Oh oh fa la la la la, la la la la la la
Fa la la la la, fa la la la
Thomas Oliphant
Epilogue
December 20, 1834
“Ben!”
The single word was, indeed, a rebuke, but rather than hold in its timbre any true censure, it was gentle, forbearing, and filled with good humor. Alexandra experienced an acute sense of deja vu as she worked very desperately to finish one last sketch before the household turned into a veritable circus.
“My love, I am trying to work,” she admonished.
This year, they were hosting the annual Christmas party, and Claire and Merrick were soon to arrive. Tomorrow, Chloe and Ian were due, and this year they were bringing Ian and Merrick’s parents, as well as their three-year-old son. There was so much to be done that she daren’t take a moment, not even for kisses, sweet as they were.
“Yes, I can see that,” he said. “It’s quite lovely. What is it?”
“Epipogium aphyllum,” she replied. “It has no leaves, and therefore remains devoid of the green pigmentation which allows plants to produce energy from sunlight. Furthermore, it is entirely dependent upon its relationship with the soil for survival and spends most of its time underground and seldom flowers. Some have taken up to ten years to bloom, but I have one blooming right now in the conservatory!”
“It looks like a common hummingbird—three, in fact, upside down and mounted on sticks.”
Alexandra peered up at him, amused. “Hardly common, my love. This is a very, very rare species. Once my rendering is complete, I am sending it to our dear friend Mr. Darwin, along with my notes for cultivation.”
“And where is our dear friend now?”
No matter that there was never any flirtation between them, the very mention of Charles still made Ben jealous. Alexandra beamed. “The Falklands, I believe.”
“You know, I should be jealous that you know his itinerary better than you do mine.” He paused for effect. “However, I am not,” he said, laying a hand possessively upon her shoulder. “I am only pleased you two have remained penpals, and if living vicariously through his letters keeps you by my side, I shall ever be grateful to him.”
Alexandra grinned mischievously. “And what if I should wish to travel myself?”
“Alas, I will follow you like a good little pup, my love. And, in the meantime, I will endeavor to keep you at home by plying you with gifts such as the one I have waiting for you now.”
Alexandra’s head popped up. “Gift?” she said, her interest piqued enough that she laid down her pencil.
“Indeed,” said Ben, and he sought her hand, pulling her up from her seat at the escritoire.
Last year, he’d gifted Alexandra the conservatory. They sold her father’s house, and put the funds into revamping Highbury Hall. Not only did she have a beautiful new conservatory, but an office as well, complete with expansive bookshelves filled with volumes on horticulture and botany. She didn’t miss Huntington Manor anyway, and she had never truly felt at home there. Home, she’d come to realize was anywhere there were loved ones, and she’d brought her loyal servants along with her—her only true family to speak of before her marriage to Ben
.
“Come,” he said, and he led her out of her office, into the brightly lit conservatory, down the main center aisle, and there, she spied a large golden package perched atop the potting table.
“What is it?”
He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Alexandra sniffed. “You know I loathe surprises.”
“You don’t,” he argued, as he bent to adjust the package and Alexandra stayed his hand and shouted for help.
“You’ll give yourself a hernia,” she said. “Arthur!”
“Hush,” Ben said. “I gave the poor man the day off?”
“You did?”
“I did. In fact, I gave everyone the day off. I want you all to myself today, before the house fills with guests.”
“Not for long,” Alexandra protested. “Claire and Ian are due to arrive soon, and they’ll need—”
He put a finger to her lips to shush her. “They’ll survive one single day without a bevy of servants at their heels, and I warrant both will be relieved to have the time for themselves—as will you and I until they arrive. Now, open your gift, Alexandra.”
Alexandra smiled and turned to examine the box—a gilded contraption of enormous proportions.
How in the bloody blue blazes had he managed to get the monstrosity inside without any help?
Only when she reached out to touch it and it moved so easily, Alexandra realized the box must be empty, and she turned to tilt her husband a questioning glance and a bit of a pout. “Is this a jest?”
He shook his head, smiling very deviously.
“Very well, she said, inhaling deeply the scent of roses—an exciting new breed she was cultivating for spring. Uncertain how to proceed, she lifted up her hand and pulled at the paper, finding purchase in a fold and then, laying a hand aside the box to anchor it, she pulled at the wrapping, exposing what was inside, and her breath caught on a gasp. “It’s not empty!” She said.
“No it is not.”
“Oh, my!” she said, and tore at the wrapping with a fervor born of excitement. When the gift was fully revealed, she could see that it was a delicate cage filled with butterflies of every sort! “Oh, my!” She said again.
Benjamin reached over her shoulder to undo the latch, and opened up the cage to free the butterflies en masse.
At first, only a few found the exit and then, all at once, they billowed out the entrance and flew away in a beautiful, multicolored cloud… purple emperors, peacocks, red admirals, painted ladies, white admirals and silver-spotted skippers. They numbered in the hundreds!
For a moment, bewildered, Alexandra watched them fly about, their brightly colored forms vivid against the backdrop of the conservatory’s glasswork ceiling. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she clapped her hands together, enchanted. “It’s beautiful,” she said, and then she lifted her tear-filled eyes to Ben, and said, “Thank you.”
* * *
Satisfied with her reaction, Benjamin grinned broadly over the look of wonder on his wife’s face. If he grew to be a thousand, he would never take her smile for granted.
“To help with pollination,” he explained—not that he needed to explain anything at all to Alexandra. She knew. His wife was as brilliant as she was kind and gentle.
“How can I ever thank you?” she said, her hands still joined prayerfully. “You always seem to know what I want before I even have the chance to ask.”
He reached out to take Alexandra by the hand, pulling her close, eager for the scent of his woman instead of the pungent scent of flowers. And he lifted up her chin, though she looked past him at a painted lady flittering by.
“I cannot wait to see Claire’s face when she sees this,” she said, and Ben lifted her up and sat her upon the potting table.
“I could care less what Claire thinks, in truth. I only care what you think, and I find myself suddenly eager to explore my favorite flower.”
“Ben,” she said, with a secret smile, as he circled his fingers about her ankles, then slid them up her calves, reveling in the tiny shivers it evoked.
“Ben,” she said, again, as he ventured higher, caressing the soft flesh of her inner thighs.
“Shall I stop?” he asked, as one finger teased the silky petals of her woman’s flower.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, as he pressed a thumb gently against her sweet bud, and then he too moaned deep in his throat upon finding her wet…
* * *
Whatever protest Alexandra had been about to utter died in her throat. Instinctively, she lifted her legs about his torso, pulling her dress to her hips, eager for everything she knew her husband would give her. Her gaze flicked down, then up to meet Ben’s eager green eyes, and she said with an academic tone, “Pollination is so critical for the health of a species.”
“Indeed,” he said, and then, “Dear, God,” as she turned the tables on him, reaching down to cup the hardening lump in his breeches.
“One must employ every means to assure reproduction.”
“Christ!” he exclaimed, his head falling backward as she quickly unbuttoned his trousers, then pushed them down, and once again, he groaned deep in his throat, the sound feral and famished, as her hands found and closed about his manhood.
And still she didn’t stop. “You wouldn’t wish to be solely responsible for the extinction of a species?”
“Never” he said, swallowing, cupping her bottom and jerking her forward to the edge of the table, where he covered her mouth with his lips, kissing her hungrily.
Alexandra melted into his embrace, all coyness dismissed at the feel of his manhood begging entrance against her mons. Slick and insistent, he pushed himself inside.
And then, all words were lost as butterflies flittered about, a kaleidoscope of colors ebbing and flowing as man and wife danced a mating dance as old as time. Clinging to each other, kissing, feeling, undulating, culmination came swiftly and violently, wracking each of their bodies with delicious spasms that left them both reeling. And once they were done, and her husband’s cock lay pulsing inside her—beating in time with the click of his heart, she whispered, “Merry Christmas, my love.”
It was a long, long moment before Ben could speak again, but when he could, he could only say, “Fa la la la la la la.”
A Heartfelt Thank You!
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading The Impostor Collection. If you enjoyed this book, please consider posting a review. Reviews don’t just help the author, they help other readers discover our books and, no matter how long or short, I sincerely appreciate every review.
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Also by Tanya Anne Crosby
Daughters of Avalon
The King’s Favorite
The Holly & the Ivy
A Winter’s Rose
Fire Song
Lord of Shadows
* * *
The Prince & the Impostor
Seduced by a Prince
A Crown for a Lady
The Art of Kissing Beneath the Mistletoe
* * *
The Highland Brides
The MacKinnon’s Bride
Lyon’s Gift
On Bended Knee
Lion Heart
Highland Song
MacKinnon’s Hope
* * *
Guardians of the Stone
Once Upon a Highland Legend
Highland Fire
Highland Steel
&nb
sp; Highland Storm
Maiden of the Mist
* * *
The Medievals Heroes
Once Upon a Kiss
Angel of Fire
Viking’s Prize
* * *
Redeemable Rogues
Happily Ever After
Perfect In My Sight
McKenzie’s Bride
Kissed by a Rogue
Thirty Ways to Leave a Duke
A Perfectly Scandalous Proposal
* * *
Anthologies & Novellas
Lady’s Man
Married at Midnight
The Winter Stone
* * *
Romantic Suspense
Speak No Evil
Tell No Lies
Leave No Trace
* * *
Mainstream Fiction
The Girl Who Stayed
The Things We Leave Behind
Redemption Song
The Impostors: Complete Collection Page 51
