“Don’t fret, Goody. I’ll see everything back just the way it should be. I shan’t abandon you.”
Julia’s throat constricted. There was so much love being shown to Myall—he was clearly a man who inspired it.
“I reckon finding my father’s hidden treasure would be an ideal job for Hal.” Myall gave her a wink, and her heart missed a beat.
She smiled ruefully. “I can’t promise that he won’t pocket a few coins.”
Myall shook his head. “If I’m right, there’s no dearth in this house. What say you, Father? Shall we find your missing money and have ourselves a Christmas feast on the morrow?”
Master Farrar paled. “I’m not sure. Things are so expensive, and I’m so poor now.”
“Fear not. We shall manage.” Myall cocked an eyebrow at the housekeeper. “Do you know where he hid his coin?”
“I know where the hanging pocket hidden in here is, but I didn’t want to move it anywhere safer. Your father’s memory is faulty—if he recalled where he’d concealed the money, then found it gone, he’d panic.”
She dipped her hand into a bowl of dried rose petals and lavender and produced a leather hanging pocket.
Undoing the drawstring, Myall counted some bright gold coins into his palm, then held them under his father’s nose.
“See, Father? Five and twenty angels here, and that’s less than half what’s in the pocket. This will be but one of many caches, I’ll warrant, hidden all about the house.”
Master Farrar shook his head. “I need that money to buy bread. It costs over a guinea a loaf now, you know.”
“Nay, Sir. A large loaf costs but a tuppence. You have become ill, I fear, which has confused you and made you forget your numbers. But no matter. We’ll soon have you right again.”
Myall had gentled his voice as if he were speaking to a small child. It was hard to believe that only yesterday, Julia had seen him with his sword at another man’s throat. What a splendid husband he would make for some fortunate woman! A superlative lover, too, if her taste of him all those years ago was anything to go by. But alas—that lucky lady would not be her. She was now a nobody, while he—if his father took him back—would be rich.
Myall Farrar would be looking for a marriage to benefit the family business. He’d need a wife who could provide him not only with a good dowry but heirs of his body as well. She had lost a babe when still in the womb—surely, that was an omen she’d never be able to keep a child full-term.
“Mistress Wentworth—you look down in the mouth. I fear I’ve been neglecting you. Come—a word in private, if you please.”
Repressing a sigh, she followed Myall into the passageway. She realized now that she would have to refuse his offer of joining him and his sister for dinner on the morrow. Hal would be disappointed, of course. Only she knew she couldn’t abide sitting at Myall’s table, longing for him, and knowing he was forever beyond her reach.
He lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to look at him. “Look not so downcast, my dove. Whatever secret cares you harbor, put them aside for this season. And fret not about your goose—it can be given a stay of execution. Father has a dovecot, and if Goody Sarah has been feeding the birds, we’ll dine on fine fat pigeons on Christmas Day. And if she’s neglected them, I’ll simply take one of these angels and purchase a brace of geese.”
His finger was warm. She imagined his hand cupping her face, his lips plundering hers, and felt her cheeks heat again. Being in this man’s company was a torment she had never anticipated.
“I have to decline your invitation. My apologies to your sister.”
He held her chin, his dark eyes boring into hers. “Oh, no, you don’t, Mistress. You’re not abandoning me now. I want to remind my father of this season’s joys, such as good company and sumptuous feasting. I can’t manage this Herculean task with just Goody Sarah and Helena to help. We have to impress Helena’s suitor, Sir Aidan Blake, so I shall also need Hal, and I definitely need you. I need your decorations, too, to make this house come alive again—I’ll pay you every penny of their worth.”
“You’re very generous, Sir, but—”
“Come now—you wouldn’t deny me your aid, would you? As you have doubtless guessed, my father has a malady of the brain and suffers from delusions. I must act fast before he gets any worse. I must bring in a physician, but to do that, I need Father to trust me. I believe he might if I can give him a Christmas to delight his heart and remind him how much he loves and needs his family. Think on it, Julia—you would be making a fragile, old man and his disfigured son very happy.”
“Disfigured? Never say that.” The shackles around her heart finally fell away, and she reached up to stroke the uneven skin of Myall’s cheek. “I don’t see the damaged flesh. I see only the spirit of the man, and he is the most great-hearted fellow I’ve ever met.”
He turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand, then leaned down until there was barely a whisper of air between them.
“So—you’ll help?” His gaze trapped her, and his need surrounded her. It wasn’t just his need for her assistance that she sensed. It felt as if he needed more from her—much more.
“I will.” His lips were so close that she scarcely dared to breathe.
“Be sure to bring plenty of mistletoe with which to deck the house, I pray, for I hope to be doing a good deal of this.”
Then finally, in answer to all her hopes and dreams, he kissed her.
Chapter Eight
It was Christmas Day, and Julia couldn’t believe her good fortune. Admittedly, she’d worked hard for it, but as they all sat down to dine, she knew her efforts had been worthwhile. Their goose was safe and waddling around in the enclosed back garden. Master Farrar’s pigeons had been captured and turned into a raised pie, and Myall had bought a capon, which Helena served up in a green sauce. Buttered worts, plum pudding, and Christmas pies completed the feast.
In deference to Myall’s father, no wine was served, but mulled “lambswool” was available in large quantities—Myall had provided the ale, sugar, and spices, and one of the crab-apple trees in the garden still had fruit clinging to its branches.
When the meal was done, the company left the table and retired to the front parlor where a blaze roared cheerfully in the fireplace.
Julia glanced around the room with satisfaction, certain that no one could fault her handiwork. That morning, she, Hal, and Myall had set to with a will; dusting, sweeping, and polishing all the woodwork with beeswax until it shone like dark gold. They’d done the same thing with the dining hall, the kitchen, the entranceway, and the staircase. Her garlands and wreaths were now hung about the place, and the stairway was swathed in bunches of evergreen ivy harvested from the garden walls.
She’d even found time to make a kissing bough. Her hope was that Sir Aidan and Helena might plight their troth beneath it, as it would bring good luck to their union. But mayhap it was too soon to expect any announcement of a betrothal. Sir Aidan had only just met Master Farrar, and no one could be certain, at present, how the latter gentleman was going to behave, or what he might let slip. Concealing his absentmindedness, penny-pinching, and total abandonment of the family business was paramount—at least until Sir Aidan was firmly on the hook.
Although—given the heated glances that Julia saw him exchange with Helena—it looked as if he were already smitten. If his feelings blossomed into true love, he’d surely not let any obstacles stand in his way. Especially since he now knew how admirable a cook the lady was.
Julia’s musings were abruptly cut off by the sound of a ruckus outside. A man’s yelp was accompanied by the beating of wings and much honking and hissing.
“Someone’s trying to steal Meggy!” Hal, who’d claimed and named the goose, had gone pale. “Fetch your sword, Master Myall!” he commanded, before dashing out of the room.
Grabbing up the poker, Julia hurried after him, terrified the boy might be running into danger. Only a desperate man climbed a high brick
wall and attempted to steal a goose, and such a man would doubtless be armed. A small boy would be no match for him, no matter how angry or quick on his feet.
“Get behind me—all of you.” Myall forged a path to the kitchen door and chased out into the overgrown garden, brandishing his sword. But when Julia caught up with him, he lowered his arm, then rocked back on his heels and let out a gale of laughter.
“Yonder Meggy has proven her true worth!” he exclaimed, catching Hal by the collar before he could surge forward to do battle.
Julia peered around Myall’s shoulder. A stranger was running erratically around the garden, while the goose pursued him, hissing and pecking. The man looked utterly terrified and kept jumping at different sections of the wall, in the hope of scaling it. His high-crowned hat had fallen off in the chase, and his cloak kept catching on brambles.
It appeared that no swords, pokers, or small, angry boys were required to deter the intruder from his purpose. All that was needed was an irate goose. Julia held her breath as the man made a desperate leap at an espaliered apple tree and used its branches to scramble up the wall. She heard him thump down on the other side, and the sound of running footsteps dwindling into the distance.
For a moment, everyone was too stunned to speak. Myall was wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes when his father clapped him on the back.
“This is the best Christmas Day I’ve enjoyed in many a year. Whatever else may happen in this family, or in this house, there’s one thing upon which I must insist.”
“What is that, Father?”
“I want the goose to stay here. That knave was my vintner, Anton de Bouvray. He’s been a thorn in my side for months, banging on the door and trying to persuade me to buy his Malmsey wine. He was so persistent, I had to hide behind the tapestries every time he came to the door. That bird has achieved what I could not.”
Something white drifted past Julia’s nose. At first, she thought it must be a goose feather, but then more of the downy shapes floated down, bringing with them a kiss of cold where they touched her skin.
“Get thee inside the house, now, Father. The snow has come. We’ll mull more ale by the parlor fire and celebrate the conquest of Monsieur de Bouvray.”
As Julia moved to follow the others, Myall caught her arm and halted her just inside the doorway.
“I want to thank you for all you’ve done to make this Christmas Day one never to be forgotten.”
“I’ve been well rewarded for my labor.” She patted her stomach. “I’ll have to let my laces out before bedtime—I’m not used to such feasting.”
He took her hand. “Stay with me.” His voice was low and earnest. “Let us finish what we began on that Suffolk beach, so many years ago.”
Heat pooled in her belly, and her knees weakened. Did he mean what she thought? Was he propositioning her? Nay, she couldn’t do that. She’d sworn never to give herself to a man again—it would only end in disaster.
He raised his eyebrows, feigning shock. “Nay, I’m not asking you to lie with me. Well—I suppose I am, but I wasn’t thinking about tonight. There are bedchambers aplenty, but I’m too full and too content to scurry about cleaning and preparing them. What I mean is—and I’m saying this very badly—I want you to stay with me for the rest of my life. Marry me.”
She hid her face against his chest. This was too much to hope for.
“Nay, I cannot. I am ruined. I would bring shame on your family.”
He nuzzled at her hair. “Nonsense, Woman. You would breathe new life into it. I won’t accept a refusal—I’ve waited too long. I have met no other woman who could hold a candle to you, Mistress Julia Wentworth.”
Her heart was so full of love, she thought it would burst. But did she have any right to the happiness now being offered to her?
“I know not if I can provide you with an heir.” Her voice was shaky, the tears not far away.
“It matters not. We can adopt Hal since we’re both fond of him. Come now, my love. This is not the carefree, passionate Mistress Wentworth I remember.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers in a searing salute.
“You must learn to trust again. You must learn to hope. I thought I was a broken man until I set eyes on you once more. I shall move heaven and earth to restore you to what you were meant to be. Your days shall be filled with joy and laughter. Never again will you worry about where the next meal is coming from. I want you to hold your head high as you glide majestically through the London streets, knowing you are a lady once again. Will you do that for me?”
She nodded and traced her finger across his mouth, waiting for the enticing dimple to appear. When it did, she kissed his smile and held him close, reveling in the heat and strength of him, fighting to hold back the tears of joy.
But when she pulled away, there was a look of uncertainty in his brown eyes.
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Of course, I’ll marry you. So long as you swear to give Hal and Meggy a good home.”
The lost look vanished, to be replaced by a grin that warmed her to the tips of her toes.
He tilted his head. “I think that has already been decided for us, my love. Now, close the door, Wench, before the snow drives in and ruins your gown.”
She held his firm fingers in hers. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to ask, to explore. The course of her life had changed due to a chance encounter, and she must make sure there were no wrong turns from here onward. Only—her heart was so full that she knew not what to say.
“Let me save you the trouble of further words.” Myall quirked an eyebrow upward, and she glanced up to see her kissing bough suspended above them.
“I suggest we make best use of this before we are missed,” he murmured.
So, they did. And as she kissed and clung to him, Julia blessed the benevolent season that had gifted her a gallant White Knight of her very own.
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Elizabeth Keysian
Trysts and Treachery Series
Lord of Deception (Book 1)
Lord of Loyalty (Book 2)
Lord of the Forest (Book 3)
Lord of Mistrust (Book 4)
Lord of the Manor (Book 5)
About the Author
Elizabeth Keysian is an international bestselling author of heart-pounding Regency romances, set mostly in the West of England. She is working on a fresh series for Dragonblade Publishing called Trysts and Treachery, which is set in the Tudor era. Though primarily a writer of romance, she loves to put a bit of mystery, adventure, and suspense into her stories, and refuses to let her characters take themselves too seriously.
Elizabeth likes to write from experience, not easy when her works range from the medieval to the Victorian eras. However, her passion for re-enactment has helped, as have the many years she spent working in museums and British archaeology. If you find some detail in her work you’ve never come across before, you can bet she either dug it up, quite literally, or found it on a museum shelf.
Social media/web links
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Always the Mistletoe
Emily E K Murdoch
Chapter One
“A little to the left–my left, your right! Careful!”
The hall echoed with laughter as Lady Prudence Lennox watched her brother William, Duke of Mercia, almost fall off a ladder in the attempt to place a spring of holly over the chandelier.
“Hold that ladder carefully!” William called out.
“I am endeavoring to do so, Your Grace,” said Chalmesbury serenely.
Prudence stifled a giggle. Their butl
er had always been calm under pressure, and it was reassuring to have him at the base of the shaking ladder and not Charlotte, William’s wife. Prudence liked her as much as any eighteen year old could accept her older brother’s marriage, but it had certainly taken some getting used to.
“Damn it, man, if you cannot handle the heights, step aside and let someone else do it!” John was flushed, eyes bright, as he always was at Christmas time.
Prudence smiled as she fell into an armchair by the hallway fire. Her second brother, still a few years older than herself, never did anything by halves. His passions always close to the surface, his natural competitiveness with William was never far away.
“Nonsense, I have finished anyway,” said William in a mock haughty voice. “Coming down, Chalmesbury!”
“Very good, Your Grace,” said the butler, holding the ladder steady.
“We only have mistletoe left,” said Charlotte, placing a hand on her large belly as she peered into a basket of greenery. “And if we do not move quickly, this baby will be here before we are finished!”
Her husband jumped down from the last two steps of the ladder and swept his wife up into his arms, kissing her deeply.
“Put that woman down,” called out John, good-naturedly.
Prudence smiled as she watched her eldest brother release his wife with great reluctance.
“You are not overdoing yourself? You feel quite well?”
The scent of mulled wine had started wafting into the hall as Charlotte smiled and spoke quietly to her husband. It was strange, watching them. New life, so close to arriving, and not long after their first son, William the Younger, who had been born January just gone. Prudence was sure Pendle Hall would be vastly different when there was a second baby here.
“Baby William was the first baby born in Pendle Hall for almost fifty years,” John said. “And now, a second!”
Prudence jumped, unaware he was so close. “R-Really?”
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 61