The Wallflower's Mistletoe Wedding

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘Helen,’ he growled. Through the blurry heat of her desire, she felt his touch tighten, until there was nothing between them at all.

  Their kiss slid over a precipice into something wild and frantic with need that had been bottled up inside of her for too long. It was something she so longed for—and something she was afraid to have. Feeling like the veriest coward, she broke away from him and ran as fast as she could. She didn’t even know where she was going, only that she had to escape herself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘“I saw three ships come sailing in, come sailing in, come sailing in! I saw three ships come sailing in on Christmas Day in the morning!”’

  Rose followed behind the children as they walked to church for Christmas morning services, processing behind their parents with the rest of the guests and the household around them. She tried to pay attention, to make quite sure they sang in the way they had practised so carefully, but she found her attention was always wandering.

  She had barely slept a wink after that kiss with Harry, a kiss that felt like a dream now, something that surely couldn’t have happened to her in real life. Not quiet, sensible Rose. And yet it had happened and she knew she could never forget how it made her feel. She peeked over her shoulder to where Harry walked with his brother, the two of them talking together quietly. His wide-brimmed hat shielded his expression from her view, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he also remembered.

  How could she leave this magical Barton Christmas world and go back to Aunt Sylvia? She knew she had to, and soon, but not quite yet.

  ‘You children do sing so beautifully,’ Emma said. ‘I’m sure the congregation will love it, too. Just remember—it’s Christmas, so best behaviour. We don’t want a repeat of last Easter, do we?’

  Rose’s full attention was finally captured, wondering what on earth had happened last Easter! The Barton Park brood seemed such an angelic one, in the grand scheme of children’s behaviour, anyway.

  ‘You were the one who told us to try it, Aunt Emma,’ William said. ‘You said they used a special lemon polish at the holidays.’

  ‘You said that you and Mama used to lick the pews to test it, too,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Well, do as I say and not as I do,’ Emma said airily with a wave of her gloved hand. ‘No more licking of pews this year, or there shall be no plum pudding at dinner for you.’

  ‘I would never do such a thing,’ Beatrice said. ‘Yuck!’

  ‘Of course you would not, Bea,’ said Emma. ‘You are quite an angel.’

  ‘Not entirely an angel!’ William protested. ‘Was she not the one who got lost looking for the treasure?’

  ‘Arabella’s treasure?’ Rose asked. ‘When were you lost, Miss Marton?’

  Beatrice’s delicate cheeks turned bright pink. ‘A long time ago. I was just a silly child. And I never found it, anyway. I am sure it doesn’t exist.’

  ‘It does!’ William declared. ‘We just have to narrow its location more carefully. It’s somewhere over there, near the old ruins on Uncle David’s estate.’ He waved towards the shadow of a crumbling old chimney in the distance.

  ‘If it did exist, it could certainly be helpful,’ Emma said. She gestured with her fur-trimmed muff towards the semi-rusted gates of Hilltop, barely glimpsed in the distance, opposite the old ruins. ‘You visited Hilltop, did you not, Rose? What did you think?’

  ‘It was a fine old house,’ Rose said carefully. ‘Very medieval, like something in a story.’

  ‘Yes. It just needs a bit of care, as Barton once did.’ Emma glanced back, and Rose followed her stare to see that Harry walked with Lady Fallon now, that lady’s hand on his arm as she whispered something to him. Their faces looked most solemn. ‘There are tidier ways to see to necessities than digging in the dirt for lost treasure. A fine marriage, maybe? Harry certainly deserves it.’

  Rose resolutely faced forward, willing herself not blush. ‘He is a good gentleman indeed.’

  Their little procession turned down the lane leading towards the village and the church. The solid, square stone Norman tower stretched up towards the grey sky as the bells tolled to summon everyone to Christmas. A large crowd had gathered in the churchyard amid the tilting old headstones, waiting to make their way into the warmth of the sanctuary.

  To Rose’s delighted surprise, she glimpsed a familiar face standing in the doorway. Her sister, Lily, clad in a pale green pelisse, bouncing up on her toes to study the newcomers. She held her husband’s arm, as he stood beside her in his clerical robes, greeting the parishioners.

  ‘Lily!’ Rose cried. ‘And Mr Hewlitt. How wonderful to see you! Whatever are you doing here?’

  She rushed forward and Lily threw herself into her arms. Her sister was as she always had been, as delicate and sweet as a bird, smelling of lilacs. It made Rose think of home and family, and that bittersweet missing of it all again.

  ‘He’s been invited to say the Christmas service here, by the bishop himself,’ Lily said proudly, standing back to take her shyly smiling husband’s arm. ‘We must go home very soon, as Mama is taking care of the children for us and I fear they will run her quite ragged. But Jane has insisted we stay at Barton for a few nights, as a grand treat.’

  ‘I thought it would be a delightful holiday surprise for you, Rose,’ Jane said with a laugh.

  ‘And so it is,’ Rose answered happily, drinking in the sweet sight of her sister. ‘How fares Mama and the children, then?’

  ‘They are all quite well and miss you very much. I fear I am not such a good help to them as you are and cannot take your place,’ Lily said. She leaned closer and whispered, ‘Hewlitt has been shown such favour of late by the bishop, I am sure he will be given a fine parish of his own soon, with a substantial vicarage and larger income. Then we can all live together again!’

  Live with her family again and not worry about their safety at every moment? It sounded like an impossibly beautiful dream. ‘Oh, Lily, I do hope so.’

  More parishioners came along the path, claiming Mr Hewlitt’s and Lily’s attentions, and Rose led her charges to their place in the front pews, making sure no one licked the carved, lemon-polished wood. As they filed into their seats, she glimpsed the Perkins family, Harry’s kind tenants, and waved at them. They waved back, smiling, and for a moment Rose let herself feel like she belonged there, among their community. It was quite a lovely feeling.

  She sat down between Eleanor and William, helping them find their place in the hymnal as the Christmas service music soared into the old church rafters and the light shone from the ancient windows on to them in a sort of blessing. She would enjoy the day while she could and always remember it.

  As the congregation sang the first song and Mr Hewlitt took his place in the pulpit, the church doors opened and a blast of cold wind swept down the aisle. Rose turned with everyone else, surprised anyone would arrive so late, and gasped at the figure who stood there, swathed in a dark fur cloak and brandishing a walking stick.

  ‘Is it a witch, Miss Parker?’ Eleanor whispered, wide-eyed.

  ‘No,’ Rose whispered back. ‘It is my Aunt Sylvia!’

  * * *

  ‘So lovely!’ Lily said, peering into Rose’s looking glass as they got ready for the Barton Christmas ball. ‘I can’t remember a luncheon like that in ages. All those wonderful puddings! The children will never believe me when I tell them! I shall be twenty pounds fatter when we go home.’

  Rose had to laugh, for her sister, now mother of two lovely plump cherubs, was still as tiny as she had been when they last came to Barton together. Lily was a little, golden fairy in her white muslin dress trimmed with crimson and gold ribbons. ‘I’m sure Jane will send them even more puddings when you leave. Her cook is wondrous at coming up with picnic hampers.’

  ‘I’m sure she will. And hopefully next year w
e shall all be together to sing your music and eat our own puddings!’

  Rose smiled wistfully. ‘That would be wonderful.’

  Lily turned to look at her, her elfin face suddenly puckered in a frown. ‘Rose, dearest, you are still in your petticoat. And you look rather tired. Was it Aunt Sylvia’s unexpected appearance?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ In fact, Aunt Sylvia had been rather quiet herself after church, claiming she only needed a nap and Powell would attend to her. The reason Rose was still in her petticoat was so shallow she didn’t even want to tell her sister.

  Rose glanced down at the gown laid out on her bed. It was her best, a forest-green satin that had been remade from an old costume of her mother’s, yet she couldn’t help but wish she had something a bit—prettier. Something like the lace-trimmed confections Lady Fallon wore, stylish and elegant.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, stepping into her black evening slippers. ‘We mustn’t be late.’

  ‘Rose, whatever is amiss?’

  Rose tried to smile, but it felt so artificial she knew Lily would know it in a moment. ‘How could anything be amiss? It is Christmas!’

  ‘I’m your sister, Rose. I can tell something is bothering you.’ Lily came to her side, taking her hand as they sat together on the bed. ‘Is it Aunt Sylvia showing up like that, ruining your lovely holiday away from her? That was so silly of her.’

  ‘No, of course not. I mean—yes, Aunt Sylvia is a bit silly, rushing off from her warm house like that in the middle of Christmas, but she does so often make me laugh.’ Rose bit her lip. ‘Lily—what is it really like to be married?’

  Lily’s smile turned secret and satisfied, like a cat with purloined cream. ‘I can’t speak for any married people but myself, of course. Sometimes it is wonderful beyond belief and sometimes I just want to hit Hewlitt over the head with an inkwell. But mostly it is just—nice.’ She clutched Rose’s hand in hers. ‘Why? Have you met someone Mama and I should know about? If so, you must tell me, so I can discover if he is worthy of you.’

  Lily looked so fierce that Rose had to laugh. ‘No, not really. Not yet.’ She thought of Harry and their kiss in the shadowed alcove. She turned away so Lily couldn’t see her expression. ‘I just wondered.’

  ‘If you really want to be married, Rose dearest, I am sure Hewlitt could find someone. He knows so very many churchmen from school, you know, and some of them have their own parishes now.’

  Rose remembered her brother-in-law’s friends from Lily’s wedding, an earnest, well-scrubbed group, scrupulously polite. Nothing like Harry, who had seen so many terrible things and been so scarred by them, yet had emerged even stronger for it. ‘I am quite all right, Lily, really. I could never be the perfect vicarage hostess, as you are.’

  Before Lily could answer, there was a knock at the door and it opened to reveal Aunt Sylvia’s maid, Powell, with a white box in her arms.

  Powell always looked rather dour, as anyone who had worked for Aunt Sylvia for so long would, but she seemed to smile just a bit as she handed the box to Rose. ‘A present, from Mrs Pemberton.’

  Rose was shocked. ‘A—a present? From my aunt? Are you quite sure?’

  Powell nodded. ‘She said she didn’t want anyone to think she did not pay your wages on time.’

  As the maid left, Lily bounced up and down on her toes. ‘Oh, do open it, Rose! I am quite aching to see what it is.’

  ‘I am, too,’ Rose said, still bemused. Aunt Sylvia was not miserly in her wages, but she never gave gifts, either. Rose lifted the lid to find just what she had been wishing for—a new gown. It frothed with rose-coloured silk and creamy lace, quite the prettiest dress she had ever seen.

  ‘Oh...’ Lily sighed, gently touching the soft sleeve. ‘You will surely be the most beautiful lady at the ball, Rose.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Rose whispered. But secretly, deep in her heart, she hoped that just one person in particular might think just that.

  ‘I suppose Aunt Sylvia isn’t one hundred per cent an ogre after all,’ Lily marvelled.

  * * *

  ‘Come along, Harry, won’t you dance with me?’ he heard Helen say, her voice sweet and fluting over the sound of the orchestra and the dancing feet. ‘You’ve been standing here alone in the corner too long.’

  Harry laughed as he turned to her, though he felt rather abashed. He thought he was well hidden there in the corner, behind a bank of Jane’s potted palms and hothouse roses, but it seemed he was not so invisible after all.

  In truth, he was waiting for Rose. She hadn’t appeared at the party yet and in her absence the glow of the candles seemed dimmer, the music fainter. He was more eager than he cared to admit, keeping watch on the stairs for her.

  ‘You know I’m not much of a dancer, Helen,’ he said. ‘Did you not have an example of that at the assembly?’

  She laughed and offered him a glass of punch. The pearls in her hair and at her wrists gleamed, along with her cream and gold gown, but even she seemed muted there in the ballroom. He feared he was besotted indeed, and a fool for a lady who seemed to like him—but could not be his.

  ‘I know no such thing, Harry,’ Helen said. ‘You were quite the gentlemanly partner at the assembly. And I do remember when we were children and took dance lessons together in my mother’s drawing room. Charles was more adept, of course, but you never trod on my toes.’

  ‘Such a compliment indeed!’

  She gave an exaggerated pout. ‘Oh, come now, Harry, it’s Christmas, and I haven’t had a dance at all tonight. You could do such a favour for an old friend.’

  He glanced again at the stairs. There were more arrivals crowded in the hall, but no Rose yet. And it was clear he could no longer hide there. ‘Of course. Only because I know you will always forgive my clumsiness.’

  They gave their empty glasses to a footman and Harry took her hand to step into the dance. Helen was as graceful and lively as she had once been at their long-ago lessons, laughing and twirling among the other guests. But every time they turned, he still couldn’t help glancing at the door, waiting for a glimpse of Rose.

  Helen suddenly tugged him under a bough of mistletoe hung in a doorway, its creamy berries set off by looping red ribbons. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and beautiful. Yet he felt—only a faint regret, a sadness at remembering the past. A longing to see a different, hazel pair of eyes before him, a different pair of lips parting.

  ‘Oh, Harry,’ she said, her own voice suddenly tinged with that nostalgic sadness. ‘There is nothing left for us, is there?’

  He shook his head. ‘Helen—you know how fond I am of you...’

  ‘Like a sister?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said gently. ‘You are indeed like a sister to me, a very dear one.’

  ‘But there is someone for whom you feel—more,’ she said. ‘I can tell. I am a lady of the world now, you know! Yet—I will never forget you, Harry, ever.’

  She went up on tiptoe to softly press her lips to his cheek, the unscarred side which was smooth under her sudden kiss. He glanced over her head, to see that Rose had at last appeared on the stairs into the ballroom. She glowed like an angel with the soft candlelight behind her, a rose-pink gown floating softly around her, her light brown hair gathered up in loose curls with an ivory comb.

  Her gaze turned to him and he smiled in a rush of joy at the sight. He instinctively took a step towards her, only to notice that her face bore no answering smile. She looked at Helen with wide eyes and he suddenly realised that he still held Helen in his arms. That she had just kissed him.

  ‘Rose,’ he called, but she had turned and fled back up the stairs, wiping away a tear with her gloved hand. A sharp pang pierced his heart. He struggled to catch up with her, but the crowd kept shifting before him, moving in a constant stream that made the stairs come in and out of sight. He saw her sist
er and brother-in-law, arm in arm on the lower step, but no Rose.

  By the time he broke free of the crowd, she had quite vanished.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Ouch!’ Rose gasped as her elbow connected with the wall, shooting a sharp pain up her arm. She kept running down the narrow back stairs, though, praying no one had heard her. She desperately needed a breath of fresh air after the crowded ballroom. After seeing Harry with Lady Fallon.

  At last she tumbled out into the cold night air and its crispness cleared some of the clouds from her head. The garden was quiet, though still lit by the rows of Chinese lanterns that had led guests up the drive. The house itself was golden with light, the merry music echoing around her.

  ‘What am I doing?’ Rose murmured. It wasn’t like her, sensible Rose, to run out of a party into the cold night, feeling so dizzy and strange.

  She shouldn’t even be thinking about Harry St George at all, not romantically. She had nothing to offer him and he had to do his duty to his home. Yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. Every time she was quiet for even a moment, he was there in her mind, her memories, and she feared he would be for a long time to come, even after she returned to her real life at Aunt Sylvia’s.

  She drifted towards a small summerhouse set in the garden, away from the main house, but still with lanterns outlining its steps. The rest of the winter garden was in darkness, and Rose thought of the children’s tales of lost royal treasure. Could it really be out there somewhere, hidden, like fairy gold in a story? If so, how lovely it would be to find it, to help Harry solve all of Hilltop’s troubles.

  Still thinking of the treasure, Rose glimpsed a strange pile of stones near the far side of the summerhouse. They seemed out of place in the manicured garden.

  She crept closer to examine them. They seemed to fall in a tumble, as if collapsed to hide something, like the entrance to a cellar of some sort. She nudged one with the toe of her slipper, but it didn’t move. She kicked it harder and tripped, falling towards the sharp stones before she could catch her balance.