The Wallflower's Mistletoe Wedding

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘I was going to wear my dress from the Christmas ball,’ Rose said. She reached out to gently touch the blue silk, as soft and light as a cloud, and as pale as ice. Surely Harry would think she looked pretty in that! ‘But this one is so lovely...’

  ‘It will be perfect!’ Jane said. ‘And Lily says she had heard from your mother this morning and she should arrive later today and will bring her old wedding veil with her.’

  ‘Mama is coming?’ Rose cried. She had feared there would be no time for her mother to arrive and now the day would be perfect.

  ‘Yes. It’s meant to be a surprise, I’m afraid,’ Jane said. ‘Hayden has sent his fastest horses and carriage for her.’

  There was the faint sound of wheels crunching on the frosty gravel of the drive below Rose’s window. ‘Maybe that’s Mrs Parker now,’ Emma said, glancing outside. A puzzled frown creased her brow. ‘No, it’s a carriage I don’t know. And Aunt Sylvia is waiting down there.’

  ‘What?’ Rose and Jane cried. They hurried over to peer past Emma’s shoulder. Aunt Sylvia did indeed wait on the front steps, swathed in her shawls, leaning on her walking stick. She looked a most formidable figure, but Rose now knew the kind heart that truly lurked beneath. She had listened to Rose when she dared not confide in anyone else.

  The carriage, a plain but respectable and well-kept barouche, rolled to a stop and a man in a dark coat and hat stepped out, a leather case under his arm. Aunt Sylvia took his arm and they vanished into the house.

  ‘How odd,’ Rose murmured. She and Aunt Sylvia had had a long conversation after the doctor left, about Rose’s forthcoming marriage and her former life with Aunt Sylvia. Sylvia had seemed rather out of sorts, as usual, and declared that no one could read aloud as Rose did, yet she had also talked of hiring the local vicar’s youngest girl as a companion, as if she had already made the plans.

  ‘Do you know the man, Rose?’ Emma asked.

  ‘I think I have seen him before, but I’m not sure,’ Rose said. ‘Aunt Sylvia does often have her men of business call, but I rarely meet them.’

  Jane laughed. ‘Men of business do rather tend to look alike. Hayden said Mrs Pemberton had quite commandeered his library this morning. Ah, well. We have important things to discuss ourselves. Such as—will Eleanor be allowed to be your attendant? She has made herself quite sick for begging the honour...’

  * * *

  That evening, Rose made her careful way downstairs before dinner. She still ached in places she had not even realised she possessed muscles after her adventure in the ruins, but the doctor said she could be out of bed for a few hours. Eleanor and William insisted on helping her, holding on to her hands. They had begged her forgiveness for running off and been thoroughly hugged and forgiven.

  And waiting for her in the hall was Harry. She remembered seeing him there after she first turned away his proposal, but tonight he looked quite different—younger, his features lit with a smile. He held out his hand to her as she reached the last step and drew her close.

  Rose went into his arms with joy and he lowered his head to kiss her. Eleanor sighed, while William made a dismissive snort.

  ‘Girls and romance...ew!’ he gasped.

  ‘I told you, William—just you wait until you are grown,’ Eleanor said. ‘Then you will understand.’

  Rose and Harry laughed, holding tightly to each other. But there was no time for another kiss, as Aunt Sylvia appeared at the library door and banged her stick on the floor.

  ‘You are not married yet, Rose,’ she said. ‘You have not yet stolen her from me, Captain St George. I would appreciate a word with you both for a moment.’

  William and Eleanor fled from her frown, and Rose exchanged a long glance with Harry. He shrugged and offered her his arm and they followed Aunt Sylvia into the library.

  The gentleman who had arrived so mysteriously earlier that day sat at the desk, papers and ledgers stacked before him. He glanced at them over his spectacles and nodded.

  ‘Rose, you remember my lawyer, Mr Rodd,’ Aunt Sylvia said, sitting down behind the desk. ‘Mr Rodd, this is Miss Parker’s intended, Captain St George.’

  ‘How do you do,’ Mr Rodd said. ‘I must say what a fortunate pair you two are.’

  Rose glanced up at Harry, who looked as puzzled as she felt herself. ‘Fortunate, Mr Rodd?’ Harry said.

  ‘Indeed. Mrs Pemberton and I have just been going over the terms of her will, as well as a few current property deeds. This coal mine in Wales looks especially promising...’

  Rose was now most confused. ‘Coal mines?’

  ‘And some farmland, as well as these London warehouses,’ Mr Rodd said. ‘Mrs Pemberton has made them over to you, effective after your marriage. If you could just sign here, Captain St George...’

  ‘Wait a moment, Mr Rodd,’ Harry said. ‘Mrs Pemberton, what does this mean?’

  ‘I am most fond of Rose, Captain St George,’ Aunt Sylvia said gruffly. ‘Very fond indeed. She has made my life quite a great deal brighter these last few years and I know very well I am not easy to live with. She is good girl and deserves whatever I can do to help her now. I have no children and these properties can’t go with me to the hereafter, as old Pemberton found out when he left me a widow so long ago. You and your children might as well enjoy them. The leases will help Rose now and my whole estate will be hers when I am gone.’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Sylvia,’ Rose whispered. There had been so many lovely surprises in the last few days, she wasn’t sure she could bear yet another. ‘I had no idea you cared for me so.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Aunt Sylvia said, waving her walking stick. ‘You are a kind girl, Rose. I hope you deserve her, Captain St George, for I am loathe to let her go.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone is good enough to deserve Rose, Mrs Pemberton, least of all a man like myself,’ Harry said. ‘But this is too generous. We cannot accept.’

  ‘Oh, pish!’ Aunt Sylvia cried. She waved her stick again, forcing Mr Rodd to duck. ‘You have no choice at all. It’s already done. If you choose not to spend the income, it will accrue to your children. But I have to say, young man—if you do not allow me to make Rose’s life a little bit easier now, I will be angry indeed. And you would not care to see me angry.’

  Harry laughed. ‘No, Mrs Pemberton, I would not. Nor would I ever do anything to hurt Rose. This will be her property to use as she wishes.’

  As she wished! Rose thought of so many things—a roof for Hilltop, a new school, plenty of servants to see to the house’s grand restoration, Harry able to carry out his improvements. Harry not being forced back into the army. She could hardly believe it. She rushed over to hug her aunt. ‘Oh, Aunt Sylvia. How very kind you are.’

  Aunt Sylvia awkwardly patted her shoulder. ‘You of all people, Rose, know that is not true. I am not in the least kind. And I expect the best seat at your wedding, even if your silly mother is on her way to Barton.’

  ‘Of course, Aunt Sylvia. I will even toss you my bouquet.’

  Aunt Sylvia shuddered. ‘No, my dear. Believe me, one marriage was quite enough.’

  * * *

  ‘So, Jane darling, do you plan to give up matchmaking now?’ Hayden whispered to his wife as they sat in the Barton drawing room after dinner, watching Rose play at the pianoforte as Harry turned the pages of her music.

  Jane tilted her head to study the lovely picture the two of them made, so glowing with happiness. ‘I admit I misjudged what Harry needed in a wife,’ she admitted. ‘I quite forgot the important lesson I once learned from our own marriage. Love and friendship are the two most important things. With those, anything can be accomplished. I am happy they discovered that for themselves.’

  ‘Then—no more matchmaking?’ he said, clasping her gloved hand in his.

  Jane glanced at Helen Fallon, who sat alone in the wind
ow seat. She glittered with emeralds, as beautiful as a young goddess—but her eyes shimmered with what looked terribly like tears.

  ‘Well,’ Jane murmured. ‘It would be a shame to waste such valuable lessons in love, don’t you think?’

  Epilogue

  ‘There! I think we have done quite a fine job here, don’t you?’ Lily said as she straightened the lace veil on Rose’s curled hair. Once their mother had worn it, then Lily. Rose had never expected to don it herself.

  ‘You have indeed,’ she answered, studying herself in the looking glass. Her pale blue gown with its frothing lace train, the lace veil, the bouquet of winter greenery and white hothouse roses—it was all quite splendid. She could barely believe it was her. ‘A silk purse.’

  Lily laughed. ‘You weren’t exactly a sow’s ear to start, my dearest sister,’ she said. ‘But shouldn’t you take off your spectacles?’

  Rose nudged them up her nose. ‘I think I need to see the bridegroom.’

  Lily laughed. ‘Quite right.’

  There was a knock at the door and Jane appeared. ‘I think all is in readiness downstairs, Rose.’

  Rose nodded, taking in a deep breath against the sudden nervous fluttering deep inside. ‘I’m ready.’

  She followed Jane and Lily to the top of the stairs, where Eleanor waited to scatter her flowers. The banister was twined with greenery and white ribbons, and she could hear music from the drawing room. It looked like a fine wedding indeed and Rose could hardly believe it was her wedding. That her own brave prince awaited her.

  Jane and Lily disappeared into the drawing room and Rose followed the pathway of petals Eleanor laid for her. The drawing room, decorated with more blue and white ribbons and tall vases of flowers, was filled with people, including Mr Hewlitt in his cassock waiting to perform the ceremony, her mother sniffling into her handkerchief and Aunt Sylvia in her promised seat of honour. But Rose only saw the man who waited for her at the holly and ivy-wreathed altar. Her own Christmas bridegroom.

  He smiled at her brilliantly, so tall and handsome in his blue coat. She smiled and hurried forward to take his hand, all nervousness forgotten, every doubt vanished. She was truly at home at last.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, you won’t want to

  miss these other great reads

  by Amanda McCabe

  THE QUEEN’S CHRISTMAS SUMMONS

  THE DEMURE MISS MANNING

  BETRAYED BY HIS KISS

  Keep reading for an excerpt from HER CHRISTMAS KNIGHT by Nicole Locke.

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  Her Christmas Knight

  by Nicole Locke

  Chapter One

  October 1296, London

  She wasn’t going to make it.

  Heat prickled down her back. Her hands, clutching a seal to her chest, grew damp. Alice stopped running, pressed her back against the stone wall and let out a steadying breath.

  She was going to make it. She had to. She had come too far. It was the labyrinth of passageways that was making her anxious. She didn’t know where she was going.

  It was the dark...which was more heavy and cold than the stone she rested against.

  How long had she been running? She should never have agreed to the game—never agreed to visiting Court in the first place.

  As if she’d had a choice. King Edward needed gold and her family—wealthy wool merchants—were being heavily taxed for it. To soften the blow, the King often invited her family to Court. Beyond delighted, her father had always taken the trips alone. This time round, however, the King had formally invited her. And one could not avoid a direct royal command.

  But she could have avoided the seal-seeking game. Noting that the King wasn’t in residence, she had tried to avoid the game. But someone had put her name in the bowl and it had been pulled. Then she and the others had been shoved into various darkened hallways to find a seal and solve the riddle.

  Which should have been easy. Even if she didn’t know and couldn’t see where she was going, she’d thought she could depend on her ears to hear the lapping of the Thames or the running of the other seal seekers. But her ears had failed her. All was dead silent.

  She rolled the seal in her hands, hoping the unusual shape would distract her from her thoughts. The seal was neither round nor square, and it was much too large for her hands, but it had to be the correct seal. She was sure that she’d understood the riddle: Find the door that holds the light.

  A door couldn’t hold a light unless there was a light behind that illuminated it, and yet she had opened so many doors and there had been only more darkness.

  Her breathing hitched. She mustn’t think about her fear of darkness. She must consider only the light and where she hadn’t been. If she concentrated on the riddle maybe she could forget the dark. Maybe.

  Laughter. High-pitched and suddenly snuffed out.

  Where had it come from? It had burst out and disappeared too quickly for her to tell. Was it the other seal seekers or someone hiding in the shadows?

  She pushed away from the wall and walked to the left. She might be going in circles, but she had to move. The riddle had hinted at additional seals. The others might be ahead of her.

  Not daring to run any more, she quickened her steps. If the other seekers were close and she slipped and the seal fell she would never find it again. But she couldn’t be too cautious. If she was quick enough she’d have the prize—she’d be out of the dark.

  Another step and another—until the floor dropped.

  Stairs?

  She swiped at the dark with her hands and feet until the corridor curved into a staircase. Keeping a hand on the stone wall, she shuffled her way down until she found her way to a heavily latched illuminated door.

  There were more sounds, too—murmurs and whispers of a crowd trying to be quiet. This was the door! She brushed her free hand against the smooth wood until she found the latch.

  Other noises were reaching her ears—more laughter, and footsteps behind her. No time to waste. She placed the seal beside her feet, and used both hands to lift the latch. It held, as if someone on the other side was preventing it from opening. Did she dare call out?

  No, the footsteps behind her were too close.

  She jumped and used her body to press down on the handle. The latch broke fr
ee, but the clank echoed in the quiet corridor. The footsteps behind her changed direction.

  No time to lose.

  Grabbing the seal, she rushed into the too-bright room. Images of people and flames flickering in elaborate wall sconces distracted her. She collided with a wall wearing chainmail and started to fall backwards.

  Thick arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her. Clutching the seal against her chest, she felt her feet leave the ground as she was pressed against the unmistakable curves of a trained warrior. Winded, and blinded by the sudden light, she felt his flat abdomen against her own, her breasts rubbing abrasively against interlocked steel, and still the warrior pulled her up...and up.

  She was being held much too closely. She breathed in to catch her breath, to protest, and smelled leather and metal, and a scent that was this man’s alone. A scent that hovered on her memory...elusive, familiar. It filled her with such a sudden wanting that she clamped her mouth shut.

  Images blazed in her mind. It couldn’t be him. It shouldn’t be him.

  Another feeling assaulted her, more powerful than the embarrassment of being held too closely. It was even more deeply pitted in her stomach than her sudden inexplicable wanting.

  She felt fear.

  She blinked her eyes to focus and was caught by the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. No, not the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, because she’d seen these eyes before. Years ago. The fear went down her back all the way to her heels before it raced hot and fast to the top of her head.

  She blinked again. No, these eyes were not the same—even though they were the crystal blue of a summer sky, so bright and too piercing to be real. These eyes had had that light taken from them. They were as clear and stunning a colour as to be almost impossible, but these eyes held something else—some darkness—as if an unseen storm was about to break.