The Mistletoe Marquess: A Risqué Regency Romance

by Sahara Kelly

She oohed and aahed as the three Wise Men presented their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, as represented by some shiny buttons, an empty perfume bottle and a lump of soap, rather the worse for wear.

  The next hymn was new to her, The Holly and the Ivy. She listened to the clear young voices soaring into the rafters, unaccompanied this time since it was evident that the music was new to the rest of the audience as well. It was lyrical, musically pleasing and she smiled at the enthusiasm of this young choir.

  At last the performance drew to an end with all the children gathered around Mary and the baby in her arms. She was heard to tell Joseph to “git yer mitts off of ma doll”, but other than that slight deviation from the script, all went according to plan.

  The room stood to celebrate the season and the play by singing Oh Come All Ye Faithful, and the final rousing notes were the cue for a huge round of applause and cheers.

  Prudence expected chaos to erupt following the performance, but the audience sat once more. Curious, she noticed a girl, one of the older schoolchildren most probably, walk onto the stage. In her hands she held a large wreath.

  Silence fell.

  “To begin our Chrithtmath theason, Little Chillendale would like to offer thith weeth…”

  “Wreath,” hissed Miss Wellworthy.

  “Yeth…wereath…”

  Miss Wellworthy sighed audibly but waved the girl on.

  “We’re gonna give it to Mithter Reid.”

  Obviously the confusion of pronunciation along with the lisp had eliminated the balance of the formal declaration, but the meaning remained clear.

  Reid touched her arm. “Excuse me. That’s my cue.”

  He rose and walked steadily to the stage. “I gladly accept, Jenny. On behalf of the Chillendales of Chillendale Hall, I will take this wreath and wear it with pride.”

  Prudence watched not only Reid, but the faces of the people in the hall as he made his acceptance. They were smiling, some teary eyed, others staring in awe as Mr. Reid himself knelt down in front of little Jenny, the butcher’s daughter, and let her place the weeth on his head.

  Then he stood, straightened it a little so that it was less likely to poke out an eye, reached for Jenny’s hand and turned them both to face the audience.

  “Let the Christmas revels begin.” His voice echoed over the entire assembled crowd.

  And that was when all hell broke loose.

  *~~*~~*

  The mistletoe branches in the wreath were a little scratchy, but Reid ignored it as he walked to the large chair which had been uncovered and prepared for his arrival. It was green, of course, and more mistletoe, along with holly and ivy, had been twined around the ornate carvings.

  He had to watch how he sat on it, since the abundance of greenery might end up under his breeches if he wasn’t careful. That wouldn’t have mattered much unless it was holly—an experience he’d prefer not to have on this particular evening.

  Aware of his duties, he felt more than a little frustration at not being able to return to Prudence and remain at her side. But that was not the place for the Mistletoe Marquess.

  The children made that fact quite clear as they lined up in a ragged queue waiting for him.

  Beside the chair was a large chest filled with prettily wrapped packages, sporting bows and ribbons and the occasional piece of sparkly paper. Miss Wellworthy stood guard, an ancient but formidable protector of the Christmas Treasure Chest.

  She greeted him in her customary no-nonsense fashion. “Sit down, Reid Chillendale. There’s children waiting for their presents and to them that’s a lot more important than who is where in the Hall.”

  Realizing he’d been looking for Prudence, he sat, abashed and slightly embarrassed. “Of course. My apologies.” He took the first gift.

  “For Nancy Harking.” Miss Wellworthy began intoning the names of the children.

  They hurried to stand in front of Reid and then smiled or grinned as he handed them their presents with a “Happy Christmas”.

  Most of them returned a polite thank you, and a few of the girls even curtsied, earning an approving nod from Miss Wellworthy.

  It seemed to take forever, thought Reid, as he handed out package after package, trying his best to be a good Mistletoe Marquess while furtively glancing over the room to see where Prudence was.

  There were many adults on their feet now, mingling in knots here and there, some at the ale table, others handing out sweetmeats to the children.

  It was a busy hubbub within which Reid had difficulty finding Prudence. He caught a glimpse of her with Brent, chatting to someone, and then he thought he saw her with his parents.

  That gave him pause. Would they comment on his interest in her name only the night before? He didn’t know.

  Recalled to his duties, he sighed, smiled and wished Johnny a Happy Christmas, complimenting him on his performance.

  “Thankee, sir.” The lad touched his forelock respectfully. “That beard itched summat fierce though.”

  Reid grinned sympathetically. “It’s better when you can grow your own. Give it a few years.”

  Johnny was pushed out of the way by an eager young lass, and so the process continued, until all the children present had received their holiday presents.

  At last Reid was free to rise, groan a little as he straightened his spine, and find the target of his attentions—Lady Prudence.

  He spied her at the ale table, next to Lord Southwick, who was staring at her with a very strange expression on his face. If Reid had been pressed to describe it, he would have said it was not far from horror, but that seemed highly unlikely.

  Nevertheless, it would seem that something untoward had occurred, since Lord Southwick gave a brief bow to Prudence and then hurried out of the Church Hall, not even stopping to speak with his wife and daughter.

  Reid frowned as he made his way toward the ale table, only to have his arm seized in a grip of iron by his mother. “Darling. Stop right there. We need to talk.”

  “Um, I was going to the ale table…”

  “I know exactly where you were going, which is why you’ll take a moment to attend your poor old mother.”

  Reid rolled his eyes, but allowed her to lead him aside.

  “You asked about Eldridge last night. And today I’m introduced to a stunning young widow who apparently has the same name.” She narrowed her eyes. “Coincidence? I think not.”

  “I…er…”

  “Exactly.” His mother looked smug. “You’ve met her already.”

  “Well, actually…”

  “I knew it.” Lady Jocelyn tapped him on the chest. “Don’t ever try and keep secrets from me, Reid Chillendale. I’m way to good at reading you. Remember you are my child. The fruit of my loins.”

  “Mama, please…” Embarrassed as hell now, Reid tried to back away.

  “Very well. You may go and find your Widow Eldridge. But I shall want a full accounting, young man. Do not think you’re getting away with anything.” She turned away, only to spy Brent as he spoke with the Southwicks.

  Reid hoped she wouldn’t interrogate the poor chap as intensely as she had her son. And yet he hadn’t really told her anything. She hadn’t given him chance, which was a good thing, overall.

  He turned back to the ale table, hoping to find Prudence there. And indeed she was, surrounded by half a dozen farmers, holding them in admiring thrall as she told a story about a farmer, his prize pig and the squire who loved bacon.

  Reid neared and heard her assume accents and country dialects, and within moments all the men were roaring with laughter as she reached the end of her tale. They moved aside as Reid walked up.

  “A fine story, I would guess.” He smiled at her and looked around at the others.

  “Indeed it were, Mr. Reid,” said one of the farmers. “And the lady tells it with great style.”

  A chorus of agreement and nods greeted that statement.

  “Then I suggest we give a Christmas toast to Lady Eldridge and
the Squire’s Pig.”

  Everyone raised their tankards and the toast was given with much enthusiasm.

  “I thank you, gentlemen.” Pru curtseyed. “And I am pleased you enjoyed the tale. But now I fear I must repeat it for Mr. Chillendale who missed the whole thing, so I beg your forgiveness for leaving you here at a table with only half a cask of the finest ale in the country…” She grinned. “There’s still time to finish it…”

  Another cheer broke out and Reid eased her away from the crowd.

  “Nicely done, Lady Eldridge.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Chillendale. ‘T’was an old tale I heard when I was a very small girl. Probably not meant for ears such as mine, but as you saw, there’s always a place for a good story well told.”

  “Indeed.” Reid guided her across the room to the food table, where there were already several empty serving trays. “Are you enjoying yourself?” He picked up a clean plate and selected a few delicacies.

  “Very much. ‘T’is unlike anything I’ve experienced before.” She looked around. “The children seem to be having a wonderful evening.”

  “They do. We all try to make it special, just for them. There will be church services, and other Christmas activities going on over the next fortnight, but this one? It’s built around the little ones.” He leaned over, ostensibly to reach a tray of mince pies, but ended close to her ear. “The festivities for the adults come later.”

  She tilted her head as he held out the plate, offering her a choice of treats. “And when is later, Mr. Chillendale?” Her voice was a low whisper. “I find myself in a very festive mood.”

  “Well, Lady Eldridge. If you’re returning to the Inn immediately, I’m not sure how to answer that question.” Reid surreptitiously grazed her body with his thigh as he moved them around the table.

  “I believe I am allowed to be out late, sir.” She flashed him an amused glance. “There is no one to comment on my comings or goings…”

  “Then I shall take great pleasure in observing your comings, Ma’am.”

  “You might have to assist me in that matter, sir.”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  “And mine.”

  Reid’s breeches were far too tight, he realized. Also his mother was still in the hall and she was too sharp-eyed by half. So he backed away a little and took a mouthful of the legendary lemon tart he’d carefully picked for himself.

  It was as good as ever, and he gave a slight sound of delight as he licked a crumb from his lip.

  Then he saw Prudence’s eyes watching his tongue. Her cheeks betrayed a faint blush as she took a deep breath and turned away.

  “Quite.” He spoke normally. “I believe I must speak with the Southwicks. Would you care to be introduced?”

  She cleared her throat. “That would be pleasant, thank you.” She finished her food, although not cleaning her plate. It would seem that she was as affected by their discourse as he was.

  Attempting to distract his errant thoughts, Reid recalled something. “I saw you speaking with Lord Southwick earlier. He seemed…distraught?”

  “Oh, that man at the ale table?”

  Reid nodded. “Yes.”

  “I did not realize who he was. ‘T’was odd, Mr. Chillendale. He turned and saw me and his color paled. He stared at me for the longest time, and finally he mumbled something about likenesses and then hurried off.”

  “Well.” Reid was puzzled. “That is unlike him. But perhaps he thought you were someone else?”

  She took his arm and let him lead her back through the Hall. “I’m sure it was something like that. I took no offense. It’s far too delightful an evening to worry about a small and unimportant incident.”

  “And I do believe the best is yet to come.”

  “Indeed.” She cast her eyes downward, demurely, lifting her gown slightly to reveal chestnut leather boots.

  Reid was reminded of her hair. It was bound up in a tidy knot this evening, but still glowed. How much better it looked loose and tumbled around her ivory skin...

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Reid?”

  Lady Southwick’s voice cut through his erotic musings like a sharp knife through a freshly budded rose.

  “I do beg your pardon, Ma’am.” He turned to Prudence and drew her forward. “Lady Southwick, may I present Lady Prudence Eldridge? She is cousin to Brent Rowdean and visiting the area in his company.”

  “Well, how interesting,” gushed the older woman. “Cousin to a Viscount, eh? That is quite an accomplishment, dear. And might we inquire as to whether there is a Lord Eldridge?”

  Nosy old bitch. Reid managed to strangle the thought before he gave it voice, but opened his mouth to respond. Prudence forestalled him with a slight touch on his arm.

  “You are gracious to inquire, Ma’am,” she said. “Sadly, my husband was taken from me by illness some years ago now.”

  “Oh.” Lady Southwick struggled with that. “My sympathies. It is difficult to be a widow at such a young age, I’m sure.”

  “Indeed it is. How kind of you to understand.”

  Flustered by the charm and self-control of the woman in front of her, Lady Southwick raised the white flag, metaphorically speaking. “I’m sure your family and friends are a great support to you.”

  “Very much so.”

  “And here’s dear Brent now. Has he told you of his childhood years here in the county? How he adored it. And we of course adored him. Why Emmeline thought he was the most amazing young man.” She fluttered her hand, in lieu of a fan. “I do believe she had quite the tendre for him. But I’m sure you remember what it was like to be a young girl.”

  With that final shot, Lady Southwick held out her hand to Brent, welcoming him into the group and drawing him next to Emmeline. Who blushed and giggled.

  “I hope you’re having fun, dear sir. Aren’t the children delightful?”

  To Reid’s surprise, Brent seemed to like that comment, bending his head to answer the girl and bringing a real smile to her face. During the brief conversation that followed, it was astounding to realize that Emmeline had apparently found her “r’s” along with a clear infatuation for “dear Brent”.

  When arrangements were made for Brent to escort the Southwicks home in his hired carriage—Lord Southwick having apparently absconded with the family conveyance—both the Southwick ladies seemed eminently satisfied with the arrangement.

  “I’ll take care of Prudence,” murmured Reid to Brent. “You take this lot. I owe you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Brent shot him a quizzical glance and gathered his charges.

  What that meant, Reid had no idea. But since he was standing next to Prudence, and now responsible for her safety, his mind was busy leaping to other matters of a more intimate nature.

  “Let’s go,” he said, quietly.

  “Where?”

  “Our place.”

  She looked at him, a slow smile curving those tempting lips.

  “All right.”

  Chapter Seven

  Of course it wasn’t that easy.

  Since the majority of the audience were parents and needed to settle their rambunctious offspring down before bed, the room cleared of adults in a surprisingly short time.

  Which left Reid and Prudence with a few others, all of whom ended up assisting the deacon in restoring the church hall to its former state of order. It seemed wrong, thought Reid, to leave the poor man alone with the residue of such a lovely evening.

  He didn’t even have to ask Prudence, who was already gathering up torn paper, streamers, and the other bits and pieces the children had left behind. Several lads, too old for the play and too young for the ale, willingly moved the chairs back into their places and it didn’t take too long for a sort of normalcy to be restored.

  “Thank you, Mr. Reid, Ma’am,” bowed Deacon Trent. “You’ve been a blessing this evening and saved my sanity, I can assure you.” He grinned as Prudence leaned over and removed a clump of pine nee
dles from to his cassock. “Oh dear. Thank you again.”

  She smiled. “A lovely remembrance of a charming evening.” She passed him the pine. “It’s sticky though.”

  “Part of the charm. The scent of the pine resin, Mrs. Dalton’s fresh gingerbread and a fall of snow…it all says Christmas, doesn’t it?” He looked around, then sighed. “And for us it’s one of the busiest times of the year, so I must go along now.”

  Hands were shaken, more thanks exchanged, and at long last—after what seemed like an eon to Reid—he was able to lift her up onto his horse, mount behind her and steer them both out into the cold night.

  “Are you warm enough?” He leaned his head over her shoulder, a cloud of warm fog accompanying his words.

  She nodded in response, taking in a deep breath and exhaling her own little cloud. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He knew she was looking out over the countryside, but he was looking at her, her profile dark against the white of the snow, but unmistakable nevertheless. He saw her lips part on a smile as she moved slightly, lifting a gloved hand from the folds of her cloak. “Oh, a rabbit I think. Or perhaps a small fox.” She leaned against him. “Out hunting for dinner perhaps?”

  “Looking for his mate?”

  “Maybe.” She chuckled. “Poor chap. I don’t envy him.”

  “Not keen on a nighttime romp through the snow?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Well, now, when it comes to romps, I’m finding the thought most interesting. In the snow? That might not be as alluring…”

  Reid laughed. “I’m told that on the Continent some people enjoy rushing out and bathing in cold snow after soaking in hot springs.”

  “Really?” She sounded amused. “How pink their skins must be after that kind of treatment.”

  “Mmm.”

  The thought of Prudence, naked and pink in the snow, was doing natural things to his masculinity. Thus he wisely turned his mind to the ride and away from carnal pleasures lest he let the horse wander off the track and tip the two of them into a snow bank while he imagined them in all sorts of improbable frolics.

  They rode in silence, accompanied only by soft hoofbeats on snow and the hoot of an owl in the distant trees.