Marquess Under the Mistletoe

by Jillian Eaton

  Bridget looked at him hopefully. “We’ll be a three-hour journey by carriage. I’ve already mapped it out.”

  Jasper raked a hand through his hair, pulling the ends taut as he walked across the parlor to stare broodingly out the window. It was unseasonably cold, even for December, and a storm had swept through two nights ago, leaving a thick, fluffy layer of snow in its wake. He’d ridden through it this morning, and both he and his horse had found it distasteful.

  A week in the country and he already missed the neat, tidy streets of Grosvenor Square. Not to mention the pubs and the gaming hells. Out here in the middle of nowhere, if he wanted a pint that wasn’t from his own stock, he’d have to venture all the way into the village. Which was but one of the many reasons why he’d given serious consideration to staying in town and skipping Christmas all together. It was Bridget who had finally convinced him they needed to keep with tradition and celebrate the holidays at the family estate. Now she wanted to attend some house party, and worse yet, she wanted him to go with her.

  Jasper gritted his teeth.

  The only place he wanted to go was his study where he’d kick up his feet and drown himself in brandy until the bloody snow melted.

  Unfortunately, he’d never been able to refuse Bridget anything.

  A fact she well knew.

  “Please,” his sister begged, coming up behind him to rest her smaller hand beside his much larger one. “I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t mean so much to me. We’ve been in mourning for nearly the entire Season, and I’ve missed the company of our friends.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Lady Heather Dobbs will be there,” said Bridget, swiftly changing tactics. “I know you took a shine to her at the last ball we attended. The youngest Appleton sister is unmarried as well. We met last Season at a benefit for the orphanage. Lady Honora is very intelligent. I think you’d like her.”

  Jasper grimaced. “If you’re trying to change my mind, you’re going about it all wrong.”

  The last thing he wanted was to be swarmed by greedy heiresses and their conniving mothers. If there was a sliver of good that had come from his father’s death, it was that he’d been able to retreat from Society and refuse all house calls, including those from ladies looking to strike up a courtship with the newly minted Marquess of Slatington.

  He’d thought he had received a lot of unwanted attention when he was an earl, but it was nothing compared to the notoriety he’d achieved since accepting his new title. Even his mistress, a lovely widow who had shared his bed for nearly a year, had begun making certain hints. Hints that had inevitably forced him to show her the door.

  A shame, really. Cassandra had cost him a small monthly fortune in rent and dresses and jewels, but the things she’d done with her tongue… Suffice it to say, he had a feeling she wouldn’t be without a benefactor for very long.

  “Then if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.” Bridget met his gaze in the window’s reflection. “Perhaps I want to meet someone.”

  His mouth curled derisively. “You’re only sixteen.”

  “I’ll be twenty in February.”

  Twenty?

  Bollocks.

  Where had the time gone?

  “If we were to attend – and I’m not saying we are,” he warned with a shake of his finger when Bridget gasped with excitement. “But if we were, how long would we have to stay?”

  “Five days. Six, including the ball. Oh Jasp, I knew you’d come around! I’ll go tell Mavis to start packing my things. A fortnight is hardly enough time to prepare, but I have those new dresses sitting at the shop in London and–”

  “Wait,” Jasper interrupted. He turned to face Bridget, a frown firmly etched in the corners of his mouth. Then he saw the brightness of her smile, and his frown faded. “I’ll send one of the footmen to retrieve the dresses,” he said gruffly.

  Bridget squealed. “You’re the best brother I have!”

  “I’m the only brother you have,” he called after her as she dashed out of the room, but she was already out of sight. Muttering a half-hearted curse under his breath, he looked back out the window. And wondered what the devil he’d agreed to.

  Chapter Two

  “That should be the last of it.” Nodding approvingly as the final wreath was centered above the fireplace in the drawing room, Lady Appleton stepped back to admire the decorations that now covered every single mantle, window, doorframe, and staircase in the manor. “Perfect.” She beamed, and one by one her daughters nodded in agreement.

  “Lovely,” Emily said.

  “The best yet,” Rebecca put in.

  “Positively divine,” Anne chirped.

  They all turned to Honora, whose gaze had fixed of its own accord to the mistletoe dangling from the drawing room doorway. Similar boughs of mistletoe hung from every door in the house, even the ones leading into broom closets and the servant’s chambers.

  Ridiculous, really. Six years ago the only mistletoe had been in the ballroom, and now a person couldn’t turn around without running into it. Of course, six years ago Lord and Lady Appleton had found themselves with the unenviable chore of marrying off four daughters, until the mistletoe worked its magic. Now they had one daughter to marry off.

  And she was glaring at the mistletoe as if it had personally offended her.

  “Honora dear,” her mother said gently. “What do you think of the decorations?”

  “They’re beautiful.” Dragging her gaze away from the offensive evergreen, Honora managed a smile. “Positively divine.”

  Anne frowned. “That’s what I said.”

  “You don’t think the ribbons on the staircase are too much?” Lady Appleton worried. “I know last year we left it bare, but with more people coming–”

  “They’re wonderful,” Rebecca assured her.

  “Oh good. I’m so glad you think so. Now the only things we have to do are pick up the sticks of cinnamon I ordered from the village, dust off the wine, set out the good China, and we’ll be ready for the first guests to arrive!” Lady Appleton clapped her hands together, as giddy as a little girl on Christmas morning. “I cannot believe they’ll be here before sundown.”

  Neither could Honora. The past two weeks had flown by, and she wasn’t ready for what the next five days would bring. While her siblings had temporarily stopped beating her over the head with potential suitors, she knew they’d resume their matchmaking as soon as the first eligible bachelor stepped through the door.

  Yesterday, she’d stumbled upon Emily and Anne conspiring in the library. She hadn’t been able to eavesdrop on the entire conversation (a creaking floorboard had given her away), but she’d heard enough words to understand they’d been talking about her. When she’d demanded to know what they were plotting, they’d just giggled and run out of the room, leaving her to assume whatever plan they were concocting wasn’t going to be one she liked.

  “I can get the cinnamon,” Honora said suddenly. “Is it at the spice shop?”

  Lady Appleton clucked her tongue. “That’s very kind, darling, but I was going to send one of the servants to fetch it. You and your sisters should be getting ready.”

  “I am ready.” Honora touched her hair, which her maid had fashioned into an elegant twist at the nape of her neck with little tendrils curling down from either side of her temple. “I only need to change into my evening dress, and I won’t do that until right before supper, which is hours away. Surely there’s time for a quick trip into the village. I could use the fresh air.”

  And time alone, she added silently. Something that was in alarmingly short supply now that her entire family was under one roof again.

  For the next five days, the manor would be bustling with activity from sunup to well after sundown. There would be a large breakfast in the solarium every morning and formal dinners in the dining room every night. The women would occupy their time with games in the parlor while the men played billiards in the study, and in the afternoon, they’d
come together for sleigh rides and trips to the village and skating on the frozen pond behind the stables.

  “Very well,” Lady Appleton said after a moment’s hesitation. “But take your lady’s maid with you.”

  “Of course.” Relief washed over Honora like a wave. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be surrounded by her family. She loved her parents, and her sisters, and even her brother-in-laws (Richard being the notable exception). Truly, she did. She even loved house parties. But she also loved to curl up in a quiet corner and lose herself in a book for hours on end, a contradiction her mother and siblings had never seemed to quite understand. Not surprising, given they were all social butterflies, whereas Honora…well, Honora was more of a social bear. She could play nicely with others when the situation required it, but she also enjoyed long naps in dark caves.

  “Thank you, Mo–”

  “Rebecca will accompany you as well,” Lady Appleton said before Honora could finish.

  Honora’s lips parted in dismay. “But I–”

  “Splendid,” Rebecca interjected cheerfully. “I’ve been wanting to find Charles a gift, and with him underfoot, it’s been rather difficult. This will give me the perfect opportunity. Should we take the sleigh or the carriage?”

  “There’s not yet enough snow for the sleigh. Take the carriage,” Lady Appleton decided. “And dress warmly. The last thing we need is for you two to catch a chill and be forced to miss all of the fun on account of the sniffles!”

  Yes, Honora thought. How awful that would be.

  “Not to mention,” Lady Appleton continued, “I’ve just received word we will have a very special guest.”

  “Who?” Emily and Anne demanded when their mother paused for dramatic effect.

  Lady Appleton looked straight at Honora. “None other than Lady Bridget St. Clair…and her brother, the Marquess of Slatington!” She slapped her hands together in delight. “Isn’t that wonderful, darling? A marquess. Here! Under this very roof. It’s to be his first public appearance since his father passed, which means his mourning is officially at an end and he’s ready to marry!”

  Honora did not want to cast a rain cloud over her mother’s unbridled enthusiasm, but she also wanted to maintain a shred of pragmatism. “I’m sure he accepted the invitation out of politeness, nothing more. I sincerely doubt it has anything to do with his wanting to find a wife.”

  “You never know,” Rebecca said with a sly wink. “He could take one look at you and be so overcome with love, he’ll drop to his knee and propose on the spot. Stranger things have happened.”

  Honora glared.

  Rebecca grinned.

  The twins snickered.

  “Your sister is right,” Lady Appleton said, oblivious to the underlying tension simmering between her daughters. Or perhaps she’d grown immune to it over the years. Either way, she paid no regard to the subtle bickering. “It’s good practice to always be prepared.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Honora bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t the heart to tell her mother that she had no intention of seeking anyone’s favor during the house party, let alone some marquess she’d never met. She was sure he was very nice, in an arrogant, my-title-is-higher-than-your-title sort of way, but she had absolutely no interest in him. Or any other eligible bachelor on the guest list, for that matter.

  Her parents had managed to marry off three of their daughters in rapid succession. That would have to be enough, because Honora wasn’t about to become the fourth to fall victim to the Curse of the Mistletoe (as she liked to think of it).

  No indeed.

  She had one plan for the next five days: hide in the library, eat sweets until her teeth ached, and finish her book.

  The only thing noticeably missing from her plan?

  A marquess.

  Chapter Three

  “Thank you for having the driver take us to the village first.” Breathless with excitement, Bridget all but bounced up and down in her seat as their gleaming black carriage rolled to a stop in front of a bookshop.

  Rustically charming, the small town of Blooming Glen boasted a small population of one hundred that blossomed to nearly one thousand over the holidays as the nobility and their servants visited from nearby estates. The village had been decorated in preparation, and Jasper’s top lip curled in derision as his gaze traveled across the wreaths hanging on the doors and the holly stuffed into the window boxes.

  It wasn’t that he disliked Christmas. To despise something, you had to feel passionately about it, while his feelings towards the holiday had always been…indifferent. Which was why he didn’t hate Christmas or the twelve days of celebration that followed it. He simply saw them as marks on the calendar and didn’t understand what all the bloody fuss was about.

  The twenty-fifth of December and the week that followed held no great significance for him. It never had, really. Oh, he’d enjoyed lighting the yule log when he was a young boy. And he’d always been the first to jump out of bed on Christmas morning, excited to see what presents were waiting for him in front of the fireplace. But the bitterness of adulthood had dulled the magic, and now the holiday was nothing more than an excuse to drink good brandy and eat boar.

  “I don’t know what I would have done with only four shawls,” Bridget continued, blissfully unaware of the apathetic direction her brother’s thoughts had taken. “I might have had to wear the same one twice!”

  “The horror,” Jasper said dryly.

  A footman opened the door, admitting in a gust of cold winter air that had Jasper wincing and wishing for his warm study. Unfortunately, his study was all the way back in London, while he was stuck here in some godforsaken Christmas village that reeked of evergreens and good-will. “Do you want me to accompany you?”

  Bridget shook her head. “No, I’ll be but a moment.”

  Off she dashed, skipping past the bookshop, and on a long sigh, Jasper stretched out his legs and tilted his head back. Closing his eyes, he considered taking a short nap (nothing Bridget did ever took ‘a moment,’ especially shopping) but no sooner had he started to drift off than he was rudely awakened by a loud knocking on the side of the carriage.

  Grumbling, he sat up and peered out through the small square window. There, on the other side of the glass, stood a young woman. A very irate young woman, if her flushed cheeks and flashing gray eyes were any indication.

  She was a pretty little thing, Jasper mused as she began to pound on the door in earnest. Not beautiful. Her round cheeks and narrow chin were too plain for true beauty. But there was a wholesomeness to her that he found curiously attractive. Curious only because he was normally drawn to the bold and the exotic.

  “Can I help you?” he drawled as he swung the door open and leaned halfway out of it, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped loosely together. Save a notched brow, he kept his expression perfectly blank; his emotions hidden behind an icy wall that more than one female had tried – and failed – to penetrate.

  Visibly startled by the door suddenly opening, the woman jumped back. Then her eyes narrowed, and she marched right up to him, a scowl twisting her lips.

  Her very soft, plump lips.

  Maybe not so plain after all, he decided.

  “Is this your carriage?” she asked in a no-nonsense tone that had him biting back a grin.

  Jasper liked her feistiness. Not many women, or men for that matter, were courageous enough to go toe-to-toe with the Marquess of Slatington. Yet this tiny brown-haired shrew wasn’t intimidated by him in the least. If anything, she seemed angry with him. Although he hadn’t the faintest idea what he’d done to raise her ire. To the best of his recollection, they’d never met.

  “It is,” he acknowledged with a slow nod. “Is there something you need?”

  “Yes.” Her eyebrows swooped together. “I need you to move your carriage. You’re blocking the bookstore. And the rest of the street besides.”

  “I’m what?” he said blankly, having gotten distrac
ted by the scattering of freckles across her cheeks. They dotted her alabaster skin like tiny flecks of brown sugar and he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d taste as sweet as they looked.

  “Blocking the bookstore,” she repeated. “This large brick building behind me. You can see it, can’t you? Or is your vision as poor as your hearing?”

  Jasper blinked. “My senses are perfectly adequate, thank you for asking.” He grinned wolfishly. “It’s the other parts of my anatomy that are superior.”

  “I wasn’t asking about your senses,” she said, ignoring his sexual innuendo, save a faint pink blush in her cheeks that he found absolutely delightful. “I was asking you to kindly move your vehicle.”

  “If this is you being kind, I’d hate to see you when you’re feeling disagreeable.”

  Her gray eyes, the same color as a spring fog rolling in after a long rain, filled with annoyance. “Yes, you would. Now would you please be a gentleman and remove your vehicle from the middle of the road? Mr. Barnes is expecting a new shipment of books at any moment, and you’re in the way.”

  “Can’t he go around?”

  It was the wrong question to ask, but he’d always wondered what a person looked like when steam poured out of their ears.

  Now he knew.

  “No, he can’t ‘go around.’ Mr. Barnes is nearly seventy years of age!”

  “Then why not hire someone to do the heavy lifting for him?” Jasper suggested.

  “Because if you’d move your carriage, he wouldn’t have to!” She pinned her hands to her hips. Her very shapely hips, he noted with a spark of interest.

  The cloak she wore was nearly two sizes too big, but with her waist accentuated he could easily imagine what the rest of her figure looked like underneath that atrocious horse blanket, and he liked what his mind conjured.

  He liked it very much.