Mistletoe Magic, A Christmas Regency Short Story

by Hatch, Donna

  After reaching the shore, Colin sat and changed his skates for his boots. Hopefully, Evelyn would be recovered enough to attend the Christmas Eve masquerade ball tomorrow night. It might be his last chance to persuade her that he, Colin Stratford, was the only man for her.

  Perhaps a little mistletoe would be in order.

  Grinning, Colin slung his skates over his shoulder and walked home, plotting how many mistletoe plants he could arrange to have hanging in doorways at the Cavenleigh’s ball where he’d lure Evelyn and show her just how much he’d changed from the little boy who used to pull her hair and tease her about her freckles. Yes, he’d show her he was all grown up and in love. With her. Colin started whistling as he planned the details of how to woo and win Evelyn’s heart.

  Chapter 3

  Evelyn buried her face in the roses Michael had sent. How wonderful. How thoughtful! Perhaps falling through the ice yesterday wasn’t such a disaster after all. She’d escaped with her life and her health, thanks to the quick thinking of Colin and Michael who’d pulled her to safety, and all the mothers who got her warm and dry quickly. And now, Michael appeared to have finally noticed her.

  Roses from Michael! She took another deep breath through her nose. He’d probably gotten them from Colin’s family hothouse. The Stratfords grew the most wondrous assortment of flowers in the county. How wonderful that Michael had thought of her.

  The door to her bedroom opened and Mama’s head peeked around the door. Papa’s appeared next to hers, their faces close.

  Evelyn smiled and held out a hand. “I’m awake.” She set the vase of roses back down on the nightstand and leaned back against her pillows.

  “How are you feeling, poppet?” Papa asked.

  “Lovely. I’ve just finished my chocolate and I’m breathing the sweet scent of roses sent by Michael Cavenleigh, and tonight is the masquerade ball...”

  “Er, dearest,” Mama came closer and sat on the edge of her bed. “I’m not sure you ought to go to the ball tonight.”

  Evelyn bolted up. “What? Not go? Of course I’m going. I feel just fine.”

  Mama touched Evelyn’s forehead. “No sign of fever, but you were in that freezing water an awfully long time. I can’t believe you haven’t caught a chill.”

  “I was really only in the water for a few moments, and you got me warmed up in no time.”

  “There will be other balls, poppet,” Papa said.

  Evelyn tried not to look desperate. “Yes, but there won’t be a Christmas Eve masquerade ball for another whole year.”

  Mama smoothed the counterpane on the bed. “Darling, when you’re nineteen, a year seems very long, but when you get older, you’ll see that it’s not so long.”

  “I’m just fine, Mama. I’ll even stay in bed all day if that will convince you.”

  “Well, we’ll see how you feel tonight.”

  At least they hadn’t forbidden her attending. “All right.”

  They both arose, kissed her and left her room. Evelyn leaned back, admiring her roses and vowed to do whatever it took to convince her parents to allow her to attend the ball. She just had to get Michael underneath the mistletoe so it could work its magic. After his most recent attention, surely her chances were much improved.

  Her maid, entered. “I have a hot bath ready for you, Miss.”

  “Lovely.”

  After she’d bathed and dressed, she went downstairs to the front parlor where there was plenty of light for reading. She took her bouquet of Michael’s roses with her so she could enjoy them. Curled up by the fire in the front parlor, wrapped in a shawl, she read her newest gothic novel, sighing over the way the hero’s heart softened, transforming him from a stern gruff man, to a man of deep feeling. Mama came in and checked on her many times. Each time, Evelyn replied with a patient smile and returned to her novel.

  The butler entered. “Mr. Stratford to see you, Miss.”

  Colin? Smiling, Evelyn set down her novel and stood. “Show him in.” She smoothed her hair.

  The butler hesitated. “Shall I send for your mother to chaperone?”

  “Oh, good heavens, it’s only Colin. An open door is more than enough propriety for someone I’ve known all my life.”

  He nodded and left the door wide open. No doubt he’d lurk on the other side to guard against any tarnishing of her virtue.

  Colin entered holding a bouquet of red flowers in one hand and a metal container that looked something like a flask in the other. His infectious grin lit up his face and brightened the room. She smiled in return.

  He held out the flask. “My mother insisted on sending her wassail. I wrapped it up with two warming bricks so it would stay hot.”

  She moved to him. “Oh, Colin, that’s very kind of you to go to that much trouble. Thank you. And please thank your mother for me.”

  “I shall. And these are for you, too.” He held out the red flowers. His gaze fell on Michael’s roses. His smile faded and a dark brow rose. “Are those from an admirer?”

  “Michael Cavenleigh.” She hoped she didn’t sound too smug. “But thank you for these. They’re lovely. What kind are they? They look like camellias but they’re red.”

  His gaze moved from the roses in the vase to the flowers in his hand. “They’re called Christmas Camellias.” He handed her both the flask, which was indeed warm, and the flowers. “I knew you liked Camellias so I thought you might like these.”

  “Christmas Camellias, how appropriate.” She took a deep breath, and admired the rich red petals lining a yellow center. “They smell wonderful. Do you grow them in your hothouse, too?”

  “Yes. A fairly recent addition. When my brother came from the far east, he brought these and some exotic new flowers he calls orchids. Lovely, but not much of a scent.”

  “I can’t wait to see them.”

  He smiled. “I’ll show you the next time you come.”

  They sat on a settee near the fire. Evelyn rang for a servant to bring a vase of water for the Christmas Camellia.

  Grinning, Colin stretched out his long legs and looked her over. “You look well. I trust you’re recovered from your little dip in the pond?”

  She took a sip of the wassail. “Yes. Mama keeps fussing over me, but I vow I’m quite well.” She touched his hand. “Thank you for your quick thinking yesterday. I was terrified but you were so calm and so brave.”

  A haunted expression entered his eyes. “I’m just glad you’re safe and well.” He gave her hand a squeeze and the darkness left, replaced by his usual good humor. “You may wish to wait until summer before you go for a swim again.”

  “Yes, most decidedly. And I believe I’ll leave off the skates. Treading water with those on was rather unpleasant.” She shivered, remembering her desperation, her terror. Pulling her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, she pulled her feet up.

  Colin smiled. “You always did sit like that, all curled up.”

  “It’s because I’m short. I don’t like my legs to dangle off the edge of the seat.” She finished off the rest of the wassail and handed the flask back to Colin. Warm and contented, she leaned back and looked up at her dear friend. “How can I ever thank you for pulling me out of the lake? And at your peril?”

  “No thanks necessary. I’d be a poor friend indeed if I left you alone.” Something soft entered his eyes. He tucked a hair behind her ear. “Do you think you’ll be well enough to attend the masquerade ball tonight?”

  “I’m fine, Colin, really. Thanks to your quick thinking, I spent all day yesterday either in a hot bath or in bed snuggled up to warming bricks, and I drank enough hot tea and chocolate to float away. Now, all I need to do is convince my parents I’m all right so I may attend the ball tonight.”

  “Well, let me see what I can do to convince them.”

  Evelyn leaned her head against the back of the settee and smiled up at him. “I’d be most grateful to you.”

  His lips curved upward. “I should take my leave. You probably want to rest.”


  “I ought to lie down; it would assure my mother that I’ve adequately rested and am fit for dancing.”

  He pressed her hand to his lips and stood. “Then I hope to see you tonight. Oh, and I feel I should warn you to beware of the mistletoe. Otherwise, some unscrupulous gentleman may try to lure you beneath its magical leaves.”

  Her hand tingled from his unprecedented kiss but she tossed her head saucily. “I may be the one doing the luring.”

  Chuckling, he bade her farewell. After taking a nap and enjoying afternoon tea, Evelyn began preparing for the ball. Abby arranged her normally straight dark hair artfully in a cascade of curls, and swept up the sides into diamond combs. As she stepped into her amethyst gown, she watched her reflection in the mirror, admiring the lines of the gown and the richness of both the color and the velvet fabric. If this didn’t turn Michael’s head, perhaps the mistletoe would.

  With little argument about whether she was fit enough to attend, Evelyn and her parents boarded the coach, bundled up against the cold. With hot bricks at their feet, they made the short trip to the home of Viscount Cavenleigh. By the time they arrived, Evelyn could hardly keep from bouncing up and down on her seat. Excitement left her breathless. After they donned their masks and lit from the carriage, they entered the ballroom separately and melted into the growing crowd. Anonymity made everyone reckless, and laughter filled the ballroom. Dancing had not yet begun, so the gorgeous chalk drawing that filled the floor was still unmarred, the family coat of arms embellished with Christmas angels and holly, all in pristine white.

  Evelyn sauntered casually among the throng, searching for Michael’s familiar form. Was that him? No, the hair was too light. Another caught her eye, and with the full mask covering his head, she couldn’t tell. But no, Colin had said Michael was wearing a gold Venetian half-mask. Good thing it was a half and not a whole, or she wouldn’t be able to kiss him even if she did lure him underneath the mistletoe. She smiled. Perhaps he’d be the one doing the luring. He’d been so concerned and attentive yesterday, and today had sent the flowers that anything was possible.

  The first dance was announced, a cotillion. As the music began couples lined up. Her mouth opened. Many of the gentlemen wore gold Venetian half-masks, although greatly varying in design. How would she ever find him?

  “If I may have this pleasure,” said a low voice.

  Evelyn turned. A tall gentleman wearing a fashionable black superfine suit stood next to her. A gold Venetian half-mask looked down at her. Full, sensitive lips, curved upward slightly. Were those Michael’s lips? With so much of his face covered, she couldn’t be certain who it was. But the height was about right.

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He offered his elbow and she took it. With confident strides, he led her to the dance floor where they lined up with the other dancers. As the dance began, she fixed her gaze upon him, trying to determine if it were, indeed, Michael.

  “Your mask is lovely,” he said formally. “The feathers give it an exotic look, and it looks superb with your gown.”

  “Thank you. I like yours as well. You look very mysterious and dashing.”

  His mouth curved upward again, but it was a controlled smile, as if he feared giving too much away. Or did he find her uninteresting? Hmm. Perhaps an unexpected conversation was in order.

  “Did you believe in Father Christmas when you were a boy?” she asked.

  He paused as if taken aback by her question. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did, much longer than I should have, I suppose.”

  “I did, too. I was very disappointed when I figured out he wasn’t real but now I enjoy giving gifts to others.”

  They separated, danced with another couple, then returned to dance together. He cocked his head slightly. “If you still believed in him, what would you ask him to bring you?”

  She thought for a moment while they were apart, and when they were brought together again, she smiled, “A pony.”

  He grinned. What a lovely smile he had. She’d never noticed Michael’s smile. But then, he seldom smiled of late. “A pony?”

  “Well, I wanted one as a child, and I never got one.”

  “Don’t you ride?”

  “Yes, but father’s horses were never as much fun as I imagined a pony would be. So, if I could wish for something, I would wish for a pony for the child in me who never got one.”

  He chuckled. “Anything else?”

  She sobered. “Not unless he could end the war and bring home my younger brother.”

  “That would be my wish, as well.” The smile faded from his face briefly, before it curved upward again. “That, and a new muffler.”

  “You’re fond of mufflers, then?”

  “My favorite one was ruined.”

  “I hear you have to be a really good boy to earn one of Father Christmas’s mufflers.”

  “Well, I’m good, but I’m not certain I’ve been that good.”

  She smiled, still trying to determine if the voice were, indeed, Michael’s. It was difficult to tell, since he seemed to be deliberately trying to alter it.

  “In fact,” he added, “tonight, I think I just may be a little bit naughty.”

  “Naughty? Oh, dear. You don’t want a muffler, then?”

  “Mistletoe has a rather strong pull. And with the anonymity of a mask, one might be tempted to do things he, or she, may not normally do, even with a muffler at stake.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” She lifted her chin. “I may fall prey to that same allure, given the right invitation.”

  “Or the right person?”

  “Hmm. It’s hard to know if it’s the right person with masks. I’d simply have to judge based on our reparteé during the set.”

  “Ah. How would you rate ours?”

  She pretended to think, all the while reveling in such daring behavior. “Well, you are a lovely dancer, and you’ve provided most diverting conversation. I’d have to consider further, though, to be certain.”

  “I see. If it were up to me, I’d drag you off to the nearest mistletoe. But I suppose that would be ungentlemanly.”

  She laughed softly at his audacity as shiver of nervousness, or perhaps excitement, ran down her spine. “It would be very ungentlemanly, indeed. But perhaps appropriate for a man in a mask.”

  The set ended and he bowed over her hand. “Thank you for standing up with me. It was a pleasure.”

  She curtsied. “The pleasure was mine.”

  “I hope to see you again this evening.”

  Smiling, she held up a hand in a partial shrug. “Perhaps.”

  He put a hand over his heart. “Dear lady, please do me the honor of standing up with me for the midnight dinner dance.”

  “The dinner dance? Are you certain? What if I take off my mask and I’m horrible? You’d be forced to have dinner with me anyway.”

  “I’m willing to take that risk to enjoy such charm and wit.”

  She cocked her head. “A gentleman of substance, I see.”

  “A man does hope.”

  “Very well, sir, the dinner dance.”

  He paused dramatically. “It’s a waltz, you know.”

  “Indeed it is.” She’d been given permission to waltz in London her first season, so she really wasn’t breaking any rules. Still, to waltz with this mysterious strange, whom she only thought might be Michael was very bold indeed.

  He grinned, kissed her hand again, and vanished into the crowd. Evelyn quelled the little cry of disappointment her heart made. Of course he couldn’t dance every set with her. Even though she wore a mask, she’d never risk being labeled fast. But at least she might have another dance with him later in the evening. She still wasn’t positive he was Michael, but he certainly had seemed like him, if a bolder, more lively version of the Michael she knew. Perhaps the mask had emboldened him, too. Either way, he’d piqued her interest.

  As she accepted another dance, she scanned the room, noting that
almost every doorway had a bundle of mistletoe hanging from the lintel. Each time she accepted to stand up with a new partner, she tried to guess their identity. Some were easy, the rector’s large hands gave him away; the slight halt to his speech revealed Colonel Griffith; and the thin man with exceptionally fine teeth, much like Colin’s, revealed the elder Mr. Stratford. Others left her completely puzzled. One of her partners might have been Colin, but he was so formal and sober, she couldn’t be certain. Gold Venetian half-masks adorned more than a dozen men, so there was no help from that quarter.

  As the ball progressed, she simply gave in and enjoyed the thrill of dancing. She watched for the man she believed was Michael, but lost him in the crowd. No matter. Michael Cavenleigh wasn’t going anywhere. Before the night ended, she’d kiss the man of her dreams.

  Chapter 4

  Colin smiled smugly. Evelyn hadn’t recognized him. Even when he’d mentioned a muffler, she hadn’t made the connection. Flirting with her in disguise was more fun than he’d imagined. He couldn’t wait to kiss her. He’d longed to for years, and after almost losing her yesterday, he vowed not to wait any longer. He must be bold.

  After leaving Evelyn, he danced every set, flirting with them all, and looking forward to the dinner dance when he would hold Evelyn in his arms. After which he’d kiss her and take off his mask.

  And pray she wasn’t too disappointed it was he and not Michael.

  As the midnight hour approached, Colin found Evelyn and positioned himself and his current partner next to her so they would dance in the same formation. She smiled and acknowledged him with a nod. As he danced first with his partner, who, by her trilling laugh, was surely the rector’s daughter, and then with Evelyn, he leaned in.

  “I believe the next will be the waltz. I look forward to it.”

  Her lips curved in a mysterious smile. “As do I, sir.”

  Evelyn moved gracefully through the intricate dance, laughing and smiling at the thin man she’d partnered as if he were the most important man in the room. Colin loved that about her. Her sense of fun mingled with deep caring for everyone. How unlike all those simpering misses he’d met during the tedious London seasons while he waited for Evelyn to grow up.