Once Upon a Christmas Knight

by Barbara Devlin

  All about her, the world collapsed. The floor seemed to pitch violently beneath her feet, and heretofore-innocuous trinkets came to life and mocked her with hideous laughter.

  She should have known better. Should have suspected the ugly truth—that no one could ever want her.

  Once papa and Percy passed, she slinked into the hall, in their wake. Tiptoeing at the rear, she lingered in the shadows, a familiar and comforting space, until Barrington and Florence boarded their coach, and the foyer emptied.

  Quick and sure, she ran across the entry and navigated the massive home, until she returned to the back parlor. It was then she doubled over and yielded to the pain and betrayal.

  Tears flooded her eyes, and she gasped for air, yet relentless agony tore at her gut and ravaged her senses. Glancing about, she spied her reflection in a wall mirror and gave vent to a sob of unutterable wretchedness.

  “You never should have believed in Percy.” She yanked the tight chignon of her coif and ripped her bodice. “How could anyone love you, stupid girl?” Outside, the wind whipped and howled, matching her tumultuous state, yet she studied her features. With clenched fists, she pummeled herself and whimpered. “I hate you.”

  Turning on a heel, she stared at the handle of the terrace doors, and she loomed at the threshold before she realized she had moved. The tempest beckoned, and in the storm she found refuge from the agony of her situation. With one last check of the room, she wrenched the latch, shoved open the door, and ran into the blinding gale.

  once upon a christmas knight

  chapter Five

  The shutters beat an ominous rhythm, as beyond the windows the storm grew in intensity, the mantel clock signaled the hour, in a series of heavy tones, and Percy downed the last of his brandy. It was then he realized Margaret never came to him, despite his summons.

  While he was in no hurry to inform her of her father’s dire circumstances, he remained confident in his ability to reassure her that all was well, and he would not let her family fall. Thus, he preferred to dispense with the unfortunate business, at the earliest opportunity, and put it behind them, as they planned their future. But as he reflected on the events of the day, it dawned on him that she made no appearance in the foyer, as he bade farewell to Barrington and Florence.

  Standing, he checked the time, which matched his pocket watch, frowned, and walked into the hall. When he strolled into the entryway, he discovered it empty save the butler.

  “Hobbes, where is Miss Hogart?” For some reason Percy could not explain, he struggled with a strange sense of foreboding. “And where is Lord Ernest?”

  “His lordship and Mrs. Howe have retired to their private apartment, with instructions that they are not to be disturbed.” Percy knew, without doubt, what that meant. The manservant clasped his hands behind him. “And I am unaware of Miss Hogart’s location. Shall I check her accommodation?”

  “No.” Percy was halfway up the stairs when he peered over his shoulder. “I will do it, myself.”

  On the landing, he glanced left and then right, navigated the gallery, and charged forth, quickly covering ground. Of course, he knew which room was hers, because twice he escorted her to her chamber and claimed a kiss, in the dark.

  Even then, he evoked the gentle tug of her hands, as she clung to him, the subtle rush of her breath, as he ravished the curve of her neck, and the whimpers she failed to stifle, as they rode passion’s tide.

  At her door, he smoothed the lapels of his grey coat, adjusted his cravat, and cleared his throat. Then he rapped his knuckles on the oak panel and rolled his shoulders. When she failed to answer, he repeated the action. When the third attempt yielded no response, he turned the knob, set wide the door, and peered into her sitting room.

  “Margaret, are you there?” To his surprise and confusion, she did not appear, so he wandered into her bedchamber, but she was not there.

  Then a thought occurred to him, and he partly retraced his steps, except he made for the music room. Yet, his lady was not there, either. When he walked into the hall, a chill shivered down his spine, and he ran toward the foyer, but he all but knocked over Mr. Hogart in the gallery.

  “Sir, by any chance, have you seen Margaret?” Percy grasped his future in-law by the forearms. “Is she with Mrs. Hogart?”

  “No.” Hogart shook his head. “I waited in my sitting room, for Beryl to wake from her nap, but she snores away, so I will apprise her of our circumstances, this evening, after dinner. Why do you ask? Is something wrong? Where is my daughter?”

  “I am not sure.” But Percy suspected something was amiss. He did not know why he felt that way, he just did. To a passing maid, he said, “Have you seen Miss Hogart?”

  “No, sir.” She curtseyed. “I am not Miss Hogart’s lady’s maid, and I do not tend her.”

  “I understand.” He raked his fingers through his hair, an irritating habit he detested, as it often betrayed his unrest. “Nonetheless, have Hobbes organize the staff and search the house, as Miss Hogart is missing.”

  “Right away, sir.” The maid scurried down the hall.

  “What can I do?” Hogart shuffled his feet. “Give me an errand, else I shall run amok.”

  “Supervise the check of the second floor.” Percy sprinted toward the landing. “I will organize the efforts on the ground floor.”

  Growing more agitated by the minute; he hunted his fiancée in the winter garden, the billiard room, the smoking room, the salon, and the library, to no avail. As he returned to the vestibule, the butler waved.

  “Sir, one of the footmen just informed me that a servant found the terrace doors ajar, in the back parlor, as she cleared the dishes from Mrs. Howe’s afternoon tea.” Hobbes furrowed his brow. “I checked the hall tree, and Miss Hogart’s pelisse, scarf, and gloves remain. Do you think it possible she ventured into the garden, in the snow, without her outerwear?”

  The world seemed to spin out of control, as Percy wondered, for the first time, if something upset Margaret. Given her unexplained absence, and the fact that no one could find her, it was obvious that something happened.

  But—what?

  “Hobbes, despite what Lord Ernest ordered, I need you to fetch him, now.” Percy snatched his heavy wool greatcoat from the hall tree. “Tell him to hurry, as the situation is grave, the sun sits low on the horizon, and we have little light left.”

  In seconds, Percy rushed into the back parlor, and all was quiet. As he crossed the room, he caught sight of his reflection in a wall mirror and frowned, as a shiver of awareness coursed his flesh.

  “Where are you, Margaret?”

  Beyond the terrace doors, the wind whistled and thrummed, and snow blanketed the earth, as he donned his coat and secured it at his throat. With his hand on the latch, he peered into the storm, ducked his head, and stepped onto the flagged surface.

  “Margaret, are you there?”

  Following the path, which the snow partially obscured, he scanned the rose garden but could find no sign of her.

  “Margaret.”

  Shielding his eyes, Percy surveyed the vicinity and sheltered near a tall hedgerow. Trailing alongside the natural barrier, he scoured the topiaries and continued to a tiny gazebo, which nestled near a line of trees. A flash of color caught his eye, and he discovered his fiancée, unconscious, beneath the canopy of a large oak.

  Just then, Ernest called to Percy.

  “Over here.” In haste, he doffed his coat, draped it over Margaret’s lifeless form, and lifted her in his arms. “I found her, but I need help getting her back to the house.”

  “Where are you?” Ernest replied.

  “Near the gazebo.” Stumbling, Percy tried to manage her weight, but the fierce winds buffeted them, the biting cold gnawed at his muscles, and he made little progress.

  Soon, a yellow glow signaled his cousin’s arrival, as Ernest carried a lantern, with Mr. Hogart slogging alongside.

  “This way.” Ernest veered to the right, as Mr. Hogart attempted
to assist Percy. “We can cut through the north terrace to the front door, as it is much faster.”

  By the time Percy and Mr. Hogart carried Margaret into the foyer, he was frozen, and he could only imagine what she endured.

  “My baby.” Mrs. Hogart wailed. “What happened?”

  “Do not worry.” Henrietta draped an arm about Mrs. Hogart’s shoulders. “We can send for a doctor.”

  “Not in this weather.” Ernest skipped up the stairs. “I cannot, in good conscience, risk it, as it grows dark. We must tend her, ourselves.”

  “Quick.” Percy tracked his cousin. “Stoke the fire in her room, as we must get her warm.”

  “First, we need to get her out of those wet clothes.” Henrietta snapped her fingers and to a servant said, “Bring plenty of fresh towels, hot tea, and some marrow broth, immediately.”

  “How long do you think she was out there?” Mr. Hogart retreated and clutched his wife’s hand. “And why did she do such a thing? What could have happened that she would be so careless with her person? Could it have been the news you shared with her?”

  “No, and I have no idea.” Percy strode through the sitting room and progressed into the bedchamber. With care, he eased Margaret to the four-poster and brushed aside a lock of her brown hair. “Because she never met me in the study, so I had no chance to tell her.”

  “But I sent her, as you requested.” Squatting, Ernest tended the hearth. “She bade farewell to Barrington and Florence and, I surmise, she did as I asked, as I saw her make for the study.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mr. Hogart rubbed the back of his neck. “We were discussing her dowry. Do you believe she heard us?”

  “I cannot say.” As he recalled the conversation, Percy studied her pale complexion and cupped her cheek. “But it would explain her behavior, and I owe her an apology, as I should have told her the truth, from the beginning.”

  “It will have to wait, as I need to undress her, and put her to bed.” Henrietta clapped twice. “Please, gentlemen. I need you to vacate this chamber.”

  “All right.” At the footboard, Percy gazed at his heartbreakingly beautiful fiancée and vowed to set things right at the first opportunity. “But I will be back, and I will stay with her until she wakes.”

  ~

  A familiar tune teased her ears, and Margaret seized on the melody, as it led her back from the land of dreams. It was Bach’s “Largo,” from Piano Concerto Five in F minor, the very composition she hummed as Percy led her in a waltz about the gallery, and she opened her eyes.

  “Hello.” Holding her hand to his chest, as he perched beside her, Percy smiled. “It is good to see you.”

  She wanted to say something—anything. Instead, everything came rushing back to her, and she burst into tears.

  “No, sweetheart, do not cry.” He scooted closer and wrapped his arms about her. “It is all right. You are safe, and you appear to be none the worse for wear, which is the answer to my prayers, because I have been so worried about you.”

  “Margaret Clare Hortence, just what were you about, going outside without your pelisse or gloves?” From the sitting room, Mama trod forth and stomped a foot, and Margaret knew she was in trouble. “Answer me.”

  “Now, just wait, Beryl.” Papa cast a sorrowful expression she did not quite comprehend, given he did nothing wrong. “I would know what sent our daughter into a storm that could have killed her.”

  “Patience, please.” Percy draped a shawl about her shoulders, and his tender attentions struck her as altogether hollow in the wake of her discovery. “I would know what upset my fiancée, and then I would have her rest.” As he caressed her cheek, he furrowed his brow, and she wondered why he maintained the pretense. “Talk to me, darling. Tell me what is wrong.”

  “I heard you speaking to my father,” she blurted none too elegantly. “I know you married me for my dowry, and you never wanted me.”

  “That is not true.” Percy raked his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I know what was said, and I accepted your father’s offer because I have always wanted you, but it has naught to do with your dowry.”

  “Do not doubt him, Margaret.” Father clutched Mama’s hand and drew her to his side. “This is all my fault, and Mr. Howe came to our rescue. I should have been more forthcoming, but I was ashamed, after I trusted someone I should not have given the time of day, and my foolish choices resulted in disaster. Even now, we linger on the brink of insolvency, much to my shame.”

  “What?” Mama started. “What nonsense is this, John? And why did you not tell me?”

  “How could I?” Papa shook his head. “I was certain I could evade the debtor’s noose, but it cinched tighter and tighter, with each passing month. By the time I sought Mr. Howe’s counsel and assistance, it was too late, and the damage was done.”

  So there was no mistake, and Percival did not want her.

  “How much does my father owe you?” She lifted her chin, in a feigned display of pride. “And why did you not tell me I am simply payment for services rendered?”

  “Sir, may I beg an audience with your daughter, in private?” Percy furrowed his brow and sighed. “There are things I must say, and I need no audience. As I am soon to marry her, I would ask you to indulge me.”

  “In light of all you have done for my family, of course.” Papa retreated and took Mama with him. “We will be in the sitting room, as I must, at last, share the details of my err in judgment. Call us if you require our assistance.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Although Percy spoke to her father, his gaze never left hers. “Now that I comprehend the whole of the misunderstanding, which almost cost me your precious life, I would correct your assumptions, because nothing could be further from the truth, as I want to marry you. I want you in my bed, as yours is the last face I would admire as I go to sleep and the first to which I would wake, every morning. I want you by my side, always.”

  “You need not wed me to achieve that, if my father is so deeply indebted to you.” She sniffed as she wept. “We both know how things work. You could demand an alternative arrangement, if it suits you, as I am but a pawn in a much larger game. And if my father’s finances are as dismal as you claim, then I am worth nothing, as you hold the power, and you need not wed me to demand my presence in your bed.”

  “Ah, but I want you legally required to be in my home, for the remains of my days. I would build a family, with you, because the past fortnight has been the happiest of my life.” From his pocket, he drew a handkerchief. “Here, sweetheart. Dry your face, as I cannot abide your tears or your misplaced sorrow.”

  When she unfolded the lace-edged square of linen, she noted a familiar monogram, as well as the unique scrollwork, and she slumped in the pillows. From the beneath the blankets, she produced the gentleman’s accouterment given to her, years ago, and compared the embroidery, which was identical.

  “It was you at the Netherton’s masque.” Hers was a statement, not a question, and she came alert. “Why did you not tell me? Why did you not reveal yourself?”

  “Hello, again, most cherished Margaret. I believe you know me as Prince Charming, but my initials, the overlapping P and H, on my handkerchief proudly proclaim me Percival Howe.” Grinning, he winked, as her heart raced. “And I remained silent because my family was embroiled in scandal, and I suspected your father would have denied my suit, which might have killed me.” He tucked a stray tendril behind her ear and cupped her chin, and the chill enshrouding her seemed to melt at his touch. “But I watched, waited, and plotted. And just when my situation resolved itself, your father sought my advice, you fell deliciously into my lap, and I have counted myself a most fortunate man, ever since.”

  “I know not how to believe you, but I desperately want to accept your explanation, as I need to have faith in you.” Lingering doubts hampered her ability to take joy in the moment, and she glanced at her portfolio, as there was one thing that could put her qualms to rest. “On the side table is a leather satchel. Will y
ou bring it to me?”

  “Anything you wish, my dear.” He did as she bade. “Here you are, as requested.”

  After untying the ribbon, she opened the folder and flipped through the myriad drawings, until she found the item she sought. For a while, she studied the charcoal image, and then she looked at Percy.

  “It is you.” With a tentative stroke, she trailed her fingers along the curve of his strong jaw, so familiar. “And I see it now, as you sit before me, because the likeness is unmistakable. How could I have missed the resemblance?”

  “Incredible.” He studied what she considered a crude composition. “You drew this from memory? From that single, brief meeting?”

  “But it was not just that once, as you occupied countless dreams, and I have envisioned your face, again and again, since that remarkable night.” Given his reasons for concealing his identity, she shook her head. “How could you think, for an instant, that I would ever reject you?”

  “Darling, Barrington was wanted for a murder he did not commit, our family name was dragged through the muck in all the gossip sheets, rumors ran rampant that Florence carried his child, he returned to discover my mother conspired with a servant to commit the heinous crime and pin it on Barrington, as well as to dispatch Ernest to his maker, in order to put me in charge of the marquessate, and the entire scheme came crashing down, in full view of the ton.” He snorted. “Even I can contrive no propitious circumstance in which your father could have, in good conscience, permitted you to marry me.”

  “Ah, there is that.” When she sat upright, the covers dropped to her waist, and his gaze traveled to her bosom, betraying his desire, which thrilled and emboldened her. “Percy, will you do something for me, to restore my faith, unreservedly?”

  “Anything, sweetheart.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “You have but to ask, as I am most definitely at your service.”

  “Have I your promise?” She inclined her head. “Whatever I require, you will yield?”