Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The dessert and refreshments arrived, and Nicholas winked at his lady. Despite the other diners present, he broke with decorum and fed Mira delicate bites of the confection, as would a doting husband pamper his wife, and she voiced no protest. Brimming with the thrill of victory, he helped her with her pelisse, and they ventured forth into the snow.

  “The coach waits in the next block.” With Almira gripping his arm, he steered her through the crowded sidewalks, until she drew up short. White as the icy blanket that covered the earth, she stiffened her spine and gave vent to a strangled cry of distress. “Darling, what is wrong?”

  Shaking violently, she remained mute and rooted to the spot. Imprisoned by some invisible terror, she resisted his efforts to move her, so he bent and swept her into his arms. In minutes, he carried her to his rig, and the footman opened the door. When Nicholas attempted to deposit her on the bench, she refused to let go, so he maneuvered with care, until he could safely situate her in his lap.

  As the equipage lurched and eased into the lane, he lowered the shades, checked the position of the tin foot stove, retrieved the blanket from the squabs, and tucked the wool about Mira. For several minutes, he just held her while she shuddered and whimpered. At last, when he could take no more, he tipped her chin and set his lips to hers.

  It was a kiss meant to soothe, to calm.

  Soon, she relaxed in his embrace, speared her fingers through his hair, and engaged him in an aggressive tryst. Summoning every scrap of control, he caught her wrists as she tugged at the hooks of his breeches.

  “Nicholas, why do you reject me?” Collapsing against his chest, she sighed. “Have you not considered this fortnight might be our only chance at happiness?”

  “Because I want to wait until we are properly wed, thus I am not rejecting you, and why do you speak like that?” What was she hiding? “Talk to me, Almira.”

  “I will make you a bargain.” Huddled beneath the blanket, she hugged him about the waist. “On New Year’s Day, I will tell you everything. For now, let us have the holidays, I beg you.”

  “All right, sweetheart.” Of course, he neglected to mention that she would be his wife by then.

  T

  Hovering over a large bowl, in keeping with Stir-Up Day, Almira clutched the traditional wooden spoon, which signified Christ’s manger, closed her eyes, stirred in a clockwise rotation, and made her secret wish, as the eccentric collective of relations gathered in the kitchen at Courtenay Hall, to assist the household staff in making the plum pudding and a selection of fruitcakes. A cheer erupted, and she laughed and passed the spoon to Nicholas.

  “It is your turn.” Now, if only her dream came true.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” Thrilled by his overt term of endearment, which might have scandalized other, more conservative families, she poised on the opposite side of the table, as he held her stare and participated in the ritual. Although he said nothing aloud, his playful countenance spoke volumes. “I know precisely what I want.”

  “Will you tell me?” She stuck her tongue in her cheek, as if she had any doubts.

  “Not a chance.” Flicking his fingers, he beckoned, and she answered the call without hesitation, because in the Randolph household, spontaneous displays of affection were quite commonplace and expected. “Shall we bedeck the house in holly and evergreens, my dear?”

  “Oh, yes.” Holding his hand, she skipped into the foyer.

  With joy in her heart, she tied various festive fronds, which Nicholas held in place, to the bannister and trimmed everything with colorful red ribbon. Twice, Dalton and Dirk enacted a mock battle, using branches as makeshift swords, and the party devolved into one big mock joust, with the men charging, at will, and the ladies cheering their respective swains.

  “Will you stop playing games and finish decorating the tree?” Frowning, Blake hefted one end of the heavy Yule Log, with Ross bringing up the rear. “Or must I do everything?”

  “My poor darling.” Lenore availed herself of his vulnerable position to steal a kiss. “Should I let you open a present, tonight?”

  “It is rather odd, is it not?” Almira asked, in a low tone. “We never had a tree in my home.”

  “Neither did we, as my father considered it frivolous.” With a boyish grin and seemingly boundless energy, which tugged at her heart, Nicholas affixed another festoon of greenery. “Then again, ornamenting a tree is an uncommon and rather new tradition, which Queen Charlotte, the wife of King George III, introduced during holiday celebrations at Windsor, in eighteen hundred.”

  “Still, it is rather charming, is it not?” As she glanced at the tall yew holding pride of place in the drawing room, she envisioned Nicholas, sitting on the floor and bouncing a babe on his knee. Despite their outward affinity, an undercurrent of tension marred the otherwise perfect evening. “Indeed, it is the stuff of fairy stories.”

  In silence, Almira uttered thanks for her beau’s discretion, because not once did he broach the subject of her embarrassing collapse on the streets of Portsmouth. Never had she expected to spot one of Lodge’s associates in the seaside community so far removed from London, and the experience caught her off guard. Although she wanted to explain the cause of her terror, she had not divulged the circumstances of her marriage, and she feared Nicholas’s reaction to the horrible truth, but on that night, she resolved to think only good thoughts.

  Still, when someone pounded on the door, she jumped. “Who could that be?”

  “Gather round, everyone, because the carolers are here.” Daphne clapped twice. “Dalton, inform Mrs. Jones that we are ready for the trays of shortbread and pots of wassail.”

  It had been years since Almira participated in such spirited merriment and camaraderie, and she realized, in that moment, how much she missed the simple pleasures of the season. Like a helpful hostess, she set doilies on the side table, so Mrs. Jones could arrange the refreshments.

  Soon, angelic voices echoed in the foyer. Assembled in the entry hall, and hugging a steaming cup of the spicy beverage, Almira stood before Nicholas and sang various carols, including her personal favorite, “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks at Night.”

  “Are you warm enough, my sweet girl?” Perched behind her, he hugged her about the waist. “Should I fetch your wrap?”

  “No.” Resting against her man, she peered at him. “You do the job, admirably.”

  “Ah, my lady flirts with me, and I like it.” As the group launched into another song, he led her to the drawing room. “I noticed Dalton hung the kissing bough, my dear. Shall we give it a go, given there are berries aplenty?”

  Looming as a specter of doom, a ball of mistletoe, adorned with a bright red bow, dangled from a piece of twine, and she recalled the associative lore. It was believed, since the Middle Ages, that any young lady who refused a kiss beneath the kissing bough would not wed in the next year, but that did not frighten her. Rather, it was the possibility of disappointment, should she yield only to have her hopes dashed.

  “Might we wait, until a more opportune moment presents itself?” As he enfolded her in his arms, she bowed her head. “If I give you what you want, and you refuse me, I would not survive your rejection.”

  “We travel full circle.” Resting his chin to her crown, he sighed, in a mournful expression that touched her very soul. “And I have not done right by you, if you doubt me, thus.”

  “It is not your fault I am a coward.” It struck her as the height of unfairness, that he should represent her greatest strength and her most lethal weakness. “Can we postpone the ritual, until I make my full confession? After that, if you are amenable, I should bestow upon you a thousand kisses.”

  “All right.” He pulled her from beneath the kissing bough to linger near the window. “But I would caution you not to delay, too long, because no more kisses may be claimed, once all the berries are gone. And this I vow, when next you journey to London, you will do so as my bride.”

  Then Nicholas bent his head and claim
ed her lips, and Almira forgot everything.

  HOLD ME, THRILL ME, KISS ME

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In a show of nature’s splendor Nicholas interpreted as a good sign, Christmas Day boasted a clear blue sky and calm seas, and he stood at the window of his bedchamber, dressed for the ball and cursed with nervous anticipation, because he planned to propose to Almira in full view of the guests. Then he would claim that kiss beneath the kissing bough, in celebration of their impending nuptials.

  With a betrothal ring tucked in the breast pocket of his black formal coat, he strode through the sitting room, into the hall, and met his lady on the landing. “Oh, my sweet girl, you look beautiful.”

  “Thanks to you.” Stunning in the gown of luxurious burgundy velvet, with her hair coifed in countless loose curls, she rotated for his delectation. “Do I meet with your approval, kind sir?” Then her elegant demeanor broke, and she splayed her palms to his chest. “You are wearing the crème and gold waistcoat I gifted you, only this morning.”

  “I shall treasure it, always, because you gave it to me.” And it would forever remind of him the night she accepted his suit. “Are you wearing the silk hose I procured to grace your luscious legs?”

  “Nicholas.” Glancing from left to right, she bit her lip, retreated, and lifted her skirt. He could have dropped to his knees, then and there. “Only for you, my darling.”

  “Almira, if we did not have to attend the party, I would lock you in my apartment and have my wicked way with you. But we are not properly wed, so I will suffer in silence.” As would a gentleman, he extended an arm. “Shall we join everyone in the grand ballroom?”

  “Yes, please.” Bouncing on her heels, she stepped aside and accepted his escort. Together, two of the most notorious figures in London society cut the picture of poise and refinement, with nary a hint of scandal, as they descended the staircase.

  The ballroom at Courtenay Hall featured the same unique Rococo décor, including mezzo-frescoes in the Tiepolo style, vivid pastorals, and gilt-bronze floor to ceiling mirrors framed with abstract and asymmetrical stuccowork distinct to the palatial estate. But the signature attraction was a ceiling mural composed of an impromptu outdoor celebration. In the resplendent, colorful landscape, gentry frolicked amid the woods, and couples hid amid the trees, engaging in licentious trysts, while chubby cupids flew overhead, firing arrows into azure heavens.

  In the corner, a quartet sounded practice notes. Near the double-door entry that led to the family dining room, numerous tables had been set with the finest linen, china, crystal, and silver, in order to provide the primary inhabitants of Portsea Island’s community an extravagant affair.

  “Almira, your dress is a work of art.” Daphne glanced at Nicholas and dipped her chin, which clued him that all had been arranged, per his specifications. “And I wonder if you might help me welcome the guests, as I cannot possibly greet everyone, and I would ignore no one.”

  “I would be honored, Daphne.” Facing him, Almira curtseyed. “Pray, excuse me, my lord.”

  “Of course.” With a flourish, he bowed, and he counted her answering giggle a priceless boon.

  “In so short a span, your lady is much changed, Nicholas.” With a narrow stare, Blake studied Almira. “Had I not known her prior to your reunion, I would not recognize her now.”

  “It is remarkable, indeed.” Dalton shook his head. “She is a different person.”

  “Actually, she is her former self.” Nicholas could only hope he was partly responsible for her miraculous transformation, because he was as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night. “This is the Almira I knew, when we were young and in love. I told you, she is a sweet, gentle girl at heart.”

  “Then it was worth the gamble.” Blake rested a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “In all the excitement this morning, with the children, I never got a chance to thank you for the bundle of letters.”

  “Your Grace, it is the least I can do, given you upheld your end of the bargain.” Nicholas admired Mira’s profile, committing every subtle nuance to memory, as he wanted to forget naught on the special occasion of their engagement. “And you have my word, as a gentleman, even if the King revokes my title, I will provide sworn testimony to aid your case against my brother, because it is the right thing to do.”

  “I owe you a debt I can never repay, Waddlington.” As Lenore strolled into the chasmal chamber, Blake waved to her. “If Damian were here, he would agree with me, because the safety of Lenore and Lucilla is our chief concern.”

  “But you did as I asked, granting me the opportunity to win my lady, which is far more precious to me than any false family loyalty I might extend my worthless younger brother.” Just then, the hostesses beckoned. “It appears we are to join the receiving line.”

  And so Nicholas assumed his place at Mira’s side, a position he committed to fill for the remains of his days. With pride, he stood as her partner, as she extended salutations, and he pretended she was his wife, inserting bits of levity into their shared conversation—until a well-groomed stranger addressed her, and everything changed.

  “Lady Moreton, this is an unexpected pleasure.” Tall and strapping, the somewhat awkward brute kissed her knuckles, and she stiffened noticeably. “May I have the honor of the allemande?”

  “Mr. Glendenning, it has been a long time.” Lines of strain marred her heretofore relaxed and buoyant countenance, and Nicholas wondered about the connection between the high-ranking noblewoman and the ruffian. “And the honor is mine, sir.”

  “Lord Waddlington, I presume?” The visitor smirked. “I have read a lot about you in the newspapers.”

  “Indeed?” Nicholas ignored the insult, because he was too curious about the newcomer to take offense. “You have me at a disadvantage, as I do not believe we are acquainted.”

  “Ralph Glendenning.” The buffoon offered a curt nod of obeisance. “I own several shops in London and Portsmouth.”

  “So you are a tradesman?” Nicholas sniffed. “Well that explains it. You are excused.”

  A shade of red spread from Glendenning’s collar to his not-so-smug face, and Nicholas gave his attention to the next guest. At his right, Almira exhaled, and he peered at her and winked.

  After completing their duties, they separated to mingle with the crowd, because he intended to keep a close watch on Glendenning. So when Nicholas discovered the outsider all but dragging Mira from the ballroom, he gave pursuit.

  In the hall, he hugged the walls, skulking in the shadows, and Glendenning led Almira to the drawing room, whereupon he shut the doors, and the hair on Nicholas’s neck stood on end. At the oak panels, he paused and lent an ear, that he might eavesdrop on the discussion. When she gave vent to an unmistakable objection, he burst into the chamber.

  “What in bloody hell is going on here?” Angered in an instant, because Almira wrestled with the blackguard, Nicholas charged the fore. “Unhand the lady, now.”

  “See here, Lady Moreton and I are old friends.” The bastard licked his lips. “She and I are on intimate terms, so to speak, and how well I remember her warm and inviting mouth. Is that not correct, my dear?”

  “I beg you, please, say no more.” Sheer terror ravaged her expression, and she shoved free of her oppressor. “Oh, Nicholas, I am so sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” He bared his teeth. “The villain assaulted you.”

  Just then, Dalton, Daphne, Dirk, Rebecca, Blake, and Lenore appeared in Nicholas’s wake.

  “What happened?” Dalton peered left and then right. “What is wrong?”

  “That scoundrel slandered Almira.” Clenching and unclenching his fists, Nicholas squared his shoulders and set his sights on Glendenning. “And in the name of Lady Moreton, I challenge you.”

  “Nicholas, no.” Almira turned and faced him. “Although it kills me to admit it, Mr. Glendenning speaks the truth.”

  “What?” A chill shivered down Nicholas’s spine.

  “I wanted to tell you. I tried
to tell you, but you would not listen.” With a mournful sob, she shrugged. “And then I did not want to ruin the holiday, because I feared you would never want me, once I explained the horrible reality that was my marriage to Lodge, and that is why I delayed the inevitable.”

  “Dalton, close the doors.” Daphne shifted to one side. “I expect we require privacy.”

  “What is it, Mira?” Stifling further protestations, Nicholas inhaled a deep breath and braced himself. “What did he do to you?”

  “For you to fully comprehend my reality, I should begin with my wedding night, as it set the tone for my union.” With arms folded, Almira shivered, and he ached to comfort her. “If you recall, I was but six and ten and quite the provincial. As I dreamed of you, because we were so in love, with grave trepidation I awaited my new husband. Late that evening, Lodge brought three men, dirty rogues who appeared to have come straight from the docks, into my bedchamber and proceeded to auction my maidenhead, my bottom, and my mouth. Once the bidding ended, the fiends stripped me bare, held me down, and claimed their prize, and I cried the entire time. And my dear husband, who only a few hours before pledged to protect me, perched in a chair in the corner, sipped his brandy, and laughed at me.”

  “My God.” Blake pulled Lenore into his arms, and the women gave vent to a collective gasp of shock.

  “But the torture did not stop there.” To Nicholas’s unimaginable regret, Almira continued her dreadful history, with tears streaming her cheeks. “He told you, that day on the steps, that I would learn my place, and I did. Henceforth, Lodge brought various friends and associates to my room, and I performed, on command, whatever they required, because any rebellion was met with the harshest discipline, and his punishments were unspeakably cruel, thus I endured three years of his abuse.” In that second, Almira uncrossed and crossed her arms, and then she collapsed.

  “Just a minute.” Glendenning shuffled his feet. “Let me assure you I am no rapist. I thought she wanted it. I had no idea Lady Moreton had been forced, else I never would have used her.”