Mistletoe Kisses and Yuletide Joy

by Jo Beverley

  "Perhaps I'll choose the marriage instead."

  "I wouldn't if I were you." She looked down very briefly and then met his eyes again. "I hoped marrying me would be the lesser of some very evil evils, my lord, that is all."

  "I could call your family's bluff."

  She shook her head. "It's not bluff. They believe Celia. You have a reputation, you see, and you were in that cottage with her."

  Greystoke pushed off to pace the room, wishing he could get drunk, but he needed his wits about him now more than ever.

  He'd never touched Celia Guysley in an improper way. Unfortunately he had spent about a quarter of an hour in that ramshackle cottage with her last Michaelmas.

  He always did a thorough riding inspection of his property on Quarter Days, and when passing near the deserted cottage he'd heard weeping. Of course, he'd investigated and found a disheveled Celia Guysley in a riding habit, with a story of being thrown from her horse, becoming lost, and being terrified of bears.

  Bears!

  What sort of ninny could think there were bears in Cumberland? In any part of Britain, in fact?

  Even if she was a twit, she was a young lady in distress, so he'd done the honorable thing and calmed her before returning her to her home. That had been close to three months ago and now she claimed to be with child.

  "I could leave the area and wait it out." He threw it at the lying jade's sister like a spear. "Time will prove me honest."

  "Unless she truly is with child."

  "It won't be mine."

  "But you can't prove it. And if she claims to miscarry, you won't be in any better situation. You'll still have ruined her and be required to marry her."

  Her grim logic made him want to throttle her.

  He hadn't even had the satisfaction of making Celia Guysley lie to his face. She was, her weeping mother had said, too distraught.

  Had the Celia business been a ruse to force him to take the unmarriageable sister? He didn't know the Guysleys well -- they'd only leased Green Brow House two years ago -- but he wouldn't have thought them capable of that degree of cunning. On the other hand, she was here with marriage in mind.

  He remembered his mother's warning. During her visit last Christmas, she'd pointed out that the Guysleys were trying to capture him by means of their pretty daughter. He'd noticed the chit's blatant flirting, but been confident of dealing with her.

  His mother was a wise woman.

  The ugly daughter was pretending to study the chess board set before the fireplace, perhaps deliberately giving him opportunity to think.

  Unfair to call her ugly, he supposed. Beneath the padding of round cheeks and double chin, her features were as regular as her sister's. She had a firmer set to her lips, but that could come from this situation. Those lips were as nicely curved and her complexion was excellent.

  What's more, there might be cock-eyed merit to her plan. It wasn't a marriage he'd choose, but it would thwart Celia, which would give him great satisfaction, and avoid a dangerous duel.

  He knew little of this woman's character, however, and her sister's didn't augur well.

  On the other hand, she'd displayed calm, control and logical thought and he valued such things. He also admired her stillness as she waited for his move. He refused to be duped, but if her offer was honest, it could be the lesser of evils and give him victory of sorts.

  He considered the chessboard of his life and made a move.

  "Miss Guysley."

  She started as if she, too, had been lost in thought, but then she turned those apparently calm eyes toward him. Blue eyes. Ordinary, but as eyes went, acceptable.

  "Yes, my lord?"

  "You say you have slipped away without your family being aware of it. How?"

  "We are hardly prisoners at Green Brow, my lord. I retired to bed, then dressed again and left the house."

  "You walked here?"

  "It's only two miles, and there's a moon."

  "Weren't you afraid of bears?"

  She blinked at him. "Bears, my lord?"

  "They have been spoken of hereabouts," he said, tempted to smile as if they shared a joke. She was going to think him mad. "You will not be missed?"

  "No one intrudes on me after I have retired."

  "You don't sleep with your sister?"

  A wry smile twitched her lips. "Neither of us would like that."

  He went over it again, looking for danger. "You weren't afraid? I might easily be inclined to take my anger out on you."

  "You wish to add murder to your crimes?"

  The irony caught him unawares, but he liked her for it. It tipped the balance.

  "Then I propose this, Miss Guysley. If this is an elaborate deception, someone from your family has to have escorted you here and must be outside in case you need help."

  "It's not," she protested.

  "I must guard against it. If your father or brother is out there, after a time, they must come in to try to find out what's happened to you. Therefore, you will stay here until first light. Don't worry -- I have no designs on your virtue. If no one attempts to find out what has become of you, I will accept your story."

  "This is nonsense. If this is a plot, they'd be happy to have you compromise me."

  "That's been tried already."

  She frowned at him, but he saw impatience rather than fear or guilt. "Very well, my lord. And when nothing happens, you will accept my plan?"

  Her calm unnerved him and he hesitated. "Why are you willing to do this, Miss Guysley?"

  She gave him a wry look. "Why am I willing to marry a handsome, amiable, wealthy viscount? To leave the house where I am plagued by a selfish, tempestuous sister and neglectful parents, and an existence where I am considered beyond hope? I'm attempting to take ruthless advantage of my sister's wickedness, Lord Greystoke, with the happy satisfaction of averting tragedy at the same time."

  A laugh escaped him, but didn't last. In the end, he'd still be forced into a marriage he didn't want. He wished the entire Guysley family to hell and beyond and was strongly tempted to throw the grey mound out and let the devil do his worst.

  No, dammit. His better side would insist that he at least escort her home, even though there was, as she said, a moon.

  An excellent moon for traveling, which was why his mother, his younger brother, and his sister and her husband would arrive in three days. They'd arrive expecting merry Christmas and find what? A rural scandal? Him dead, or a murderer fled to the Continent?

  An unexpected betrothal would definitely the least of many evils.

  He realized with clarity that he'd far rather present this woman to his family as his Christmas surprise than Celia Guysley, pretty though she was.

  "You will stay here," he said, "and I will think more on this. At first light, we'll return to your home, either to sneak you back into the house or to announce our happy news."

  She met his eyes. "If I stay and we are not interrupted, my lord, you will accept that I'm telling the truth and we will announce our betrothal. But not like that. I will return to the house undetected and then later, I will inform papa."

  Impudent jade! "Your papa will ask why you didn't mention this detail today."

  "I was shocked. I didn't know what to do for the best."

  "Are you ever shocked, Miss Guysley?"

  "Of course, my lord."

  He wasn't sure he believed her.

  "Why did I not tell him of our understanding?" he asked. "I'm sure you have an answer for that, too."

  "I asked you to delay because Celia would be upset to think that you wished to marry me, not her." She glanced upward for a moment in thought. "In fact, I did tell her, which led to her producing this lie."

  He realized he was gaping and closed his mouth hard. "You are devious beyond belief!"

  Those eyes seemed unblinking. "A valuable talent in this situation, wouldn't you say? I've been completely honest with you, my lord. Do we have a bargain?"

  Fleeing the area and
the lot of them was tempting, but it would smirch his honor. And dammit, this was his home, his family's home for three centuries, and his family was en route for the traditional celebrations. His servants had doubtless baked cakes, boiled puddings, stirred mincemeat, and chosen the finest turkey, goose, and ham. He didn't want to be anywhere else.

  "Take off that dreadful cloak."

  The first hint of alarm showed. "Why?"

  "Because I don't know why you're hiding beneath it."

  She flushed again, but rose, undid the strings at the neck, and took it off. It made little difference.

  Beneath, she wore a dull blue dress. The color was dull, though it probably had a fancy name like "evening sky", but so was the design. It fit up to her neck and down to her wrists and was merely gathered beneath her ample bosom. The gown lacked all ornament except for some pin-tucks in the center of the bodice and a bit of braid around the hem.

  She'd been hiding in her cloak. Hiding because she knew she was unattractive. It was not the act of a cunning schemer, even if she was a pawn of a cunning family, and he didn't see Frances Guysley as anyone's pawn.

  There comes a time when thinking over a move served no purpose anymore. "Very well," he said, "we have a bargain."

  She blinked and something, a tremor perhaps, betrayed emotion. She was in control again almost immediately. "Good. Then where shall I sleep?"

  "Take the bed. I'll use the chaise."

  She gave him a wary glance, but then drew the curtains all around the bed and disappeared inside. She became silent so quickly that he doubted she tried to undress, though she'd have to take off the small, tight bonnet. What color was her hair? Some shade of brown.

  He finally allowed himself a glass of brandy as he sat staring into the fire, reviewing the play of the game. Who'd won, who'd lost?

  Probably Frances Guysley had won. He even smiled slightly over her precise enumeration of the advantages to her. The advantages to himself were all negative, but substantial. No marriage to a liar. No duel. No strife in his part of the country. No exile.

  His family and friends would wonder at the sudden betrothal, and at his choice, but that was his business. He'd have to make sure the Guysleys kept Celia's tongue under control.

  He rested his head back, trying to plan ahead. A Christmas wedding, he supposed. Might as well do it when some of his family would be here.

  A wife.

  He'd expected to marry at some point, but not yet.

  What would married life be like? It would shred his happy routines, of that he was sure. She'd want to change things here, and probably want to change him. Would she be happy to be left here when he went hunting in a few weeks' time?

  Could she move back to her family then?

  Hardly.

  Perhaps she'd become friends with his sister, Marian, and enjoy some time with her near Lancaster. Marian was brightly fashionable, however, and Frances was anything but.

  Could his mother do anything to ease this situation?

  His mother was not going to be pleased. She'd lined up any number of well-born, richly-dowered young ladies for him over recent years. He'd probably have to tell her the truth.

  Gads.

  He must sleep, for tomorrow would be little better than today. There was a bedroom next door and more down the corridor, but all the rooms would be icy and the beds damp. He raised the curtains so first light would wake him. Then he built up the fire, took a pillow, blanket, and quilt from the chest, took off some clothes, and settled as best he could on the chaise.

  <<<->>>

  By dawn's gray light, Frances Guysley looked down at her husband-to-be wondering how she'd ever had the nerve to come here and whether she should creep away while she had the chance. He must have taken off his coat and waistcoat, for above the blanket she saw only his shirt, sans cravat, collar open.

  He was the most dashing, handsome man she'd ever met. He favored the fashionable windswept look, but now his dark hair was simply disheveled. That and a firm mouth relaxed in sleep seemed strangely endearing.

  That was doubtless a dangerous deception. After Celia's wickedness, he could have no kind thoughts for any of her family. Her best hope was for benign neglect, but she would have won a home of her own.

  And children. She longed for children, though the thought of the process alarmed her.

  She'd spent much of the night going round and around the situation, honestly looking for another escape, especially for Greystoke and poor Peter. There simply wasn't one.

  Even this one was chancy. If Celia threw enough of a fuss, their parents might insist Greystoke marry her anyway and Frances had no idea how to fight that.

  Unless it was a fait accompli.

  She continued to stare at the man, breathing rather deeply at her outrageous thoughts. He stirred and his eyes opened. Instinctively she stepped back, as if guilty of trespassing.

  She saw puzzlement, then recall, then understanding.

  There had been no interruptions in the night from outraged relatives.

  "Good morning, my future wife," he said wryly.

  She felt her cheeks heat and wished such things were under her control

  "Second thoughts?" he asked.

  "Many, but I won't back out if you don't. Do you want to?"

  She saw him think, but he sat up, blanket falling to his waist. "No."

  He was still decently covered, but she turned away and went to see if there was a glimmer of life in the fire. There wasn't and the room was cold. She put on her cloak then turned to voice her plan. "I think we should elope."

  "What new madness is this?"

  She swallowed. "I've been thinking over it all. We can't be entirely sure that my parents won't persist in trying to force you to marry Celia." She halted, then asked. "Will you assure me again that you haven't fathered a child on her? If you have...."

  "Then I should marry her," he said. "I promise on my honor that it is completely impossible."

  Frances felt at least one burden slide away. "Thank you. But my family do believe her, you see. They can't imagine that she would make up such a thing, and Celia is Celia. She'll throw a fit, create a scene. It could be very unpleasant. But if we present ourselves married...."

  She met his eyes and saw the keen intelligence there.

  "…there could be no argument," he completed for her. "Devious again, Miss Guysley, but clever. We can be to Gretna and back by tomorrow evening, though a Gretna wedding doesn't appeal."

  "Nor to me, my lord. But there are other advantages. I don't relish the thought of living under the same roof as Celia during the normal delay before a wedding."

  "It daunts even you, does it?"

  "It shrivels me entirely."

  "But what will your family think when they find you gone this morning?"

  Good riddance? Frances thought. But that was unfair. Her parents would be concerned, especially Peter. Having arrived at this plan, she would not give it up. She paced the room, trying to stimulate thought and keep herself warm. She supposed there could be no fire without summoning a servant.

  "I'll send a note to say I've fled the unpleasantness to stay with our old governess in Maryport. It's flimsy, but by the time they discover I'm not there, we'll be back."

  She could see him thinking devious again, but he nodded and turned to pull on his boots. "I'll order the coach prepared and sneak you into it. In the meantime, sit in the next room, please." He unlocked an adjoining door. "It's an unused bedroom, so there's no reason for any servant to go in there and I'll have to summon my valet, for a shave if nothing else."

  And I need a chamber pot, she thought, but could not bring herself to say it. There were other practical requirements she could speak of.

  "Do you have a comb I can borrow, my lord?"

  He found one and gave it to her. "As we're to wed, why not call me Will?"

  She smiled politely, but against all logic it was beyond her.

  The mirror in the next room revealed her to be a w
orse sight than usual, with her hair escaping in straggles and her clothes creased because she'd slept in them.

  The comb ordered the hair, but the clothes couldn't be helped. What did it matter? Even tidy, she was fat and ugly, and she felt guilty about foisting herself on an innocent man, but she had no choice. It truly was the lesser of so many evils, but oh, poor Greystoke. She would come out of this with her life immensely improved, even if he was a cold and distant husband, but he would lose much.

  She'd do her best to minimize the harm.

  Chapter Two

  Within the hour, they were on the road to Scotland, thirty-four miles away, all bridges burnt.

  At least she was comfortable. Greystoke had brought a breakfast of sorts into the coach, so they were eating bread, cheese and pickles and filling glasses from a jug of small beer. Hot bricks wrapped in flannel warmed the carriage, especially her feet. She'd asked him for some books and when they'd finished the simple meal, she picked them up. She discovered a volume of sermons and three volumes of a gothic novel called Midnight Nuptials.

  Was that what he thought of her? Some strange blend of pious and silly? In the end she read some of the sermons for lack of anything better to do. He didn't seem inclined to conversation, and the winter scenery did not enthrall. The occasional stops to change horses provided only brief variety. All in all, she would have expected an elopement to be more exciting.

  Silence was broken when Greystoke checked his pocket watch. "We're about half way. We'll stop for food at the next change."

  Frances put away her book, but a pious ramble about the duties of marriage had raised a problem in her mind. "Did you bring a ring, my lord?"

  She almost heard the subvoce, Damnation. "No. We should be able to get one in Carlisle, or even in Gretna. They probably provide such things." He looked at her ruefully. "This is doubtless not the wedding you dreamed of."

  It clearly wasn't the wedding he dreamed of, if men ever dreamed of weddings at all.

  "It will serve our purpose," she said. "If we are to pause for the ring, perhaps we could buy some other items? A toothbrush. A change of linen. A nightgown..." Foolish to feel self-conscious about that. "We will have to spend a night somewhere."