Visions of Mistletoe: A Ridlington Christmas Novella

by Sahara Kelly

  “Yes. We have done well.” She watched her family as they played, laughed, rolled in the grass and enjoyed themselves in whatever way met their fancy. “By the way, that day in the graveyard? I’m not sure I ever mentioned it, but I think I fell in love with you at the exact moment the casket hit your head…”

  Edmund burst out laughing at the memory, a rich, happy sound that echoed around the field and brought answering smiles to the faces of those who heard it.

  Yes, they had done well.

  Very well indeed.

  THE END

  If you missed...

  Any of the exciting Ridlington adventures, all six books are currently available for your reading pleasure.

  Book 1 - Edmund’s story – The Landlocked Baron.

  Book 2 - Simon finds love – St. Simon’s Sin

  Book 3 - Letitia asserts her womanly strengths – Word of a Lady

  Book 4 - Kitty gets into trouble – The Mistress Wager

  Book 5 - Richard meets some otherworldly beings – Blackmail and the Bride

  Book 6 - Hecate stumbles into a mystery – Heart in Hiding

  And yes there are two Christmas novellas featuring characters from this series; here’s a quick peek...

  Mistletoe Masquerade

  (released Christmas 2017), so this will take place after Letitia’s story in Word of a Lady:

  Chapter One

  The problem of Harriet Selkirk had been bothering Paul DeVoreaux like a mildly irritating toothache. It wasn’t the woman herself, but her situation that had him frowning at times. Her history with her truly awful Aunt and Uncle was appalling; and her desire to vanish understandable.

  Bumping into Letitia Ridlington, and becoming her “maid” had solved the problem temporarily, and also cemented a friendship between the two women. But now, with Letitia about to be married and move to FitzArden Hall with her new husband…well, Harriet knew it was time for her to make changes.

  Paul agreed.

  There was something about her he found appealing beyond the ordinary set of virtues. She was pretty, of course. Some might say beautiful. She was intelligent, well-read and not afraid to voice her opinions in conversation.

  She could also blend into a crowd so well you wouldn’t notice her even if you were looking for her.

  Which was all well and good, but no help in determining what she was to do with herself now that Letitia no longer needed a maid. Paul decided it was time to lend a hand…and perhaps solve a small problem of his own. They both needed to lay low, to hide away from the light of public scrutiny and let London Society roll on without them.

  Hence their ride through the bitter cold of a late afternoon in December. They’d hoped to make an earlier start, but as Paul well knew, women took forever to say goodbye, even if it was just for a short walk.

  But finally they had arrived…and there it was. As she had said, a fairy-tale concoction of a hunting box, designed with whimsy and charm. He seriously doubted that the Right Honorable Jonathan Inchworthy had ever allowed a hound near the place. He didn’t personally know the man, but his name was familiar. The only hunting he was known for was that of the newest wealthy debutante, or the latest in notorious mistresses.

  But Paul wasn’t about to mention that to Harriet. There were a few other things he chose to keep to himself as well. For now, anyway. Things concerning a future which was uncertain, to say the lease.

  They arrived at the front door, and she looked at him. “Will your key allow us to enter here? Or is there a servant’s door at the back?”

  Paul blinked. “Damn. I forgot we’re supposed to be below stairs.” He grinned. “However, since it’s dark as the night, I doubt anyone will fuss unduly if we use the front door. And I’m pretty sure this is the right key.

  Suiting words to action, they dismounted, unfastened their bags and let themselves into the darkened house, since Paul’s assumption had been correct. He did have the front door key.

  Harriet peered into the gloom. “Might there be lamps, do you think?”

  There was a bump and an oath. “I think I found a big one.” Paul lit a lucifer and the glow revealed a large statue, shaped like a rather slender doe on her hind legs. A lamp dangled from her mouth, but it was devoid of candles.

  “Good grief.” Harriet blinked. “That’s rather…er…”

  “Outlandish? Garish? Other words ending in -ish?”

  “Well, it’s not my taste, but I’m sure someone loved it. They must have.” She touched it with the tips of her fingers. “A good dusting and that bronze will glow.”

  “Add it to the list,” muttered Paul, looking around at the front hall.

  From the little he could see, there was enough dust and dirt to keep Harriet busy for a month, but looming shapes told him that at least some of the furniture had been covered when the last tenants departed.

  “Let’s see if we can locate a usable room,” he suggested. “I don’t think we should even try going upstairs right now. It’s too dark and if there’s a problem with the stairs…”

  Harriet’s gulp was audible in the silence. “You have a good point.” She sighed. “We should see if we can start below stairs. Where would there be a parlor?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but I can say that I see a candle here. On this little side table.” Triumphantly, Paul lit another lucifer and the bright flare of illumination as the wick caught brought a smile to his lips. “Now. About that parlor…”

  *~~*~~*

  Harriet caught a glimpse of his face in the candlelight, all honed cheekbones and smiling lips. He exemplified the Byronic hero so many of his contemporaries emulated, but few achieved.

  She wondered how he’d remained unwed, then recalled the terrible scandal that had driven him from his family and his country for so many years. Her heart ached for him; she was only too aware of what loneliness could be, and he must have experienced it in great measure.

  “This looks promising…” He moved to a door and pushed it open. “Aha. Once again the amazing DeVoreaux instinct triumphs.”

  It had indeed. A large staircase led downward and within moments they were in the servants’ area below stairs. A good-sized kitchen confronted them and a corridor leading off to one side promised more rooms. He opened the first door, and grinned, walking inside. “Am I brilliant?”

  Whisking off covers, Paul traversed the room, wielding the sheets like a magician revealing a well-upholstered rabbit.

  “Oh, this is perfect.” Harriet smiled as two large sofas appeared. “Do you think we dare risk a fire?”

  He walked to the hearth, bent low, then nodded. “There’s ash here, and it isn’t ancient.” He peered as far up the chimney as he could, and moved the damper, backing away as he did so, just in case. “No debris stuck up there either. I think we can risk it.” He looked around. “We have to risk it. It’s getting damn cold.”

  “Well, if we can build a fire, that will go a long way to warming things up.” She surveyed the room. “The curtains are old, but sturdy, and I’m happy to say I see no signs of other residents.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Mice.”

  “Ah.”

  A sound behind them made them both jump, and a pair of shining eyes sparked a gasp in Harriet’s throat.

  “Meow.”

  She heaved a breath of relief. “Well that explains that. Hullo, little one. Thank you for keeping the house clean.”

  The cat disappeared, as cats are wont to do, and Paul chuckled. “Very smart to leave a cat on guard. Now. Let’s see if the kitchen works.”

  They continued their investigations, pleased to discover that the basics for a comfortable evening were at hand.

  There was a pump in the kitchen, and only a few steps to an attached outhouse.

  Fresh water was welcome, and when a cache of candles was discovered, they happily illuminated both kitchen and parlor.

  Paul made good on his promise to light fires, starting up the stove with ease, thanks to
dry kindling and several large logs tucked in one corner. Then he announced he’d see to their horses, and bring in their meager baggage.

  Harriet found a kettle and a little tea, so although there was no milk, they could have something warm to drink when he returned.

  All things considered, it had been better than she’d expected, and as she settled onto “her” sofa and tucked her cloak snugly around her, she said as much to Paul.

  “This is a lot better than it could have been, isn’t it?” She stared into the glowing fire.

  “Yes, indeed. The stables are sturdy and intact, as one would expect for a hunting box, and there’s hay there. I think there may be a paddock…I’ll check in the morning to see if we can turn them out to graze for a bit. We are quite lucky,” Paul yawned. “Let’s hope it holds.”

  She nodded. “We need to stock the pantry, of course. And I suppose we need to make sure our story coincides, because if the villagers of Pineneedle Drift are anywhere near as nosy as those of Ridlington Vale, they’ll be on us like a pack of hounds scenting a fox.”

  “Well put,” he answered. “But I think we’ll be all right. If we just keep telling them that we’re servants, and we don’t know who our master—that’s Mr. Jonathan Inchworthy, remember—is inviting down for a hunting party, they should accept that without much question.”

  Harriet nodded and pushed at the cushion beneath her head. “I hope so.”

  “Best say we’re from London,” he added, his voice thoughtful. “Looking to get away from the dirt and hustle.”

  “Agreed,” she said, warmth seeping through her. “Do we know anything about these guests you said might arrive soon?”

  “Not a thing, I’m afraid. The whole matter was conducted by mail, and I have a horrid feeling one or two letters might have been lost on the way. All I know is that a small party wished to spend Christmas out of town, for whatever reason. They’ll be leaving after Boxing day, I believe.” He yawned. “We’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

  A comfortable silence ensued, broken only by the popping of the logs on the fire. The room glowed gold, the flames flickering oddly over the carved cornices.

  She jumped a little as something landed on her feet, but the ensuing tiny meow and kneading sensation on her cloak reassured her it was only the cat joining them in the warmth.

  “You need a name,” she murmured.

  “Paul,” muttered a sleepy voice.

  “The cat, silly…”

  A snore was the only response. And it was a comforting sound that lulled both Harriet and her feline bedmate into a sound sleep.

  Of course the fun begins when the hunting party arrives – and it’s not just game they’re looking for. Paul and Harriet have to be creatively inventive…but they’re both up to the task. It’s the whole falling-in-love business that upends their lives!

  Music and Mistletoe

  (released Christmas 2018), so this will take place after Hecate’s adventure in Heart in Hiding:

  Chapter One

  “Grace, what the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  Max Seton-Mowbray stalked down the impressive staircase of Mowbray House to see his sister standing beside several valises, tying her bonnet beneath her chin.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “What does it look like, brother dear? I’m going home. And don’t shout at me like that. I’m your older sister, remember. I deserve a little respect.”

  Max sighed. “You’re leaving. The day before the only real concert in town this month. The one it took me three weeks to get seats for. The one you said you wanted to attend more than anything.” He frowned, his forehead crumpling with the force of it. “Two days before Christmas. This was to be a special gift, Grace. How could you?”

  She lifted a hand to her face, the fingertips finding the roughened skin of the scars that criss-crossed her skin from eyebrow to earlobe. “You know why. I can’t do it, Max. I thought I could. I wanted to. But this morning, when I awoke, I knew immediately. I just cannot do it.”

  “Let’s talk about it.” He took her hand.

  “There’s nothing to discuss.” She withdrew her hand.

  “Don’t make me do it…” he threatened.

  “You wouldn’t…”

  “Hah. You’re so wrong…” He grabbed her in a practised move and tossed her bodily over his shoulder.

  She shrieked. “Max, dammit, put me down, you oaf.” She pummelled his back with her fists, to no avail. He was taking her into the parlour whether she liked it or not.

  “Do you need any assistance, sir?”

  “No thank you, Deery. I can manage. But answer the door will you? I believe I heard a knock.”

  Her brother’s nonchalance irritated Grace beyond belief. “Put me down, Max. This is most unseemly of you.”

  “Unseemly?” He ignored her attempts to shatter his spine. “Unseemly is trying to walk out of your brother’s house without a farewell or explanation. Unseemly is turning your back on a special treat that someone—that would be me—worked quite hard to procure.” He dropped her into a chair.

  She bounced back to her feet. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the thought.” She poked a finger in his chest. “I do. I thanked you several times. But you know damned well why I always run away at the last minute.”

  “Stop poking me and don’t swear,” reprimanded Max.

  “You are my brother not my mother. As such, I love you dearly but I will not—repeat not—be bound by your every command. You are overbearing, arrogant and how Kitty puts up with you I have no idea at all.”

  At this point Max winced, since her voice was approaching the level of a flock of screech owls.

  “And in addition, if I want to leave I shall leave. I think the time of asking your permission is well past, dear brother. In fact, there never was a time I needed your permission for anything. So I’m going to leave whether you like it or not.”

  She stalked around him, nose high in the air, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Give the tickets to someone else.”

  Marching to the door, she promptly caught her boot on the edge of the carpet and cannoned forward—right into a rather elegant waistcoat.

  Swept off her feet by a pair of strong arms, she let out a tiny squeak of surprise.

  “Oh blessed are the gods for delivering the most delicious of fruits into my grasp,” said Sir Peregrine Hawkesbury. “My prayers fell not upon deaf ears, since the tree of delight has offered up such sweetness.”

  Max rolled his eyes at the sight of his sister held high against his friend’s chest.

  Grace looked up at her saviour’s face, a degree of scepticism on her countenance. “Shakespeare?”

  “Hawkesbury. I’m sure the bard has an apt quote for this moment, but damned if I could think of one. So I improvised.”

  Deery stepped forward. “Sir Peregrine Hawkesbury has arrived sir.” His voice was level, as if seeing guests catch ladies in their grasp was a routine matter at this hour of the morning.

  “The master of the obvious,” muttered Max. “Thank you, Deery. Is there tea?”

  “There is always tea, sir,” bowed Deery. “And since this is your abode, I need not mention that there is also food awaiting your presence in the small salon. I believe you know the way.” He strode off, back rigid, missing Max’s grin.

  “Don’t know what I’d do without you, Deery,” he called after the retreating butler.

  “Neither do I, sir.” The answer was faint but clear.

  “Damned help. Getting above themselves these days.” Max turned to Perry. “You can put her down anytime. Her brain may have departed, but her legs still work and she’s no lightweight as I just discovered.”

  “I do so adore such overt demonstrations of familial affections,” said Perry, letting Grace slide to the floor from his grasp, and tugging at his waistcoat. “Thou could’st never be a burden to these arms, my sweet,” he said to her, “Since thy smile has put wings on my heart.”

  “Do give over
, Perry,” admonished Grace, straightening her skirts. “But thank you for catching me. Which you wouldn’t have had to do if my insanely arrogant brother hadn’t angered me to the point of…of…” she ran out of words.

  “Point non-plus?” suggested Perry.

  “Yes. That.” Grace smiled at him. “Your quotations may need work, but your ability to find the perfect expression is flawless.”

  He bowed. “You honour me. Now then. Since Deery mentioned tea and food, I have discovered myself to be quite sharp-set. Shall we treat ourselves, dear Grace?” He extended an arm to her and prepared to escort her to the salon.

  “What about me?” Max blinked at them.

  “It’s your house, dear boy. I would think it would be all right for you to have tea as well.” Perry glanced at him. “But there will be no shouting, poking of fingers, or picking anyone up like a sack of potatoes. Is that understood?”

  Max sighed. “Spoil sport. Just wait until she gets started on you.”

  “I look forward to it,” grinned Perry.

  *~~*~~*

  Grace found herself sitting and drinking tea in Max’s parlour, instead of being conveyed back to her snug country home not far from London.

  Quite how this had happened she wasn’t sure, given her firm intention of leaving before breakfast, but she’d hazard a guess that the gentleman sitting opposite had a lot to do with it.

  She’d met Sir Peregrine some time ago, during the turbulent period of Max’s affair and courtship of Miss Kitty Ridlington, the firebrand of a woman who was now his wife and mother of darling Margaret. Perry had been a rock of commonsense during that time, and she’d come to know him as a charming, intelligent and reserved man, with a wicked sense of humour, as he’d betrayed this morning with his absurdly well-improvised Shakespeare quotations. He was one of the few people with whom she felt no need to hide her scars.