Mistletoe Magic

by Virginia Brown

  He had said he was avoiding someone, and she wondered who it could be. . . .

  “Did you know he would be here?” she asked her aunt.

  Catherine shook her head. “No, I did not. I was quite surprised when you told me he had arrived.”

  “I haven’t yet talked to Lady Howard, but I wonder if she meant to invite both of us to be here at the same time. I suppose it doesn’t matter, as we are betrothed. However, I had hoped to have some time without having to confront all the well-wishers and gossips. Now I’m surrounded by them.”

  “Is that so terrible? Most people wish you well, my dear Chary. And gossips will never stop talking, so you must learn to ignore them. Oh, dear child,” she urged as she took both Chary’s hands in her own and squeezed them, “go into this with faith that it will be a good match for you both. Rumors may run rampant, but there have been no charges against him for supposedly taking artifacts, and the Crown is not usually lax in those matters. So, it is all talk, and you must pay no attention. Tell me you will try to do that.”

  Touched by her aunt’s earnest plea, Chary nodded. “I will try very hard to ignore any clacking tongues, though it’s rather difficult when we’re all snowed in together and I have no escape.”

  “Thankfully, it’s a large enough house you can avoid the worst of them, and even your betrothed, if you choose.”

  “He is to leave in the morning, he said, so I shall not have to fret over-much about him, at least.”

  “Is he? In this weather? The roads are terrible, and I’ve heard about carriages possibly overturning and people hurt, maybe even killed. It may be days before the turnpike is clear enough to travel.”

  “I daresay no one will want to travel on Christmas, not with all the snow and probably inns stacked high with stranded travelers.” Chary thought a moment before adding, “I doubt that would matter much to Lord Nicholas, however. He seems to be a man who is very capable of taking care of himself.”

  “Well then,” said Aunt Catherine, “that will solve your problem of having him here much longer, won’t it?”

  “I suppose.” For some reason, she found that irritating. That Lord Nicholas could walk in and upend her day, then walk right out again seemed rather unfair. She had spent hours stewing on his presence, fretting about seeing him again, but she very much doubted he had given her a second thought.

  “He wasn’t rude to you, was he?” Aunt Catherine asked, patting her hand as she got up from the settee. “You’re frowning again.”

  With an effort, she smiled brightly. “I was just thinking about the supper and having to deal with Lady Jersey and Lady Mountebank again. I do hope I don’t end up sitting near either of them. Or Lady Caroline.”

  “You don’t think Lady Caroline is still here, do you? I don’t see how Lady Howard could refuse to seat her at dinner, but just think of the conversation!”

  “Perish the thought,” Chary said with a shake of her head. “Two social outcasts next to one another would disorder the universe, I fear.”

  “You are not an outcast, Charlotte Marie St. John, and I do not want to hear you refer to yourself like that again. Perhaps you do not care for crowded social occasions, but that is not unusual. I used to detest them until I realized that no one really cares if you’re witty, as long as you listen to them be witty. Then they think you are the cleverest guest present.”

  Laughing, Chary said, “Aunt, you have saved me. I shall be the best guest at the table, I’m certain. Now, I plan to wear the puce gown tonight.”

  “I told Baxter to burn it,” Aunt Catherine said firmly. “It’s a hideous color on you. I brought just the thing for you to wear. Besides, Princess Charlotte and Leopold are expected, and the entire house is in a dither getting ready to accommodate them. You need to wear your best to present an appropriate appearance. Who knows? One day you might entertain royalty.”

  Chary stared at her aunt in horror. “The Princess?” she squeaked. “Here? Oh, lud, how do I act if I meet her, and what do I say?”

  “My dear Chary, I do not think you will yet be presented, but if so, just give a royal curtsy as you were taught by the estimable Miss Poirier, and answer any questions as gracefully as possible.”

  Rather relieved, she nodded. “You are quite right. I am a commoner, and it is doubtful I will be engaged in conversation with the Princess. Seeing her from a distance is enough, I should think. She is young, is she not?”

  “Not yet twenty-one, but the hopes of the monarchy rest on her small shoulders. Now go and lie down to rest before dinner. It is going to be a long night for all of us.”

  “I FEEL QUITE uncomfortable in this gown,” Chary grumbled to her aunt, who only smiled serenely as they reached the staircase. It was true. It was much more daring than her normal attire, with the bodice cut straight across with a small ruffled edge covering the hint of bosom beneath; blue velvet made in the empire style, puffed sleeves, adorned with braid and gilt designs along the hem, a corded ribbon of gold and deep blue caught beneath her breasts and the ends streaming down almost to her feet. White satin slippers trimmed in delicate gold and blue flowers peeked from beneath the hem. It seemed unnecessarily frivolous. “I did not order this gown and have no idea why you brought it.”

  “I’ve seen your wardrobe, my dear,” said Aunt Catherine. “I made the decision to see that you are presented to society in the best light possible.”

  As they descended the wide staircase to reach the sitting room, Chary reminded her, “I’ve already had my Season, you know. Several of them. I have a full wardrobe hardly used.”

  “Yes, and your dressmaker should be sacked. Or shot. Now smile, dear. You look absolutely radiant, and that blue brings out your eyes quite nicely. Thank heavens Baxter can follow instructions, as your hairstyle is very flattering. You should wear it that way more often. Ah, there is Lady Howard. She has regained her shape quickly after providing an heir, hasn’t she?”

  There was no time to respond as they reached the last step, and Lady Howard smiled at them. “Lady Shepworth, I trust you are being made comfortable? And Miss St. John, I must say you look positively radiant this evening.”

  “So I’ve just been told,” Chary said, smiling as her aunt chuckled.

  Lady Howard waited until Chary was close before saying softly, “I understand you are aware Lord Nicholas Hawkely is present?”

  “Yes, we . . . er, chanced to meet earlier in the library.”

  “It was not my intention to create any awkwardness when I sent out the invitations. But as it seemed he could not attend, I did not wish to distress you by mentioning my misunderstanding of the facts. If I have erred, please forgive me.”

  “Oh, there is nothing to forgive. This storm has upended many plans. If I may ask, how is Lady Caroline?”

  “Gone, thank heavens. Her coach was repaired in a short time, I understand, and she thought it best to travel into Rye before the weather gets worse. Although how it can get worse, I could not say.”

  “So, all is well now?”

  As they neared the entrance to the sitting room where several guests had already gathered, Lady Howard leaned closer and said softly, “That depends on how you feel about Hawkely remaining as a guest for the next week.”

  That caught her off-guard and for a moment, Chary couldn’t reply. A week with him so close? No, no, not yet! But she couldn’t say that, of course. It would be terribly rude, and it was not as if Lady Howard could do much about it. So, she would smile and say it was perfectly fine.

  Instead, she squeaked, “A week? I mean—of course, I have no objection. Why would I? I take it he changed his mind.”

  “Well, not willingly, I’m afraid. It seems his coachman, Drummond, repaired Lady Caroline’s coach wheel quite nicely, but in doing so, received an injury when it came down too sharply off the brace and fell on his leg. We think a b
one may be broken, but I’ve sent down to the village for the doctor.”

  “Oh my, how terrible,” Chary managed to say. “I do hope the coachman recovers.”

  “Lord Nicholas is very concerned. It seems Drummond has been with him for some time, and he’s quite reliant on him. Ah, there is Sir John Chisolm, of the Yorkshire Chisolms. Are you acquainted with him? He is descended from the Stuarts, on his mother’s side. Sir John, it is good to see you again . . .”

  They had reached the sitting room, where guests had begun to gather, some talking in groups of three or four, others sitting on cushioned chairs before the fire. The spacious room was across the main hall from the drawing room, furnished with couches and chairs, and had a fire burning brightly on the hearth. Coffered ceilings were plain, save for the dark polished beams, but the walls were papered in yellow and cream stripes above the wainscoting. Paintings of dogs, horses, and dead pheasants hung on the walls. It occurred to Chary, as Lady Howard introduced her to guests she had not yet met, that she would have to remember them in future, as many may well be in Lord Nicholas’s circle and expect to be entertained at his home. How would she ever remember them all? This was not at all what she had envisioned for her life while contentedly reading her books and going on walks, rides through the parks, quiet and happy with her own interests. She would be expected to be a grand hostess, to know all the rules and manners that the peerage had been taught from the nursery. A sense of panic welled up and she clutched her aunt’s arm as if drowning.

  Aunt Catherine glanced at her, then smiled. “My niece is a student of ornithology, Lord Culhane, and has expressed interest in coastal and marshland waterfowl.”

  Lord Culhane, an older gentleman with bushy white eyebrows and a shock of white hair, looked pleased. “Are you now, Miss St. John? Capital! It’s rare nowadays to find young people who know anything at all about the roseate terns or lapwings.”

  Comfortable with the familiar subject, Chary smiled and mentioned her study of the coastal machair habitat, then took her aunt’s advice and let Lord Culhane wax enthusiastic on the topic. It was much easier to nod appropriately and interject here and there while he rambled on about the wading birds and seabirds, breeding grounds, and lamentable lack of assistance from the Irish government in protecting habitats.

  By the time the dinner summons came, Lord Culhane was convinced she was the wittiest person present, and he had introduced her to another gentleman, Lord Wakefield, as such. Wakefield, a tall, handsome man with pale hair and Nordic features, smiled politely but seemed a bit distracted, glancing across the sitting room several times toward three men standing near the door. Her nerves hummed as she recognized Hawkely among them. Black evening clothes suited him. The starched white cravat and black wool coat and trousers set off his dark beauty, and sent her blood pulsing. He did not seem to notice her, but there was a strange tension in him, much like she’d noted earlier in the library. Was it because she was present? It must be, although she had not thought him hostile to her presence when he had left her.

  Lady Jersey’s voice caught her attention, and she turned as the vivacious brunette reached them. “Oh, there you are, Wakefield. I had not known you were to join us. What a treat. And you have met Miss St. John, I see. She is betrothed to Hawkely, you know, or did you? I understand you are just back from the East Indies as well, and are collaborating with Lieutenant Governor Raffles on some sort of project. Oh my, the bell has rung for dinner and Lady Howard is still arranging couples. Here, you may walk me into the dining room, although I daresay Lady Howard will want you seated on her right. Come along, Miss St. John. And is that Lady Shepworth with you? How charming.”

  Whatever Lord Wakefield replied was lost to Chary as he was borne away by the irrepressible Lady Jersey. Chary’s aunt laughed softly, then leaned closer, her voice low.

  “I believe she may have set her sights on Wakefield, although I cannot say he will yield to her charms. He seems a solid sort, and he’s part Dutch, you know. A most handsome man. I cannot blame her, but Lady Jersey may be disappointed this time. Now here, my dear, you are doing splendidly tonight. I believe you will soon be at ease. This is not your first dinner party, and nothing here is so very different, other than the faces.”

  “And the titles,” Chary murmured. Her aunt gave her an encouraging squeeze on her arm.

  “I am not so forbidding, am I? My husband may only be a baronet, but he is still your beloved Uncle Jasper, so think of all these present as someone’s beloved uncle. Or brother. They are mostly unimpressed with one another, and the key to fitting in is to be just as unimpressed.”

  “Somehow, I rather doubt that will help,” Chary observed, and smiled at Sir John as he held out his arm to escort her into the dining room. A long table flanked by Windsor chairs sat in the middle; family portraits, some life-size, lined the walls, and a painting she recognized as a Caravaggio hung over the mantel. Silver candelabras had been placed down the center of the table, and two crystal chandeliers provided more light. There was no assigned seating, save for hosts at the head and the foot of the table and guests of honor designated by their rank; Lord Howard had Lady Jersey seated on his right while Lady Howard had the Earl of Glenlevit on her right. He must outrank Wakefield and Lord Jersey, although Chary had no idea of the precedence. There was, as yet, no sign of the Princess, for which she was grateful.

  Soup tureens gleamed beneath the glow of candles, with dishes of beef, mutton, pork, and fish surrounding them; oysters, pâté, dried fruit in baskets, asparagus, and peas filled china bowls. At the sideboard, a footman carved turbot with lobster and Dutch sauce to serve individually. Sir John was very attentive, and served Chary with beef, pork, fish, and asparagus from the dishes on the table, while a footman ladled soup into her bowl.

  They chatted amiably about Yorkshire, and Chary encouraged him to speak about his family and manor until the second course and unspoken signal of Lady Howard turning to the guest on her left dictated a turn in conversation. As the seating alternated male-female down the sides of the long table, the gentleman on her left was a young man who had been introduced to her as Mr. Farrow.

  As he was telling her about a particularly lovely area in Kent, she glanced up to see Lord Nicholas just beyond the soup tureen. He stared at her, his expression enigmatic but she felt an odd twinge. Her heart beat a little faster and she forgot to listen to Mr. Farrow as he spoke about Bedgebury Forest and the wildlife there.

  Instead she returned Lord Nicholas’s gaze for what seemed an eternity but could only have been a few seconds before the lady sitting next to him captured his attention and he bent his head to listen to her. Chary reached for her wine glass, fingers trembling slightly as she lifted it to her lips and tried to drag her attention back to her dinner companion. Who was the woman sitting next to Lord Nicholas? She couldn’t recall if she’d been introduced to her in the sitting room, but it had been such a confusing whirl of unfamiliar names and faces that she couldn’t sort them out.

  Lady Kingley? No. Miss Townsend? No, that wasn’t right either. Despite her weeks of preparation and instruction by Madame Poirier on the hierarchy and customs of the upper class, it was difficult to apply it under duress. Thank heavens for Lady Howard and Aunt Catherine. So far, they had steered her away from plunging over the precipice of social disaster.

  “. . . Burham Marsh,” her supper companion was saying when she returned attention to him, “and the sedge warbler as well as kingfisher and cormorant, of course.”

  “Yes,” she managed to say, “you seem to have a great knowledge of local waterfowl, Mr. Farrow. Do you live near the River Medway?”

  “Near Aylesford, so I am not far at all from the Burham Marsh. Are you familiar with the area, Miss St. John?”

  “Alas, only by reading about it. Samuel Ireland published an illustrated book about his journey along the River Medway and it includes a map as well.”

&nb
sp; “Why yes.” Mr. Farrow seemed quite pleased. “Of course, the area has changed some since 1793, and I fear his real legacy was somewhat tarnished by the Shakespeare Forgeries.”

  Chary nodded. “That was his son, although I agree it did do much to tarnish the elder Mr. Ireland’s reputation. A pity, as he was a superb engraver and lithographer.”

  It was true, she thought, that one had to know only a little about a lot of subjects to be able to converse at a dinner party. She was grateful for her interests and extensive library as Sir John entered the discussion with his opinions on the Ireland Shakespeare forgeries.

  While it was rude to talk over another guest’s head, the two men managed to exchange points of view through Chary, and she had only to offer an occasional comment. In no time, the second course was over and an array of fruits, biscuits, cheeses, and dessert wine provided a lovely end to the meal.

  Princess Charlotte and Leopold had requested dinner in their room, expressing weariness from the journey and a preference for privacy. Their presence was a great honor, Chary knew, as they had spent most of the holidays at Brighton with the Regent, and intended to return to Surrey and Claremont, foregoing the highly anticipated Brighton birthday celebration for the Princess’s twenty-first birthday on January 7th. These intentions led, of course, to great speculation as to whether the newly-wed Princess could be with child. Discreetly, as to speak openly of such an event was considered to be very private until announced, there had been only whispers as none dared royal censure.

  As the women withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the men in the dining room to their tobacco and port, Chary caught up with her aunt as they passed the end of the table where Lord Nicholas sat. He had stood up when the women rose to leave, and he inclined his head in her direction as she passed.

  Chary managed a smile at his acknowledgement, and her nerves tingled at the solemn recognition. Aunt Catherine squeezed her arm. “He is very handsome,” she said softly, “although he looks as if he’s lost his last friend.”