Mistletoe Magic

by Virginia Brown

  “I say, Hawkely, come and make a fifth player.”

  Charles Thornton, a former school mate from Eton, beckoned him, and he joined them. When he reached the table, one of the men stood, bowed politely toward the other men, and yielded up his chair with a murmured intention of finding his wife. He did not look at or address Nick, who smiled wryly. This was not the first time a man had objected to his presence, as if the taint of being accused by the Crown of thievery might be contagious.

  “It seems you are still in need of a fifth player,” he said as the man departed.

  Thornton looked embarrassed and irritated. “Hughes is an idiot. Pay him no mind.”

  “It is not the first time my presence has earned objections.” Nick still stood by the table and looked at the other men. “If there are any complaints, I will take my leave with no hard feelings.”

  No one objected, and one of the men gestured to a nearby table holding a tray of crystal decanters and glasses. “An excellent brandy will soften the blow of losing at cards, if you care to join us. Be forewarned—Thornton cheats abominably.”

  “I most certainly do not,” Thornton retorted, grinning. “Bayard is just unhappy since I won six pounds off him.”

  “High stakes, I see,” Nick said, and joined the men.

  The next few hours were spent in pleasant pastime of cards, brandy, and discussion of topics ranging from Napoléon to the weather. Everything but the recent scandal of a duke’s son, accused of theft. Even though it wasn’t mentioned, Nick felt it hanging in the air. Hughes’s departure was a stark reminder that there were people who regarded him as a thief. Damned annoying but he’d done all he could to find the culprit who had left him to take the blame for another’s actions. He’d exhausted all avenues of investigation into the disappearance of the artifacts. He’d even tracked a man to Bath, in hopes of finding the real thief, but that had been a wasted trip, as the man had disappeared. He’d hired investigators to trace the stolen objects, spent weeks scouring disreputable shops in search of even one artifact that had been sold, but they could all be at the bottom of the Atlantic, for all he could discover.

  It looked hopeless, an accusation that would haunt him the rest of his life if he couldn’t find the artifacts or the thief. Or both.

  The atmosphere was genial, with no mention of scandal, and he knew he had Lord Howard to thank for that as well as Thornton. They were honest, honorable men who did not back down from conflict when required, but one did not carry spurious tales to them without danger of earning harsh rebuke. After finishing his game of billiards, Lord Howard joined them at the card table, and was welcomed to come and try his luck. Time passed swiftly as they argued back and forth over the cards in an easy, genial play.

  A servant crossed the room to murmur a few words to Lord Howard, and he nodded his understanding. As the servant departed, Lord Howard said, “Gentlemen, my presence has been requested by my wife. You must know, when she beckons, I answer her siren call.”

  “As you should, if you value your peace,” remarked Thornton, and they all smiled their indulgence as the card game ended and they quit the room.

  The ladies gathered in the front parlor to play cards, do needlework, and gossip. A fire burned brightly in the wide fireplace, warming the entire room; cushioned settees, plush chairs, scattered woven throws promised comfort; several young cousins played Spillikins on a table, and the chatter briefly subsided when the summoned men entered.

  “Ah there you are, Lord Howard,” said his wife, smiling. “We were comparing our costumes for the ball, and I have some new ideas for entertainment.”

  “Do you?” Lord Howard said. “I am certain it will be most enjoyable.”

  “Indeed, it will. Are you not curious as to what we have planned?”

  Smiling, her husband said, “Perhaps it is better to surprise me.”

  “Oh, but that is impossible. You are part of it, you see.”

  Her smile was mischievous, and Nick had a feeling his lordship would be less than happy by what she revealed. His gaze shifted, finding his betrothed wrapped in an embroidered shawl near the fire, sitting by Lady Leighton. They looked to him like two cats lounging next to an empty cream pitcher; he wouldn’t have been surprised to see them lick cream off their lips.

  Charlotte seemed to have weathered her morning mishap on the ice well. The day dress of white muslin with rich-blue velvet spencer fit her soft curves in a most inspiring invitation to admiration. Regretfully, it was buttoned up to her throat, hiding the lovely swell of her bosom.

  Before his imagination lured him to unexplored territory beneath velvet and muslin, he forced his attention back to Lady Howard. “. . . tableau vivant,” she was saying, and it was plain that her husband was not enamored with the suggestion.

  “Dancing will be enough for the majority of guests,” he recommended. “It would give all an opportunity to be part of the play, so to speak.”

  Laurentia looked disappointed, and exchanged glances with Lady Leighton. “Very well,” she agreed after a moment, “although the tableau vivant would have been very amusing to do.”

  “No doubt, my dear,” Lord Howard said genially. “Save your creative talents for your costumes in the masquerade.”

  “Masquerade?” Nick echoed. “Is that to happen tonight?”

  “It’s tomorrow night. I do hope you will join us, Lord Nicholas,” Laurentia replied.

  “As I have no costume, I may prefer billiards,” he replied noncommittally. “And of course, if my coachman is mended we may leave.”

  “Of course. The snow just continues to fall though, so we may all be here until Easter.”

  “Optimist,” said her husband, and she laughed. They smiled at each other in that way married couples sometimes did, as if they knew what the other was thinking.

  It intrigued him, the unspoken language some people developed. He had never thought about it before, but now, knowing he was to marry Miss St. John soon, he wondered if she was the kind of person to whom he could ever be close enough to know her thoughts. Would he even want to know them? There were moments, he was fairly certain, it would be best not to have an idea what she might be thinking.

  As now, when she looked past him as if he were a potted palm while Laurentia chattered about the upcoming masquerade ball. “I have tons of things I found in the attic that I’ve had my maid put into a room so guests can add to their costumes. Some of the gowns are quite out of date but should be amusing to try on. Fortunately, I have lots of material left over that we can use as well, laces and ribbons—well, what do you think, Miss St. John? And Lady Leighton?”

  “I am unsure about my costume,” Charlotte said with a rather worried expression, but Lady Howard quickly reassured her, while Julia said she wanted to look through the trunks before she made her final decision, as her costume might yet be saved.

  “Oh, I have just had the most scandalous idea,” said Laurentia excitedly, and throwing Lord Howard a mischievous glance over her shoulder, she pulled a tufted yellow velvet stool up to the sofa where Charlotte and Julia sat in front of the fire. They put their heads together, voices low, and Lord Howard let out a long sigh.

  “I fear we may very well be scandalized,” he said in a resigned tone. “She often startles me with her wild ideas.”

  “Better than being bored, I should think,” Nick observed, and Lord Howard laughed.

  “You are quite right about that. She has been a—most delightful shock at times.”

  “She was an unruly imp as a girl, so I can well imagine your shock,” Nick said dryly. “I shall be glad to share accounts of some of her childhood escapades one day.”

  Grinning, Lord Howard replied, “There is no time like the present. Shall we leave the ladies to their couture schemes for the moment?”

  Passing a girl playing ball-and-cup, they went throu
gh the hall where statues stood in wall niches. “Laurentia sculpted that one,” Lord Howard said as they came to one of a girl holding a bird on her hand.

  “Did she?” Nick admired it, the grace and style and talent that created such beauty out of a slab of stone. “I am not surprised. She was always very clever at anything she put her mind to.”

  “She still is.” Smiling, Lord Howard gestured to a door, and Nick followed him into a study. A large desk flanked by bookcases stood against a far wall. The wood-paneled room was not large but held a small sturdy sofa and three leather chairs; a narrow table held a silver tray of crystal decanters and glasses. “Brandy?” he asked, moving to the table, and he turned to look at Nick.

  Nodding, Nick waited. Obviously, there was something on Lord Howard’s mind he wished to discuss. With the door closed, silence reigned. Only the hiss of the fire and a small case clock ticking the passing minutes filled the study.

  Gesturing to the chairs, Lord Howard held out a glass and said, “We haven’t had the opportunity to become reacquainted, with everything so hectic. It has been a long time since our Eton days. I know you and Laurentia shared childhood holidays together.”

  Sitting in a high-backed leather chair next to the hearth, Nick nodded. “We did. We also shared some ancestors a few generations back, but don’t hold that against her.”

  Smiling, Lord Howard sat down in a chair opposite. Firelight illuminated his face on one side; intelligence and an amiable nature lent him an easiness that Nick rather envied. He had not felt sociable in months. After taking a sip of brandy, Lord Howard cleared his throat.

  “As you know, Laurentia has a very kind heart. She frets over the happiness of those she likes, and she has taken a great liking to Miss St. John.”

  So that was the reason for this private discussion. He rather appreciated Howard coming straight to the point. “Did Lady Howard ask you to have this conversation with me?”

  “No, she asked me to use my great powers of deduction and clairvoyance to divine if you feel any tender emotions for Miss St. John. I decided to spare both of us any attempt at that, as I am neither expert at deductions or in reading minds.”

  Nick studied Lord Howard for a moment. It was a deuced awkward situation. He did not want to be rude, but he had no idea how to answer that question. Fortunately, Lord Howard saved him the necessity of formulating a sensible, vague response.

  “Pray, do not feel you must come up with a reasoned reply,” Lord Howard said. “As my wife is concerned, she wants reassurance that all will be well in the worlds of those she regards highly. You are also one of the people she highly regards. If I did not feel it necessary to warn you of her apprehension, I would not speak to you about it. Arranged marriages can be either heaven or hell. I strongly recommend heaven, if at all possible.”

  “It does sound much more pleasant,” Nick responded lightly. Then, because he felt he should show Lord Howard the courtesy of a more helpful reply, he added, “Lady Howard can rest easily about Miss St. John. I have found her to be a rather lively conversationalist and a very pleasant companion.”

  “Polite and noncommittal. I understand.”

  “No, perhaps I am unaccustomed to superlatives, but Laurie need not worry that I do not recognize Miss St. John’s finer qualities. I am—quite appreciative of them.”

  A smile lifted one corner of Lord Howard’s mouth. “Now I believe I do see. Thank you for your confidence, Hawkely. You have saved me much unnecessary angst later.”

  “If only I could guarantee myself the same peace of mind,” Nick said wryly, and Lord Howard grinned.

  “‘Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs’,” he quoted, and Nick had to agree.

  If he wasn’t in love, he certainly had succumbed to fascination with Charlotte St. John. Shakespeare had written about that, too: Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,

  And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. . . .

  Chapter 7

  DINNER WAS A merry affair, with the holiday greenery looped over doors and draped on tables lending a scented spice. As befitted their rank, Princess Charlotte and Leopold had the seats of honor, and royal protocol was observed. No one sat until the Princess sat, no one ate until she ate, and when she finished a course, all plates were removed. A fire burned, helping to illuminate the dining room. As fragrant dishes were served, laughter and masquerade plans filled the air. Chary sat next to Mr. Hughes this time, with Sir John on her right again. Lord Nicholas sat across the table, Lady Leighton on his left and Lady Mountebank on his right.

  Lady Jersey held her dinner partners in thrall by relating an unlikely tale of a cook, a fast piglet, and an angry sow, that involved ruined crockery, a romp through clean laundry, and ended with a triumphant sow and a thwarted cook. “It was,” she concluded, “the most inventive story I’ve ever been told to excuse dirty laundry and a cold supper, so of course, all was forgiven. In fact, I still have all three residing at my country house, a reminder that a clever tale is often worth the price.”

  Those around her laughed, and Chary tried to envision Lady Jersey standing amidst dirty linens and broken pottery while her cook explained the absence of supper. It was nearly impossible.

  She must have been frowning, because when she glanced across the table, Lord Nicholas met her gaze with a slight shake of his head. She swallowed a bubble of laughter in her throat, both at his silent communication of disbelief and his suspicion that she shared his skepticism. She reached for her wine and held the glass to her lips to hide her amusement. But she lifted her brows in mute agreement and his eyes lit with reaction, candlelight reflecting in the dark depths.

  The swift, silent exchange left her feeling both cheered and confused. It was no longer just a question about his principles; it was an internal battle of hopeful emotions and pragmatism.

  Dare she hope for tender feelings in return? Or should she remind herself that it was an arranged marriage and expect only a cordial relationship after vows were exchanged. Common sense urged she expect cordiality, no matter what her heart promised. Sometimes she was a fool. Once, in her first Season out, a man had sworn undying love, written sonnets to her eyes, paid her such flattering attention she had begun to think of love and marriage, and her vulnerability left her open to anguish when she learned his true affection was for her substantial dowry. It had been a harsh blow. Since that time, she avoided any man who professed affections, driving poor Papa to distraction as he despaired of her ever accepting a suitor. Perhaps that was why he had arranged her marriage. It was obvious from the beginning that it was a business transaction and not a love match. So, there was no chance of devastated dreams.

  Yet, somewhere deep down, in that place she refused to visit often, was the yearning for a tempestuous romance. It was beyond foolish. She knew that. And yet . . . and yet.

  “Would you care for Savoy Cake?” asked Sir John politely, and she turned her attention to him.

  “Yes, please.” The light sponge cake had been decorated with gum-paste Christmas roses, lovely to look at and delicious to eat. Sir John served her a nice slice on the plate, and added a few stemmed cherries as well. The silver spoon clinked softly against the china plate.

  When the dinner ended and the women withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the men behind, Lord Nicholas again gave a bow in her direction, his eyes and lips smiling at her as she passed. Princess Charlotte preceded the women, with Lady Howard attending her, as they progressed to the Crimson Drawing Room, a much more ornately decorated room to honor their royal guest. As long as the Princess remained standing, so must the guests, and it wasn’t until Princess Charlotte took her seat in a plush chair before the fire that others were free to seek a chair. As required, no one was allowed to approach her without her invitation, and remained a respectful distance. For all the stiff etiquette, Princess Charlotte was very pleasant and even charming
, graciously conversing with those she knew and courteous to those newly presented.

  When Princess Charlotte retired for the evening, accompanied by her ladies in waiting, Chary dipped in a curtsy as the Princess walked down the line of ladies, and held it until she passed her.

  “Well done,” her aunt murmured as the Princess passed from sight, and Chary relaxed.

  “I was so nervous I would sneeze or cough or something entirely unacceptable.”

  Aunt Catherine laughed. “Not so much as a sniffle, I vow. Once you are married, you may well be presented to her officially, you know.”

  Chary could find no response to that. Relieved that she had committed no faux pas, she let out a huge sigh. In just a few moments, Lady Howard returned and beckoned Chary and Aunt Catherine to join her and Lady Leighton in the smaller drawing room where it was warmer. It looked festive, with the fresh greenery draped over portraits of hunting dogs, horses, and pastoral scenes in gilded frames. An elegant Christmas candle waited on the mantel for the traditional Christmas Eve lighting, nestled in a glass globe surrounded by fragrant garlands.

  Lady Howard leaned forward conspiratorially. “Since we have our masquerade costumes ready, I thought we’d begin planning our tableau vivant on Boxing Day. We can decide then which play would suit, and I have seamstresses to help with our costumes.”

  “I’m a little nervous,” Chary confessed, and Aunt Catherine squeezed her arm.

  “So am I,” she added, and Lady Howard just laughed.

  “There is nothing to it at all, so you needn’t be nervous. We have lots of time to practice between now and then. Just don’t breathe a word of it to the gossips or we’ll be undone.”

  All four of them immediately glanced toward the decorated fireplace. Lady Jersey and Lady Mountebank played cards with two other women at a table near the fire, and one of them called the trick. Chary wondered if she could do what Lady Howard suggested. She wasn’t really the kind of person to make a spectacle of herself that way, but then, it was harmless and did sound as if it would be entertaining.