Music and Mistletoe: A Ridlington Christmas Novella Read online

  Music and Mistletoe

  A Ridlington Christmas Novella

  Sahara Kelly

  Content © 2018 Sahara Kelly

  Cover art © 2018 Sahara Kelly

  For P&N Graphics

  Dedication

  To every reader who has picked up a romance novel with an excited smile and settled in to lose themselves within the story, my everlasting thanks. To those readers who have selected one of mine to try—I am profoundly grateful and forever in your debt. This book is dedicated to you all, because—as I’ve mentioned before—if not for you, I’d be in some quiet place, scribbling my tales on the wall in lipstick. (Not the gloss kind, because you can’t read that unless the light is right. A friend told me that, of course.)

  To my friends and family, thank you, as always. You’re patient, supportive, encouraging, and there when I need a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen to my woes, or a raised glass for when things go right. While writing is a solitary occupation, we all need to know that we have people who love us and are cheering us on. To my two special besties who are all that and more, thank you. You know who you are!

  Author’s Note

  Holiday novels are always delightful challenges; those set in the Regency especially so, since what we regard as Christmas traditions were only just taking root in the culture of Great Britain at that time.

  Prior to the late 1700s-early 1800s, Christmas was more a religious festival, although there were a few activities laying down the foundations of the more familiar traditions we know today.

  So writing a Christmas novella set in 1816, as this one is, requires a different interpretation of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day than would be expected of a Victorian novel, for example. The activities were less intense—if that word conveys the electric excitement of today’s holiday.

  There were no trees to decorate, although one or two daring hostesses (with German connections) experimented in that direction. It wasn’t until the reign of young Victoria and her darling German consort, Albert, that Christmas trees became the trend.

  Up until then, Regency homes were decorated with boughs of holly and ivy, which brought religious symbolism into the house, and the Yule log—a necessity in Medieval times, but a tradition as the centuries passed. Mistletoe has a long and colourful history, its antecedents rooted in Druid and Pagan traditions. You might want to read up on it…a fascinating, and sometimes poisonous plant!

  So this novella, featuring characters you may have already met in the Ridlington series proper, mentions less of the Christmas details than one might expect from the title. But the spirit of Christmas is definitely there for Grace and Perry…their Christmas gifts will last them forever!

  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.

  His demeanour was one of elegant simplicity; no Dandy tendencies or Byronic affectations. This morning he was garbed in a deep blue jacket and tan breeches, his boots mirror-bright, his waistcoat a whimsical shade of green. The shirt above it was pristine white and his cravat secured with a simple gold pin.

  Perhaps it was the touch of silver above his ears, or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled…whatever it was, Grace had privately confessed to more than a few tugs of attraction whenever he was present. His behaviour toward her had always been correct, lighthearted and everything it should be.

  If she sensed a little touch of flirtation in some of his comments, well…it was more because she wished they were there. For surely she could not be the object of anyone’s personal interest. She was too old, for one thing, and too…

  “What do you think, Grace?” Max interrupted her inner cogitations.

  She blinked. “Forgive me. My mind was elsewhere.” She gave her annoying brother an apologetic grin. “What do I think of what?”

  “Perry’s suggestion.”

  “Goodness, I really must have been miles away.” Turning to the other man, she sighed. “I am sorry. What was your suggestion, Perry?”

  He grinned. “No apologies necessary. My own mind wanders when Max starts on his stories.”

  “Hey.” An outraged exhalation from her brother.

  “Hush, Max. ’Twas all my fault. Now, Perry…please? Your suggestion?”

  “As I was explaining to Max, I am looking at purchasing a tidy property outside London. I know you have a home in the country, and I was wondering if you’d be good enough to come and look at it with me this morning?”

  “Oh…I…er…”

  “I should perhaps mention I won’t take no for an answer.” He smiled, robbing the words of any sense of being an order.

  Which Grace felt they were. “Uh…”

  “I will also add that I have requested the staff to provide lunch for us. That way we can take our time.” He leaned back. “I would very much value your thoughts, Grace. I can certainly make judgments on the property; lands, buildings and so on. But I need a better sense of the interior design. Would it suffice for a gentleman of my advanced years? How many rooms do I actually require? Would I be buying a massive ballroom when I really wouldn’t need one, or could I convert such a space into something more useful?” He smiled sweetly. “You can see how much I need your assistance.”

  She was not seduced by that smile. Well, not a lot, anyway.

  “Surely there are others in your family who would be better able to serve those needs, Perry…” It occurred to her that she knew very little about his family.

  He shook his head. “Not really. My only relative is a nephew in Scotland. No help at all.”

  “Ah.” No luck there.

  “And is there not one wife of a friend who might act as advisor?”

  Again he shook his head. “Not a one. They’re all terribly busy this morning.”

  She raised a sceptical eyebrow. “How unfortunate.”

  “So you see why I’m at my wits’ end. You are my only hope, dear Grace. I must throw myself upon your good nature and beg you to accompany me.”

  “The man is offering lunch as well, sister. Take him up on his offer.” Max contributed his mite, earning a look of mild disgust from Perry.

  “I believe Grace is above the lure of food, Max. Unlike others in her family.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Oh for Heaven’s sake,” she expostulated. “Don’t start bickering. I’m not above administering a box to both your ears. And Max knows I will do it.”

  “She doesn’t pull her punches, either.” He rubbed one ear as he reminisced. “You have to admire older sisters. If not, you end up with permanently red ears. And one or two frogs in your bed.”

  “I did not…” She paused. “Oh. Well. That was a long time ago.”

  Perry’s lips twitched. “Frogs?”

  “They were the lesser of two evils. I don’t like snakes.” An honest confession.

  “That settles it. You have to accompany me. I want to hear more of how you tortured this poor unfortunate here during his misspent youth.”

  Max sighed. “You’d better go with him, Grace. He won’t give either of us any peace until you say yes.”

  She looked across the table into smiling whiskey-coloured eyes. And surrendered to their mute appeal. “All right. I will go with you, Perry. But we must return right after lunch.”

  “Of course, my dear.” He rose and bowed.

  He was all smiles and charm. And she had the strangest feeling he was lying through his white teeth.

  Chapter Two

  The carriage was warm despite the bitter grey day that greeted Perry and Grace as they left Mowbray House.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. “A dark and cold winter morning, a carriage ride outside town…wouldn’t you prefer your own fireplace on a day like this?”

  There were so many answers to that question trembling on his lips, but he restrained himself to the most courteous. “A drive during which I may enjoy the company of a lovely woman is every bit as warming to the soul as a fireplace is to the toes.”

  She snorted.

  “You don’t believe me?” He turned to grin at her. “And here I thought I was being so gentlemanly.”

  “Oh you were. You are,” she answered. “But really, Perry. You may now discontinue the overblown compliments. I’m here. We’re on our way, so you can relax.”

  “I’m relaxed, thank you.” He lied, of course, since being around Grace had quite the opposite effect on him.

  “Good.” She settled her skirts and snuggled a little deeper beneath the fur blanket. “Have we far to go? You said outside town, but not exactly where.”

  “It’s southwest,” he said noncommittally. “I think no more than an hour or so. Two at most. The driver knows the way.”

  She leaned back. “Well, we’re warm. I feel for him and the other lad on the box, but I trust they’re well wr
apped up against the wind.”

  “I’m sure they are,” he agreed. “And have been for most of this year.”

  He kept their discussion general, the weather being the topic of choice across the country. Harvests had failed, snow had fallen at the most ridiculous of times, there had been fierce and violent storms; it was as if the entire globe had chosen to revolt and deliver monstrously terrible weather across its surface.

  But the weather could only sustain so much conversation.

  “You have no country seat, Perry, am I right?” Grace gazed from the window as the hedgerows flashed past, dappled with snow.

  “True. There was once a Hawkesbury Manor, but I think my ancestor lost it in a game of cards to one of Henry the Eighth’s cronies.”

  “Clumsy of him.”

  “He probably cheated.”

  She choked out a laugh. “You don’t have a high opinion of your forbears, I see.”

  “Since he lost an estate that was almost the size of Wiltshire, then you’re correct. I have a very low opinion of him.”

  “What happened to the family after that unfortunate incident?”

  “I believe—and this is only hearsay through generations—that the Hawkesburys took to the road for a while.”

  “Wait…highwaymen?”

  He nodded. “So ’tis rumoured. Apparently they also engaged in things like smuggling, and restored quite a portion of their fortunes from activities in the Caribbean.”

  Grace’s eyes grew wide. “Pirates?”

  “I do have a somewhat colourful heritage, don’t I?” he mused.

  “You’re jesting.”

  He shook his head. “All true. Which is why I’ve never really pursued any investigations into the Hawkesbury lineage. God only knows what I’d find. Any family bible recording that history would doubtless explode into sulphurous flames.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “Oh dear.”