Mistletoe for Prudence: A Christmas Novella Read online

  The Wednesday Club – Book Five

  Mistletoe for Prudence

  (A Christmas Novella)

  Sahara Kelly

  Content © 2020 Sahara Kelly

  Cover art © 2020 Sahara Kelly

  (Cover Portrait “Winter Berries” by Marcus Stone;

  Released to the Public Domain)

  Acknowledgements

  This novella is arriving at the end of a year that can best be described as tumultuous. We’ve all found ourselves at sea, in unfamiliar surroundings, experiencing unimagined changes in our lives. Many have lost too much, many struggle to hold on to what they have.

  Throughout this chaos, two things have remained constant—books and readers. There really are no words sufficient to express my heartfelt gratitude to the readers who have kindly bought any of my books this year. I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that my stories have helped in some small way. That they brought a smile or a laugh or a sigh of delight, anything to lighten the burdens so many of us have carried during 2020.

  And to the writers, my peers and colleagues, my friends and fellow scribes, thank you for everything you do. I take so much courage from your words, both on social media and in the books you write. We share the confusion and the battle that has plagued us this year, and yet somehow the words have continued to flow onto the page. I know they’ve helped me find my way, and doubtless they have done the same for others.

  Special hugs are going out to my writing partner, Scott Carpenter, and the absolute best girlfriend anyone could ask for...Ciana Stone. These two people, amazing writers both, have been there for me so many times I’ve lost count. Writers’ issues can be bizarre, unique and pretty much insane, and it takes another writer to fully understand those moments when we want to walk away from it all. I’ve had my share of those times this year, but when they hit, I had two awesome friends to call on and pull me back from the edge. Thanks guys. Love you both huge bunches!!!

  This novella, the last in the Wednesday Club series, is also the last on my schedule for 2020. I’m determined to move ahead into the new year with renewed enthusiasm, a hopeful heart and a plan to write more books. So my best wishes are flying out to all who read this; and may your new year be a heck of a lot better than the last one!

  Prologue

  Hartsmere House, London, December 1819

  The wind whistled harshly through the city streets, reddening noses and nipping at fingertips whenever they were inadvertently revealed.

  Miss Prudence Hartsmere-Drake hurried toward the front door of Hartsmere House, her thick collar wrapped securely around her neck and her gloved hands tucked into a fur muff. Even though her coat was covered by a woolen cloak, she still shivered a little as the icy air crept over her boots and chilled her legs.

  But it was the beginning of December. She knew such things were to be expected. Snow had already fallen and there would be more to come, without a doubt, since the sky was grey and heavy, filled with the threat of a storm brewing.

  Reaching the front steps, she made her way to the imposing door, only to have it opened for her as she raised her hand to knock.

  “Miss Prudence,” bowed Woodleigh, Hartsmere House’s indomitable butler. “Welcome home. You must be quite cold. There is tea prepared for you in the drawing room. Her Grace is also there.” He beckoned to a maid. “Allow us to relieve you of your outer garments.”

  She grinned. “Woodleigh, you are—as we are always telling you—beyond price.” She removed her winter wraps, rubbing her hands together. “Is my uncle at home as well?”

  The butler shook his head. “His Grace has yet to return from his business meetings. But it is to be hoped he arrives before the snow.”

  “Going to be a bad one, is it?” Prudence put her muff on a side table as the girl hung up her damp cloak.

  “I’m told it may be,” Woodleigh answered. “We are ready, however. Shovels and brooms are in plentiful supply, as are young lads to wield them.”

  “Perhaps I could build a snowman on the front steps,” Prudence grinned at him.

  He lifted one elegant eyebrow. “I’m sure it would be most decorative. However, a better placement might be at the rear of the house, in that small garden we now have.”

  She sighed. “In other words, no, not on the front steps. Oh well. You’re probably right. A duke should have a snow nobleman or regal lions or something a bit beyond my capabilities.”

  Shaking his head with a sigh, Woodleigh gestured across the hall. “The drawing room, Miss Prudence.”

  Giving up, she nodded and chuckled. “Thank you. To the drawing room and tea. I shall enjoy both.”

  She walked in to find a blazing fire, beside which her aunt was toasting her toes.

  “Hullo, Ivy,” said Prudence, moving to the tea table. “Miserable afternoon. This is the place to be, without a doubt.” She poured herself a cup, grabbed a plate for some refreshments and took the other chair by the fire, stretching out her feet for warming.

  Ivy, Her Grace, the Duchess of Maidenbrooke, nodded and pointed at her mouth. It was currently full of cook’s magnificent pastries.

  Prudence grinned and took a bite of the one she’d added to her plate. “Mmm,” she sighed as the buttery delicacy melted in her mouth. “That is so good.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” Ivy finished her mouthful and exhaled with delight. “Warm toes, tea and fresh fruit tarts. I envy everyone who isn’t us.”

  Prudence giggled. Since her aunt was scarcely four years older than herself, they interacted a great deal more like friends than relatives by marriage. Marrying Ivy and adding her to the Maidenbrooke family was, in her opinion, the best thing her uncle could have done, and she had already begun to look forward to the day when she learned a new cousin would be on the way.

  But since the marriage wasn’t yet a year old, there was plenty of time.

  “You completed your errands?” Ivy glanced across the hearth.

  “I did,” answered Prudence. “Madame Lilas just needed a last fitting on the gown for the Glenowen Ball.” She sighed. “It’s quite lovely, I must admit.”

  “But?” Ivy raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh, nothing. Truly. The blue silk underdress is magnificent, embroidered with silver and pearls. The overdress is the most amazing lace, in shades of blue from the palest at the shoulders down to a deep blue at the hem. It’s quite…” she paused, trying to find the words, “quite watery.”

  Ivy blinked.

  “In the best kind of way, of course. Madame said I resembled a sea nymph and that it was a pity I couldn’t wear my hair down with it.” She cocked a questioning eyebrow at Ivy.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “It was a faint hope.”

  “Someday, perhaps, ladies will be able to leave their hair loose on formal occasions, but that time has yet to come.”

  Prudence nodded. “I know. But if I could get Jenny to create a long curl or two? I think my hair’s grown sufficiently now…” She reached up a hand and tugged it.

  “That might be possible.” Ivy looked at Prudence’s rich, dark locks. “Yes, I believe you’ve length enough to work with.”

  “Can you believe Christmas is nearly here?” Prudence stared into the fire. “Apparently the autumn flew past while I wasn’t watching, and here we are, snow everywhere and fir boughs scenting everyone’s house…I do love it.”

  Ivy glanced at the greenery adorning the mantelpiece. “Me too.”

  Prudence leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea, watching the flames dance and the logs spit sparkling embers up the chimney.

  Christmas. How could it be Christmas already?

  An
d yet some of those autumn days had dragged most dreadfully. Those were the ones filled with memories of a summer that took Prudence from being a naive girl to a young woman trembling on the brink of something magical.

  The moments when a tiny sprout within her had budded and begun to unfold into a breathtaking flower with leaves of excitement and petals of desire.

  The moments when Sir Ronan O’Malley had taken her in his arms and kissed her. And there hadn’t been nearly enough of those moments for her liking.

  But he’d promised her he’d be back for Christmas. She was going to hold him to that promise, even though there were only weeks left before that day.

  She’d kept her own promise to him.

  She hadn’t kissed anyone, nor had she married a nincompoop, although she sometimes felt she’d danced with every single one in London. So he’d bloody well better show up, or she would have some cross words ready for him.

  The thought of Ronan made her heart beat more quickly and something deep down inside her heated at the memory of his touch.

  It was almost Christmas, for heaven’s sake. Where the hell was he?

  Chapter One

  “His Grace the Duke of Maidenbrooke, her Grace the Duchess of Maidenbrooke, Miss Prudence Hartsmere-Drake.”

  Prudence nearly winced as the stentorian tones of the butler announced their arrival to a ballroom filled with glittering Glenowen ball attendees. Some heads turned, others ignored them. The marriage of Miss Ivy Siddington to his Grace the Duke had stunned London, but that was months ago, and the Ton had already found new subjects for gossip.

  However, she saw several gentlemen quickly glance upward and two of them made their way to the foot of the stairs where the Maidenbrooke party would end up in a few moments.

  She sighed.

  They eyed her intently. Mr Jolyon Stewart and Sir Rodney Thorpe.

  Her heart sank. They had both made their interest in her quite evident at the start of the little Season, and weren’t the only ones, since she was the niece of a Duke, possessed of a sizeable fortune, and attractive to boot. She’d arrived a bit late to the marriage market, having turned twenty this summer, but nonetheless she’d attracted attention.

  Other men had flitted in and out of her social life, but there had been several other heiresses on the market besides herself, so the families eager for a good alliance had been fairly busy. Thus she hadn’t had to bear the brunt of endless introductions by herself.

  Miss Georgina Falworth was rumoured to be all but engaged, and Miss Valerie Swanstead was showing a distinct preference for Lord Allsop, a widower.

  While Prudence seldom, if ever, read gossip sheets or paid much attention to the current marital status of her peers, she was happy to see a couple of the gentlemen drop out of those who followed her around at events such as this.

  Ivy did what she could, and Colly, her uncle, managed a ducal frown now and again when anyone became a tad too familiar. So she had weathered the months without being unduly disturbed, but nothing she’d done could shake off these two persistent admirers.

  She wondered if this race was already immortalised in the Betting Book at White’s. And if so, who was the odds-on favourite.

  “Any of your preferred gentlemen here?” Ivy murmured the question as they carefully made their way down the staircase to the floor of the ballroom.

  “I don’t have any, Ivy. You know that.” Prudence sighed as Mr Stewart and Sir Rodney appeared, all smiles and teeth and fashionable apparel.

  She curtseyed to Lord and Lady Glenowen as the greeting line moved along at a fair speed. Many had already left to spend the Christmas season at their country homes, while others elected to remain in town. The ballroom seemed full, but it wouldn’t be designated “a crush”, simply by virtue of the time of year.

  Thus there was little to keep the two gentlemen from immediately approaching the Maidenbrooke party.

  “Your Grace,” they both bowed low to Colly, who nodded back.

  Ivy received the same formal greeting. “Good evening, Sir Rodney. Mr Stewart. You have decided to stay in town then? I believe you both mentioned the possibility of leaving last time we spoke.”

  Prudence hid a giggle as her young aunt assumed the manners of an elderly dowager. Something she was becoming most adept at doing when the occasion demanded it.

  Both gentlemen were slightly intimidated.

  “I am to stay with my sister and her husband for Christmas,” replied Sir Rodney. “‘Tis their first in London, and they kindly invited me to join them.”

  “I too have family remaining here,” added Mr Stewart. “My grandmother decided to avoid the journey this year and stay in her home just outside town. The roads have not fared well with these snowstorms, so she’s glad not to have to travel.”

  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy a delightful time with your families. Quite lovely to share the season with them, isn’t it.”

  Since that was more of a statement than a question, both gentlemen nodded and turned their attentions to Prudence as another guest claimed a moment with the Maidenbrookes.

  “Miss Hartsmere-Drake,” grinned Sir Rodney as he bowed. “You are in magnificent good looks this evening.”

  “A veritable Venus,” endorsed Mr Stewart, also bowing.

  Prudence sighed, but smiled her thanks. “You are both too kind. Please, no more compliments. I would much rather hear if your horse is doing better, Mr Stewart, and whether your sister’s dog has had her puppies yet, Sir Rodney?”

  The conversation became general as Prudence adroitly managed to avoid anything of a personal nature. Both gentlemen placed their names on her dance card, and within the hour she had fulfilled her duty by sharing a cotillion with Mr Stewart and a country dance with Sir Rodney.

  Their exchanges were unexceptional, with Mr Stewart telling her of his grandmother in Barnet, and her delightful country cottage where he might spend a few days, and Sir Rodney lauding the benefits of his sister’s house on the River Thames. Skating might happen, he promised, should she decide to honour him with a visit during such cold weather.

  There was nothing wrong with either of them. Except for one glaring problem.

  They weren’t Ronan.

  Prudence found herself back beside her uncle as Ivy chatted to a lady in a rather improbable shade of puce. Ignoring the conversation, she fanned herself and heard the butler announcing a few latecomers.

  Her gaze drifted to the stairs.

  “Sir Ronan O’Malley, Mrs Margaret O’Malley.”

  The words rang out and Prudence’s heart stopped, then started up again at twice the pace.

  He was here. He’d come back. She stared at him as he and the woman with him made their way down the steps.

  Oh God. He had a wife.

  Struggling to keep her emotions under control, Prudence turned to find Sir Rodney and Mr Stewart at her side. However, they were also gazing at the newcomers.

  “Good Lord, there’s a surprise.” Sir Rodney blinked.

  “How so?” asked Prudence, frowning a little at his words.

  “That’s Meg Connolly, isn’t it?” He looked at Mr Stewart.

  “It is indeed,” concurred the other man.

  “I believe she was introduced as Mrs O’Malley,” said Prudence. “I don’t understand.”

  Rodney glanced at her. “She was a singer, Miss Prudence. A wonderful voice, I’m told, although I don’t think I ever heard her perform.”

  “I did,” said Jolyon. “I was in Ireland and she was singing at a party I attended. It was…” he paused for a moment… “It was astounding.”

  “Goodness.” Prudence watched the beautiful redhead on Ronan’s arm as he led her to the Glenowens, and then on to Colly and Ivy.

  “I heard she’d wed an Irishman,” added Jolyon. “Lucky chap, I’d say.”

  “Indeed.” Prudence’s glacial tone diverted the gentlemen’s attention back to her. “If you will excuse me, I must speak to my aunt and uncle for a few moments.” She bare
ly gave them a chance to mutter the appropriate nonsense before she turned away, intent on confronting Ronan.

  And finding out who the devil he had dared to wed.

  Her temper was up, but she was well schooled in keeping her emotions in check, so it was with a polite—if rather toothsome—smile that she arrived at the group and curtsied to the newcomers.

  “Miss Prudence,” grinned Ronan. “There you are. I was just asking your aunt if you were in attendance this evening.”

  “Were you?” replied Prudence airily. “How thoughtful.”

  Her eyes gravitated to the delicate features of the woman standing next to him. Her eyes were the green of summer leaves and there was a tiny smattering of freckles dappling the tops of her cheeks. She was gowned with simple elegance; to which the tall figure of Sir Ronan was a perfect accessory. And yet Prudence immediately sensed that she was hiding something beneath a veneer of politeness.

  “And you must allow me to introduce you,” continued Sir Ronan.

  She flashed him a furious look, only to see a smile lurking deep behind his eyes. “Of course.”

  “This is Meg O’Malley. My sister-in-law. I was just telling Colly here that she’s visiting over the holidays.”

  Something inside Prudence shook her, as if a tightrope had snapped, and she took a breath as everything went a bit blurry for a moment or two.

  She’s not his wife.

  How she managed a curtsey and a mumbled how-do-you-do— she assumed her upbringing had taken over because her mind certainly wasn’t working too well.

  Ivy said something, but Prudence had no idea what because the bells in her ears hadn’t quite stopped ringing. At least her heartbeat was returning to normal.

  “How about this weekend?” Ivy continued.

  “Sounds lovely,” answered Ronan.

  “You are so kind, your Grace,” answered Meg. “May I let you know? I’m not certain of my plans at this point since we’ve just arrived.”