Mistletoe Masquerade Read online

  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.

  Chapter Two

  Paul woke early to a chilly room and a warm cloak. It was barely light, but there were matters to attend to, including stoking up the fire. Which he did, under the scrutiny of the dark grey cat tucked into Harriet’s knees.

  Apparently his actions met with approval, since their feline companion yawned, stretched, jumped down and rubbed itself around his ankles.

  “My pleasure,” he grinned, daring a brief rub of his new friend’s ears.

  Reassured that Harriet would be warm when she awoke, Paul left the room, wrapping his cloak securely around him. The rest of the rooms were icy, so he headed for the kitchen, knowing that was top priority. As was a trip to the outhouse…another exercise in withstanding cold temperatures.

  However, the sun rose with a weak attempt at a shine through thin clouds, and the horses were munching on the hay in their stalls, as snug as possible, given the circumstances.

  Having lived on his own for a surprisingly long period of time, when adding up all the years of travelling abroad by himself, he had no trouble getting the stove hot and a kettle on, before a delightfully rumpled Harriet peered around the door.

  “Now I’m embarrassed.” She wrinkled her nose. “I should’ve done all this first.”

  “Well, yes,” agreed Paul. “But I’m not in a position to fire you for dereliction of duty, so put out a couple of cups and we’ll have tea while we organize our day.” A strangled sort of exclamation greeted his statement, but when he looked up, she’d vanished back around the door. “Women,” he said to the cat. “They’ll confuse the hell out of you. Take my advice and stay away from ‘em.”

  “She’s a girl.” Harriet was back, hair tidied and lace cap neatly on her head.

  Paul regarded the smug-looking feline with a wry twist of his lips. “See what I mean?”

  “I decided to call her Belle. She reminds me of a girl I knew when I was young. A bit on the snooty side but willing to be friends, as long as it was on her terms. And well-padded too. Belle must know where the choicest mice lurk.” She poured tea. “So what is our plan for the day?”

  Watching her, Paul realized that whatever plans he’d made had vanished from his brain. She appeared so relaxed and accepting of their admittedly bizarre situation, and had named a strange cat after a school friend.

  He was heading for deep waters with this one, he knew. But instead of the usual frisson of hesitation that preceded his running in the opposite direction, he found himself adjusting his breeches and getting ready to dive in.

  And wasn’t that an unsettling notion?

  “Well?” She glanced over her cup at him. “I think we should see to stocking the larder…”

  Recalled to his duties, he nodded. “Yes. If you would be so kind as to make a preliminary list, I can see to that a bit later this morning.” He frowned. “I wish we knew how many guests to expect.”

  Harriet took a breath. “We should be logical about this, I suppose.” She put down her tea and raised a hand, marking off her thoughts with each finger. “There have to be at least ten bedrooms upstairs, and probably half a dozen dressing rooms as well. So stocking for ten people would be a good idea. I can’t see a party of twenty arriving without a great deal more preparation than the two of us.”

  “Good point. But as many as ten, d’you think?”

  “Some guests might bring…er…companions?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Ah, yes.” He immediately grasped her implication.

  “Then there’s the servants. We will have to provide for those as well.”

  “Oh God.” He stared at her. “Can you cook?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I can do the basics for the two of us, but we will have to hire a cook as soon as possible. I couldn’t begin to think of providing food for a large dinner party.”

  Paul blinked. “Er…”

  She shook her head. “I will take care of that. And I think it would be best if I were to present myself as the housekeeper, rather than a simple upstairs maid.” She glanced at him. “I’ve kept house on more than one occasion. I’m better equipped for that than for emptying chamber pots.”

  Paul paled. “That would probably be better all around,” he agreed. “With that in mind, I’m going to be the butler. Which eliminates the entire chamber pot issue from my elevated perspective.” He shrugged. “I doubt there will be difficulties in awarding ourselves with promotions. It’s not as if we’re receiving wages, after all.”

  Harriet let a tiny giggle escape. “If only these people knew how high class a butler they were obtaining.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Inchworthy would be suitably impressed,” intoned Paul, giving her his best butler-impression.

  She laughed and clapped her hands. “Perfect.”

  “Good.” He grinned back. “Now I suggest we do a quick look around, make sure that we do indeed have enough guest rooms and that there may actually be sufficient bedding for them. Things like that.”

  “You have an excellently practical turn of mind, sir,” she agreed. “Oh.” She blinked as a thought evidently stopped her in her tracks. “What are we to call each other? I cannot call you Mr. DeVoreaux, and I refuse to be Mistress Selkirk. Both reveal a lot more than we wish.”

  He thought about that as he rose and collected the tea cups. “Hmm. You have a valid point. Let me think.”

  She crossed the room and absently pumped water into the sink, adding hot from the kettle and washing the china, passing it to him for drying. The natural moves entranced him once again and he fought to keep his thoughts where they needed to be, not on the soft ivory skin at the back of her neck.

  “I think we should keep it as simple as we can. I shall be Mr. Paul, or Paul to whoever is senior amongst the guests. You shall be Mrs. Harry.”

  “Mr. Paul and Mrs. Harry.” She rolled the names over her tongue. “You know, I like that.” She grinned. “Our own private jest.”

  “Indeed,” he winked at her. “Just try not to snort every time someone says ‘ask the butler. They know everything.’”

  “And they will, won’t they? I wish I had a guinea for every time someone has said that within my hearing,” she choked on a laugh. “It’s so terrib
le and such a burden to butlers everywhere.”

  “And yet we soldier on.” He gave his best dramatic sigh as he hung up the dishcloth. “Right then, Mrs. Harry. Time to do our residential surveillance, and then see if there’s a wagon or something we can drive in to Pineneedle Drift.”

  “We’d better make sure we can find Pineneedle Drift, Mr. Paul,” added Harriet.

  “There is that.”

  *~~*~~*

  As the sun set, Harriet stood straight and groaned, her hand at the bottom of her spine, as she realized she’d put in a harder day physically than she had in quite some time.

  However, the guest rooms were ready in that they were clean and the beds made with fresh linen. Apparently Bella earned her keep, since there were no signs of mouse depredation in the sheets—a blessing indeed. Four had adjoining rooms for a valet or a maid, which reduced the cleaning chores on the top floor where the servants slept. She’d made beds and dusted. That would have to do.

  The servants’ quarters were also mostly prepared. There was one large one that she’d urged Paul to take, since had they been genuine servants, there would have been a definite pecking order to follow. And Paul, as butler, got first peck. She took the one next to him, slightly smaller, but ideal for her needs.

  Since it was a hunting box not a permanent residence, she didn’t need a formal office, but could use any of the smaller rooms below stairs. They would ordinarily contain seamstresses, provide sitting rooms for maids to the most senior of guests and others who needed a modicum of privacy.

  There was now food in the pantry; sufficient to last close to a week, depending upon the number and appetite of the guests, and on the morrow Mrs. Chester was arriving to take up the position of cook. She had two daughters who would be coming with her, and they all lived near enough that they could go home if they chose, or take a couple of the servants’ rooms.

  Once Paul had mentioned the possibility of work at the Inchworthy hunting box, he’d had plenty of applicants to choose from. Paying jobs, it seemed, were as scarce in this area as they were everywhere else, so there would be footmen and a couple of maids filling out the complement of servants.

  Harriet felt much more at ease as she finished her kitchen chores, and set out a little saucer of milk for Belle. “Here you go, sweet kitty.” Invisible only moments before, the cat appeared, sniffed the saucer with interest, and then settled down, front paws neatly together, and lapped happily on the treat.

  “That’s for keeping this place free of rodents. Thank you.” Harriet watched the liquid disappear.

  Bella’s whiskers twitched as she licked the plate clean, gave Harriet a glance, then yawned and took herself off.

  “That’s gratitude for you,” said Paul from the door, making Harriet jump and gasp.

  “I didn’t know you were there,” she exclaimed. “Please cough or something next time?”

  “Sorry,” he said, looking anything but apologetic. “But it was a charming scene. A Lady and her Cat in the Kitchen. I can see the portrait now, over the fireplace. Gainsborough perhaps. Or Leighton…”

  She snorted. “All nonsense and I shall hear no more of it. You may have tea, and perhaps even one of those scones you desired. Or you may take yourself off to bed.”

  “Not without securing the house.” He neared her. “Have you forgotten I’m the butler here, Mrs. Harry? I must check all the doors and windows prior to retiring.”

  “Must you?” She blinked up at him.

  “Of course. It’s in the Butler’s Handbook.”

  She let a little grin curve her lips. “First or second edition?”

  His roar of laughter echoed through the quiet house. Then he walked to her, seized her by the waist and lifted her clean off her feet. “You, young lady, are a great deal too quick for your own good.”

  She steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders. “I am?”

  “Yes.” He let her down slowly. “And it’s driving me insane.”

  “I…”

  He stopped her words by dropping a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. “Go to bed.” His gaze turned intense as it moved to her lips and lingered there. “Go, Harriet. Now.”

  She didn’t want to. Not at all. She wanted to stay and explore the meaning of that look, the edge that had come into his voice. But her common sense screamed silently at her and she left the room on a sigh of regret.

  *~~*~~*

  Paul woke well before dawn the next morning. He had not had a restful night, he acknowledged, pulling the quilt up around his ears. It was cold. He was cold. He wanted warmth…the warmth generated by one Harriet Selkirk.

  Admitting to himself that he was becoming slightly obsessed with her, he wondered if it was a natural consequence of their friendship, or an aberration he would come to regret if he followed through on it. The notion of hiding away here, in this quiet hunting box, seemed the perfect solution to her situation and kept her hidden from a family who viewed her as merchandise to be sold for profit.

  It also provided him with plenty of privacy. He was well on the way to redeeming his damaged reputation, and perhaps even a portion of the DeVoreaux finances he’d forfeited when he’d left England so long ago. But there were still those with long memories and the scandal of the von Rillenbach duel had not completely disappeared from Society’s recollections.

  Thus, the current adventure of theirs was to both their benefits.

  However, he’d neglected to take into consideration the work it might entail, and also the growing attraction between them. And growing it was. He could see it in her eyes; in the way she glanced at his lips while licking her own…and the color of her cheeks as her thoughts betrayed themselves on her face.

  He felt it as well, but he was a man and she was a beautiful woman. Was it just nature taking its course, or something deeper? He didn’t know, and did not want to mistake simple attraction for something else. Harriet had been through enough and he’d not be the one to add heartbreak to her burdens.

  Wrenching himself from his warm cocoon with a sigh and shivering through his morning routine, he ventured downstairs, noting how the house now shone after their industrious few hours with beeswax and cloths. It was a solid building, decorated in what now seemed like a charming whimsical style. Yes, there were odd pieces here and there, but once the whole had been revealed, they seemed to fit—adding a touch of eccentricity and giving the house a personality of its own.

  “I think we’ve done well, don’t you?”

  She was behind him, coming down the stairs with her hand on the shining banister, a lady at home, a mistress surveying her domain. Paul’s skin chilled as he wondered if she could possibly be taken for a housekeeper when she was so obviously every inch a member of the Ton.

  “Try not to look so perfect?”

  “What?” She blinked at him in surprise.

  He shook his head. “Sorry. A momentary lapse. As you walked downstairs I was reminded of every Society hostess I’ve ever seen. There’s an elegance, a grace, that seems to be inherent in their movements. You have it too.”

  “Um, thank you. I think.” She frowned a little. “But I’m not sure how to be anything other than me?”

  He sighed. “Come on. Let’s see about breakfast, since I put enough wood into the stove last night to keep it hot. It’s going to be a busy day, and the first servants should be arriving shortly.” He held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to place it on his arm as he led her downstairs. “I have to admit it will be nice finding tea already made of a morning, rather than having to make it ourselves.”

  She chuckled. “I can’t say I mind too much, but once the guests arrive I believe the situation will change.” She sighed. “I almost wish they weren’t coming.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Paul. “I’d at least like to know how many there will be.”

  They walked together down to the kitchen, and Paul filled the kettle for tea and set it on the stove, as Harriet gathered cups and saucers. “I wouldn’t mind a ho
use like this for my own,” she mused, setting out a small loaf of bread and some butter. “It seems manageable. So many of the houses we visited were enormous, filled with rooms that were rarely used, buildings exploding with their own importance, yet offering nothing in the way of welcome. One felt as if one should be grateful to be allowed to walk in the doors.” She shrugged. “It’s hard to explain, but this house is quite the opposite.”

  Paul nodded. “I know what you mean.” He poured hot water into the teapot. “But I’d venture a supposition that the inhabitants of the house make the atmosphere, rather than the house itself.”

  She thought about that. “You may well be right.”

  “It remains to be seen how this house and these rooms respond to the visitors.” He drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for the tea to steep. “I’ve played more than a few roles in my life, unusual as it has been. But I’ve never been a butler.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “A little, I suppose.”

  Harriet smiled. “Don’t be. My experience of butlers has been that they consider themselves miles above their masters in both intellect and deportment, and they’re usually correct in that assumption. The more high and mighty they are, the more the house respects them.”

  He grinned. “So I can insult them if I want?”

  “If they require insulting…then of course. Just let me know so that I can watch.”

  They exchanged a mutual grin of understanding, and Paul’s mild anxieties vanished. He could do it, he realized. He could out-buttle the best butler around. Because he had a woman of great charm and intelligence at his back.

  Looking at the enchanting picture she made in her simple gown and lace cap, he suddenly realized that he’d better make sure he had her back as well. She was far too attractive for her own good, and the Lord only knew what type of guests were on their way.