Chapter Fourteen
Early that afternoon, three handwritten notes were delivered, one to the Viscount Rowdean, in care of the Inn, Little Chillendale, one to Lord Southwick and one to Sir Rodney Chillendale.
No particular mention was paid to them, since notes were flying around from house to house concerning important matters such as gowns, food, gowns and more food. And beverages for those few poor sods who didn’t, or couldn’t, drink Chillendale ale.
Neither did anyone notice the messenger bearing the notes, since a heavy cloak with a thick full hood obscured his dark features, his moustache and beard, and the turban that wrapped his head.
In fact, Dal Singh was adept at becoming all but invisible when working for Lady Hecate Ridlington. And this afternoon, delivering her notes, was no exception.
But by the Gods, he loathed the icy cold.
Mission accomplished, he hurried back to the horse he’d tethered near Southwick, mounted and rode like the wind back to his mistress and what he hoped would be a roaring fire. How the English survived in winters like this, he didn’t know, because it was definitely not to his taste.
His unobtrusive departure was not matched by the effects of the notes on their recipients.
Sir Rodney opened it, casually perused it, and then sat down rather heavily in the chair behind his desk. “Good God.”
At the Inn, Brent was having much the same reaction, although his was accompanied by the exhalation of a mouthful of ale. “Jesus.” His jaw dropped. “Jesus bloody Christ.”
Not far away, Lord Southwick – also working in his office – read the note. And began to tremble. He stood, walked to a small tray and poured himself a large brandy which he took back to his desk and sipped as he read the letter again.
The trembling eased, but his shock was palpable. And after a few minutes, tears began to fall. If anyone had observed him at that moment, they would not have seen the Lord Southwick who managed his estates so ably and with a firm hand. They would have seen an aging man in agony.
A couple of hours later, Lady Jocelyn was surprised to find Brent Rowdean in her front hall. “Hallo Brent. What brings you out this way? The ball doesn’t start until eight, you know.”
He smiled. “I know, Lady Jocelyn, and you can be assured that I’ll be here. As will Emmeline.” The smile grew. “You know we’re engaged?”
“I heard. Such great news couldn’t be kept a secret.” She crossed the hall and gave him a big hug. “Congratulations, my dear boy. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
“Thank you. I hope for that as well. But at this particular moment, I’d like a quick word with Sir Rodney if he’s around?”
She blinked. “Well, yes. I believe he’s in the study. Something about getting a year end tally underway.”
Brent grimaced. “Oh Lord. Yes, it’s getting to be that time for all of us. D’you think he’ll have a moment for me?”
“Of course.” She led him down a short hallway and stopped in front of a large door. Tapping on it, she entered. “Brent’s here, Rodney. Wants a word. Got time for him?”
Sir Rodney stood. “Of course. Just the man I want to see.”
Lady Jocelyn blinked. “Really?”
“Yes. Come on in, lad. Warm yourself.” Sir Rodney walked to the fire. “Will be it all right if I ask Joss to stay?”
“Er…” Brent looked somewhat puzzled.
“I received a note this morning.”
“Ah. Well then.” Brent’s countenance cleared. “Yes, sir. I’d be very pleased to have Lady Jocelyn here.”
“Good.”
And an hour or so after that…
“Beg pardon, Milord. Sir Rodney Chillendale and Viscount Rowdean are here and would like to see you. Should I show them in?”
Lord Southwick stood and passed a hand over his face. Then he sighed. “Show them into the parlour, Giles. And if you would make sure there’s a decanter of brandy there as well, it would be appreciated.”
He closed a book on his desk and went to join them
The appropriate words were spoken between the three men, hands were shaken and then they all sat.
“I don’t know what to say,” Lord Southwick looked at his two guests. “You’re being here at this moment leads me to assume you received a note today, as did I?”
“We did.” Brent kept his voice level. “And yes, that is why we’re here.”
“Damned mess.” Sir Rodney frowned. “And my son is caught in the middle of it.”
“He is?” Southwick’s face betrayed his surprise.
“Yes. He wants to marry Prudence.”
Southwick closed his eyes. “There is no way to gloss over this, is there? I should have known that no matter how effectively one buries one’s past, it will always reappear to haunt one.”
“And usually at the worst possible time,” added Brent.
“Thank you for that.” Southwick’s lips curled. “I’m already aware of the accuracy of that statement.”
“Well,” said Sir Rodney. “Brent and I have spent quite a bit of time discussing this matter. And here’s what we think might work…”
The ballroom at Chillendale Hall was not a room that saw a lot of use over the year, but come Christmas, it sprang to life.
The chandeliers were cleaned, and dozens of candles were lit, casting a warm glow over the freshly polished floor and the shining surfaces of the sideboards ringing the large room.
Tall gold-framed mirrors hung between even taller windows on one wall, and their reflections opened up the space – or at least seemed to.
Curtains of dark green velvet would be covering most of those windows, for warmth and to contrast with the gleam of the gold beside them.
The large glass doors at the end of the room, though, would be left uncovered.
Although nobody was expected to stroll out onto the terrace for a breath of air, Lady Jocelyn had arranged for candles in lanterns to be placed outside, illuminating the snow and the miniature fir trees in their marble urns.
Half a dozen always grew somewhere around Chillendale Hall, reserved specifically for this occasion.
It was a tradition that she very much enjoyed, and it always proved a success with her guests.
The room itself was large; at least twenty or thirty couples could comfortably dance their way around, and there was plenty of extra room for onlookers.
Upholstered chairs were clustered out of the way so that chaperones might sit together and keep an eye on their charges without tiring themselves out, and a large double door led to an equally large formal dining room where there would be a constant supply of refreshments.
Since this was an informal affair, the Chillendales didn’t offer a full dinner, preferring to allow their guests to consume what they liked when they felt like it.
But there would be a small orchestra providing suitable music, whether it be something as socially correct as a quadrille or as lively as a country dance.
The decorations, of course, were green and white, as befit a Mistletoe Ball. The local ladies had enjoyed many an afternoon forming real balls out of the stuff with a bit of twine and some leftover wire from the local chicken farm pens.
There were green ribbons draping from the chandeliers and green bouquets of fir artfully arranged in large vases scattered here and there. The mistletoe balls were hung wherever there was an appropriate spot; over doors and windows and even one or two from the chandeliers themselves.
“Well, I think we’ve kept up the reputation of this house for the Mistletoe Ball,” said Lady Jocelyn to Reid as they walked through the prepared rooms.
“It looks incredible, Mama.” He peered into the dining room to see the serving dishes starting to appear.
There were huge piles of gleaming plates, and the servants were smiling and hurrying around, resplendent in their uniforms which for this occasion were adorned with lots of green ribbons.
They too would enjoy the party, once all the food was set out.
This night was one of the few which ignored social standings within the community, and the under housemaid was free to dance with whomever might ask.
Reid always made sure he danced with as many of his servants as he could.
He felt it was the least he could do, given their duties to him and the family throughout the year.
They would receive their customary “boxes” – gifts and bonuses neatly wrapped – on the day after Christmas. It was also a holiday for all of them.
Reid and Lady Jocelyn particularly enjoyed handing out the boxes with a kind word or a little joke, and then retiring to their snug parlour where they could pick at a tray filled with Christmas leftovers.
Some other households in the country held hunts on that day, but at Chillendale, it was set aside for spending many hours doing nothing whatsoever, to the approbation of everyone.
This particular night was going to be very important, he knew. There had been no word from Prudence over the past days, although he could almost feel her thinking about him. And he’d done everything he was supposed to do, but even so, at least half of his mind had been on her every minute.
She was still at the Inn. A couple of the servants had been happy to mention that they’d seen her. He didn’t actually ask, of course, but led the conversation around to that particular topic.
So Brent and Emmeline had been squiring her to various events, while he and the rest of the residents of Chillendale Hall had been preparing for this very night.
“You have your clothing ready?”
Reid grimaced at his mother. “Yes. Green everything. The shirt is a vile lime sort of colour, and the jacket and breeches are dark green. But I do not hesitate to tell you, Mama, that I wish this could have been the Holly Ball. That way I could have alleviated all that green with a bit of red somewhere.”
“Oh hush. You’re the Mistletoe Marquess. It’s expected.” She gave him the eye.
“I know.” He sighed. “But I have to say that this particular ball is not exactly the same as all the others, is it?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. And your father and I do understand that.” She touched a spray of fir, straightening it slightly. “Reid, I’m going to ask you for something.”
“What’s that?”
“Will you trust us? Me and your father?” She turned to him with a serious look on her face.
“Of course,” he answered immediately. “You know I do.”
“It is possible that your father may have discovered a solution to the Prudence problem. All we ask is that you keep a happy heart and smile through this evening, until we can make sure it will serve.”
Reid’s heart hammered. “Can you tell me anything else?”
She took a deep breath. “Come over here.” She led him to a nook with two chairs set next to each other. “Earlier today, your father received a note. We don’t know who it was from, but it said that Lady Prudence’s father was Jack Rowdean.”
“What?” Reid fell back in the chair. He could have anticipated many things, but not this… “She’s Brent’s sister?”
“Step-sister, I would guess. There’s more to this, but I cannot go into it right now. I just wanted you to know that we are doing what we can on your behalf.”
“But this is good news, isn’t it?” He clung to a smidgen of hope. “We know who her father is. That’s more than anyone has known for most of her life, I believe. Does she know?”
“I think Brent will tell her. It’s only right. They are family after all. Really family.”
“I can see that. Lord, I wish I could’ve seen Brent’s face when he found out he had a half-sister.” Reid grinned.
“Look, lovey, it’s only a piece of information. And it’s good to know Prudence’s paternity. But she is still illegitimate. Her father wasn’t her mother’s husband. It doesn’t change the fundamentals of the situation.”
Reid breathed in and out slowly, trying to accustom his brain to this new order of things. “And you say there may be more to this? Can’t you tell me?”
“I wish I could, but no. There are others involved, and these things take time.” She looked away.
“Now I must go and get dressed. I just wanted you to know that we love you and this is where we are at the moment in our efforts to accomplish your happiness.” She reached up and kissed his cheek.
“Now trot along. Your festive attire awaits, and we mustn’t be late for the receiving line. ”
Clenching his teeth, Reid turned to leave, afraid to hope yet unable to stop. A maid passed him, dropping him a quick curtsey. She held a small dish in her hands, and she took it to Lady Jocelyn.
“Reid, a moment?”
He stopped at his mother’s command. “Yes?”
“You know that there will be a table full of Christmas puddings in the dining room?”
“Yes. Those little dishes we seem to have in abundance. Every year Cook fills about a thousand of ‘em with pudding.”
“Don’t exaggerate. It’s only a hundred. And she puts little treats inside some of them for the lucky ones.”
Reid nodded, curious where this conversation was going. “Yes, I remember. I nearly broke my tooth on a halfpenny one year.”
“You were six and I think you’d lost your front teeth anyway.
” His mother shrugged off the memory with a grin.
“Well I want you to make sure you give this pudding to Prudence. And be certain she tries it.” She reached for a mistletoe ball and snapped off a tiny piece, putting it on the top of the tiny dish.
“This pudding, Reid. It’s important. Do you understand? ”
“I do. Did you put a sixpence in there for her?”
“Of course.” She moved to the massive mantel, reached up and placed the dish on the corner behind an ormolu clock, out of the way. “I’m putting it here. Don’t forget. It is important.”
“I have it memorised. But I wish you’d tell me why?” He stared at her, trying to guess what she might be up to.
“It’s a little something for Prudence from the family. So no matter what happens tonight she will have it to remember us by.”
No matter what happens tonight.
His heart sank once more. “Oh. All right. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
“Thank you my dear. Oh my. Look at the time. Hurry along now.” She dragged him toward the Chillendale front hall. “I’ll see you down here within the hour.”
Confused, trying to make sense of everything his mother had said, and with half of his mind still trying to work out how he could persuade Prudence to be his and not ruin Chillendale at the same time, Reid threw up his hands and followed his parent up the staircase.
Brent’s sister. My God, that was a complete surprise.
As he entered his room, to be almost blinded by the green of his clothes for the evening, he found himself praying that something would occur to make his and Pru’s dreams come true. Because a life without her was unthinkable.
What he really needed wasn’t a Mistletoe Ball, it was a Mistletoe Miracle.