A Match Made in Mistletoe: A Regency Novella
Published by Anna Campbell
Copyright 2016 Anna Campbell
Cover Design: © Hang Le
ISBN: 9780997530766
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems - except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews - without permission in writing from the author, Anna Campbell. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notes
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Acknowledgements:
To my dear friend Sharon Arkell
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
A Pirate for Christmas
About The Author
Prologue
* * *
Torver House, Dorset, December 1820
Serena Talbot carefully laid her lace handkerchief on the dressing table and pulled back the corners to reveal the fragile green and white sprig sitting in its soft nest. How absurd it was, that her hands were shaking.
When she raised her eyes to the mirror, she read apprehension in the gray depths. “It’s only a silly superstition,” she whispered to the blond girl staring back at her.
The blond girl in the reflection looked ready to run for her life.
Around her, the huge, old house was quiet, as it wouldn’t be quiet tomorrow when the halls echoed with laughter and happy chatter. The guests for the Talbots’ annual Christmas house party arrived in the afternoon.
But tonight held only silence and shadows and flickering candlelight. Caught up in the moment, Serena shivered. She felt like the ghosts of a hundred bygone maidens crowded around her. A hundred maidens who over the centuries had done just what she was about to do.
Had all those other girls felt this same aching longing, this same foreboding that they summoned powers beyond their control?
She straightened and cast the figure in the mirror a derisive glance. “Show some backbone, Serena Frances Talbot.”
With swift purpose, she lifted the mistletoe she’d plucked from the kissing bough in St. Lawrence’s church in the village and slipped it under her pillow. She’d planned this for weeks. Rattle-pated megrims would not stop her from proceeding.
All her life she’d loved Paul Garside, and now she was twenty-one, it was time to do something about it. This Christmas, she’d do everything she could to make sure he proposed and invited her to take up the glorious life she’d always wanted.
Tonight’s ritual placed the seal on her plans. With the mistletoe under her pillow, she’d dream of the man she was to marry. And tomorrow, she’d set out to claim her destiny as Lady Garside.
Once before she’d tried this, when she was eighteen and mad for Paul. The embarrassing truth was she dreamed of him all the time—but that night she hadn’t. And he’d spent all Christmas making sheep’s eyes at Letitia Duggan.
Since then, Serena had recognized that the mistletoe was telling her she wasn’t yet ready. But, oh, how ready she was now, three years later. And Paul gave every indication that he agreed. Whenever they’d met in the last few months, he’d paid her flattering attention.
Smiling at the thought of the handsome baronet she loved, she pulled off her dressing gown and slid into bed. She closed her eyes on a prayer for the mistletoe’s blessing.
* * *
The day was sunny and warm, although in the way of dreams, snow lay thick on the ground. Serena, walking alone along the path to St. Lawrence’s, opened the heavy church door that squeaked in her dreams as it squeaked in life, and stepped into the cool, scented dimness of the vestibule. Before her, a tall man in a hat and formal black coat stood with his back to her. Above him hung the kissing bough, a large ball of mistletoe woven with red and gold ribbon and decorated with apples and green holly.
Music played in the distance. Harps and violins.
Happiness flooded her as she paused in the arched entrance. Glancing down, she saw without surprise that she was dressed for her wedding. When she came in, she hadn’t been carrying anything, but now she clasped a pretty bouquet of white roses.
With a light step, she walked toward the man who was yet to look in her direction. At her approach, those impressive shoulders straightened. A triumphant smile curled her lips. Everything she’d ever wanted was coming true. At last.
She was to become Lady Garside, wife to wonderful Paul.
She extended one hand to touch the man she was about to marry. “Paul?” she murmured, her joy reaching a crescendo along with the music.
Her heart thumped with wild excitement as her bridegroom slowly turned to face her. She raised her eyes to meet a smiling blue gaze.
And everything crashed into disaster.
The man’s eyes were dark brown, almost black. Instead of seeing Paul’s clean-cut features, she stared aghast into a saturnine face with slashing cheekbones and a broken nose. Thick brows added a devilish air. A sensual, cynical mouth twisted in the mocking smile that always made her itch to slap it away.
“You!” she spat, lurching back.
“Indeed,” Giles Farraday, Lord Hallam, drawled.
That deep voice echoed in her ears when she jerked up against her pillows in gasping horror.
What madness was this? She was meant to marry Paul, not his sarcastic, annoying friend, the Marquess of Hallam. Good heavens, she wasn’t even sure she liked Giles. She hated how he watched her, as if he saw past her outward poise to the wild, headstrong girl inside. If it was her choice, she wouldn’t have him to stay at Torver. But he’d been a regular visitor since his schooldays. And when the young Serena had asked her mother not to invite the quiet, dark-haired boy, she’d promptly received a scolding for lack of charity.
Giles Farraday was an orphan. His parents had died in India, and he had no family to go to at Christmas. He and Paul had been great friends since they’d met at Eton, although she’d never understood why. Paul was beautiful and golden, an Apollo. Giles was dark and difficult, a Vulcan or a Hades. Giles’s humor leaned toward the black, while Paul’s was unfailingly sunny.
With a choked growl of disappointment and anger, she ripped the mistletoe from beneath her pillow and flung it to the floor.
She should know better than to trust in old wives’ tales.
Chapter One
* * *
Serena still felt out of sorts the next afternoon, when the carriages rolled up to Torver House to disgorge the Christmas guests. A fortnight of family and friends and fun lay ahead. Or so she told herself as she trudged downstairs to join her parents on the wide front stairs, where they waited to welcome the visitors
. The house was set on a rise above the train of vehicles making their way along the winding drive.
The day was fine and cold, with a pale, wintry sun in a pale, wintry sky. Beside her, her ebullient, gray-haired father was almost incandescent with anticipation. There was nothing Sir George loved better than this yearly gathering of Talbot connections. Her mother, a more contained personality than her father, looked equally pleased in her serene way.
First to bound up the stairs toward Serena was her brother Frederick, tall, dark and exuberant like their father. Followed by Serena’s older sisters Belinda and Mary with their families, and a horde of aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends.
By the time everyone shifted into the great hall for spiced wine and gingerbread, the air resounded with laughter and squeals of excitement. Gangs of children chased each other through the cavernous room hung with boughs of Christmas greenery, and various dogs added to the mayhem.
Serena found refuge from the cheerful chaos beside the hearth, where the Yule log blazed. Most years, she loved this explosion of life in a house that had become sadly quiet since her sisters married and her brother took up residence in London. But now, a headache nagged at her, and she couldn’t help wishing that the children weren’t quite so ecstatic to see their cousins.
“Serena, are you all right?” Mary asked, coming up beside her.
Serena forced a smile. “Fine.”
Searching gray eyes, so like her own, leveled on her. “You don’t seem yourself.”
She didn’t feel like herself, but even to this, her favorite sister, she couldn’t confess the details of last night’s unsettling dream. Anyway, what was there to confess?
A footman opened the main doors to some latecomers, distracting Mary. To Serena’s relief. “Ah, here are Paul and Giles,” her sister said with transparent pleasure.
Two vigorous young men strode into the crowded hall and stopped beneath the kissing bough suspended near the door. Torver House always set up a mistletoe corner, although the decoration was less extravagant than the one in St. Lawrence’s.
In her ears if not in reality, the cacophony receded, and for one breathless moment, Serena observed the new arrivals as if she’d never seen them before. Which was mad, when she’d known Paul since she was a baby, and Giles since eight-year-old Frederick had brought the orphaned marquess home the Christmas after he started at school.
Sir Paul Garside was a sight to set any girl’s heart fluttering. The handsomest man she’d ever seen. Tall. Golden. Perfectly turned out in a dark-blue coat that matched his eyes. At ease with his world.
Unwillingly, almost afraid, she let her attention stray to Paul’s companion. Dark. Quieter than Paul. Compelling in his self-possession.
Serena had always disbelieved the gossip that painted Giles as the gentleman the London ladies pursued. But even across the vast hall, something hot and dangerous quivered into life inside her when those unreadable obsidian eyes settled on her.
“Serena?” Mary said sharply, shattering her odd reaction. “Are you listening to me?”
Serena’s cheeks heated as she met her sister’s curious eyes. “Sorry, Mary. I was miles away.”
“No doubt dreaming of a June wedding to Paul Garside,” her sister snapped.
Serena’s blush deepened, and she checked quickly to see if anyone had overheard. “Shh.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s paying any attention. And what if they are? Your penchant for Paul is no secret.”
“Oh, how mortifying,” Serena said in horror.
“Well, in the family at least. It’s possible Paul doesn’t know. Men are always so clueless about things like that.”
“I…I like Paul, I always have.” Why on earth did that statement convey an edge of desperation?
“Of course you do. He’ll make you a wonderful husband. If you mean to catch him, you must know you’ve got the family’s approval.”
Serena’s annoyance persisted, although she wasn’t sure why. “I had no idea my hopes were subject to such speculation.”
Mary’s laugh was dismissive. “You’re mutton-headed if you don’t. A couple of years ago, Mamma made us all promise not to mention it, because you’re such a contrary creature, you might go off the idea.”
Serena’s attention returned to Paul. Her father and mother were giving him a rapturous welcome. Odd how difficult it was to resist looking toward his acerbic friend standing beside him, also welcomed, also loved. “When I was ten years old, I made up my mind to marry him.”
“And why not? It will be a marvelous match. We all love Paul.”
Why did Mary’s chirpy certainty grate? “You make it sound as if we’re already engaged.”
Mary subjected her to a thorough inspection and finished with a satisfied nod. “You’ve turned into a bit of a diamond in the last year or so. And the word is that Paul has noticed.”
This should be exactly what Serena wanted to hear, especially as she’d always been a harum-scarum disaster, more inclined to climb a tree or play a hectic game of cricket, than sit with her embroidery.
So why wasn’t she overjoyed at Mary’s praise—and the news that her family approved of her suitor? This niggle of discontent made no sense at all.
Before she could fathom her odd reaction, Paul and Giles approached.
“And here are my two favorite girls.” Paul smiled with the brilliance of a man who never doubted his welcome wherever he went. “Mary, you’re looking the picture of health. And, Serena, how lovely you are today. If we were under the mistletoe, I’d kiss you.”
“You may kiss me anyway.” She smiled at Paul and took his outstretched hands. “It’s the privilege of old friendship.”
Paul bent to kiss her cheek. She waited for the usual thrill at the touch of his lips. But the fleeting contact left her unmoved. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her?
As she drew away, she caught Giles’s interested gaze and stupidly, she blushed. The memory of that horrible dream constricted her breathing, so she sounded cursed fluttery as she greeted Paul’s friend. “And, Giles, welcome back to Torver. Did you have a good trip up from London?”
"Serena, how cruel.” Ironic humor lengthened Giles’s lips. “You’ve known me nearly as long as you’ve known this vagabond, yet I don’t merit the same rights?”
“Same?” Puzzled, she stared up at him. He towered over her, taller than Paul. How had she never noted that before?
A purr of laughter escaped him as he leaned in. “Who needs mistletoe?”
He’d kissed her before in silly Christmas games. Since their first term at Eton, Frederick had invited Paul and Giles to spend school holidays at Torver House. While Giles’s visits in recent years had become rarer, he’d never missed a Christmas. He was part of the fabric of her life.
So why did his casual kiss stop the world? At the cool brush of his lips across her cheek, shivery heat rippled through her. She closed her eyes, fighting for balance.
“Serena?” Giles’s soft, deep voice—why had she never before recognized its beauty?—seemed to come from far away.
She blinked and with surprising reluctance, stepped apart from him. Another horrid blush stained her cheeks, and she only just stopped herself from raising a hand to touch where he’d kissed her. Her skin burned where his lips had touched.
Drat that dream. It had turned her batty.
Reluctantly, she met Giles’s eyes. Dark and somber, they settled on her face. She’d learned through the years that little escaped his penetrating intelligence. The idea of him seeing her confusion made her cringe.
“Welcome home,” she stammered, only realizing what she said after the words emerged.
For once, Giles’s smile lacked an edge. “Well, that’s a nice reception.”
She blinked again to bring the bustling room into focus and realized that the whole interaction had lasted mere seconds. Mary and Paul weren’t looking at them but discussing some mutual acquaintance.
Still those enigmatic eyes exami
ned her face. She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I…I meant…”
To her surprise, he touched her cheek with one elegant hand. Mostly Giles kept his distance from her. Gestures of affection were unheard of. “Don’t spoil it.”
The brush of his fingers was almost as devastating to her composure as his kiss. “Spoil?”
Could she sound any more like a complete ninnyhammer? Paul stood beside her, yet her attention riveted on Giles.
Giles was still smiling with a sweetness she’d never before associated with brooding Lord Hallam. “I’ve always thought of Torver as my home, presumptuous as that may be.”
“What about Lanyon Castle?” The Marquess of Hallam had vast estates in Devon. She’d never visited them, but Paul and Frederick had spoken with awe of the splendors of the Farraday feudal pile.
“Brr.” Giles gave a theatrical shiver. “Just thinking about the place makes me feel like I’m coming down with a cold.”
She frowned. He might sound like he was joking, but something in his expression made her wonder if he was. “It sounds magnificent.”
The irony crept back into his smile, and she found herself regretting the loss of that unsuspected sweetness. “Oh, it’s that, all right.”
“But not a home?”
“It takes love to make a home.”
Before she could question his statement—surely the most astonishing part of what had so far proven an astonishing day—he turned to speak to Belinda and Frederick who had dodged darting attacks from overexcited youngsters to reach the fireplace.
Released at last from his blazing black gaze, Serena took her first full breath since that extraordinary kiss. When Giles stared at her, she’d felt as though someone tightened a strap around her chest.
What in the name of all that was holy had just happened?
Nothing. Everything.
Who knew Giles concealed a romantic streak beneath his cynical hide?