Lord Southwick stood and passed a hand over his face. Then he sighed. “Show them into the parlor, 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 aninformal 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 parlor 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 actuallyask, 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 color 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 himtheeye.
