Sandra Heath - Mistletoe Mischief

"Oh, my dearest, dearest Megan, I love you so very much," he whispered, sinking his fingers sensuously into her hair.

"And I love you, Greville, with all my heart," she whispered back.

His arms tightened around her.

Carol singers came to the door of Radcliffe House on Christmas Eve. Their faces were rosy in the light from their lanterns as they sang "Deck the halls with boughs of holly." More snow had fallen since Sunday, and snowflakes drifted in through the open door. Mrs. Fosdyke had baked spiced biscuits and prepared a silver bowl of mulled wine in which floated clove-pricked oranges, and all the servants were present, except Edward, who had been summarily dismissed the moment Evangeline was acquainted with his dealings with Oliver. Evangeline stood with Sir Jocelyn at the foot of the stairs, and Rupert with Chloe, but of Greville and Megan there was no sign because they were standing in the shadows at the top of the stairs.

It was the first time Megan had been allowed out of bed, and Evangeline had forbidden her to come down. She was in her nightgown, with Evangeline's capacious red plaid shawl over her shoulders and Greville's steadying arm around her waist. Her hair was unpinned, and there was little color in her cheeks, because the effects of the sheikh's laudanum had not quite worn off, but otherwise she was on the mend. If anyone had told her only a week ago that she would be so happy by Christmas Eve, she would have branded them quite mad. But there was bliss in her heart now, and a contentment that she had never dreamed would be hers again. It was so good to have Greville's arm around her, and to know that he loved her as she loved him.

Suddenly he plucked some mistletoe from the greenery twined over the banisters, and held it above her head.

"A kiss, my darling," he whispered, and she raised her lips to his just as the carol singing ended and applause broke out in the hall below.

Rollo watched them from the shadows, and smiled. " 'It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho and a hey nonino…' " he murmured, then sighed. "Oh, Belle, Belle, could it be that by this time tomorrow thou wilt be in these aching arms once more? I pray it be so. I pray it hard indeed." Turning, he walked away, and Megan drew back from Greville's lips as she heard the spectral footsteps.

It was Christmas Day, the sun was shining, and Yuletide greetings were on everyone's lips as the jubilant bells of St. Nicholas's rang out as permitted on this one day of the year, for on every other day the church bells of England were a warning of French invasion. The congregation dispersed at the end of morning service.

As the worshippers departed, the small party from Radcliffe House-Evangeline, Greville, Megan, and Rollo-waited in the carriage in Church Street. Rollo was detectable only by the indentation he made in the seat, and he was all of a fidget because the moment he had been seeking for so long had arrived at last. Evangeline was stylish in emerald-green, and Greville wore his greatcoat. Megan was snug in her new cloak, her feet warmed by a heated brick wrapped in cloth, her hands plunged deep into a cozy muff. She had a little more color today, and felt much better.

The bells continued to peal for ten long minutes, but then fell silent, and as the bell ringers left as well, everyone alighted from the carriage. The church was quiet and so cold that their breath was clearly visible as Greville led them down the aisle toward Belle Bevington's memorial. But when they were only a third of the way, everything suddenly went dark, as if the sun had been extinguished. Evangeline's breath caught uneasily as the dim light of an old-fashioned horn lantern glimmered from behind them, and they turned to see Rollo approaching. He was as clear and real as he had been in Megan's dream.

They all parted instinctively for him to pass, and then they saw Belle. She held an oval vizard mask to her face, and wore a chestnut velvet gown with a divided skirt that revealed a richly laced pink brocade petticoat beneath. Her hair was very dark, and worn in a knot on top of her head, with wispy tendrils around her face and long ringlets over her ears. Three rows of pearls adorned her throat, and diamonds flashed on her fingers as she lowered the vizard to reveal her breathtakingly beautiful face. Her eyes were as blue as forget-me-nots, and there was a small black butterfly patch at the corner of her mouth. Her expression was adoring as she held out her cupped hand to Rollo. In her palm lay the lost betrothal ring. He put the lantern on the floor, then took the ring and slipped it on his finger. Belle stepped into his arms, and as their lips met once more the sunlight of Christmas Day 1806 returned. The ghosts had gone, but the lantern remained where Rollo had left it.

Evangeline's cheeks were wet with tears, and she shook her head as Greville went to her. "No, leave me. I'll be all right, these are tears of happiness. I-I’ll just walk on my own in the churchyard for a while, if you don't mind." She bent to retrieve the lantern, then left the church.

Greville turned to Megan. "So, in the words of the Bard, All's Well that Ends Well."

"Yes."

He glanced toward his mother's tomb. "Not all love stories have ended happily in this church," he said softly.

"Ours will," Megan replied, then reached out for his hand. "Come, there's something we must do now."

"Do?"

She caught his hand and led him to the altar. There she took a tiny sprig of mistletoe from inside her muff, and gave it to him. It is our tradition now," she said, and reached over to put it in the secret place.

Greville smiled. "And will you still wish to do that when you are a titled lady?" he asked quietly.

Her eyes widened. "Titled lady?"

"I wish you to be my Lady Seton, Megan. Do you accept?"

"Yes, oh, yes," she whispered, and their lips came together in the sort of Christmas kiss that had no business taking place in such a hallowed place.

Rollo's voice sounded distantly. " 'Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more…' "

Belle's answering laughter, kittenish, provocative, echoed faintly around the ancient stonework, then disappeared.

The 1806 production of Twelfth Night was a resounding success. It was universally agreed that there had never been a finer Malvolio than Sir Greville Seton, and that Evangeline's phantasmagoric effects were wonderful indeed. Mind you, there was a slight disturbance at one point when several people in the audience cried out that they could see the ghostly and entirely incongruous figures of a Restoration lady and gentleman strolling hand in hand across the stage. Evangeline merely pointed out that her transparencies must have gotten mixed up somehow.

At St. Nicholas's church on St. Valentine's Day 1807, Megan became Lady Seton and Chloe became Lady Rupert Radcliffe. It was a wonderfully happy occasion that was made very grand indeed by the attendance of the Prince of Wales, who had come to Brighton especially to formalize the purchase of Radcliffe House. Evangeline and Sir Jocelyn had their own nuptials planned for May Day, which just happened to be Evangeline's birthday.

After the debacle of their soiree musicale, the Garsingtons had decamped abroad, Gibraltar being unfortunate enough to find itself their chosen destination. Only Sigismund stayed in England, and now that he had escaped torture by hautbois, had become a much more tolerant and contented fellow; indeed he, Greville, and Rupert became good friends. Sigismund could no longer abide to even hear an orchestra, and on account of this was one day to find his way into the arms of the Duchess of Oldenburg, who was sister to Czar Alexander II and who shared Sigismund's loathing for music. But that was another story.

As for Oliver and Ralph, their fate was sealed. Sigismund's new tolerance did not extend to letting either of them escape the Garsington marital hook, and at a very hasty wedding on New Year's Eve an ecstatically happy Sybil became Mrs. March. Ralph was forced back to Sophia, who now trusted him less than ever, and nagged him constantly.

It was unfortunate for both Garsington sons-in-law that Gibraltar was a very small rock, with very few places for them to steal a few moments of peace and quiet. Oh, how often did the Pillars of Hercules ring to the clarion calls of their wives. "Cooee, Oliver! Cooee, Walph! COOEE! COOEE!"