Christmas Betrothals: Mistletoe Magic. Amanda McCabe
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days, travelling according to Nathaniel Lindsay’s wife, Cassandra, who was the sister of Anne Weatherby. Where, she had no clue, though according to Anne he had left his lodgings and given no idea of when he expected to return.
Presumably it would be before the house party on Friday. She wondered who he knew in England to take him away for such a period and remembered the Countess of Horsham’s scandalous gossip. Lillian shook her head. Surely a man of little means and newly come from the Americas would not have the wherewithal to house any children, let alone those born out of wedlock?
Lucas Clairmont was a mystery, she thought, his accent changing each time she saw him and some dark menace in his golden eyes. Not a man to be trifled with, she decided, and not a man whom others might persuade to take any course he did not wish to, either.
She made her way down to the library on the first floor of the town house and dislodged a book on the Americas that her father had bought a few years earlier. Virginia and Hampton and the wide ragged outline of Chesapeake Bay was easily traced by her fingers and there along a blue line signifying the James River lay Richmond, surrounded by green and at the edge of long tongues of water that wound their way up towards it. What hills and dales did he know? What towns to the east and west had he visited? Charlottesville. Arlington. Williamsburg and Hopewell. All names that she had no knowledge of and only the propensity to imagine.
A knock on the door brought her from her reveries and she called an entry.
‘Lord Wilcox-Rice is here, ma’am, with his sister, Lady Eleanor. He said something of a shopping expedition.’
‘What time is it?’ Lillian asked the question in trepidation.
‘Half past three, miss. Just turned.’
Rising quickly, she was glad that her day dress was one that would not need changing and pleased, too, for the bright sky she could now see outside.
‘Of course. Would you show them through to the blue salon and let them know that I shall be but a moment whilst I fetch my bonnet and coat.’
Ellie Wilcox-Rice was one of Lillian’s favourite acquaintances; in fact, it was probably due to her influence that Lillian had allowed even the talk of an engagement to her friend’s brother to be mooted.
As they walked along Park Lane she laughed at Ellie’s rendition of her Saturday evening at a ball in Kensington, a wearying sort of affair, it seemed.
‘I should have much rather been at the crush of James Cholmondely’s ball.’ Ellie sighed. ‘Jennifer Parker said she had the most wonderful time and that she had danced with an American with whom she fell in love on the spot.’
‘Probably Mr Lucas Clairmont,’ John said, waiting as the girls looked at a shop window, beautifully decorated for the approaching Christmas season. ‘He has all the ladies’ hearts a-racing, I hear, and no one has any idea of who exactly he is.’
‘Does he have your heart a-racing, Lillian?’ Ellie’s laughter was shrill.
‘Of course he doesn’t,’ John answered for her. ‘Lillian is far too sensible to be swayed by the man.’
‘Jennifer thinks he is rich. She thinks he has land in the Americas that rival that of the Ancaster estate. Hundreds and thousands of acres.’
‘Did he say so to her?’ Lillian was intrigued by this new development.
‘No. It is just she has a penchant for Mr Darcy in Pride and Prejudice and imagines Lucas Clairmont in much the same mould.’
‘A peagoose, then, and more stupid than I had imagined her.’ John’s outburst was unexpected. Usually he saw the best in all people.
‘Jennifer also said that you had a waltz with this man, Lillian.’
‘Indeed I did, and he is a competent dancer, if I recall.’
‘But he made no impression upon you?’
Looking away, Lillian hated her breathlessness and her racing heart. To even talk of him here …
‘Why, speaking of the devil, I do believe that is him coming towards us now. With Lord Hawkhurst, is it not?’
His sister laid her hand upon his. ‘John, you absolutely must introduce me to him and let me make up my own mind.’
The two men walked towards them, both tall and dark, though today it appeared as though Luc Clairmont laboured in his gait and when they came up close Lillian could well see why. Today he looked little like he had last time she had met him, his left eye swollen shut and a cut across the bridge of his nose. When her glance flickered to his hands she saw that he wore gloves. To cover the damage to his knuckles, she supposed, and frowned.
‘Wilcox-Rice.’ Lord Hawkhurst bowed his head and the exchanges of names were made. When it was her turn for introduction, however, Luc Clairmont made no mention of the intimacy of their meetings so far, tipping his hat in much the same way as he did for Eleanor.
Today the light in his one good eye was dulled considerably, his glance almost bashful as she looked upon him. He barely spoke, waiting until Hawkhurst had finished and then moving along with him.
‘Well,’ said Eleanor as they went out of earshot, ‘it looks as if Jennifer’s prince has had an accident.’
‘Been in another fight, more like it,’ John interjected. ‘There was talk of a scuffle at the Lenningtons’ the other week.’
‘Really.’ Ellie turned to look back and Lillian wished that she would not.
‘Who would he fight?’
‘The gambling tables have their own complications.’ John was quick to answer his sister’s question. ‘Your cousin, by the way, Lillian, is numbered amongst those who have had more than a light dab at the faces of others.’
‘Daniel?’ Ellie questioned, grimacing at the name. ‘But he dresses far too well to fight.’
Despite herself Lillian laughed at the sheer absurdity of her friend’s statement as they made their way into Oxford Street.
‘I can well see why Jennifer Parker is so besotted. Have you ever seen a more dangerous-looking man than Lucas Clairmont?’
When John frowned heavily, they decided that it was prudent to drop the subject altogether.
Christmas decorations were beginning to appear in more of the shops and a child and an elderly woman stood by the roadside selling bunches of mistletoe from a barrow.
Ellie rushed over dragging Lillian with her, carefully separating the foliage until she found a piece that she wanted.
‘They say if you kiss a man under mistletoe you will find your one true love. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Perhaps you might kiss my brother? Here, Lillian, I will buy a sprig for you.’
Eleanor gave the woman some money and was handed two brown parcels, the greenery contained in thick paper and string. As they went to leave a young couple came up to the barrow. They were not well-to-do or dressed in anything near the latest of fashion, but when the man held the mistletoe up to the woman there was something in their eyes that simply transfixed Lillian.
Laughter and warmth and a shining intensity that was bewitching! She saw love in the way their hands brushed close as he handed her the packet and in the breathless smile the woman gave back to him as she received her gift. Only them in the world, only the small circle of their joy and happiness, for the bliss between them was tangible to everyone that watched.
Yearning overcame Lillian. Yearning for what she had just seen, the mistletoe a reminder of what she had never found and would probably never have. She glanced at John, who was castigating his sister for wasting her money on such frippery and a heavy sadness settled over her.
Christmas with its hope and promise had a way of undermining rationality and logic, replacing it with this mistletoe magic and a great dollop of hunger for something completely untenable.
‘I