Her Mistletoe Promise: A Christmas Novella Read online

  Her Mistletoe Promise

  A Christmas Novella

  Jaye Peaches

  Copyright © 2020 Jaye Peaches

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are a work of fiction, intended for adults.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  (Previous published as part of the Seduced under the Mistletoe Anthology, 2018.)

  Her Mistletoe Promise

  A disgraced officer and a ruined lady spend twelve naughty nights together.

  Sent home from the battlefields of the Napoleonic Wars, disgraced Lieutenant Elias Seton catches the attention of gregarious Jenny Templeton, who has fled London following a scandal.

  Determined to cheer him up, and with little thought for her reputation, Jenny seduces the officer and promises to keep him company every night between Christmas Day and Twelfth Night. Jenny discovers Elias is a demanding master of the bedroom.

  Will she be able to fulfil her promise and what if her family discover them together?

  Chapter 1

  26th December 1809, Dorset, England

  The heavy weight of her wet skirts rubbed against her frozen thighs. She shivered and drew the hood of her cape over her tangled hair in a futile attempt to keep her ears warm.

  What a fool she was to think it would be an easy task to walk ten miles in the worst fog she had ever encountered. Rupert pulled on his leash, his low-slung belly hidden in the grasses of the meadow. His fur was matted, and he kept staring at her with his pathetic black eyes. She should have left him at home.

  Her misadventure was due to her lust for a rakish man she had only met a week ago, and it seemed she was intoxicated by the rogue officer with his tufts of golden hair and sharp eyes. On Christmas night, he had lain between her bare legs, touched her breasts with his lips, and sought sanctuary in the core of her being. By the firelight, she had allowed him to do as he pleased for the sheer pleasure of knowing she had seduced him into bed. Now, a day later, she wanted nothing more than to be under him again and felt not a morsel of regret for pursuing him. If she could only reach him and explain to him what had happened in London, then she might encourage him to act upon the naughty things her imagination conjured up.

  The meadow was blanketed in fog. She thought she knew the way and now realised she was quite lost and had been for at least an hour. Soon it would be dark, and then she would be at the mercy of the bitter December night. She could not even turn back as she had wandered off the path home.

  The swirl of white was as dense as a blizzard, and it brought with it a dampness that reminded her of rain. Rupert yapped and without warning tugged so hard on his leash he broke free. The dangling lead followed him as he disappeared into the fog.

  “Rupert, come back here!”

  The yaps grew distant. The wretched dog had abandoned her, too. What now?

  She slumped against a tree. If only she had taken a carriage, but then her deceitful plan would have been revealed by a groom, and her grandparents would have summoned her back. She could not endure their disappointment at second time. Once was unbearable.

  “Please, please,” she prayed softly. “I need you, my love.”

  However, her lover was probably still miles away, sat in front of a warm fire, eating plum pudding and content to let her go. He had, after all, said as much in his letter. He was not a good choice, he had implied, but therein was her problem: she was hardly the gentile lady.

  She needed to persevere. Something, a little voice of reason in her head, told her they were probably perfect for each other.

  Jenny picked up her skirts and strode in the direction Rupert had taken. The dog probably had better sense than her.

  Chapter 2

  16th December 1809

  Jenny Templeton stabbed the linen with a needle and pricked her finger. “Ow,” she muttered before sucking hard on her fingertip.

  The morning sunlight filtered through the windowpane and landed on her lap, illuminating the white cloth and blackwork. A tiny spot of blood had spread itself over the last few stitches.

  “Oh bother,” she exclaimed, tossing the embroidery onto the window seat.

  From across the room, her grandmother bellowed, “What’s that, my dear?”

  Jenny rose to her feet. “Nothing, Grandma,” she shouted back.

  Susannah Templeton’s face creased into a multitude of disapproving wrinkles. “There’s no need to shout.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes to the ceiling fresco—adorned with chubby cherubs and large oyster shells—and ignored the remark. There was every need to raise her voice when speaking to her grandmother. The copper horn, which Susannah used to augment her hearing, was grasped in her bony hand, and although it assisted, it remained nothing more than a rudimentary aide and hardly a decent replacement for loss of hearing.

  Before Jenny could reach the couch where her grandmother sat, there was a thump at the door. The footman, who never bothered to wait for an answer on the basis he would never receive one from Susannah, swept into the room holding a silver platter that bore a single letter.

  “This has just arrived from Bockhampton House, ma’am,” he yelled into the horn.

  “Bockhampton?” Susannah’s face lit up, and she snatched the letter off the tray, dismissing the servant with a cursory nod.

  “Aunt Kitty?” Jenny had a soft spot for her mother’s sister. She handed her grandmother the letter opener and waited impatiently for Susannah to retrieve the letter, fumble to balance her spectacles on the end of her nose, then read the lengthy missive.

  Jenny perched on the edge of the couch and attempted to catch sight of the flowery lettering.

  This had to be good news, she thought. Only that morning, Jenny had dispatched a letter to her friend, Lydia, in London, bemoaning the lack of entertainment at Bereworth Hall, and the sorrowful state of wintery malaise surrounding Weymouth and Poole. In a few days’ time it would be Christmas, and she had yet to be invited to a single party or ball. Since she had left the busy streets of Belgravia three months earlier, Jenny continued to lament her solitary confinement while Lydia filled her letters with gossip and excitement. In reply, Jenny had little to tell her friend.

  As for William, Lydia had made no mention of his name. She had skirted around the scandal with the exception of reassuring Jenny that London continued to view her situation with sympathy. Or pity, as Jenny saw it. She did not want pity. What she desired above all else was a fresh start in life after wasting three years in London hunting for a husband. She might as well wear black and pretend she was a widow. Lydia pointed out that nobody blamed Jenny, and that Jenny’s godmother, Lucretia, was at fault, something upon which Susannah agreed.

  “If a priest can be defrocked, then a godparent should be stripped of their responsibilities. Your late mother would never have allowed her to represent your interests, Jenny.” Susannah had cast off Lucretia the day Jenny had arrived on the doorstep of Bereworth Hall in floods of tears. Tears not of grief or sorrow, but anger and embarrassment.

  However, that was three months ago, and now Jenny felt fully recovered and keen to acquaint herself with the tepid social scene of Dorset.

  “Well?” she asked her grandmother. “What does Kitty have to say?”

  “Your aunt is hosting an evening of cards and merriment.”

  Jenny clapped her hands together. “How exciting. When?”

  “Three days’ time.”

  “Oh, bless her. She’s come to my rescue.”

  Jenny’s aunt lived six miles away at Bockhampton House, an old Jacobean mansion that belonged to her husband’s family. Richard Longleat was a naval captain and busy chasing pirates in the West Indies. He had not been home for nearly a year, and then only for a few weeks to witness the wedding of his daughter to a tedious parson and to ensure his son had not been sent down from Oxford University for highly unlikely lewd behaviour. Jenny really could not understand why her dizzy aunt Kitty had married into such a pious and pompous family. Jenny suspected that given Richard’s long absences, the arrangement suited them perfectly—she had provided him with healthy children and a well-run household, and he removed himself from her company as often as possible. Alone at Bockhampton, Kitty had nobody to refuse her request for a little soiree.

  “She’s inviting your cousin and her husband, the Lady Helena Bagshott, the honourable Timothy Squares and his wife…” Susannah rattled off a few more names of the local gentry, none of whom sounded the slightest bit eligible.

  Jenny’s enthusiasm waned.

  “And a Lieutenant Seton.” Susannah’s lips formed a crumpled pucker. “Seton,” she repeated.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Pardon, my dear?” Susannah turned to face her granddaughter.

  Jenny lowered her fluttering fan and ensured her lips were visible. “Do you know Lieutenant Seton?”

  Susannah folded the letter. “I know of him. By reputation.” The tone of her voice was not promising.

  “I gather it is not a good reputation,” she yelled into
the horn propped against Susannah’s ear.

  The white crest of Susannah’s hair tipped sideways as she craned to hear Jenny speak.

  “He’s a cavalry officer,” Susannah explained. “He was in Spain fighting the Frenchies. From what I know, he was sent back in disgrace and is currently living at his cousin’s house.”

  “Whatever for?” Far from being put off, Jenny was intrigued by the mystery.

  “Cannot recall. A military matter. I gather his father is an important friend of Sir Arthur Wellesley, the general, and it saved him the ignominy of a court martial. I do not think it wise to associate yourself with him at your aunt’s until the dust has settled around his feet. As you well know, country folk can be such harsh judges. However, we must endeavour to keep an open mind.”

  “Naturally, Grandma.” Susannah flicked open her fan and waved it before her face, covering her mouth. “I fully intend to keep an open mind. Lieutenant Seton and I could both benefit.”

  “What’s that, my dear?”

  “Nothing, Grandma. Nothing.”

  Chapter 3

  Jenny chose to wear a fern-green gown, white satin evening gloves, and a pheasant’s feather in her tightly coiled hair. Kitty greeted her with an admiring twinkle in her eyes.

  “Such a delight to have your here, dearest,” she enthused as she welcomed Jenny on the threshold of the long salon.

  Bockhampton House was too small a residence to host a ballroom, but it did have a fine saloon with venetian mirrors and elegant portraits of naval officers in full regalia. All around were sprigs of holly and wreathes of ivy. Jenny loved Christmas; it was her favourite time of year in London.

  “Aunt, the pleasure is mine. I have longed for the opportunity to escape Bereworth. My dear grandparents, kind as they are, are not the best companions for a young lady.” Jenny slipped her arm around Kitty’s and allowed herself to be escorted into the room.

  A fog of tobacco smoke greeted her first. A small cluster of men were gathered around a card table playing Piquet and puffing on their ivory pipes. Kitty steered her away from them.

  “All married, I’m afraid,” she whispered into Jenny’s ear.

  The huddle of wives stood deep in conversation on the other side of the salon, their backs forming an almost impenetrable barrier.

  Jenny sighed. “It’s not that I feel the burning desire to walk that path again, but as I’m twenty-one, I can hardly leave it for much longer, can I?”

  “Indeed not,” Kitty agreed. “It’s such a shame about William—”

  Jenny quickly dampened down her fury and interjected, “Please, do not sully this wonderful evening with him.”

  Kitty halted by the thin figure of Mary and her rotund husband, the Reverend Mills. “Mary, you remember Jenny?”

  “Of course, Mama.” Mary curtsied.

  The Rev Mills bowed. Although not above thirty years, Rev Mills achieved the refinements of premature old age with relative ease and apparent contentment. Poor Mary looked like a lost waif next to his ballooning waistline and puffed cheeks. As for Mary, according to Kitty, she was exceedingly happy with her husband.

  “Thank goodness they live the other side of Poole. I could not bear to attend his church as a regular patron,” Kitty had confessed in private to Jenny at the wedding.

  It seemed an age ago that she had gone to that dull party—the last she had attended with William upon her arm.

  Kitty, when left on her own, was extravagant in dress and happy to purchase the finest wines and sherries for the purpose of entertainment.

  Across the room in the dimmest corner lurked a man in a blue uniform. He carried under one arm his shako hat while clutching the handle of his ceremonial sword with the other hand. His hair was as unruly as curly straws, and even in the low light, it was obvious his face with its bronze hue had borne the brunt of a warmer climate than England. Only his eyes were cast in shadow by his hooded eyebrows. He was not smiling; he looked miserable and cast aside. Jenny empathised with that feeling.

  Kitty followed Jenny’s gaze. “Lieutenant Seton.”

  “Introduce me,” Jenny said swiftly. She could not allow him to stand all evening alone in the corner like a naughty school boy. Even her reluctant grandmother would not be so unkind as to leave him abandoned.

  “Are you sure?” Kitty asked.

  “You invited him?”

  “I heard he’s staying at Oswald Tulk’s house near Weymouth. They are distant cousins. I like Mr Tulk, even if he is eccentric.”

  “He’s abroad, is he not?” Jenny had read something of his adventures in the local newspaper.

  “He travels to the most far-flung places to collect plants and other odd things. Dewborne Manor is, I gather from a neighbouring farmer, in a terrible state due to his absence, and Lieutenant Seton has taken up residence. I would think it is part of his punishment to be billeted there.”

  “Punishment?” Jenny’s ears pricked up, and she flicked open her fan.

  Across the room, Seton shifted his feet and stared at a nearby portrait of an admiral with obvious disdain.

  “Yes. He did something reprehensible in Spain.”

  “Really?” Jenny glanced over to the tall, clean-shaven man and fanned herself. Quite a peculiar heat hit her face, and it was not from the fireplace.

  Lieutenant Seton gave up on the admiral and turned to face the open expanse of the salon. He stopped his sweeping gaze right on Jenny’s face. He froze there, staring at her in a manner that was not appropriate, she thought. She was quite pleased by the nature of it.

  “I do not know the details, but he failed to follow orders. Consequently, he was sent home in disgrace and now has some minor duties at Red Barracks in Weymouth.” Kitty frowned. “I invited him because Mr Tulk wrote to me to ask if I would keep an eye on the young man. They are not close, and he only offered him quarters in the hope the Lieutenant might ensure the gardeners do not kill his precious plants while he travels.”

  “Then it would seem we should talk to him, do you not think, Aunt. How can you evaluate his gardening prowess from across the room?” Jenny nudged Kitty forward.

  They approached, and the officer straightened his back, snapped his heels together, and bowed.

  He lifted his head. “Ladies.”

  “Lieutenant Seton,” Kitty began, rising from her curtsy. “Allow me to introduce to you my niece. Miss Jenny Templeton of Bereworth Hall. The daughter of my late sister. She was husband to Algernon Templeton, a respected merchant who sadly drowned off the coast of India during a sea voyage.”

  “Miss Templeton, it is my honour to have your acquaintance.” He bowed again.

  Now Jenny was convinced that the heat burning in her cheeks and the flurry of excitement in her belly was entirely due to the young officer who stood before her. If the dust had not settled at his feet, she decided it was not necessary to wait. Given his dour demeanour and rigid pose, she surmised the lieutenant was in need of fair company. Quite what she planned to do would evolve naturally over the course of the evening.

  “Would you care to take a turn with me, sir? I’m sure we can sample my aunt’s fine sherry collection?”

  “I would prefer to drink the punch, Miss Templeton. I have had my fill of Spanish sherry,” he said dryly.

  Jenny’s heart sank at the unenthusiastic tone of voice. Perhaps he was deserving of his glum expression, given his reputation. She dropped her gaze from the firm press of his thin lips, down the sharp columns of shiny brass buttons to the gold trim of the buttonholes. She had never seen such elegance close up; she had assumed uniforms were drab and functional. Such a pity, she mused. He might have enlightened the evening considerably.

  “However,” he said after a pause. “I would happily take a turn with you, Miss Templeton.”

  She lifted her chin and beamed in gratitude. For a second, she believed she witnessed a whisper of a smile on his face.

  ∞∞∞

  Elias Seton regretted attending Mrs Jarvis’s party. The primary reason for coming was to escape the isolation of Dewborne Manor. Ever since he had returned from Spain, the army had shunned him, starting with his exile to the Red Barracks and his duties as adjutant to the absent colonel of the 23rd Light Dragoons, who remained in Spain with the dregs of the regiment. Elias was supposed to be sourcing fresh horses, since the current stock had been given away to other regiments following the battle of Talavera. However, the progress had halted, and Elias was left twiddling his thumbs awaiting fresh orders. He had spent more time at Dewborne than he had anticipated.