O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,247

find him under the mistletoe, and he would kiss her like a woman. Not on the cheek, but on the mouth.

“After all, he is only coming here for Christmas to save his own purse!” John chuckled.

A pang crept into Prudence’s heart. The same old jokes at Alexander’s expense.

William seemed to agree with her. “Now, that is getting rather old, John.”

“But ’tis true! You know how strange he gets with money, you cannot deny it, and he has become a greater miser every Christmas,” protested John.

Prudence glanced at Charlotte seated opposite her, but she was stroking her belly and cooing to the moving child who would be arriving before too long. She would not be arbitrating the debate between the brothers.

“I would not call him a miser,” said William with a reluctant grin. “He would not want to waste the words!”

The two brothers laughed, but they were interrupted by a heated defense from their youngest sister.

“Alexander does not have anywhere else to go for Christmas, as you well know!” Prudence could hardly believe she was speaking, but if she were serious about acting the woman this year and not the child, now was the time to start. “You know his sister and parents all passed away in the last few years, and Christmas is a time for family. Is he not the closest thing we have to our old lives?”

The hall echoed with her voice as her brothers stared.

Eventually, John said, “You know, sometimes I forget you are paying attention.”

Prudence was almost shaking. She had grown up idolizing her brothers, devoted to them, certain that everything they said or did was correct. Now she was not so sure. She had left behind childish things, but it was still difficult to disagree with William and John so openly.

“Why, you’re almost a woman, Pru,” William said slowly.

She said quietly, “I would say I am already. At least, I am almost Honora’s age when she married.”

William smiled. “Well, then perhaps our friend, the Reverend Michaels, will marry you.”

Prudence’s entire soul froze. Surely, they could not guess? Why would they know–none of them had ever spotted her under the mistletoe with Alexander, and she had not confided her feelings to anyone.

Perhaps…perhaps he had? Could it be possible Alexander had already spoken with William about their marriage?

“Do…do you think so?” she managed to say.

John nodded as he leaned on her chair. “Of course he will. Old Michaels will be happy to marry you to anyone, as long as you pay him the reverend fee.”

Prudence’s shoulders slumped. It was hard to ignore Alexander’s focus on wealth these last few years.

When she had been sixteen, she had barely noticed it, dazzled as she was by his smile. He had just taken orders then, and she had thought no one looked so handsome.

Last year, when she was seventeen, she had found it slightly grating, his frequent mentions of beneficence he had received from his parishioners. She had ignored it, her affection for him looking beyond that particular quirk.

They had even corresponded this year. Her stomach lurched as she remembered how carefully she had examined every single word of his handwriting, countless versions written in her own fine hand before she had been confident enough to send any of her letters.

His replies had not been so carefully considered if the ink splats and the frequent mentions of privation and savings were any judge.

She swallowed and tried to ignore William’s pointed suggestion that she had a gentleman in mind who the Reverend Michaels could marry her to.

When Alexander arrived, which would be any moment now, she would finally have her moment. It was always the mistletoe with them, but a chaste kiss, far more like brother and sister than husband and wife.

Not this year. Though her thoughts were scandalous, Prudence could no longer ignore the desire she felt. At some point during his Christmastide visit, she would find Alexander under the mistletoe and kiss him.

A Christmas love’s true kiss.

“By God, is that him?”

William’s question made her jerk to attention, looking up at the front door from behind which voices emanated.

“I think it is, you know,” John whispered conspiratorially. “Listen.”

The three siblings and Charlotte hushed to silence, and a voice came through the door as a servant struggled with the frozen catch.

“Yes, it was much easier than I believed to barter down the man who drove the carriage from Bromley,” said the voice. “And of course, I repeated the argument when I arrived at Ashford and saved myself another four shillings.”

The door