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The Mistletoe
The Mistletoe
The Mistletoe
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The Mistletoe

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England 1874...The irresponsible Marcus Brody is suddenly guardian to his recently deceased brother’s three little girls. Christmas is fast approaching and he needs feminine help from the children’s maternal aunt, a reclusive young widow, Lady Alyssa, who wants nothing to do with her nieces. But in soliciting Lady Alyssa’s help, is Marcus unknowingly drawing her into a paranormal encounter with Spirits warning of mortal danger.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 14, 2014
ISBN9781311120298
The Mistletoe
Author

Patricia Catacalos

I hold a BA in Theatre from Seton Hill University and a MA in Theatre from the University of Denver. Years ago, when still single, I acted in and directed plays in the Philadelphia area but suffered the fate of many artists, struggling financially. So I entered a career in sales. But, my creative spirit needed to express itself and several years, ago, I started writing historical romances. I discovered that writing historical romances is my passion. I love weaving historical personalities into my plot, interacting with my fictional characters. Recently, I began writing historical mysteries/intrigue and again, love the aspect of interspersing historical fact and personalities into my story line.I am married to a loving and supportive man with a Greek heritage (which influenced a couple of my novels) and we live in southern New Jersey.

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    Book preview

    The Mistletoe - Patricia Catacalos

    Chapter One

    England – April, 1869

    He stood leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb, of the French door, as if the wooden frame anchored him to the open portal. His toned arms were crossed against his muscular vested chest, stretching the fabric of his frock coat across his broad shoulders, while his eyes were shut against the throbbing pain in his head. It felt as though a team of Eton College soccer players were running to and fro across his forehead, digging cleats into his head.

    Ah, there you are, Marcus! Did you just arrive?

    Shush! Marcus opened his bloodshot eyes and glowered at the man who had just playfully slapped Marcus on his right shoulder. Must you speak so loudly, Jackson? He pushed away from the doorjamb and began rubbing his temples with his forefingers.

    Jackson chuckled. Have we a headache today, little brother…mayhap one caused by yet another night of carousing? You look as though you have an excruciatingly painful hangover.

    Yes, a bloody damn hangover…

    Hush, Marcus, you are presently at a child’s Birthday celebration, Jackson quickly interrupted as he visually searched the stone veranda and yard beyond to ascertain if anyone had overhead Marcus’ profanity. The many attending children were either running or playing croquet and taking no notice of the disgruntled man’s inappropriate and crude language. "My child’s Birthday to be more precise and your niece’s party. Do not swear around the children and the ladies."

    Marcus surveyed his surroundings and his eyes widened as if he suddenly realized where he was. Beg pardon, Jackson. I momentarily forgot where I was. I meant no offense.

    And no offense is taken as apparently none of the children or the ladies, who are in close enough proximity, heard your profane words. But do behave yourself, Marcus. Jackson leaned in closer to his brother who stood inches above him at a height of six-foot one inch to Jackson’s five foot eleven inches. But out of curiosity, why would you overindulge in liquor the night before attending a child’s party which historically proves rather loud and boisterous?

    Marcus frowned. An old college friend from Eton begged me to join him for a night of carousing and… Marcus shrugged. …I could not refuse. He was sailing for America today and I was toasting to his safe voyage.

    Jackson laughed heartily. I wonder how he is faring today as he sails. I imagine if he looks like you, he is miserably sick and vomiting more from alcohol than sea sickness.

    Marcus smiled thinly and the very effort caused his facial muscles to ache.

    I know that we have had this conversation on many occasions but really, Marcus, your hedonistic lifestyle needs to end. You are at the ripe age of nine and twenty. You should be settling down with a loving wife.

    Laughter across the veranda drew Marcus’ eyes to his sister-in-law, Emily, who was laughing gaily at a comment no doubt made by the man conversing with her. Standing next to Emily was an incredibly beautiful woman Marcus did not recognize. He smiled wickedly. "Perhaps if I could find a woman such as she, I might consider being leg-shackled."

    The young woman appeared to be perhaps twenty years of age and radiantly attractive with a perfect, pale complexion with only a hint of pinkish color on her cheeks, large green eyes and a round face framed with two long auburn-colored cylinder-shaped curls on both sides of her cheeks with wisps of red hair peeking out from beneath her yellow wide-rimmed bonnet. Her red hair reminded Marcus of the deepest reds of a brilliant sunset.

    Jackson looked in the direction to which his brother peered and instantly spied the woman who had drawn Marcus’ interest. "Ah, perhaps if you one day find a woman similar to the Lady Alyssa but not Alyssa."

    Alyssa…? Does not Emily have a younger sister named Alyssa? Marcus cocked his aching head and examined the young woman. "She could not possibly be that skinny, little flower girl at your wedding ten years ago?"

    The very same, all grown up.

    Marcus was intrigued regardless of how nauseated he was now feeling along with his intense headache. His hangover was crippling his body with both pain and nausea. And why not the Lady Alyssa…? Do you or Emily deem me unworthy of her?

    She is already married. And… Jackson paused as if he was not certain that he should share what he was about to say.

    And…?

    Her marriage was arranged by her father, much to Emily’s chagrin. My wife never liked the man who aggressively sought Alyssa’s hand in marriage, but her father accepted the man’s suit and married off his youngest daughter without a thought to her welfare.

    Marcus grimaced. "It was an arranged marriage without thought to his daughter’s welfare? I do not comprehend."

    Jackson mirrored Marcus’ frown. "Lady Alyssa is married to a very controlling and abusive man who is not in the least bit sociable. But her widowed father intended to marry a young woman close in age to his youngest daughter. So, he thought to get Alyssa out of his house by quickly marrying her off. Therefore, he readily accepted Viscount Jordan’s suit, disregarding the man’s reputation for having a volatile temper."

    I see. And Marcus did fully comprehend that an older man would not want his youngest daughter’s age to be compared to an exceedingly young stepmother, emphasizing the gap in age between husband and bride.

    "Prior to her arranged marriage, we often saw Alyssa who loved to visit our home. But once married, we rarely saw her. Emily and Alyssa unfortunately grew apart. I was surprised that Viscount Jordan accepted the party invitation when he generally refuses all of the many invitations, we have sent to him and Alyssa."

    Marcus angled his head toward his brother and queried, "Why do you suspect that he is very controlling and abusive? Being hot-tempered does not necessarily equate to control and abuse per se. He could just be a bad-tempered man."

    "Emily and I have no definitive proof, mind you, but we strongly suspect that Viscount Jordan verbally and physically abuses his wife. The once vibrant young girl has transformed into a timid, socially inept young woman, seemingly fearful of her own shadow."

    And she of course has no rights or recourse to remove her person from a marriage fraught with cruelty, Marcus succinctly observed.

    None as she is like chattel to him…a possession to be treated in whatever manner he may so choose.

    Precisely… Marcus spoke the one word with a hint of judgmental bitterness.

    As Marcus conversed with Jackson he continued to watch as Alyssa smiled radiantly upon spying Jackson’s two children approaching her. She instantly dropped to her knees, with no obvious concern about soiling her long skirts, to speak with the children on their level. Marcus rarely saw a woman drop to her knees, without concern for her appearance, to converse with children and he was impressed by Alyssa’s thoughtful actions.

    He could see her speaking with the two little girls, five and three years of age, and the look on her face was both tender and loving. But her brief encounter with the children was abruptly interrupted when the stocky man standing to her left, presumably her husband and a man perhaps fifteen years her senior, grabbed her left upper arm with such a strong grip that Marcus could see the Lady grimace in pain. The man then forcibly pulled her to her feet and eyed the grass stains on her yellow skirt before dragging her toward the veranda and the exit where both Jackson and Marcus stood. Alyssa unwilling followed the man’s long strides with tiny footsteps, trying to remove the hand painfully restraining her but to no avail.

    We are leaving now, Lord Cole. Thank you for the invitation but we must take our leave now.

    Viscount Jordan did not wait to hear Jackson’s polite reply but rudely brushed past Marcus, tugging his wife behind him. In that brief moment, Marcus’ eyes locked with Alyssa’s expressive eyes and he could see in the depths of those luminous green eyes both embarrassment and anguish. He suddenly wanted to forcibly stop her husband’s exit and demand that the man relinquish his hold on his wife.

    But Marcus simply stepped aside, as any proper gentleman would do, allowing the couple to cross to the open portal and to the drawing room beyond. He knew that it was not his place to interfere in the domestic affairs of a married couple…regardless of how repulsive a personality he perceived the husband to be.

    Marcus stood staring after the couple. Yes, I believe that your observation is correct, Jackson. Viscount Jordan appears to be both controlling and cruel.

    And I pity poor Alyssa.

    As do I…

    *****

    She hated him with every fiber of her being.

    He pulled her behind him into the front parlor and she stumbled on the hem of her long skirt, but he did not halt his determined stride. Instead, he squeezed her upper arm more tightly, causing pain to shoot upward across her left shoulder. His bruising hold was physically painful but not as hurtful as the embarrassment she now felt, especially in front of the handsome gentleman with the kind, sympathetic expression on his face.

    He finally released her arm to accept his Beaver, cane and gloves from the butler and once freed of his hold, she stepped backward away from her offending husband. Rubbing her left sore arm, she stammered in a quivering voice, W-what did I do to s-so displease you?

    Not now. He glared at the butler who stepped backward several steps away from the angered lord. We will discuss the matter later in privacy.

    B-but…

    He whirled around and in a low menacing voice stated, Not now. Then he abruptly turned and stomped through the front door, assuming Alyssa trailed in his wake.

    She feared his violent temper too much to disobey him and he was silently expecting her to follow which of course she did, reluctantly.

    Within moments they were ensconced in their carriage. She sat with her eyes lowered to her trembling hands clasped on her lap. She could feel his anger emanating off his person as he sat with his profile to her, jaw clenched, seemingly watching the scenery as it passed the narrow carriage window to his left.

    Finally, he spoke and the venomous tone of his voice sent a shiver down Alyssa’s spine.

    I knew coming today was a mistake, but you pleaded with me and I foolishly succumbed to your insistent beseeching. He slowly angled his face toward Alyssa. Do you think yourself to be a servant kneeling before those bastards and ruining your expensive skirt?

    She lifted her eyes and timidly responded, B-bastards…? I…I knelt before two small children…my n-nieces.

    His eyes narrowed and the evil look in those squinting eyes caused her to cringe. "I consider all children bastards if they are not my own…especially if not my heir. And to date, you have not produced any children for me. I demand that you produce an heir."

    She averted her eyes once again, tilting her face toward the window to her left and giving her right profile to her demanding spouse. Her fear was robbing her of her breath and speaking barely above a whisper she declared, I…I…too wish for children.

    The backhanded slap to her cheek was expected but nonetheless exceedingly painful. Her eyes began to well with tears but she sat willing herself not to cry…not in his presence.

    "You had best do more than wish. Produce a child…a son…for me."

    I…I…am trying.

    Try harder. He turned his face toward the window to his left once again. I shall come to you tonight.

    She closed her eyes against the thought of his conjugal visit and one solitary tear trailed down the left cheek turned away from her husband. Her right cheek, now red, stung from the hard slap rendered by the irate man, but the pain was nothing compared to that which she would endure when he came to her bed, demanding his rights.

    Tonight…she would truly suffer.

    Chapter Two

    London – Late November, 1874

    He stood partially hidden behind the thick black stage curtain, in the wings at stage right, not wishing to be seen nor intending to interrupt the scene being played upon the stage.

    He leaned both gloved hands onto his onyx-handled cane, loosely holding his Beaver between the fingers of his right hand, while bracing his legs slightly apart. When he had planned this visit to the theater to speak with Claudette, he had carefully timed his arrival at the hour when he expected the afternoon’s rehearsal to be over. Instead, he found the actors in full costume and the ‘dress’ rehearsal running late. If this was dress rehearsal and apparently, it was, then he surmised that the play was due to open within a few nights.

    He frowned as he shook his head, causing an errant strand of dark hair to kiss his furrowed brow. He had intentionally chosen a public arena, the theater, to speak with Claudette who had a rather volatile personality when provoked. And that which he wished to discuss would certainly provoke her temper. Thus, he had hoped that the presence of others would somewhat soften Claudette’s irate reaction to what he wished to tell her…that he no longer intended to be her patron and that the time had come for her to find another sponsor…and sexual partner.

    Of late, he had grown weary of the actress with her overly solicitous and flirtatious behavior. And not even the oft enjoyed sexual romp with her seemed to eliminate the ennui he was feeling. She now bored him…in and out of the bedchamber.

    He sighed. Mayhap Claudette was not the sole reason for his boredom. Perhaps he was growing weary of his rakish lifestyle and needed to find purpose to his life. He grimaced. The imagined voice of his elder brother often seemed to whisper in his ear ‘to grow up and assume some responsibility’. And although the whisper held sage advice, that thought was promptly dismissed and usually the voice of reason in his head was drowned out with copious amounts of liquor.

    A loud cackle interrupted his thoughts and he turned his head toward center stage. The three actresses were grotesquely costumed as the witches in Act I, Scene III of The Tragedy of Macbeth and the scene was most effectively staged, sending a chill down his spine as he watched the actresses perform. He was most familiar with the play and knew that the woman he sought was not in this scene. He surmised that she was primping in her dressing room or pacing in the green room awaiting her cue for her appearance in the final scene of Act I.

    Claudette had proudly informed him that she was cast as Lady Macbeth and although she was far too young for the part, she was the one best suited, in the acting troupe, to play the character. And so, stage makeup and costuming would hide the fact that she was but a youthful five and twenty years of age.

    Stop…! Stop…! A booming voice irately ordered, presumably the director for he would be the only one empowered to stop the rehearsal. Agnes, your blocking is all wrong!

    Marcus Brody smiled a crooked grin. The director’s dissatisfaction with the current scene would allow Marcus the needed time to seek out Claudette and succinctly inform her of his decision. He knew that his timing was not the best but it was better to get the odious task done with, posthaste.

    He turned and crossed with wide strides to the closed door he knew led to Claudette’s dressing room. Softly but firmly, he knocked.

    The wooden door immediately swung open and framed in the doorway was a bemused Claudette dressed in a red velvet Elizabethan styled gown with a plunging neckline trimmed with stiff lace. Close up, Marcus could see that her makeup was heavily applied with black penciled lines creating the effect of wrinkles but on the stage, at a distance from the audience, it would effectively age her.

    Marcus’ eyes briefly dropped to her deep cleavage but immediately lifted to the actress’ confused expression.

    Marcus…? I had not expected you to visit me here at the theatre. She coquettishly blinked her kohl-lined eyes. I thought we were to rendezvous later tonight…much later.

    Yes, we were but…plans need changing.

    Oh? Claudette looked toward the stage and instantly realized that the production had been halted, allowing time for she and Marcus to converse. Come in, Marcus. My dressing room will afford us needed privacy. Her seductively delivered comment held a double meaning, suggesting an opportunity for a carnal overture.

    Marcus slowly shook his head. I would prefer to converse here. The left edge of his mouth tilted upward, hinting of a smile. Privacy might lead to…an interruption in our conversation. He gazed at her face, pointedly looking at her stage makeup. And I should not like that pancake makeup on your face to smudge my collar. My valet would become most disgruntled.

    Claudette laughed heartily as she casually leaned a shoulder against the splintered doorjamb, crossing her arms beneath her bosom and effectively deepening the cleavage in the valley between her breasts. A gentleman must never anger his valet. Why must we change our plans? I was so looking forward to a night of unbridled pleasure.

    Marcus paused slightly, not wishing to offend the woman, but he could not delay the inevitable. "As you have known from the start of our relationship, our intimate trysts were always meant to be temporary and I was most forthright about that when first I succumbed to your allure. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied one of the three witches eavesdropping on the conversation. He fervently hoped that her presence would help to subdue Claudette’s reaction to the news. I have thoroughly enjoyed your charms, Claudette, and I thank you for sharing your…alluring talents. But our time together has come to an end. We will no longer be planning any future assignations."

    Claudette’s eyes widened as she quickly pushed away from the jamb. Y-you are ending our relationship?

    Yes, I am afraid so.

    "B-but we have only been together a mere four weeks, Claudette stammered with an incredulous look on her face. My past lovers and patrons have enjoyed my talents for months on end before terminating our arrangement."

    Marcus shrugged. Perhaps the fault is mine. I possess a very short attention span and grow bored quite easily.

    Bored…? The incredulous look on Claudette’s face instantly contorted into a venomous expression, giving her face a similar look to one of the three hags in the scene played earlier upon the stage.

    Marcus nearly grimaced

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