Author's note: Written for the demmedelusive holiday challenge.
❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀
AMID the ruins of a lavish party the ghostly remains of an evening's festivities were still lurking tendrils of a warmth and feeling which would not be dispelled. Great swathes of greenery festooned the hallway and twists of ivy bedecked the high ceilinged parlours. The house had been redolent with the scent of evergreen at the beginning of the evening, but the press of bodies through the night meant that had become a muted background to the exotic perfumes and scent of powder gracing some of England's most fashionable people.
Much as she loved playing the part of society hostess, Marguerite was glad that the party was now over. She had done her duty and exchanged greetings with everyone as the rooms filled. Now she was looking forward to having some time alone, without the curious public gaze of gossipmongers and talebearers.
She had left the huge, empty rooms behind her, instead preferring the cosy intimacy of one of Blakeney Manor's smaller panelled rooms. Sinking into a leather armchair, she pulled off her sandals and wiggled her toes to get some of the life back into them. Arching her neck to assuage the stiffness, she mused on the contrast of this evening with her previous Christmas at the manor.
Percy had been insistent on showing her a traditional English Christmas this year, something they could never have shared a few months ago. Last year she had felt so alone and despairing in her new marriage. The change was startling.
She had admired the decorations that had been put up around the manor, swags of fir, holly and other evergreens bringing the beauty of the English countryside into the house. And they had planned tonight's party to gather friends around them at this happy time.
And lest she fear that he was slipping happily into rural tranquility Percy had endeavoured to surprise her. He had led her into this room before any of their guests had arrived, on the pretext of admiring the decorations in his study. She closed her eyes and remembered.
❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀
"Stop, m'dear. Just there", had been his laughing command.
"Percy, I don't have time. Our guests will be here soon. The study looked lovely earlier, it can't have changed much in a few hours", her tone had been impatient as she considered the preparations she had yet to make.
"But this is a very important part of a traditional English Christmas."
The serious note in his voice gave her pause, so she stopped short in her scrutiny of the study for whatever it was he had brought her here to see, and looked up into his earnest blue eyes.
"Look up, Margot," he said, gently.
Above her head Marguerite could see branches of an odd looking plant, she didn't think she had seen it in any of the other decorations around the house. The individual branches had been caught up together with a length of festive red ribbon and hung near the doorway.
It was a paler green than the rest of the evergreens, with narrow, woody looking stems. The leaves were curved with gently rounded edges and clung together in pairs. And between the leaves were small, pearl-like berries.
She looked again to her husband, a puzzled frown marring her brow.
"Percy, what...", he interrupted her question.
"It is a very old tradition, that when two people meet under the mistletoe, the gentleman is allowed a kiss - as long as he takes a berry to mark the moment."
With her face still raised to his in perfect invitation he peppered tiny kisses across her face, before meeting her lips with his own. She leaned into his strength and curled her arms around his body. As they gradually pulled apart she could feel his smile against her lips before he pressed further kisses on to her, each one returned with love.
Finally breaking apart he stretched out a long arm and plucked a handful of the odd white berries from the mistletoe.
❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀
The sharp click of the latch brought Marguerite back to the present time and she glanced up to see Percy making his way towards her. He was beautifully attired in a cream and gold brocade coat and looked every inch the leader of fashionable London. But all she saw was the warmth in his eyes as he took in her languid air and shoeless feet. He extended a hand in a mute proposal.
They crossed the room together and she paused as they reached the mistletoe she had been day dreaming about moments before. She glanced up at it, before turning her bright blue gaze on Percy.
As he leaned forward she closed her eyes, and, suddenly, her whole world was here. Their lips met softly, gently. It was a brief, tentative touch. A way of reacquainting themselves with each other.
She felt as though this moment stretched out endlessly.
Still they had only touched in the smallest of kisses. Now, as the moment shattered around them, she reached for him and cradled his head in her hands: uncaring of the havoc she created in his still perfectly dressed hair. He continued to hold aloof for a heartbeat - or two - then she was being crushed to him as his hands spread across her back and pulled her to him.
The kiss deepened and she yearned for more. His touch was intoxicating as his hands traced routes across her body. They were both breathless as they broke apart and stared into one another's eyes.
"Joyeux Noël, mon chéri."
❦fin❧