Disclaimer: Northanger Abbey, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of Jane Austen.
Author's Note: In honor Northanger Abbey's 200th anniversary!
A Mistletoe Kiss
Catherine was still giggling over Mr. Allen's joke as the guests went into the drawing room that it took her a moment to realize Mr. Tilney had brought her to a halt instead of following the others. His eyes twinkled with mischief and a familiar smirk tugged on the corners of his mouth when he met her perplexed look. His eyes flickered upward, and she, too, looked up.
Hanging innocently above their heads was a sprig of mistletoe.
Color flooded Catherine's face as she gasped, while Henry chuckled. Impulsively withdrawing her hand from his arm, she suddenly found the floor in need of her scrutiny.
Anticipation rose in her, for this felt like a scene straight out from one of her books featuring the hero and heroine. And to experience her first kiss…! But her excitement was checked by nervousness. She was not a heroine, only simple Catherine Morland. And this was Henry Tilney, he, she… Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and her heart beat fast.
Before the young lady could think of anything to say her breath caught in her throat when two fingers hooked under her chin and gently guided her face up until her eyes met Henry's once more. The laughter in his gaze faded, his expression softening into something more thoughtful in light of her uneasiness. Slowly he moved his hand from her chin to cup her cheek.
"Catherine," he spoke, low and reassuring, bending his head down.
Shivering, her eyes fluttered shut, and then warm soft lips touched her own. To Catherine the kiss seemed to last a lifetime. It was gentle, sweet, loving. She hesitated a moment after it ended before reluctantly opening her eyes. She discovered the gentleman silently regarding her, appearing as breathless as herself.
"Mr. Tilney…"
"Whoa!"
Catherine jerked as the chaise came to a stop. For a moment she was bewildered, blinking sleepily, then she looked out and saw her father's parsonage…home. She was home.
Only a dream, she realized in sudden comprehension, her fingers instinctively reaching up to touch her cool chapped lips.
In a daze she stepped out of the carriage, received her luggage, passed through the sweep-gate. Cries of "Cathy!" "Cathy's home!" "It's Catherine!" filled the air. And it was all Catherine could do to swallow back the sobs that threatened to come, her heart breaking anew.
THE END