The One With the Duke A Scandal and a Mistletoe

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✅ The One With the Duke, a Scandal, and a Mistletoe

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
"A gorgeously emotional holiday romance."

“Eliana Piers delivers a rich, atmospheric Christmas tale filled with longing, secrets, and an unforgettable slow-burn connection. The tension between Phyllis and Stephen is exquisite—every glance a spark, every touch a promise. A lush, romantic triumph.”

"Irresistibly swoony with heart-pounding stakes."

“This Regency romance blends the best of forbidden love and mistaken identity with a heroine who feels deeply and a hero who aches beautifully. With elegant prose and cinematic emotion, this story captivates from the very first page.”

“A standout in the historical holiday romance genre.”

“Piers writes with a deft blend of charm and emotional depth. Phyllis’ vulnerability and Stephen’s tortured devotion create a compelling romantic storm that feels both timeless and fresh.”

GROUNDED. SHE WANTED TO feel grounded. Not like the floating snowflakes bobbing and weaving aimlessly in the winter air. Emotions abounding, Phyllis inhaled slowly, lifting her arms overhead and then bringing her palms together at her heart’s center. She wanted to feel connected to the earth, its source, some universal connectedness. If she could, she would go outside and wiggle her toes in the grass, grip soft dirt with her fingers, rub soft petals between her fingertips. Alas, it was winter, and the ground she so longed for was covered in show. And chill. With an exhale, she released her arms, sent them heavenward and then swept them down to her carpeted bedroom floor.

She sunk slowly into a seated position. The soft brush of air against her skin a reminder to feel. To be. To appreciate the moment and nothing else. It was impossible to push aside all of her lingering worries. Letters. A betrothed. Her future.

It was moments like this that she was so grateful to her Aunt Wanda, for introducing her to some things she was sure most of England had never heard of. Aunt Wanda had spent significant time in India and had shared with Phyllis much of the cultural experiences she had learned overseas. In particular, Phyllis had fallen in love with an exercise of stretching and breathing called yoga. Whenever she needed to refocus her thinking, she did yoga. Naked.

Well, if she could, she preferred to do it naked. There was something about the air tingling around her skin, the movements, the openness.

Society hid women in so many ways, and this was one of her ways to rebel. Society may not want to see the full Phyllis and all she had to offer, but that wasn’t going to stop her from knowing herself fully, and being comfortable with it.

Too many women hid themselves. Not just behind clothes. Behind fake smiles, gossip, shallow interests, and the incessant pursuit of finding a husband. Everything feigned to secure a convenient match.

She exhaled roughly as she laid back into her final resting pose, corpse pose.

It was understandable why women hid themselves to snare a husband. Above all else, they needed security. She had five sisters, and three unmarried aunts. She was well aware of the need to set oneself up financially. So it was both a blessing and a curse that her father had made a match for her before he passed away suddenly with her mother from fever. Her mother’s sisters had come in then to take care of them all. Thankfully Phyllis’ father ran a prosperous earldom, and the women weren’t in any financial straits.

The blessing portion of being betrothed was that it released her from society’s strict and overcomplicated means of snagging a spouse. And of course, she had a future she could envision and depend upon. The curse was that her choices had been made for her. She could only hope that her father had chosen a good match for his second daughter.

Phyllis inhaled and exhaled twice more when a sharp rap at the door startled her out of her meditative state.

“One moment,” she called out to the locked door.

“It’s just me,” Aunt Wanda called out from the other side.

Phyllis threw on a robe and opened the door. Her aunt gave her a once over and grinned. “I see you’ve been doing yoga again.”

“Yes, and I love it.”

“That makes me so happy,” she said with a sigh.

“You miss it, don’t you?”

“India? Yes, at times, but I love being here with all of my nieces. I’m needed here. Besides, I’ll travel again one day, just not right now.”

Phyllis noticed that her aunt’s hands were full, and her heart caught in her throat. Letters. John, her betrothed, would have written to her. She wanted to rip open the note. Hopefully he had sent her another poem or a limerick. Those always made her chuckle. Perhaps, he would tell another tale about someone’s life story. And…maybe he would share another one of Stephen’s silly antics. Her heart rate picked up at the thought.

“I come bearing gifts.” Aunt Wanda extended her hand. “An early gift from me, for Christmas. And another letter.” Her eyes sparkled at the mention of the missive. “I know how much you love hearing from John.”

I stab of guilt pricked at her conscience. It wasn’t so much that she loved hearing from John, so much as she loved the words he wrote. It wasn’t the same thing. She didn’t know John…she had no idea what he looked like, and he didn’t share too much about himself. She knew he was a terrible singer. He was good with words, telling the most amusing stories and sharing limericks. And she knew he had a younger brother. From his letters, he seemed to be a stoic, keeping emotions to himself. But once in a while, when he would share the way a sunset awakened his soul, or the breeze filtered away his worries…that’s when she would connect with him. Those were the moments she thought it might just work out the way her father had planned.

Yet, even still, as she reached for the letter, she couldn’t help that her first thought was wondering what story he might share about Stephen.

“You can read your beau’s letter later. I want to tell you about this gift I bought you.”

Phyllis watched in curious amusement as her aunt’s face scrunched up and turned a slight shade of pink. Her aunt’s hand struck out into the air. “Wait. Don’t open it yet…erm…with me here.”

Her curiosity officially piqued, Phyllis canted her head. “What did you buy me?”

“You’re seven-and-twenty, my dear. It’s far too late for this, but I don’t want you unprepared for your husband.”

“My husband?”

“John is bound to return home soon, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he did mention that very sentiment in his last letter to me.”

“Yes. Well, when he returns, you’ll be married right away. And, well…”

Phyllis had never seen her aunt stammer this way. It was almost as if she were about to describe something incredibly personal. Intimate. And the only intimacy Phyllis could think of was between a husband and a wife. Like…no, Aunt Wanda wouldn’t be addressing doing that now, would she?

“I well, you know, I’m not married. But there are…erm…things,” —she rushed the next words— “that a lady should know about her own body.” And then she muttered, “I never had to do this with Audra…so I wasn’t sure. Well, just open the book once I’ve left. If you have any questions…well, erm…you can ask…me. Just ask me. But, perhaps you won’t have any questions though. Wouldn’t that be nice?” She waved her hand in the air as if swiping at cobwebs.

“Thank you?” Phyllis ventured.

“Yes. You’re welcome.” And then she did a most unnatural gesture and patted Phyllis on the head as if she were a small child and not the mature spinster that she was.

Her aunt backed away, gave a last glance, and left the room. It was the most peculiar behavior displayed by her aunt to date. Aunt Wanda was the graceful, unabashed, aunt of the three that had raised her.

So Phyllis had to restrain herself from ripping into the gift. First, she wanted to read through the letter. Then she could take her time and enjoy the gift.

When she opened the letter, she smirked at the sight of being greeted by a limerick.

There once was a girl named Phyllis,
With beauty enough to kill us,
Courting fees would be high,
Compelling payment or lies,
Thank God she never chose to bill us.

It was utter nonsense. He knew not what she looked like, yet the poem made her chuckle all the same.

She scanned the page, and upon seeing Stephen’s name she began again at the top of the page with anticipation. She was rewarded with a nice letter. John said that all was well, though the days could be long and dreary. In those cases, Stephen often buoyed the morale by singing a bawdy tune.

John wrote that he was too much a gentleman to include the lyrics, but with some noted pressure from Stephen he mentioned the lady from Venus. Stephen’s favorite one to belt out started with an innocent enough line: ‘Twas a glorious day I met my lady,

But that’s all John was willing to say on the subject.

And then she was rewarded with a story about the two men. On a particularly lackluster day, Stephen had proposed a shooting competition among the men. Everyone had set up small targets with sticks and leaves about twenty yards away. After a few rounds, it was obvious that the competition was between John and Stephen. With each new shot, they challenged each other by taking a step further away from the target until they were almost a hundred yards away. It looked as though neither would come out ahead until Stephen started singing his bawdy tune again. With the lyrics in his mind, John couldn’t focus on his last shot, and Stephen came out the winner.

Phyllis’ heart was fluttering, giddy at the story. She loved the idea of Stephen initiating a game to entertain everyone and bring cheer to an otherwise dull situation. And she couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he had won the competition. It was like the story was a buoy that she attached herself to in order to keep her afloat. Waiting. Floating. As she prepared herself to meet John one day.

She knew from over the months of letters that Stephen was John’s closest confidante, so she had often asked about him. It was stories like these that she treasured. As a considerate fiancée, of course.

She pressed the letter to her chest. It was the closest she could feel to him. Yet, she hardly felt any closeness at all to John.