Mechanical mistletoe, p.1
Mechanical Mistletoe, page 1
Mechanical Mistletoe
BY
Sahara Kelly
All content © 2025 Sahara Kelly
Cover art © 2025 Sahara Kelly
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.
Table of Contents
Foreword
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Afterword
GLOSSARY
Photos from the Ashcombe Album
About the Author
Historical Romances
Contemporary Romances
Foreword
Christmas in Arcvale
On the upper levels of this beautiful steam-powered metropolis, Christmas did not begin with the first snow, or even with the first wreath hung upon a door.
It began with the “Turning of the Green.”
Every December, the members of the Council of Wardens gathered in the Grand Atrium, surrounded by some of the machines whose production they oversaw all year. They carefully straightened their starched collars and smoothed their silk cuffs and then made a great performance of throwing a single lever. After all that fuss and bother, the resultant cheers and the loud applause had died down, the Holly Maker would wake first, dutiful as ever, softly chugging and hissing, and spooling out dark garlands thick with pointed leaves and shining scarlet berries.
Loud cheers would welcome this exciting and brilliant display, and the children would jump up and down, waving red and green ribbons with bells on the ends.
Customarily, the Mistletoe Machine had answered a heartbeat later, weaving its own distinct pale strands and white berries that were fed into the same overhead tracks as the holly. Together, the twin streams of foliage poured down through the city’s shafts and galleries, draping this multi-level metropolis in decorative Christmas garlands.
As this waterfall of familiar greenery began to festoon the lower levels, a small snow-maker puffed out glittering snowflakes, adding to any already fallen, and completing the glorious scenario. Christmas had formally begun.
But this year, things might be quite dreadfully different...
Prologue
Glittering lights from the rooftop domes of the magnificent mansion illuminated the skyline, and sparkled against the darkening sky. It was one of the most prominent jewels of Arcvale, where the bells chimed by wire, and early winter snow fell delicately through sky-lit gears, mounding on rooftops, spires, and streets alike.
In this particular mansion, however, one young woman was struggling to maintain her composure, as she clenched her teeth and fought, once more, to keep her temper, as yet another lecture from her brother, Lord Randolph Renslow, blistered her ears.
Lady Dorothea Langley was sick and tired of the constant barrage. Never a day passed without yet another sly reminder of her status as the unwed daughter of a Duke. She’d been introduced to almost every eligible gentleman in London, no matter their age or inclinations.
She’d been mauled, manhandled, slobbered over, and even ignored by these erstwhile suitors, all the while clinging fast to her dream of meeting a man worthy of her time, her mind—and perhaps, one day, her heart.
So far, not one candidate had measured up. Especially not the latest, a simpering idiot who thought everyone and everything was his to do with as he wished.
Including her.
Which had led to this loud confrontation in Lord Randolph’s study.
“Do I have to repeat myself, Dorothea?”
She took a breath, knowing that losing her temper was not the way to handle her brother. “Of course not. I’ve heard the same words over and over again, Randolph. Usually after you have presented me with another idiot barely capable of putting on his own boots. And then having the audacity to suggest I accept him as a husband.” She walked up to him and stared him in the face. “Just what kind of woman do you think I am? Do I appear that stupid to you?”
She poked him in the chest with her finger. “You yourself know my tutors. You agreed with the educational plans Mama made for me. Even Papa, when he was here, said it was a good idea that I be more than just a—a simpering giggler.” She sighed. “And yet you persist in pushing these empty-headed buffoons at me. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Randolph looked down his nose at her, his expression revealing nothing. “Dorothea, do not poke me. This is a new waistcoat, and I don’t want it ruined the first time I wear it.”
“Oh, I do beg your pardon, my Lord,” she swept him a graceful curtsey that was inches from being insulting. “How presumptuous of me to touch your exalted person.”
“Dorothea...”
“Children. Stop this immediately.” Lady Renslow, who had been trying to read the latest copy of The Imperial Bulletin, folded the paper and sighed. “I thought I had raised you both to behave better than this...”
“But she...”
“But he...”
“Enough.” Their mother held up her hand to stop the dual outbursts in their tracks. “Dorothea, your protests have merit, but you must learn to present them in a less antagonistic way if you expect them to yield results.” She turned to her son. “Randolph? You’d best learn how to handle your sister appropriately before you take over the reins of Renslow Industries from your father. It will be good practice for the many arguments you’ll be facing with employees who will have matters of much greater import to discuss with you.”
“Mama,” frowned Dorothea. “Do you not consider this absurdity about my marriage a matter of great import?”
“No, I do not.”
“Hah,” snorted Randolph.
“If you say ‘I told you so’, I will kick you in the shins, I swear.”
Dorothea snarled the threat at her brother, then turned to her Mama. “You of all people, Mama, should be sympathetic to my problem. Marriage, as you have pointed out many a time, is a matter to be taken seriously, since it is for life. But Randolph here would condemn me to an existence filled with nothing but tea parties, balloon journeys, firework displays, and the occasional carefully curated exhibition of the latest inventions. And only those that are permitted in Arcvale, of course.” She swallowed. “I would wither away and die, which, I might add, would be an early and welcome death.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” answered her mother coolly. “Arranged marriages are an excellent way to ensure both husband and wife have similar goals, and that the children will be raised according to those goals.”
“Children?” She scoffed at that. “You presuppose that I would allow any of these nitwitted nincompoops to lay a hand on me. Well, Mama, I hate to shatter your illusions, but I’d shoot them before allowing any of them into my bed.” She bared her teeth in a humourless grin. “And trust me, I know how to dispose of the bodies.”
Randolph rolled his eyes. “Mother,” he said formally. “We need a decision here. If Papa returns from Scotland to find Dorothea still single, he will not be pleased. We all know that. What were his last words before he left?” He stared at his sister. “Oh yes, I remember. He said, ‘get that girl a husband. Anyone will do, as long as he brings a solid bank account and an acceptable lineage with him.’ And that was a direct quote, Dorothea. You heard it too.”
She raised her chin. “Yes, I heard it. And it was no more nor less than I’d expected.”
“Dorothea,” remonstrated her mother.
“I won’t apologise, Mama. It is no secret that Papa had hoped for a family of sons. It is also no secret that he believes women are mostly useless unless they’re either breeding more males or ensuring the quality of the food served at dinner.”
She crossed the room and laid her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “You have the strength of a twelve-cog lifter, and the patience of St Calibria the Precise. Something I have always admired, and have come to envy as well. I don’t have either, Mama. I am not as strong as you, and I have little to no patience at all.” She shot a furious glance at Randolph. “Especially for mindless simpletons.”
“There’s no chance of our agreeing on this, Dorothea. Mama and I have your best interests at heart, of course. But this continued antagonistic behaviour has led to something neither of us would prefer.” He glanced at his mother, who gave a brief nod.
“What?” she frowned.
“We have decided to select your husband for you, since you are incapable of doing so yourself, and we have prepared a list of candidates who meet our approval. Your engagement will be formally announced at the end of the Christmas holiday, and the wedding will take place in the spring. You and your new husband will then be sent on a European tour la
“Dear God,” Dorothea stared at them both. “You would do this? You would actually do this to me?”
Her mother stared back, her face revealing nothing of her emotions. “Yes. Without question. It’s time you grew up, and recognised your position and responsibilities as the only daughter of a Duke. Since you have thus far failed to do so, we must take steps to ensure your future actions are more in line with the Renslow name, and your heritage.”
Randolph’s next words were simply a murmur to Dorothea’s ears. She was shocked to her toes by her mother’s declaration, a threat of the worst punishment possible. And yet she knew, much as it pained her, that those steps would inexorably proceed. That her wishes and desires would be flattened like a brick of steel beneath a steam hammer.
Spinning on her heel, she turned her back on both of them, striding to the door and flung it wide, only to see Wallace the butler on the other side with a somewhat surprised expression on his face.
“Lady Dorothea?”
“Out of my way, Wallace. I need to get away from my coggleblasted family. Far, far away. Before I say something we’ll all regret.”
He blinked as she whisked herself past him and bowed. “My Lady.”
“Send Maria to my room as soon as possible, please,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Of course, my Lady.” Wallace sighed.
There wasn’t one servant in the Renslow household who hadn’t seen this day coming. Lady Dorothea was a handful, they said, but she was a lovely young woman who never forgot her manners, and who treated them all with friendliness and affection. Why, only two weeks ago, she’d managed to obtain a few days off for poor Sally, the undercook, when her mother had fallen ill.
Wallace quietly closed the door behind her, and hoped that this storm would blow over, as had so many in the past. Although a little voice whispered that today there was something different in Lady Dorothea’s expression. And that troubled him...
Chapter One
“Maria, where’s my linen nightshirt?” Dorothea’s words were slightly muffled as she spoke from inside the large bureau where she was rummaging with all the enthusiasm of a ferret in search of a rabbit.
“In the lower drawer, Miss Doro,” answered her maid with a sigh.
“Oh yes, I have it.” She produced the garment, shook it out, and then walked to her bed, laying it on top of some of the other clothing she’d stacked there.
“Are you doing something with this lot?” Maria looked at the pile. “It’s clean, you know. And I can’t see anything that doesn’t fit, so you’re not throwing it all away, are you?”
“Great gears, no.” Dorothea managed a quick laugh. “These are my most favourite clothes.”
“Yes...and...?” Maria waited, a wary eye on her mistress.
“And I thought, if I were to take a trip to visit, ooh, let’s see, my dearest friend Amelia Hatch, perhaps? Then I would certainly need an overnight bag with me, wouldn’t I?”
“Well, yes, Miss...”
“There, you see? Nothing like being prepared.” A petticoat was added to the pile. “And Amelia told me that she was going to invite me to stay for a while before Christmas, so I thought it best to be ready.”
“Ah.” Maria stared at her.
“Really, Maria.” Dorothea sighed and sat on the bed. “I will tell you a secret if you promise to keep it to yourself...”
“Of course, Miss. You know you can trust me.”
“I do indeed. Well, Amelia actually sent me an invitation a few days ago, but because Mama and my brother had already invited some guests, I had to tell her I would be delaying my arrival.” She sighed somewhat theatrically, then caught herself and straightened, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “It was unavoidable, Maria. The guests were gentlemen that my brother deemed appropriate suitors.”
“Oh, Miss,” Maria clasped her hands together over her heart. “And did you accept one?”
“Well, not exactly. A girl needs time to consider this sort of decision, you know. It is most important. So, I have decided to spend a few days with Amelia. She is so sensible about these things. It will be an enormous help to me to be able to confide in her and hear her thoughts on the matter.”
“But...must you leave now? It’ll be dark soon...”
Dorothea smiled. “How kind you are, Maria. But no need to concern yourself. I have told Mama and Randolph of my plans, and they have agreed. Ordinarily, they would have sent for the Renslow steamsled, but with Papa out of town, Randolph suggested we keep that one available for Mama. You know how many times we’ve taken one together, so you have no need to worry at all. Three short levels and I’m there.”
“You don’t want me to come too?” Maria’s voice betrayed her shock.
“I would love it, of course, but at this time, Amelia’s house is full to the brim with her family’s guests and their servants. And it’ll only be for a night or two.” She hugged the girl. “I shall miss you, Maria. But Amelia’s maid can easily do for two of us.”
“I remember Susan,” nodded Maria. “She’s very nice.”
“So there it is,” Dorothea stood. “If you’ll help me fold my things, I’ll put them in my portmanteau.”
“Of course, Miss,” Maria immediately began to sort, smooth, and fold her mistress’s garments.
The slightly battered grey portmanteau showed signs of some wear, which Dorothea thought was a rather fortunate thing, since nobody would pay much attention to a young woman carrying a well-used bag.
Her mind catalogued the clothing items she’d taken from her wardrobe and bureau, making sure that everything she anticipated needing was disappearing inside the grey leather case.
When the last few things remained, Dorothea straightened and turned to Maria.
“Dear girl, would you be so kind as to make me a cup of tea? And perhaps some of those lovely little plum pudding cakes that I could smell this afternoon?”
“Of course, Miss,” smiled Maria. “It’ll take me a while, since the kitchen is preparing for dinner, and Lord Randolph is expecting some guests. You know how that puts Cook into a panic.”
“I do indeed. Don’t rush. I expect dinner will be held back a little anyway. My brother does like to talk at length. Even with his friends.” She sighed.
“Very well then, Miss. I’ll put your portmanteau here by the door, so when you’re ready, just ring the bell and I’ll have one of the footmen come up and collect it for you.”
“Excellent,” smiled Dorothea. “What would I do without you?” She put her arm around her maid’s shoulder and gave her a hug. “Thank you, dear Maria. You are truly a wonderful help to me.”
“Aww, Miss, go on with you,” blushed the maid. “Now you finish up and make sure you’ve packed everything you need? Although I know you can always have things sent over if you find you need something.”
“That’s right. I can indeed.” She sighed. “Off with you, then. And I’ll find my bonnet.”
At last, after what seemed like at least a twelvemonth, Dorothea was alone.
Without hesitation, she pulled out her oldest boots, knowing they were comfortable, warm, and could withstand quite a bit of abuse.
Since her simple and slightly out-of-fashion walking gown easily accommodated her greatcoat, she shrugged it on, fastened it, and reached for the matching bonnet, which she tied securely beneath her chin.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the piers glass, Dorothea was relatively satisfied at her appearance. Her clothing was unobtrusive, clean but clearly not in the latest style, and her bonnet had seen better days. She looked exactly the way she wanted and hoped she would pass as an upper-class servant or the daughter of a middle-class household.
Holding her breath, she opened her door onto an empty corridor. Offering a quick prayer to St. Virellus, asking that he keep his lightning and his sparks away from her path this night, Dorothea walked silently along the corridors of Renslow House, down one of the many back staircases, and finally out into the icy cold night.
There were no stables here, just one or two velocipods. The Renslow steamsleds were tucked away in the large garage against the chance of snow, which circumstance also happened to render the entire area devoid of life. No servants or drivers lolled around waiting for orders, they were most likely tucked up by the fire in their quarters behind the garage.
