Mistletoe Everywhere Page 5

  “A pretty tale, but not likely.”

  “What about you and Charles? He told Edward he saw mistletoe over you. And there was the rose garden, too.”

  “A trick of the light, or his imagination. There was no mistletoe.”

  Laughing and talking, the gentlemen trooped into the drawing room.

  The young, black-haired man entered. He looked at Miss Ward. Then he stared above her head and his eyes narrowed.

  Jane poked Penelope in the arm. “Mr. Price looks at the ceiling over Miss Ward. Do you think he sees mistletoe?”

  Penelope burst out laughing. “When you say that, I realize how ridiculous the whole legend thing is.”

  Jane’s face lengthened. “I am not so sure.”

  Mr. Price remained as he was a few seconds more, such longing in his whole body that Penelope’s heart wrenched. Then he shrugged and made his way to the window.

  But I may be wrong.

  Chapter 6

  “Ah, the Mistletoe Man.”

  Charles gritted his teeth. Damned Bray. After last night’s ribbing, he’d probably searched for him all day just so he could use the name.

  He forced his features into repose and arched an eyebrow. “‘Mistletoe Man’?” The very sound of Bray’s voice set his back up, but he would never let the scoundrel know.

  Bray’s smile was all teeth. “Surely you have heard that by now. ‘Mr. Charles Gordon, the man who sees mistletoe where there is none’. Especially above a certain young lady.”

  “Which is not your concern.”

  “Perhaps.” He crossed his arms and rested his chin in one hand. “Although one does wonder. Miss Lawrence is poor, while you are rich. If I were the suspicious type, I would ask why you see mistletoe over a poor miss, especially one who rejected you. Could she have something to do with the mistletoe’s appearance?”

  “I shall repeat myself. Whatever may have happened between Miss Lawrence and me is none of your business.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot.”

  The devil you did.

  “Still, I suggest you guard yourself. No telling what schemes the ladies may concoct in order to secure a wealthy husband. Even one a certain lady spurned before.” Bray smiled his irritating smile again and then sauntered into the drawing room.

  Charles would love to floor him. Too bad there were people all about.

  But, as much as he despised Bray, the man did have a point.

  Ladies swarmed around him ad nauseam now. Lovely girls all, but suffocating.

  What a difference from five years ago. Then young misses barely looked his way once they found out he was poor.

  All except Penelope. She hadn’t cared about his lack of coin. She’d wanted only him.

  Even after all these years, that London party where they met was still fresh in his mind. At first the guests welcomed him, but as soon as they discovered he worked, most everyone decamped as if he carried the plague.

  Except for the widows and married ladies. For what they wanted, his employment was irrelevant. He politely declined them all, while seething inside at the ones who offered to pay for his “services”.

  He wasn’t ashamed of having a job, and while aware of the ton’s disdain toward employed members of their set, the reality still hit him like a blow to the stomach.

  He’d always wanted to travel, but his family’s finances and the war in Europe precluded a grand tour. So, after university, and with his brother helping their father tend the Cumbria family estate, he went to London and found a job as a clerk at an importing company. He learned everything he could about the business, and took assignments on the firm’s ships whenever possible. He even invested small amounts in the cargos, investments that paid off handsomely. He was happy with the progress he’d made.

  Until that party and the coldness of the guests.

  As he stood alone, one of his friends, accompanied by the most beautiful girl Charles had ever seen, came over and introduced them.

  Mayhap she had asked to meet him because she felt sorry for him, but all he saw was her kindness. At first, he didn’t know what to say to a viscount’s daughter, so he fell back on stories of his travels. To his surprise, she loved them, and time stood still as they talked and talked.

  But, as her mother stormed through the crowd toward them, Penelope said she liked to feed the ducks in Hyde Park. She asked when he started work, and said she would visit the ducks the next day an hour before then.

  Nothing on heaven or earth could have kept him away from the park the following morning. And she came! They met there almost every day until she invited him home to dinner one night.

  He’d never been happier. He asked her to marry him and she accepted.

  Then, out of nowhere, she rebuffed him. His world crumbled.

  But her rejection goaded him like white-hot fire to better himself, and he’d thrown himself into his work. He was on the first company ship out to distant lands, and did that for the next two years.

  And better himself he had, and very well, too, while she had fallen low. He should have gloated when he saw just how far she’d fallen.

  But he couldn’t. Meeting her again had unleased all his yearning for her, yearning he thought long gone. Part of him—a large part—still wanted her, as deluded as that was.

  He balled his fists. He had to put an end to this nonsense. He strode after Bray.

  As usual, everyone had gathered in the drawing room after dinner. Conversation, the clinking of teacups, and sweet and spicy perfume scents washed over him. But, of all the people, the only one who existed for him was Penelope.

  She sat beside the fireplace, another monstrous clump of mistletoe dangling over her. Gads, the ball grew larger every time he looked. If, by some chance, Edward’s family legend had come to life, was she involved? He still suspected this entire situation was an elaborate jest at his expense.

  Edward, a tumbler in each hand, wove his way over. He offered one glass to Charles. “Care for some brandy?”

  Charles didn’t, but he took the drink anyway.

  Edward sipped his brandy and followed the direction of Charles’s gaze. “I say, people have noticed.”

  Charles blinked. “What?”

  Edward tipped his glass toward Penelope. “Whenever you and Penelope are in the same room, you stare above her. People say you harbor a tendre for her.” The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Others laugh over the mistletoe legend. Still others say you belong in Bedlam.”

  “Oh, yes, the ‘Mistletoe Man’. Bray called me that.”

  Edward winced. “Sorry.”

  “No. I am sorry to put you in such a position. I swear I am not doing this apurpose.”

  “Think no more on it. We have been friends since university, and I am concerned. Care to talk about it?”

  “Is that tale about the mistletoe true?” Charles snorted. “What a question. Of course not.”

  Edward cocked an eyebrow. “Well, once a generation or so, we have a family member who falls prey to our legend. The gentleman involved always claims to see mistletoe no one else can see.”

  I really am mad. I am not a family member.

  “But then, the legend always affects a man. Sometimes the family member is a lady, and the gentleman who desires her is the one affected.”

  Charles uttered a silent prayer of thanks. Perhaps he wasn’t demented. Yet. But if he kept seeing mistletoe, the sight might soon drive him crazy.

  His thoughts whirled. Mayhap he should admit that he had never stopped loving Penelope. The legend, true or not, could be his own desires coming to the fore. The mistletoe might know something he didn’t.

  “My cousin, Harry, insisted he saw mistletoe over Amelia, who later became his bride. At the time, everyone laughed, because the two of them fought constantly. There they are, by the window.”

  A man and woman, holding hands, sat side by side on a settee a little apart from the others. The gentleman, his smile tender, pressed a kiss into the lady’s palm.

>   “But, devil take it, they are now wed and, ten years later, their eyes still light up when they see each other.”

  “They do look happy.”

  “Their marriage is the most successful I’ve seen. And they credit their good fortune to the mistletoe.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I am not sure. I like whatever makes people happy, and Harry and Amelia are happy.” Edward rolled the glass between his palms. “Whether you see mistletoe or not is irrelevant.” His lips pursed. “But, please, stop staring at the ceiling.”

  ***

  The candles in the wall sconces burned low, casting faint yellow pools of light over the silent corridor. Shadows caressed the corners as Penelope, the skirt of her nightgown and robe fisted in one hand, hurried toward the kitchen.

  One foot twisted in her too-large slipper, and she grabbed the edge of a nearby table to keep from tripping.

  “Drat.” She resettled the slippers on her feet and then padded along more slowly.

  She wore a pair of her aunt’s old slippers, since her own had worn to shreds long ago. When she asked Aunt Lydia for a new pair, her aunt had cried poor and berated her for the request.

  Strange. Destitute Aunt Lydia could find enough money to purchase herself a new gown for the house party, but she couldn’t afford a pair of slippers for her niece.

  The long case clock at the end of the passage struck the hour.

  Penelope timed her steps to the chimes, counting as she walked. Eleven, twelve…

  So late. Her aunt had wakened her from a sound sleep to demand she fetch her a cup of hot milk. Such a ridiculous request, and so time-consuming. What with her running downstairs, heating and then returning with the milk, Aunt Lydia would probably nod off in the meantime.

  She picked up speed. Just another way Aunt reinforced her dominance. Tomorrow, she would write that letter to Aunt Elizabeth.

  “Penny, watch out!”

  Penelope spun around.

  Charles, eyes wide, raced toward her. He seized her arms and then shoved her to the side.

  Her back hit the wall. All the air in her lungs rushed out in a startled huff.

  Charles slammed full-length against her. He gripped her shoulders hard, his forearms bracketed her sides, and his head bent over hers. His breath sawed in and out of his chest. “Thank God, I reached you in time.”

  With her nose crushed into his cravat, his coat’s buttons digging into her breasts and his legs pinning hers to the wall, she could barely move. “What happened?” Her voice was a hoarse croak.

  “The kissing bough above you fell.”

  Penelope lifted her nose out of his cravat’s starched folds and tipped her head to the side. The ceiling and floor were empty. “What kissing bough?”

  His body still holding her captive, he looked over his shoulder. He stiffened. “I could have sworn…” He dipped his chin to look down at her. “I beg your pardon, Miss Lawrence. I appear to be mistaken.”

  Since the imagined danger had passed, he loosened his grip, but made no move to release her. Instead, his hands, which had flattened on the wall beside her, cupped her cheeks. His fingers tangled in the strands of hair that had escaped from her night braid. Face soft, he lowered his head. “Penny. My Shining Penny.”

  His body heat flowed through her, and a different kind of heat arose.

  Time reeled backwards. Here was the Charles of her memories, the man who had placed her in the center of his world.

  Her arms, flat along the wall, lifted and wound around him. “Charles—”

  He feathered little kisses over her cheeks. His lips, warm and soft, stroked hers back and forth.

  Eyes drifting shut, she lost herself in the caress of his mouth, the hardness of his body against hers…

  “Penelope! Where are you, you troublesome girl?” Aunt Lydia’s stentorian voice sliced through the silence.

  They sprung apart.

  Charles pressed a finger to his lips and slipped around the nearest corner at the same moment her aunt heaved into view around the far corner.

  Aunt Lydia wagged her finger. “There you are. I have awaited my hot milk this age. What kept you?”

  “I am sorry. I got lost. In the dark, I had trouble finding my way around.”

  “Well, tomorrow, have a footman guide you all over the house and take care to remember everything you see.” With a sniff, she turned back the way she had come. “I waited so long, I no longer want the milk. Come to bed.”

  “Yes, Aunt.”

  Charles leaned out from his hiding place and grinned.

  Penelope grinned back.

  Chapter 7

  Aunt Lydia, breath rasping, halted for what must have been the hundredth time. “Penelope, I cannot conceive how you persuaded me to go for another walk. We went for a walk only yesterday.”

  Despite the bright morning sunlight, bare tree branches clacked in the wind. Aunt Lydia shivered and pulled the pink wool shawl she wore over her red pelisse tighter. “The forest is hideous.”

  Penelope jerked out of her woolgathering. “Sorry, Aunt.” Ever since last night, she had relived Charles’s kiss over and over. The gentleness of his hands on her face, the tenderness of his embrace. Even though she wasn’t in danger, he had raced to her rescue like a knight protecting his lady.

  What if they made up their differences? What if they forgot the past? What if he welcomed her back? She floated in an air castle of “what if’s”, all of them ending happily. Last night, anything had seemed possible. He even remembered his silly nickname for her.

  Her mouth curved into a smile.

  There remained the mistletoe he saw and she didn’t, but that was only a legend.

  “All these dirty leaves and twigs.” Aunt Lydia’s whining voice poked a hole in Penelope’s blissful bubble. Her aunt took another mincing step and groaned again. “The house looks farther and farther away, no matter how fast I walk.”

  A long distance ahead, eighty-year old Lord Fane, who had been beside them a few moments ago, disappeared around a bend in the path. If Lord Fane, who could barely walk, had outpaced them, the only excuses were her aunt’s large bulk and ingrained laziness. Not that Aunt would even admit that.

  Now Penelope would have no choice but to listen to unceasing complaints while they trudged along, or, even worse, Aunt would dispatch her to the house to send back a carriage.

  All her happy daydreams fizzled away.

  “Maybe I can find a shortcut.” She stepped off the track into a clearing filled with ankle-high dried grass. “We are not so far away. I can see the front of the house from—oh!”

  Pain sliced up her left leg. She crashed to the ground, the air hissing out of her lungs.

  Aunt Lydia tapped her foot. “What are you doing, you silly girl? If you insist upon dawdling, we will never return in time for midmorning tea.”

  Lungs frozen, Penelope wheezed. The edges of her vision darkened…

  And then her chest muscles relaxed and she gulped in a long, stuttering breath. With shaky arms, she pushed up to a sitting position and then twitched the hem of her skirt away from her foot. “I stepped into a rabbit burrow.” She wiggled her left foot, but couldn’t draw free of the hole. Neither could she slip the boot off—her swelling ankle prevented that.

  Bending, she grabbed her calf and gave a gentle tug. Another lightning bolt of pain shot up her leg, and she bit her lip to stifle a cry. Her foot remained stuck.

  Panting, she kept still until the pain finally lessened. Perhaps, if she found a stick, she could enlarge the burrow. She twisted to both sides. The glade had nary a twig in sight. “Aunt, I am stuck. If you would break off a tree branch, mayhap I can widen the hole enough to slide out.”

  “What? Me break off a branch? My constitution is too delicate for such an onerous task. I shall have to leave you here and fetch help.” Her lips pursed. “It was very bad of you to step into that hole. I shall probably miss my tea.” She plodded down the path with a gait much faster t
han the one she had employed before. “Do not move.”

  As if I can. Already, the ankle of her boot bulged out from the swelling. The longer she stayed here, the harder freeing herself would become.

  Bracing her arms straight behind her, she kicked the side of the burrow with the heel of her other foot. She dislodged a few small clods of dirt, but the frozen ground, rock hard, refused to yield. Slumping, she leaned back on her elbows.

  The must of old leaves and damp earth rose to her nostrils. Bare tree branches creaked time after time in the breeze. The twigs of bushes rustled.

  She sat up and brushed off her sleeves. The ground was wet and water had saturated the elbows of her pelisse.

  The clammy fabric sent shivers over her. Pray her aunt returned before the moisture soaked through her skirts.

  If there were no branches, something else, like a sharp stone, might work to widen the hole. Propping herself on one elbow, she twisted around. Directly behind her lay a branch, slender, but stout enough for her need.

  Drat her aunt. She must have seen that.

  Now, if she could reach the stick…She lay on her side and stretched as far as she could. The branch, a tantalizing fragment of an inch beyond her straining fingers, might as well be leagues away.

  Dry leaves crunched under booted feet.

  She sagged. Finally, help had arrived!

  Then ice sliced down her spine. Or maybe not. With the house so close, surely, she was safe…

  Polished black Hessians, their gold tassels swinging, stepped in front of her face. She looked up—past the opened greatcoat, along muscled legs in tight fawn-colored pantaloons, higher to a dark blue coat and lighter blue waistcoat, to a simply knotted cravat and then…

  Chapter 8

  “May I be of assistance?”

  Charles couldn’t believe his luck. Penelope, alone in the clearing!

  As he wandered over the estate, he’d dreamed of encountering her alone, and here she was. They could pick up where they left off last night.

  Ah, last night. Hot and hard, he’d tossed and turned until dawn, reliving that kiss. Her warm body, clad only in a flimsy night rail, pressed to his. Her lips, so soft. Time had melted, and once more, they were young lovers, lost in each other’s arms. Mayhap they were not so far gone.