Mistletoe and Mayhem: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology, page 86
“An hour?” Jameson asked. “This game will last all night.”
Everyone laughed again. Even Hugh had to smile as well. Jameson was being a good sport.
Emma left the circle, closed her eyes for a minute, then returned, and the process was repeated. The next time she left the circle, Lucy took the shoe from Jameson and passed it around, gesturing for Mr. Barnes to hide it behind his back. Then she motioned for everyone else to put their hands behind their backs as well.
Emma returned to the circle once more. “Cobbler, is my shoe mended?”
Jameson looked to Lucy, who whispered to him. Then he said, “Your shoe has been sent home.”
“What?” Emma asked with mock surprise. “I cannot believe that to be true.”
“It’s clearly not here,” Jameson responded as he glanced about, his hands still behind his back like everyone else.
“Then I shall search for it myself,” Emma declared. She moved to stand before Jameson and patted his suit coat while the guests chuckled before moving to another person, pausing before Johnson and searching him for the shoe.
Several of the ladies were laughing so hard they could barely stand straight. The exaggerated look of alarm Johnson had as Emma searched made it impossible not to join in.
Emma moved on to her next target, this time a lady. “Have you seen my shoe?”
“I have not.” But she kept her hands behind her back, leaving Emma to peer around her in an attempt to spot it. The lady shifted, doing her best to keep Emma from seeing her hands.
Emma released a pretend sigh of frustration then moved on to Mr. Barnes. She held his gaze for a long moment, and Barnes’ pale cheeks slowly reddened. “You must have my shoe.”
“No shoe here.” Yet the man was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.
“I don’t believe you,” she declared and began her search. She’d only patted a few places on his person before he produced the shoe, his face now an alarming shade of red. “I knew it.” She patted his cheek. “You are the next shoe owner.”
Barnes looked distraught at the order.
Hugh chuckled, his gaze catching on Lucy, who laughed as well. He liked to see her having fun. They shared a smile and the tightness in his chest eased. Perhaps this wasn’t so terrible a way to spend an evening.
If he had the chance to hide her shoe, he intended to take it.
Chapter Seven
Lucy followed Aunt Edith into the dining room the next morning, looking forward to the task ahead of them. Playing Hunt the Slipper had been fun, but she’d been relieved that she hadn’t been picked. Making kissing boughs was a preferable activity as far as she was concerned. The room had been cleared from breakfast and now held most of the female guests along with gold paper, evergreens, ribbons, holly, and most importantly, mistletoe.
“Thank you all for helping.” Aunt Jane gestured for Lucy and Aunt Edith to take a seat. “Make whatever style you’d like. All I ask is that each have at least one sprig of mistletoe.”
The ladies dove into the task, cutting and tying and occasionally pricking their fingers with the holly as well as the wire used to hold the items together. The chatter and laughter rose to a dull roar.
“It’s been an age since we made kissing boughs,” Aunt Edith said to Lucy with a youthful grin. “What fun.”
Lucy was pleased her aunt felt well enough to join the merriment. Though she often wondered if Aunt Edith truly felt poorly or merely pretended, she’d come to realize the older woman’s dour thoughts were a major part of her wellbeing. Melancholy often took over and seemed to drain her energy. Whether it was missing her husband, who’d been gone so long, or a general ennui, Lucy didn’t know. Her aunt rarely spoke about her feelings.
In truth, it made Lucy wonder if she might end up in a similar situation. Would she regret not reaching for more to fill her life? Yet she couldn’t shake the worry of experiencing the pain again that she had when her parents died. She simply wasn’t that brave. Her heart couldn’t bear it.
Emma arrived late and breathless, her cheeks blooming with color, making Lucy wonder what had occurred. She squeezed in a chair beside Lucy, casting a wary glance at her mother, who stood across the room, helping another lady.
“What happened?” Lucy whispered when Aunt Edith’s attention was taken by the woman next to her.
“A moment with the viscount.” Emma’s smile suggested she’d liked the moment, whatever it had entailed.
“And?” Lucy asked. Part of her wanted Emma to like anyone but Hugh. Viscount Jameson would be a good choice. He seemed kind, of good humor, and handsome. Surely those qualities fit Emma’s requirements in a husband.
“Lovely.” Emma held up a piece of mistletoe. “We didn’t need this, but I hope it provides a second kiss.”
Lucy shook her head with a smile. Trust Emma not to be satisfied with just one. She’d been greedy as a little girl and apparently that particular trait hadn’t eased with age.
Lucy and Emma worked together, decorating a small branch by winding gold paper and ribbon amid the greenery. Emma twisted wire around the mistletoe to attach it to the center. The bough would look lovely on a fireplace mantle.
“Now for a globe,” Emma said, her brow furrowed with concentration. “We’ll place it in a spot where we can make good use of it.”
The giggles from those who’d overheard her remark had Lucy laughing too.
“Emma,” Aunt Jane said. “Behave yourself.”
Feigning innocence, Emma asked, “Whatever do you mean, Mother?”
Lucy chuckled at her cousin’s antics as she selected a hollow sphere fashioned from dried vines. “Will this do?”
“Perfect,” Emma declared.
They tucked small pieces of evergreen in it along with ribbons and more of the gold paper.
Emma found a sizeable piece of mistletoe with six berries on it. “Three for you and three for me,” she whispered to Lucy.
Lucy laughed. “I don’t think I’ll be using any.”
“I insist,” Emma said, her sparkling blue eyes holding on Lucy. “Mistletoe is the perfect excuse to experience a few kisses. You need more excitement in your life, and this is your chance.”
Lucy bit her lip at the thought of Hugh. Mayhap Emma wouldn’t mind that she’d kiss him. Not that she was ready to tell her.
Several of the ladies disappeared with their creations, no doubt to place them where they hoped to make use of them.
“So pretty.” Emma looped a red ribbon through the ball so they could hang it. “Don’t you think?”
“Very.” Longing filled Lucy as she studied the festive ball. Would it be possible to share another kiss with Hugh? Did she dare? She wanted to, despite her concerns.
With a word to Aunt Edith, advising her they’d return, Emma led the way out of the dining room with the ball in hand and Lucy behind her with the bough.
“We need a private place for ours,” Emma said.
“Definitely.” The idea of being caught made Lucy shudder. Mistletoe was fun as long as one didn’t face ruin.
Emma peeked into a larger sitting room only to shake her head. It was already occupied.
Much to Lucy’s surprise, Emma selected the room where Lucy and Hugh had kissed.
“Perfect,” Emma declared. “Small enough to suggest intimacy but not so small as to be overlooked.”
Lucy kept quiet, though she agreed. If only she’d been brave enough to thoroughly enjoy that kiss with Hugh, she thought as she placed the bough on the fireplace mantle. Any time spent with him was one more way to make memories.
Emma found a hook in the ceiling from a previous year near the window. She stood on a chair and placed the ribbon on the hook then hopped down to consider the location. “I think it’s ideal. Don’t you?”
“Indeed.” Heat filled her cheeks at the thought of standing beneath it and kissing Hugh. If that happened, she promised herself to not allow fear to rule the moment.
“We’re going to have so much fun this evening,” Emma whispered, even though no one was about. “Tonight will be blindman’s buff!”
An image of Hugh’s hands outstretched toward her, touching her person in an attempt to discover her identity swept through Lucy’s mind and stole her breath.
Oh my.
Hugh adjusted the scarf he wore over his greatcoat then trudged through the snow toward the stables. Waverly was reputed to have a fine selection of horses, and Hugh was eager to see them. Though he knew he couldn’t hope to have anything as impressive as the wealthy landowner, he was researching possibilities and was lucky to have been invited to take a closer look.
The air was crisp, the sun bright, and the sky so blue it gave him pause. Mornings like this reminded him that he’d like to spend more time in the country. London, with all its bustling energy, never felt as peaceful as the countryside.
Half a dozen horses braved the cold, stretching their legs in the paddock. The temperature made them frisky, and they tossed their heads and pranced about.
He leaned against the fence and reached out his hand toward a black mare, but the horse was having none of it. She jerked her head as if she didn’t appreciate his attempt to coax her forward. For some reason, the beautiful mare’s cautious nature made him think of Lucy. She was skittish as well, often acting as if uncertain whether he could be trusted.
He tried again, talking softly as the horse’s large dark eyes watched him. At last, she stepped forward to nuzzle his outstretched hand and allowed him to rub her face.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Waverly asked, a hint of pride in his voice as he joined Hugh.
“Very.” Hugh looked her over more closely. “How old is she? Five or six?”
“Five,” he answered. “You truly do know horses.”
“Breeding them is something I hope to do eventually.” He didn’t add that it was one of the reasons he considered offering for Emma. But he wanted Waverly to understand he had ambition and wasn’t merely a rogue with nothing on his mind except vices and how to fund them. Those days were in his past, regardless of whether he married.
“They make living in the country even more enjoyable.” Waverly leaned against the railing, his look of contentment something Hugh envied.
Was it so wrong to want that for himself? Raising horses would be a way to earn money, assuming he knew what he was doing. He’d had a hand in helping with his father’s horses in his younger days but only recently realized how much he missed it.
His brother, Graham, now the Earl of Carlington, had asked for his assistance in selecting horses for his stable. With a limited budget, the task had been a challenge.
Hugh and his brothers were doing what they could to improve their finances, but more money was going out than was coming in.
Thomas had made significant progress with Artemis Press and now made a tidy profit. He had a talent for selecting books to publish that the public enjoyed, including his wife’s.
It was Hugh’s turn to earn his keep, other than winning at cards. He had thought the simplest solution was to marry wealth. But the past few days made him doubt whether he could do so. Rather, Lucy was the reason for his doubt.
Her presence clouded his goal, which had seemed so clear prior to his arrival.
“You have a nice selection,” Hugh said as he watched the horses, many with blankets on their backs to chase away the chill.
“It’s been a joy to select them.”
“Do you intend to race any?” Hugh asked. Racing was a rich man’s sport. Racing stud farms could cost upwards of 30,000 pounds a year.
“I prefer fox hunting for now. I have a Suffolk Punch that’s brilliant.”
“Impressive.” Hugh nodded. The draft horse was heavier than a thoroughbred but well suited for hunting. Fox hunting season ran from November to March, months that didn’t interfere with the growing of crops.
“Any Irish Hunters?”
Waverly grinned as he turned to look at Hugh. “I have several. Come take a look.” He turned to walk toward the stables.
Irish Hunters had the stamina to go all day and were among Hugh’s favorites.
“If the snow melts, we’ll hunt,” Waverly said as he looked up at the sky as if to weigh the chances. “You’ll come?”
“I’d be honored, sir.” It had been a few years since Hugh had been hunting. His father hadn’t kept any hunters to ride nor any hounds for the chase for years. Both were expensive to maintain. Hugh should’ve realized how poor their finances were when his father had sold them.
The reminder of how much money he needed to pursue his goal was a sobering one. Wealth made life easier, but he was beginning to wonder if it might be even more important to have a woman he loved at his side.
He spent the next hour touring the stables with Waverly, admiring the horses. A few of the other guests joined them, including Viscount Jameson.
“Impressive,” Hugh said as they returned to the house.
“I’ve had my eye on an Irish Hunter,” Jameson said. “After seeing yours, I think I’ll go ahead and make the purchase.”
Waverly responded enthusiastically.
Hugh pushed aside a pang of envy. Soon, he told himself. Somehow, he intended to find a way to buy a few horses and build his dream. Marrying Emma would speed the process, but he no longer thought that was possible based on his growing feelings for Lucy.
Yet a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his father’s asked if those emotions would last. How often had the earl told Hugh and his brothers that marriage had nothing to do with feelings as they wouldn’t house, feed, or clothe them?
He had to be practical about his future or determine some other way to make his fortune. Which was it going to be?
Chapter Eight
“No, not that way.” Aunt Edith’s lips tightened, a clear sign of her displeasure. Displeasure with the way she felt. Displeasure with the pillow Lucy was adjusting. Displeasure with Lucy.
Times like this made Lucy consider how long she could continue to care for her aunt. God bless the woman, but she could be difficult, testing Lucy’s patience until she was tempted to throw her hands in the air and stomp from the room.
What had set off Aunt Edith this time, Lucy didn’t know. She’d been in fine spirits that morning when they’d made kissing boughs. Luncheon had gone well enough. But by mid-afternoon, her aunt’s spirits had lowered, bringing physical symptoms with it. It was now evening and nothing had improved.
Reining in her frustration, Lucy resituated the pillow behind her aunt once more. “Is that better?”
Aunt Edith heaved a sigh as she leaned back. “I suppose.”
“How about a cup of tea,” Lucy suggested. “The cook might have a special blend to make you feel better.”
That was a bold statement, considering the fact Lucy had yet to determine what was wrong with her aunt this time. From what little she’d said, her current condition involved a combination of fatigue, an unhappy stomach, and an aching head. Although those same symptoms appeared frequently with her aunt.
“No. That won’t help.”
“Very well. Shall I read for a time?” Lucy tapped the leather-bound volume that lay on the side table. “We were just reaching the exciting part of the novel.”
One advantage of dealing with an ailing Aunt Edith at Waverly House was the massive library. Lucy loved to read, but she and her aunt quickly went through the books offered by the tiny version of a lending library located within the haberdasher in their village. Reading the same stories over and over wasn’t as pleasurable as diving into a new tale.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” her aunt said with a sniffle. “You should join the other young people.”
The reminder of what she was missing sent a wistful twinge through Lucy. Her aunt’s condition had kept the pair in her bedchamber, eating their dinner here rather than with the others.
Just when Lucy had decided to enjoy herself, fate stepped in and closed the door. Should she take that as a sign to reel in her wishes? Perhaps she should be satisfied with her life as it was and avoid new experiences, including time with Hugh.
“Not at all.” Lucy drew a chair forward and sat, reaching for the book. “I’m happy to keep you company. I’m just sorry you’re not feeling yourself.”
“Mayhap we should’ve remained home for the holiday,” her aunt said. “I’m much more comfortable there.”
“Why don’t we think about that on the morrow? For now, we’ll read about Miss Merriweather’s terrible predicament.” Lucy’s chest tightened at the worry that Aunt Edith would decide they should return home before the house party ended.
But perhaps that would be for the best. Why bother to explore her feelings for Hugh or hope to share another kiss with him?
Her life had been fine before she’d met him, Lucy reminded herself as she opened the book. She had been content with her lot. Mostly. If they were home, she wouldn’t feel so torn between assisting her aunt and joining the guests. Nor would she so frequently compare her life to Emma’s, wishing for things that weren’t to be.
Half an hour later, Lucy decided Miss Merriweather was a ninny. What woman in her right mind ventured outside at night in a storm to search for the source of a strange noise? The lantern she held would no doubt be blown out by the wind or rain she was presently enduring.
Luckily, Aunt Edith had fallen asleep, so Lucy didn’t have to see whether she was right. She marked their page and shut the book, watching her aunt sleep for a moment. By her slow, even breaths, it seemed like she would rest through the night.
Lucy checked her pin watch, realizing the hour had grown late. She had no desire to seek out Emma and the others if they were even still together.
Yet her restlessness indicated she wasn’t ready to turn in for the night. She added more coals to the fire to keep her aunt warm and closed the door behind her.
The house was quiet, suggesting most of the guests had retired. Deciding to read for a time until she felt sleepier, she collected a book from her bedchamber and sought the small sitting room down the hall.
