The Art of Kissing Beneath the Mistletoe

by Crosby, Tanya Anne

  “Think nothing of it,” said Claire easily, smiling and patting the long strands of Alexandra’s hair that fell loose at her back—what a sight she must present, fresh from travel, eyes red-rimmed and stinging. Her voice softer now, barely a whisper at Lexie’s ear, Claire said, “All’s well that ends well, my dear friend. I never blamed you even once.”

  And then she wrenched herself free of their maudlin embrace, somehow understanding how it could end if she didn’t take matters in hand. Smiling, she turned Lexie about, linking their arms, and said brightly, “Let me show you where we’ll be sleeping. Isn’t this grand?” And she patted Lexie’s hand, and gave her the state of affairs.

  Some of the guests had already arrived, including her fiancé’s twin brother and his wife, who was apparently very, very pregnant. Alexandra and Claire would be sharing one suite, Merrick and his wife another, Ian and Ben another. Mr. Cameron, perhaps inspired by the accommodations, was bringing a “guest.”

  “Chloe is a doctor,” Claire explained. “Can you imagine?”

  Alexandra blinked in surprise. “A true doctor?”

  Claire nodded. “True as they come. As I understand it, she’s the physician for all of Glen Abbey as her father was before her.”

  “How incredible!”

  Claire smiled artfully. “I suppose no one ever told her she couldn’t do it.”

  “Good for her,” Alexandra said, and meant it.

  “She’s delightful,” Claire said. “I know you’ll be fast friends. And Ben will be so pleased to see you.”

  Ben.

  Alexandra wrinkled her nose.

  Unfortunately, Benjamin Wentworth, the man who’d once held her heart without ever realizing it, was the very last person Alexandra wished to see.

  Certainly, she blamed her father most of all for the majority of Claire’s troubles, but Benjamin had had a part to play as well. It was his gaming, after all, that had brought his family to ruin, and if he’d never gambled a penny, her damnable father would never have had the chance to abuse him—and all for what? Really, it had to be Ben’s fault. Alexandra couldn’t imagine Claire’s father leaving them in too deep.

  But she didn’t wish to think about those travails any longer. She was determined to make the most of the weekend, and judging by the size of the house, she need not ever see Benjamin Wentworth if she didn’t wish to. “So, have we the entire Pavilion?” she asked.

  “Oh, no. Only this one was restored by the Duke before he died. The others are still in disrepair. Mr. Moore and his wife are both currently abroad, so the Duchess impressed upon them to lend it for the holiday. Of course, how could they refuse, when it was originally her husband’s?

  “Lovely,” said Alexandra, though it struck her yet again how fickle the haute ton could be. Less than a year ago, the Duchess had barely tolerated Claire. Now, she was arranging holiday accommodations?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Claire, with a hint of a smile, because, despite their recent estrangement, Claire knew her only too well. “She’s family now.”

  Alexandra lifted a brow. “Victoria?”

  “Be nice. She may be joining us and she’s bringing Drina along with her.”

  “Lovely,” said Alexandra, torn. She did enjoy little Drina— infinitely more than she did her meddling mother. But where that child got her good cheer, no one could say, because, by all accounts, her father had been utterly loathed by his peers and her mother was a dour-faced matron.

  A flutter of movement caught her eye, and she peered up, spying an all-too familiar face in the upstairs window. Against her will, her heart did a flip and a flop. But that wasn’t joy, she apprised herself. Those days were done. It was merely that she hadn’t seen him in nearly a year, and she didn’t know how they would get along.

  It’s all well and good, she reassured herself.

  Chin up, do it for Claire.

  * * *

  Alexandra Huntington.

  But, of course.

  His sister had a heart of gold, and there was no wonder why Claire would invite her. Those two had been friends since the cradle. Their mothers had met with prams in the park, and Ben himself had scarcely been old enough to pull himself up to peer inside at the round-faced babes within.

  She was not a child any longer.

  From the upstairs window, he watched as she descended from her coach—or, more like spilled from it, into a billowing cloud of sapphire skirts—quite sedate for her. She was usually aglitter, with gems in her tresses and jewels at her throat. From his vantage it seemed that she hurled herself into Claire’s arms, clutching his sister in a veritable death grip. Frowning, Ben watched the pair embrace, releasing the curtain as they started for the house.

  It wasn’t that he was unhappy to see her. Quite to the contrary. Claire and Lexie should make amends.

  But.

  And that was the word of the moment…

  But.

  Seeing Alexandra left him feeling bedeviled on so many fronts; the worst of it being the guilt he felt over what her father did to Claire—held her at pistol point, fully intending to defile her. He took Claire to that house of ill-repute—the one where he’d swindled Ben. And some believed Huntington intended to do his worst.

  But there was this as well: He didn’t wish to feel pity for the daughter of the man who’d brought him to his knees.

  Lord Huntington was an abomination.

  Ben had gone to the man for help, and Huntington had not only swindled him, but then had him thrashed and tossed into debtors’ prison with no one the wiser. He still bore a small scar where the pipe had caught him on the chin.

  Naturally, he was still furious over it all, but no more furious than he was that Huntington had set his sights on Ben’s sweet sister, preying upon her in much the same fashion he would hunt some beast of prey. In the end, he’d not gotten what he’d deserved. Gaol was too good for the man, and Ben hoped to God that Huntington found himself buggered every day of his miserable life.

  Unfortunately, seeing Alexandra only roused his darkest emotions, and he didn’t relish thinking about his time in Fleet.

  So what if Alexandra was alone for the holidays. He’d come dangerously close to spending every day of his life alone in a cell, with only her father to account for it.

  Moreover, he had a feeling in his gut that his sister was up to no good and he really didn’t appreciate Claire’s meddling. No matter that he was, in fact, still attracted to Alexandra—who wouldn’t be; she had grown into a fine young lady—she stood for everything he could no longer bear.

  Point in fact: He couldn’t remember the last time—or even the first time—they’d had some meaningful discourse that lasted more than three minutes that didn’t revolve around some juicy bit of gossip. How pleased she must be to be spending the holidays in this bastion of inequity, where, no doubt, her father would have felt right at home. No matter that the place was changed now, altered by bits of velvet and lace, Ben could still smell its taint in the walls themselves.

  Gambling, whoring, drinking.

  All that gibberish was behind him now. Consequently, he wasn’t remotely interested in spending time with Alexandra Huntington.

  “Claire,” he whispered. “What are you up to, sister?” Whatever it was, she wouldn’t get away with it.

  Chapter 4

  Rule No. 4:

  On Avoidance.

  One way to avoid mistletoe is to remain aware of hanging locations at all times. Be sure to inspect doorways, chandeliers and lamps. Tip: No one should question your propensity to look about if you occasionally compliment the decor. Be advised: Mistletoe locations might change from time to time. (Please see Rule No. 2)

  Holly. Ivy. Mistletoe.

  No expense had been spared to illicit good cheer, every room in the manor festooned with boughs of holly and sprigs of mistletoe as well—a small, but annoying detail Alexandra might have happily overlooked had she not encountered the frippery in her own home. Only to make matt
ers worse, unlike in her own home where there was a single sprig hidden along the back hall, here the mistletoe was everywhere, and full of drupes, besides. One must be vigilant to avoid them, but the sight of them bedeviled her all the more because she and Benjamin were presently the only ones in attendance without sweethearts. Never in her life would she have believed she would say such a thing—or even think such a thing—but she desperately hoped the Duchess and her daughter would be arriving soon, because, at the instant, she felt as though she were attending a party for twains.

  Merrick, Chloe.

  Ian, Claire.

  Mr. Cameron and his flamboyant paramour…

  Waiting for the dinner bell to chime, Alexandra chose a spot at the back of the parlor, next to the pianoforte—as far as possible from mistletoe—and there she remained, awkwardly alone… certain of only one thing: Nothing was as it used to be. Nothing.

  Bittersweet memories of her youth accosted her—holidays in Shropshire, wassails with Ben and Claire, plum pudding at midnight in the kitchen…

  Like a comfortable old friend, the pianoforte’s hood was left ajar, the ebony and ivory keys winking brilliantly beneath the light of a glittering chandelier. The urge to tap a key was nearly irresistible, but Alexandra daren’t call attention to herself. Placing her hands firmly behind her back, she managed a smile, only considering the changes in their roles. For so many years, Alexandra had pushed and cajoled Claire into the spotlight, but for all her wallflower tendencies, Claire was now a model hostess, seeing to her guests with all the ease of a seasoned socialite—something her dear friend had always claimed she would never be. And yet… here they were… and there she was…

  A trickle of laughter drifted over as Claire delighted over something Chloe Welbourne said, and Alexandra felt an immediate and unmistakable tweak of envy—although, really, why shouldn’t Claire and Chloe be friends? On the surface they had more in common than Alexandra and Claire. Against all persuasion, both had remained true to themselves, flouting convention at every turn. And really, were Alexandra Claire, she might prefer Chloe as a best friend too. Not only was Chloe a notable physician in a day and age when women were not afforded such choices, she was effervescently lovely besides.

  And look at her—only look at her. Despite her left-handed marriage and increasing belly, she moved about the parlor with a grace born of confidence, something Alexandra was sorely lacking. Under different circumstances they might have all been good friends, but it was far more likely that they would part ways after the holidays, and Alexandra would never see any of these people again, including Claire.

  Feeling the loss acutely, her gaze moved to Ben, who was now speaking with Mr. Cameron—the detective Claire employed some months past to investigate her brother’s disappearance. Only watching them together, she frowned. Because if, indeed, Ben was ignoring Lexie—and he was—he didn’t seem the least bit inclined to ignore Mr. Cameron’s guest, one Lady Morrissey, whose husband was not entirely deceased, and yet here she was, cozy in public with Mr. Cameron, and flirting with Ben besides.

  She wasn’t jealous. That wasn’t the thing at all. It was just that Ben had only spoken two words to her.

  “Lady Alexandra,” he’d said, with a polite bow.

  But he didn’t take her by the hand, nor did he embrace her. Instead, he’d wandered into the gallery to study portraits, only returning at the lure of Lady Morrissey’s laughter.

  And there they were, laughing gaily, whilst Alexandra had never felt so out of sorts, or completely at sea.

  So, yes, indeed, she was feeling sorry for herself, and fighting the most incredible impulse to pound most vigorously upon the piano keys, if for no other reason than to remind certain persons in attendance that the occasion was supposed to be gay… and yet, really, there was only one person lacking in joy here, and it wasn’t Lady Morrissey.

  Nor was it Ben.

  Nor Claire.

  Nor Chloe.

  Nor Merrick, or Ian.

  Certainly not Mr. Cameron, whose ears were now blushing as fiercely as his cheeks.

  Fa la la la la, Alexandra groused silently, feeling like a crosspatch to the nth degree, and looking everywhere but at lovers or at the mistletoe—one hanging from the chandelier, another from the arched entry—all the while trying desperately not to remember the minty scent of Ben’s mouth… or the way his long, lean fingers had splayed over her back… all so chaste considering the way Lady Morrissey and Mr. Cameron were canoodling in public.

  Where, indeed, was Lady Morrissey’s husband?

  Wasn’t she concerned over her reputation? Particularly with the Duchess expected. Victoria would no doubt report every faux pas to the gossip-mongering ton—and if Lady Morrissey was not concerned, who was she to be spared the Duchess’s cutting tongue? Alexandra stood wondering about that when Claire approached to whisper in her ear, in precisely the manner she used to do. “Penny for your thoughts?” she said.

  Alexandra’s answering smile was quick as she turned to her friend, answering the way Claire would expect her to, “Give me two and I’ll tell all.”

  “All?” Claire teased.

  “Yes, indeed.” She lifted her chin. “Three will get you a song about it as well.”

  Claire laughed, and reached out to embrace Alexandra, leaving an arm about her waist. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Quite,” she lied, and, truly, she might have had the opportunity to do so if only she could temper the demons raging on her shoulder—an entire host of them now: one to needle her about Ben, one to harangue her about Claire, one to pester her about the mysterious Lady Morrissey, and yet another to bedevil her endlessly about the mistletoe hanging throughout the manor. Glancing up again at the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the crystal chandelier, she said, “It’s a lovely home.”

  “Indeed,” said Claire, whispering now. “Although I do wonder how many scandals were born here…”

  “Truly. How can Victoria bear to spend the holiday?”

  “Well… my guess is she will not,” said Claire. “She advised close proximity to Hampton Court for Chloe’s sake, but I’m quite certain she pressed General Moore as much for her own designs as she did for Chloe.” It was not Victoria’s way to lose an opportunity to see to her daughter’s welfare, and now that King William was aging, without legitimate heirs, and Drina was the heir apparent, there was hardly any chance the Duchess would bypass Hampton Court only to reside in the Pavilions, especially since Ian’s royal father wasn’t in attendance.

  “Lawd,” said Alexandra, “when I think about my own wretched family… I should remember poor Drina.”

  Claire’s brows lifted. “Poor Drina?” she exclaimed. “That child will be Queen some day!”

  Alexandra smiled. “So will you.”

  Claire shrugged, dismissing the notion with a hand. “Hardly apropos. I shall be Queen Consort of a small province—smaller even than Leiningen.”

  “And regardless…”

  “Well, you know it doesn’t matter to me, Alexandra, but if it affords us the opportunity to make better someone’s lot, I will welcome my crown wholeheartedly.”

  Alexandra smiled genuinely at the familiar glimpse of her old friend. “You shall be splendid,” she said, returning Claire’s embrace as Lady Morrissey chirped with laughter. Like a lodestone, Alexandra’s gaze lifted to the trio across the room, and following Lexie’s gaze, Claire smiled knowingly. “If you must know, the holiday decor was her idea.”

  “Lady Morrissey?”

  Claire nodded.

  “And the mistletoe, as well?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Claire. “She’s been helping with wedding plans, and she’s quite amazing, although I presume, like Victoria, she must have had her own designs when suggesting the mistletoe.” Her lips curved impishly. “What do you think?”

  “Indeed,” said Lexie, lifting her brows. “And where did you meet her? She’s rather… bold.”

  Claire lifted a hand to her lips and bent closer. “B
elieve it or not, she’s a very close acquaintance of Victoria’s. In fact, I’m told she’s some relation to the Saxon Duchy.”

  “Interesting,” said Alexandra. Claire shrugged.

  There were whispers of a distant marriage arrangement in the works between royal cousins Alexandrina Victoria and Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, but Drina was still far too young. However, if Lady Morrissey was present with Victoria’s blessing, perhaps she was here to protect the interests of the Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld house.

  Claire shrugged yet again, and Alexandra startled as Prince Merrick suddenly barked with laughter, then leaned to clap his brother on the shoulder—the twin he’d not met until they were both well past their salad days. How must it feel to discover so late in life that one had a sibling… and more, that he shared the same face? In fact, they shared the same hair, the same coloring, the same broad shoulders, the same blue eyes. They were identical in every respect, except for the mode of dress: While Prince Merrick was inclined to more formal garb, Claire’s fiancé wore a simple frock coat that was far more relaxed, even down to the grade of wool and lack of cravat. Truly, Prince Ian looked more like a commoner than he did any sort of prince.

  “It’s hardly any wonder their father couldn’t tell them apart,” said Claire, perhaps reading her mind.

  “Can you?”

  “Well,” Claire confessed. “It mightn’t be so easy if they were dressed alike… but, really, there’s a certain quality to each of their voices. And…”

  “And?”

  Claire flushed brightly, and Alexandra gasped. “Oh, Claire! You haven’t!”

  Claire nodded very slowly and deliberately, her blush heightening. “Oh, yes, I’m afraid I have!” And she giggled.

  Like old times, they put their heads together conspiratorially. “Will you do it again?”

  “Of course!”

  “But here? Now?”

  “Heavens, no! Ben would call him out. Nor would I dare give Victoria yet another reason to wag her tongue.”