The Mistletoe Mistake of Miss Grayson: School of Charm: Christmas Novella

by Dallen, Maggie

  “Perhaps he’s seen you somewhere before and is trying to place you,” Prudence offered.

  Madeline nibbled on her lower lip. He definitely had seen her before, and in rare form at that. But how to tell her beloved former student that she’d temporarily lost her mind and threw a temper tantrum in the snow? How to explain that for the first time in years she’d given in to her emotions, only to have a witness in the form of one of the most powerful men in all of England?

  “There can be only one explanation,” Prudence murmured beside her. “I do believe he’s smitten with you, Miss Grayson.”

  Her tone was teasing but Madeline tensed. Prudence had gotten it all wrong. He wasn’t intrigued, he was horrified. No doubt wondering how best to kick her out of his house.

  “I do hope Miss Farthington won’t be too disappointed,” Prudence added.

  Madeline glanced up at her friend at that. “I do not think she has anything to worry about.”

  And indeed, she likely did not. From the little she’d spoken with Miss Farthington, the woman seemed like perfection itself. Aside from that whiff of scandal with her broken engagement, Miss Farthington seemed like an enchanting young lady—poised, educated, and kind, if her smile and eyes were enough to go by. And on top of all that, she had the connections and breeding to make her the perfect wife. Miss Farthington would make a fine match for any gentleman.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Damian called out to the group of their friends and limited family who filled the drawing room now that dinner had ended. “Take your places, if you please.”

  “I cannot believe we’re playing this game,” Miss Farthington said with a delighted laugh.

  Prudence flashed her a smile. “My husband does indeed enjoy his fun.”

  “And music, I’ve heard,” Miss Farthington said.

  Madeline shot her a quick look but realized quickly that the young lady was not judging Damian for his ambitions to open a conservatory of his own.

  “Oh, indeed,” Prudence said. “I hope no one here is too tired from their journey because after games, Damian will undoubtedly insist on everyone singing carols.”

  Miss Farthington agreed enthusiastically but Madeline remained quiet. She was starting to think the muscles in her cheeks might crack if she had to keep this calm smile in place much longer.

  She was certain she would soon burst into flames if the marquess did not stop staring at her with such intensity. She had no doubt he was curious about her. Maybe even appalled by her. She remembered the expression in his eyes when he’d offered to help her, the way he’d so nimbly and efficiently saved her from the sleet and the snow...

  There had been nothing cruel nor callous about him. So perhaps it was not revulsion in his stare, perhaps it was something more like pity.

  She was certain that if she returned his gaze she would have her answer.

  But she did not dare.

  “I am curious,” Miss Farthington said, linking arms with her as they followed the others to the table where the game of snap-dragon had been set up. “Were you acquainted with Lord Ainsley before this gathering?”

  Madeline’s throat grew tight. “No, I have not had the honor before today.”

  It wasn’t a lie. Not completely.

  “Hmm,” the petite brunette hummed. “He seems quite fascinated by you.”

  Alarm had Madeline freezing midstep and as they were linked, Miss Farthington paused beside her. “He is not—he does not—that is—”

  Oh drat. Her wide-eyed gaze met Miss Farthington’s entertained one and Madeline let out a sigh of exasperation.

  What was wrong with her today? She rarely got flustered, and never lost her composure to such an extent that she floundered for words.

  She blamed it on the marquess. Even now, in the near dark, as an excited crowd whispered and giggled around them, preparing for a holiday party game, he was still watching her.

  She knew because she could feel it.

  After taking a deep breath, she faced Miss Farthington and tried again. “I would not say fascinated. No doubt he is curious as to what I am doing here.”

  She gave Miss Farthington a rueful smile, but the other woman had cocked her head to the side as she studied her. “No, I do not think that is it.”

  Madeline flinched. It seemed her new friend was not to be fooled. But then, Miss Farthington had likely come to this gathering with the sole hope of catching the marquess’s eye, and now, rather than fawn over the lovely, well-connected, and utterly marriable Miss Farthington, he was paying attention to her.

  Of course the lady was intrigued.

  Madeline huffed. She would have been flattered if she could believe for one second that this attention was of the admiring sort.

  “Then what is it, Miss Grayson?” Prudence asked. “We are all so curious to know.”

  Madeline was saved by Damian’s shout for everyone to hurry along so the game could begin. Prudence sighed in exasperation beside her. But really, now was not the time to explain. Though...even if they were alone and not surrounded by a roomful of guests, she wasn’t certain she knew how to explain. Or if she would.

  Prudence might not judge her for losing all sense of dignity, but she could not forgive herself. Why had she had to go and drop her guard like that? She’d exposed herself, just as surely as if she had stripped down to her undergarments right then and there.

  She might as well have. Being naked couldn’t have made her embarrassment any worse. No, this humiliation was the most severe she could imagine, and to think...she had an entire fortnight ahead of her until Christmastide was over and she could politely make her way back home.

  Prudence hovered beside her as Miss Grayson took her place around the table. Damian had insisted they play snap-dragon, though she suspected not a single person in this room wished to be set aflame.

  Of course, the whole point of the game was to avoid such a thing, snatching fruit and other treats from the fiery punch bowl filled with brandy. It was a silly game, and one she would typically avoid.

  As her cousin Amelia liked to say, Madeline had all the sense of fun of a corpse. She said it with a teasing grin, of course, but she wasn’t wrong. Madeline was not fun. She was not carefree, and she was certainly not emotional.

  Amelia, who’d spent her entire life knowing she would become a duchess, could afford to be frivolous and carefree. She could make decisions based on her heart and she could hold out hope for a match based on love. Or just a match, period.

  Madeline had learned at a young age that a charity case did not have that luxury. And a charity case was what she had been, what she still was in a sense. Yes, these days she worked for her keep, if looking after her dear friends could be called work. But when Lady Charmian offered her the job, it was out of pity. Sympathy, at the very least, because she’d understood quite rightly that once Amelia left the country with her new husband, the duke, Madeline would be adrift, dependent on the kindness of distant family to take her in and give her a safe place to stay.

  The school had been that place for her for the past two years. It had been home. And now...

  Prudence leaned against her gently, laughing as Damian gave the gathered crowd a lesson on how the game was to be played. She smiled at her friend—a genuine smile. She loved Pru, just like she loved all her girls.

  But now they were all gone, happily wed, and it was only a matter of time before they had families of their own.

  She supposed she would welcome a new round of girls. Start again forming a new family... With young ladies who would undoubtedly leave her.

  She hadn’t realized she’d sighed until Prudence and Miss Farthington both turned to her with a questioning look. “Are you all right, Miss Grayson?” Prudence asked, her brows drawn together in concern. “You’ve seemed distracted all evening. I do hope you’re not ill after being caught out in that storm.”

  She’d spoken too loudly. Or rather, just loudly enough. Particularly since Damian had ceased speak
ing, stepping aside to let one of his friends take the first turn at snatching a treat from the fiery bowl of brandy.

  A quick glance around showed that Damian was eyeing her from the opposite side of the group with eyes wide with recognition. Miss Farthington was also peering at her closely. But neither of them affected her the way the marquess did. He was standing a few paces away, several partygoers stood between them, but she felt as though they were all alone in the room when her gaze collided with his.

  “Miss Grayson?” Prudence said again.

  Was she fine? No. No she was not. Her lungs were too small, or her stays were laced too tight. Whatever this was, she could not draw breath properly and her heart raced too quickly. His gaze was locked on hers and she could not look away.

  She. Could. Not.

  What was wrong with her?

  “Miss Grayson—Madeline?” Pru’s voice grew sharp. “Shall I help you to your room or—?”

  “No.” She finally found her voice and it came out too sharp, too breathless. “No,” she said again, her gaze still locked with the marquess’s. “I just need some air.”

  Only then could she finally tear her gaze away as she hurried toward the hallway and headed right, not knowing and not caring where exactly she was going, just so long as she got away.

  Air, she needed air.

  Oh, who was she fooling? She needed to leave. There was no way she could stay here for an entire week and suffer the humiliation that burned her alive every time the marquess’s gaze fell on her.

  She stopped when she reached the glass-paned doors leading outside, most likely to a garden or a veranda. It would do. It would have to.

  She threw open the door and a cold wind whipped past her, cooling her skin and forcing her head to stop spinning. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, a hand over her stomach to steady herself.

  “Are you all right, Miss Grayson?” She would know that deep voice anywhere.

  She tensed. “Fine. Thank you.”

  He did not leave. He stood behind her in the darkened room, quiet and still...but she could feel his presence there. When at last he spoke again, his voice was closer and his tone achingly gentle. “Can I offer you my assistance?”

  Again. The word was unspoken but she still hear it. She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of his last offer to help her. “No. Thank you.”

  He was quiet again and she had to fight the urge to turn and face him. To see him. To meet that gaze that had seemed to hold her captive even as it warmed her to her core. When he next spoke, he was by her side. “You’ve been ignoring me all evening.”

  Startled, she turned abruptly to face him. “And you have been staring.” The moment the words escaped she clamped her mouth shut to stop them, but she was too late. Rude. She was being horribly rude. She blinked in shock as she looked away. She was never rude. “I’m-I-I apologize. I did not mean to—”

  She could hear wry amusement in his voice when he interrupted. “No, do not apologize. You were right. It was rude of me to pay so much attention, especially when it was so clearly unwanted.”

  Unwanted. The word seemed to mock her even as she told herself it was the truth. His attention was unwanted. So very unwanted.

  He took a step closer and her heart threatened to break or explode or...oh, she knew not what her heart was up to. Her fingers itched to reach for him so she clasped them together instead.

  “I do hope you’ll forgive me,” he continued, his voice a low murmur. “It is just that I have never believed in visions until tonight.”

  “Pardon me?” She blinked up at him. His eyes. How could anyone concentrate on words when a gentleman was gazing upon them like this...as though there was nothing else in the world that mattered.

  “You see, I met a young woman earlier today,” he started slowly, his voice soft and low as though he were telling a bedtime story.

  But even with the gentle tone, she tensed, her heart beating faster at the mention of that incident which they’d both so clearly ignored as they allowed themselves to be introduced as strangers who’d never once met earlier this evening.

  “And she was enchanting,” he said.

  She drew in a sharp inhale. He was teasing. Surely he was teasing. She swallowed thickly as he shifted closer. This was inappropriate. They were alone, in the dark, and spinster or no she was breaking every rule in existence right now. “I should get back to the others,” she said, her tone so stiff, so calm, so...proper. This was who she was, who she’d always been.

  The fact that she had to remind herself of that was terrifying.

  He nodded and the disappointment in his eyes cut her to the quick. “Yes. Yes, you are right. I’ll escort you back to the others.”

  She nodded, and yet she did not move. She could not. His warmth seemed to surround her, his scent enveloped her. Her gaze dropped to his chest, and she managed to form the words she should have said earlier. “I apologize for earlier. I thought I was alone and—”

  “Clearly.” The laughter in his voice made her cringe. And when he placed one finger gently under her chin and tilted her head up so she was forced to look at him, she stopped breathing entirely. “You did not let me finish.”

  She couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to, not with his skin touching hers. A spark seemed to be there where they touched, burning her skin more surely than that silly game of snap-dragon ever could.

  His gaze roamed over her face greedily, like he was trying to take everything in. “You did not let me finish,” he said again, quieter this time, but with more intensity. “I came upon a lady earlier today and I was enchanted. She was...spectacular.”

  The word came out on a sharp breath and she trembled at the heat in his gaze.

  This could not be happening. Not to her. Not with this man.

  This was not her life.

  “She was passionate and alive in a way that spoke to me,” he said. “And I’d hoped to see her tonight.” He dropped his hand and she drew in a deep breath that did nothing to distract from the coolness that now kissed her skin.

  His smile was small and wry. “So, you see, I did not mean to frighten you with my attentions. I was merely looking for someone I’d hope to see again.”

  “You are teasing me,” she said slowly, warily.

  His eyes sparked with laughter, but she did not get the sense that he was laughing at her. “I assure you, I would never.” He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice. “I would never risk being the object of your mighty wrath.”

  She could feel heat in her cheeks at the memory but the laughter in his eyes was infectious. She found her own lips tugging up despite her embarrassment.

  “No, Miss Grayson, I assure you I was not in jest. I would very much like to get to know you.” He drew in a breath, his gaze roaming over her. “The real you, not just the perfect, kind, and demure headmistress I’ve heard so much about.”

  The real you. The words seemed to echo inside her. “I’m not entirely certain who that is.”

  His eyes widened slightly with surprise—though no one could have been more surprised than she was to hear those words of honesty slip out of her mouth.

  And yet, there was understanding in his eyes when he said, “Yes, I know the feeling well.”

  Her brows hitched up. For a moment she forgot to be embarrassed. “You? Really? But...but you’re a marquess.”

  His lips hitched up even higher. “I assure you, the title is merely a title. A man’s character is not made clear just because he inherits one.”

  She tilted her head to the side as she studied that. “I suppose it would be the other way around.” A man’s character would determine what he made of the title.

  She pursed her lips. Just as her character had made what she had of the lot she’d been given.

  He leaned against the doorframe beside her and the silence that fell between them was thick but not uncomfortable. “I will readily admit, however, that having a title and all that goes with it has afforded m
e freedoms that others do not have.”

  She tilted her chin. It was an understatement, but she was grateful he understood that much. She ought to walk away. It was indecent to be standing here alone in the dark with a gentleman she’d only just met. But her feet refused to move. “Have you figured it out then?” she asked.

  She wasn’t even certain herself what she was asking, what sort of reassurance she was looking for. But he nodded slowly. “I thought I had,” he said slowly. “I thought that by the time I passed forty years I surely must have it all sorted out. Who I am, what I want, the future that is in store...”

  Her brows came up in question even as she envied him that certainty.

  His lips hitched up on one side and the lopsided, wry little smile stole the breath from her lungs. “But then I came upon a lady.”

  She blinked rapidly as the words struck. Surely he did not mean...he could not be saying that she had upended his world.

  Why not, when he so thoroughly swept the ground out from beneath your feet? She opened her mouth to accuse him of teasing her once more, for that was the only explanation. But before she could, he had shifted, his demeanor changing effortlessly to something more casual and charming. “I should leave you to your fresh air and return to my guests,” he said with a tilt of his chin and a rakish smile that must have had every lady in the ton swooning when he was near.

  He lifted her gloved hand and raised it to his lips.

  Oh dear.

  She held her breath. If he’d affected her so greatly before without this ease and charm, then she was in dire trouble now. “Wait, I—”

  He’d started to turn away but paused, his expression alert. “Yes?”

  She cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you for...for not mentioning to anyone the state you found me earlier today.”

  He placed a hand over his heart. “It would be an honor for that cherished encounter to be ours alone.”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Now you are teasing.”