Mistletoe Everywhere

by Linda Banche

  Her words stopped as if cut off.

  Head down, she stood before her aunt.

  Lady Bayle shook her finger at Penelope.

  Charles’s fists balled. The harridan, always finding fault with the most minor of indiscretions, if they were indiscretions at all. He would march over there and give the old tartar a piece of his mind…

  “There you are.” Edward caught his sleeve. “Off we go to the apple orchard.” He scooped up a knife from the tool wagon and then started off, Charles in tow.

  When Charles looked back over his shoulder, Penelope was nowhere in sight. He dragged his steps, but that didn’t slow Edward, and neither did his friend release his sleeve.

  Damnation, he should have hid. He would never find Penelope now.

  ***

  “Where did those boots come from, my girl?”

  Penelope’s stomach tightened. Of course her aunt would notice the new footwear. “A present from a kind person, I know not who.”

  “A stranger? Good gracious, a man might have given you those boots. You know as well as I that accepting apparel from a man is not proper.”

  “As you say, but these are the only boots I own. If I return them—that is, if I can find out who gave them to me—then I will have nothing to wear outside.” She raised her head and stared wide-eyed at her aunt. “Or will you buy me a new pair?”

  Aunt Lydia turned a severe shade of red. “I have not the coin. Keep the boots.”

  Saved.

  “Good day, Lady Bayle.” Mr. Bray tipped his hat.

  Penelope stiffened. For some reason, Mr. Bray set her teeth on edge.

  Aunt Lydia tittered like a schoolgirl. “Mr. Bray, I am so happy you accompanied us on this outing.”

  “I could not tear myself away from your presence.” His eyes gleamed. “Or from that of your delightful niece.”

  Penelope smiled because she had no choice. “Thank you, sir.” The words stuck in her throat.

  “Lady Bayle, if I may, I would like to accompany you and your niece.”

  “Of course you may. I will not pick greenery, but will stay here. You can go with Penelope.”

  “I regret the loss of your companionship, but I shall be most happy to escort Miss Lawrence.” He proffered his arm.

  Again with no choice, Penelope took his arm, and they strolled away, her aunt waving in farewell.

  “I believe Preston has already made up the groups.” With his cane, Mr. Bray pointed to the nearest one. “Shall we join that one?”

  “Yes.” At least he wanted to join the others, not go off by themselves. They started after the band.

  Mr. Bray walked very slowly, so that they fell behind. “I know a shortcut.”

  They veered off onto a side path which entered the woods. Tall trees and thick bushes obscured the group and hushed their voices.

  Mr. Bray swept aside a low-hanging branch with the tip of his walking stick. “You are very dedicated, always serving your aunt.”

  “She has been kind to me.”

  “Would you not like a respite from time to time?”

  With you? No. “We all need rest, but I am content as I am.”

  “Come now, a few hours away from your aunt would harm no one. I would like to see more of you.” He looked her up and down. “A great deal more.”

  She detached herself from his grasp. “Mr. Bray, you should not speak that way.”

  “No? It cannot be wrong to say that I admire you.”

  “Thank you for the compliment.”

  “And when I admire a lady, I want to be with her.” His eyes gleamed more. “Alone.”

  The fine hairs on her nape rose. She had to get away from him. “Oh, I see mistletoe over there.” She snatched up her skirts and ran to a tree on the path back to the clearing.

  He quickly caught up. Frowning, he walked around the tree. “I see no mistletoe. But that is neither here nor there.” He stroked a strand of hair that had escaped from her bonnet. “This tree is quiet enough for us.”

  She stepped away. “I wish to return to my aunt.”

  “Of course.” He grinned, the grin of a hawk about to strike. “Later.”

  A burst of conversation erupted from down the path. A band of greenery-gatherers hove into view from around the bend.

  “What, ho!” Lord Baring, his arms full of boughs, led the others. “Bray, what luck. I need help with all this pine. Come lend a hand.”

  Mr. Bray, scowling, swiveled toward the interlopers.

  Penelope slowly retreated down the path. She had almost reached the glade where they first gathered when she ran into Jane.

  “Penelope, I have searched high and low for you. Where did you disappear to?”

  “Aunt had me go off with Mr. Bray.”

  Jane’s face stiffened. “What was she thinking, to leave you alone with that rake?”

  “I neither know nor care. But I ran away when some of the guests came upon us.”

  “Good.”

  Penelope slowed down when they neared the edge of the clearing. “I cannot return to my aunt yet. She would send me back to Mr. Bray.”

  “I will take care of that. How is your foot?”

  “Much better. Just a twinge every now and then.”

  “You must not strain yourself. You need rest, and I know just the place. Mr. Bray will never find you there. Go to the…”

  ***

  Charles trudged along beside Edward. He looked over his shoulder. Again. Where was Penelope?

  Smythe approached, walking back toward the glade.

  “Ah, another straggler.” Edward gathered up Smythe. “Come along.”

  “But, I—”

  “We are on our way to the apple orchard. You will have a good time with us.” Edward brandished his knife.

  Smythe’s eyes rounded, and he made an about-face.

  Sweeping his knife back and forth, Edward shepherded them both before him.

  Smythe raised his eyebrows.

  Charles shrugged. He wasn’t about to argue with a man who wielded a knife. Smythe probably wouldn’t either.

  They emerged from the forest into a large, grass-covered clearing halfway down the first of multiple parallel rows of apple trees.

  “Here we are.” Edward waved toward the squat, grey trees, their silvery branches creaking in the breeze. “The best place to search for mistletoe.”

  The knee-high, brown grass rustling in their wake, Charles and Smythe, Smythe probably pretending to search for mistletoe as much as Charles did, wandered down one line of leafless trees and up another.

  Edward followed, knife upraised, as if to prevent them from fleeing.

  They started down another row. Still no mistletoe, and still no Penelope.

  Enough. Fast as he might have to run to escape Edward’s knife, Charles stopped. “I will return—”

  And there she was.

  Her back to him, she sat on a rock under the apple tree at the end of the row.

  And on the limb directly over her was the largest clump of mistletoe he had ever seen. The meager light reflected off the glossy green leaves. Dozens of white berries winked amid the greenery.

  The mistletoe wasn’t gone, but mayhap this was real mistletoe.

  “Ah, ha!” He tapped Edward on the shoulder. “Look, I found mistletoe.”

  Edward swung around. “Where?”

  “Over there. Above Miss Lawrence.”

  Smythe, his brow wrinkled, squinted at the branch, then at Charles, and then again at the branch. “What mistletoe?”

  Edward jabbed Smythe in the ribs. “Today is a special day. Although I search every year, I have never found mistletoe on the manor lands.” He pumped Charles’s hand. “Good job. I am sure you will win the prize for finding the most greenery.” He gave Charles his knife. “Cut down as much as you can. With all the lovely ladies present, we can use every sprig we find.” He grabbed Smythe’s arm and towed the man after him. “We shall be with the others.”

  Smythe craned his n
eck over his shoulder. “But there is no mistletoe—”

  Edward once more elbowed him in the ribs and kept walking.

  Chapter 10

  I’m sane!

  Charles sped toward Penelope. This mistletoe was real—Edward had seen the clump, too. So what if Smythe hadn’t? Most likely, he needed spectacles. Though Edward and Jane had probably arranged this meeting, he could gladly kiss them both.

  He and Penelope were alone—with mistletoe. No lady would deny a man a kiss under the mistletoe, even if she didn’t care for him. And, whatever their history, Penelope did care for him.

  He purposely crunched dead leaves underfoot. Their crackling would alert her to his presence.

  She didn’t move.

  Perhaps she didn’t hear. He slowed down and cleared his throat. Loudly. “Miss Lawrence?”

  She jumped up and into the open, spinning to face him. “Oh, Mr. Gordon. I did not hear you approach.” Her eyes rounded. “You have a knife?”

  “For the mistletoe.” He dropped the knife and then ran around the rock to clasp her shoulders. “Is something amiss?”

  “No, I am quite well.” Her lips twitched up. “Now.”

  His own mouth curved into an answering smile. She flirted with him. A very good sign. “The orchard is out of the way. How did you come here?” He tipped his head up. The blasted mistletoe had disappeared. Where? How?

  “Jane sent me.” She sat back down on the rock.

  He settled beside her, resting his palms on his knees. “Edward led me here. I fear those two are conspiring to bring us together.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “Is your ankle better?”

  She wiggled her foot. “Yes, I feel only the occasional twinge. But Jane was worried and said the orchard was a good place to rest. She was most adamant that I sit on this very rock.” Spots of color blossomed high on her cheeks. “So she would be sure I met you?”

  He could almost feel her again nestled against him. “Another part of the plot falls into place.”

  He leaned back. And blinked. Hell and the devil, the mistletoe had returned on the branch above Penelope. The plant hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Edward told me mistletoe grows on apple trees, and we should make our hunt here. Hence the knife. No wonder we wandered up and down the rows. He was searching for you.”

  Her forehead puckered, she also looked up. “Did you find any?”

  “Yes.” He pointed to the mistletoe above her. “See that?”

  “See what?”

  With a silent oath, he lowered his arm. “I thought I saw…Nothing. Nothing at all.” Why was he surprised? Edward would have said anything to lure him to Penelope. The coxcomb must be laughing himself silly now.

  Curse Edward. When he returned to the house, the first thing he would do was kill his former friend, slowly and painfully. Then he would secrete himself in the library with Edward’s best brandy (with Edward dead, someone had to do justice to the fine spirits), and drink himself into a stupor that would last until New Year’s.

  Her forehead still creased, Penelope pointed to a waist-high, spindly weed with pointy, lobed leaves. The winter-browned leaves, still showing patches of summer’s whitish-green, fluttered in the breeze. “Are you sure there was no mugwort in the tree?”

  His lips twitched. “Is this the famous mugwort?”

  She nodded.

  He barked out a laugh. “You have found me out. No, I did not see any mugwort in the tree.” He rubbed one of the weed’s downy leaves between his fingers and thumb. “Especially since this plant grows on the ground.”

  She suppressed a smile. “I apologize. Everyone has heard the mistletoe legend, and I am sorry people tease you. I doubt anyone believes the tale, but some find quizzing you a fun way to pass the time.”

  He snorted. “I will survive.”

  The wind whispered through the branches—and ruffled the leaves of the mistletoe.

  Damnation.

  Penelope drew in a deep breath. “I must be imagining the fragrance, but I smell apple blossoms.”

  Forget the blasted mistletoe. You’re alone with her. Make the most of it. “Some apple scent probably lingers in an orchard, even in winter. Do you still like apple blossoms?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes grew dreamy. “I remember the sprig you gave me. You never did tell me how you found apple blossoms in November.”

  “I got them from a friend. He worked for a nobleman who grew an entire orchard of dwarf apple trees in a glass house. The house was so warm, the trees blossomed in November as well as in the spring.”

  “I hope he did not get into trouble for giving you the flowers.”

  “He did not, but I did. His price was an entire se’nnight of dinners at any restaurant he chose. Needless to say, he picked the most expensive places. I dined very well that week and almost starved for the next month.”

  Her face lengthened. “You did that for me? Really, you should not have. You had so little money.”

  He took both her hands in his. “You enjoyed those blossoms.”

  “Yes.” Softness filled her eyes again. “They perfumed my chamber for an entire week. Then I pressed the branch in my favorite book.” Her voice lowered to an unsteady whisper. “I still have the sprig.”

  “Ah, Penny.” He cupped her cheeks and looked deep into her glorious cinnamon eyes. Then he feathered gentle kisses over her cheeks and forehead. “Where did we go wrong?”

  He brushed a kiss over her lips. Mistletoe was the plant of peace. Let them make peace.

  Her eyes closed and her head tipped back.

  He gathered her to him and kissed her again, longer and harder.

  Dry leaves crunched beneath heavy footfalls. “Miss Lawrence, how came you here?” Bray emerged from the woods.

  Charles stiffened.

  Penelope edged away.

  Curse you, Bray. Smoothing his features into blankness, Charles stood. After gathering up the knife, he held out his arm for Penelope and they walked to meet the intruder.

  Bray, swinging his walking stick to and fro like a pendulum, nodded to Charles, and then fell in beside Penelope. “The rest of our group is over there.” He pointed with the cane toward the woods at the other end of the orchard. As they walked, he tapped the tip of his cane against his leg. “I lost sight of you, Miss Lawrence, when Lord Baring called me.”

  Penelope clenched Charles’s arm tighter. “I met Jane. She said I would enjoy seeing the orchard, and she was right.”

  “Ah, yes, the orchard. And you just happened to find Gordon here. How convenient.” His smile said he didn’t believe a word.

  “What are you insinuating?” Charles’s voice sounded like a growl to his own ears.

  “Nothing at all.” Bray muffled a yawn with his hand, as if forced to pay heed to someone beneath his notice. “Miss Lawrence, your aunt left you in my care when she stayed behind. I am pleased you found another protector. I would be remiss in my duty if a mishap befell you.”

  “I do not require a keeper. I am a grown woman.”

  “Of course you are.” His voice a purr, he looked her up and down.

  Charles balled his fists. Any more impertinence, and he would punch Bray.

  “And you, Gordon. I understand mistletoe grows on apple trees. From what I could see, you found some.”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “I must say, pretending to see mistletoe over a lady is as good an excuse as any for stealing a kiss. I might see mistletoe over Miss Lawrence, too. She is most comely.”

  Penelope flushed. “Mr. Bray, you must not say such things.”

  “But I mean every word. You are delightful, and someone I wish to know better.” His insolent grin widening, he once more looked her up and down. “Much better.”

  Charles growled again. “You tread too close to the edge of propriety.”

  Bray’s eyebrows lifted. “Do I? I assure you, I mean no harm.” His features smoothed into an innocence that didn’t fool Charles for an
instant. “I say, is something the matter? Afraid another man will intrude on your turf?”

  “I repeat, mind your own business.”

  Bray’s face stiffened. “You had your chance with her and made a mull of it. Time for someone else.”

  “Stop, both of you.” Penelope disengaged her arm from Charles’s. “I will not be argued over as if I were elsewhere.”

  Voices burst from the grove to their right. A bevy of chattering guests, their arms and baskets laden with greenery, issued from the forest’s cover.

  Penelope ran to them.

  With a final glare at Bray, Charles followed, but she had already disappeared.

  ***

  Penelope slammed her bedchamber door behind her. Fists clenched at her sides, she marched back and forth across the small room.

  Men! Charles and Mr. Bray had snarled over her like dogs over a juicy bone. Their behavior owed more to masculine competition than to any concern about her.

  A pox on all men!

  Then a shiver fluttered down her spine. At least their rivalry had allowed her to escape Mr. Bray.

  He was polite, but his eyes were those of a cobra about to strike. His words, so correct in Aunt Lydia’s presence, changed and frightened her when they were in the woods. Jane called him a rake. She was probably right. Her friend had rescued her by sending her to the orchard.

  And then Charles arrived.

  She pressed her hands to her suddenly warm cheeks. He had kissed her again, and her still-simmering longing for him again flared high.

  But she couldn’t be sure if he toyed with her or was sincere. Mr. Bray had interrupted them before they could talk.

  She reached the window and made a quick turn. The tip of her boot snagged on a thick fold of carpet and she tripped. Arms flailing, she grabbed the bed’s footboard before she could fall.

  She held on until her heartbeat slowed. Gracious, there was no reason for her to be so overset. She would never set eyes on either man after New Year’s Day.

  And that was that. She removed her pelisse and bonnet and hung them on pegs by the door. After she smoothed out the crease in the rug, she sank into the fireside chair and slipped off her boots. Her most urgent task was to find and thank the kind person who had given them to her.

  She pulled the boot box from under the chair. The box’s edge caught on the chair arm, the top fell off and a bit of paper fluttered out. Balancing the box on her lap, she bent and retrieved the top and the scrap.