Mistletoe Mischief

by Sandra Heath

  "And where was this?"

  "In St. Nicholas's churchyard."

  Greville halted. "Did you indeed? And what were they doing there?" he inquired, beginning to fear things might have progressed as far as the ordering of the banns.

  "Miss Holcroft had been helping with the Christmas decorations."

  "Ah, yes." He relaxed a little, but still looked at her. "I went to St. Nicholas's myself this morning, after changing my mind about riding with Rupert on the Downs."

  "Oh?"

  He gave a dry laugh. "Miss Mortimer, I can tell by your face that although I did not see you, you certainly saw me."

  She flushed a little. "I happened to be up in the gallery when you came in, but I made certain to keep out of your way."

  "Indeed? Well, I dare say that is an honest reply."

  "I dare say it is too," she replied.

  "Don't presume to employ the edge of your tongue upon me, madam." For a split second he was tempted to tell her he knew all about her disgraceful behavior in Bath, but he didn't. He intended to write to his friend when they returned to the house, and as soon as confirmation had arrived of Miss Megan Mortimer's wrongdoing, he would expose her for what she really was.

  Megan had been stung into forgetting herself. "Then, you should not punish me for events in which I had absolutely no hand! I have grievances too, not least that when I was sixteen I was thrown out of house and home by my male cousin. Am I then justified in tarring all gentlemen with the same odious brush? Why not? If such an abysmal standard is fit for you, then it is fit for me as well!"

  His gray eyes became icy. "You overreach yourself, Miss Mortimer."

  Caution now eluded her completely. "Perhaps, but after enduring you for an hour that might as well have been a lifetime, I feel very much better! You may rest assured that in future I will avoid you to the best of my ability, and if I am able to keep out of your way entirely, I will be more than glad of it!" With that she stepped into the road right in front of a fly-by-night.

  Chapter 13

  Megan might have met with a terrible accident, had not Greville pulled her back in time. "Damn it, woman, look where you're going!" he cried.

  She was too shaken to reply. She heard the growled curses of the two chairmen, and caught a glimpse of the fly-by-night's middle-aged male passenger's startled face; then it had gone.

  Greville drew her away from the curb. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes. Thank you."

  "Perhaps in future you will know your place."

  She wrenched her arm away from him. "And what exactly is my place, Sir Greville? Somewhere below kitchen scullion and above street urchin? Or would even that be too grand?"

  "Miss Mortimer-"

  "Maybe you would prefer to see me press-ganged? A few winters on the Atlantic would no doubt do me good!"

  "Miss Mortimer! When I spoke of your place, I meant on my arm, away from the curb!"

  She gazed at him in dismay. "Oh."

  "Oh, indeed. Now then, can we please proceed back to Radcliffe House, and bring this disagreeable expedition to an end as quickly as possible?"

  She took his arm without another word, and they walked on in a silence during which they heard the band still playing Christmas carols in the garden in front of the Marine Pavilion. But then they both saw Oliver bowing over Chloe's hand as she stood with her father on the verandah of the library.

  With Rupert's interests very much in mind, Greville decided that Radcliffe House would have to be temporarily postponed, and his own desire for anonymity abandoned. "Miss Mortimer, I, er, have decided to call in at Donaldson's before going on to the house. I trust that will not inconvenience you at all?"

  Megan had observed the expressions crossing his face as he witnessed the scene on the verandah, and knew he had changed his mind out of consideration for Rupert. For this she could almost have favorably revised her opinion of Sir Greville Seton, indeed she probably would have had it not been that she was filled with trepidation now that another meeting with her only kinsman was almost certainly imminent.

  She was in a cleft stick. In spite of Oliver's intimacy with the Holcrofts, should she have revealed to Evangeline that he was her despicable cousin? It was too late now for she had held her tongue, and if Oliver mentioned their relationship, her silence on the subject was going to convince Greville still more that she had an ulterior motive for everything she did-probably even for drawing breath! She could explain to Evangeline that she had kept silent because of the Holcrofts, but Greville wouldn't believe that!

  "Miss Mortimer?" Greville prompted curiously, still awaiting her response.

  "Of course it will not be an inconvenience, sir," she answered, and they continued toward the corner.

  The circulating library had been run by Mr. Donaldson only since June, having previously been in the hands of a Mr. Gregory. It was open all the year around for the convenience of persons of rank and fashion, and was almost always crowded and busy. Within its walls one could not only borrow the latest novels, plays, or poems, but also examine portfolios of watercolors and caricatures. Materials for painting and sketching could be acquired, new pieces of music tried out, tickets for balls and lotteries purchased, and cardplaying indulged in; but above all, people went there to append their names to the all-important register.

  Summer and winter, the verandah was the favorite gathering place, because it was visible from both inside and outside the library, and if the Prince of Wales should be at the Marine Pavilion, he could look across and see who was in town. Today he would have observed his Carlton House dinner guest, Miss Chloe Holcroft, blushing and smiling as another of his Carlton House dinner guests, Mr. Oliver March, paid court to her with every display of gallantry.

  Megan studied Oliver as she and Greville drew closer. To see him now one might take him for a veritable Robin Hood, not the ruthless mixture of Prince John and the Sheriff of Nottingham he really was. Sir Jocelyn stood at his daughter's side in a frogged olive-green greatcoat and a black beaver hat with the brim turned down against the cold. There was a rather impenetrable expression on his face, and if Megan had to hazard a guess, she would have said he was none too happy to encounter Oliver March. Maybe the admiral was of Evangeline's persuasion, and would much have preferred Rupert for a future son-in-law.

  Chloe, on the other hand, was obviously pleased to see Oliver again; at least, if she wasn't, she was hiding the fact very well. She still wore the cornflower-blue clothes of the morning, and her smile was radiant. Suddenly she looked up and saw Greville. "Greville! How good it is to see you again!" Her eyes went to Megan. "And you too, of course, Miss er…?"

  "Mortimer," Megan supplied, knowing there was no longer any point in hiding it. She felt Oliver's hard gaze upon her, but did not look at him.

  "Miss Mortimer." As Chloe smiled she wasn't entirely able to eliminate the speculation in her eyes. She was wondering why Sir Greville Seton was out walking with his aunt's new companion. Was there something between them? Realizing what was going through the other's mind, Megan hastily removed her hand from Greville's arm, and by so doing unwittingly caused Chloe to wonder even more.

  Greville stepped on to the verandah to kiss Chloe on the cheek. "It's good to see you again too, Chloe," he said, and clasped her hands warmly to look at her. "You are blooming, as always."

  "Why, thank you, sir." She bobbed a mock curtsy.

  The admiral leaned forward with an outstretched hand. "Greville, m'boy, I thought you were shunning us all this Christmas."

  "A last-minute change of plan," Greville replied as they shook hands, then he turned to Megan. "Miss Mortimer, allow me to present Admiral Sir Jocelyn Holcroft, Miss Holcroft's father."

  The admiral raised Megan's hand to his lips. "So you are the strange young lady my daughter espied at the window last night, eh?"

  "Yes, Sir Jocelyn."

  "I'm relieved to note that you do not possess two heads."

  "Sir?"

  He smiled again. "Oh, n
othing, my dear, just an old man's notion of humor." He looked more closely at her with his one good eye. "I trust you will forgive me, for although I realize we have met before, I'm afraid I cannot remember where or when."

  "But we haven't met before, Sir Jocelyn" she replied.

  "We haven't? Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely certain, sir."

  "But you seem so familiar. Upon my soul, I truly thought we must have been introduced at some time. Ah, well, clearly my memory is even worse than I feared."

  Oliver had very definitely been left in the wings by all these greetings, but now he reached for Megan's hand and made a pretense of bending over it. "How fortunate to encounter you again so soon, Miss Mortimer," he murmured, using the display of civility to squeeze her fingers until they hurt.

  By doing that, and by deliberately addressing her as Miss Mortimer instead of Cousin Megan, she knew she was being warned to hold her tongue about being his relative. Such an arrangement suited her admirably. "Mr. March," she replied.

  Oliver held her gaze with his pale, cold eyes, and she was the one who lowered her glance. It was the reaction of someone who did not wish to cause trouble, and it satisfied him that-for the time being at least-he had successfully intimidated her. His eyes flickered away to Greville, whom he greeted with every appearance of suspicious dislike. "Seton," he said briefly.

  "March," was the equally abrupt reply.

  Antagonism crackled between them, and once again Megan was reluctantly moved to credit Greville with some approval; anyone who abhorred Oliver March could not be entirely beyond redemption. She felt Sir Jocelyn still looking at her with that "I'm-sure-I-know-you-from-somewhere" light in his eyes. She must look like someone else, she thought.

  Chloe was addressing her again. "Have you been a companion for long, Miss Mortimer?"

  "Since I was sixteen. I was with Lady Jane Strickland before being employed by Lady Evangeline." From the corner of her eye, Megan saw Oliver's startled reaction.

  "Like Sir Jocelyn, I too thought I knew you. Now I know why," he said.

  She looked warily at him. "Sir?"

  "I am a close friend of Ralph Strickland's, and met Lady Jane with him once. I must have seen you then."

  Her dismay returned. He and Ralph Strickland were friends? Somehow she managed to sound level as she replied. "Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten?"

  "I encountered Ralph in London only two days ago, when I paid the capital a fleeting visit."

  Megan's spirits plunged. She could tell that he had heard Ralph's version of the dismissal of Lady Jane's companion. No name could have been mentioned at the time, but now she herself had kindly provided him with the information, and by the cold, knowing glitter in his gaze she knew he was prepared to use this as ammunition to make her do as he wished. He wanted his past callousness toward her to remain secret, and if she told tales about it, he would spread lascivious tales about her.

  She felt close to tears. All she wanted in life was a suitable position, a roof over her head, and a peaceful, dull existence; instead she seemed unable to avoid trouble. Oliver obviously thought Evangeline did not know the truth about Bath, and of course in that he was wrong, but would Evangeline feel able to continue employing a companion whose notoriety was the talk of Brighton? Probably not. And again there was Greville, who would take the tale as proof that all companions were jezebels. She didn't like the latter, but she did not want him to think his prejudice against her was fully vindicated! If she had glanced at his face at that moment, she would have realized that he had already heard Ralph's account, and believed it.

  Greville tapped his cane thoughtfully against his boot. If March had met Strickland within the last few days, then he was bound to have heard some very unflattering facts about Miss Megan Mortimer, yet he gave no hint of it. The sudden acquisition of honor was hardly likely to be the case where he was concerned, nor was Strickland likely to have painted the lady pure white after all, so why was March being so courteous? Consideration for Chloe's sensitivities? Possibly. Perhaps it would be interesting to probe a little. So as the conversation turned to Twelfth Night, he drew a rather surprised Oliver aside.

  Chapter 14

  “How was Ralph when you saw him?" Greville asked Oliver.

  "In excellent fettle. Why do you ask?" Suspicion oozed from Oliver, for it was most unlike Greville to make a courteous inquiry about Ralph Strickland's health.

  "Oh, just that I too have seen him recently, and both he and Sophia seemed a little, well, overwrought concerning something that had apparently happened in Bath."

  A veil descended over Oliver's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Seton. Besides, if there had been anything untoward at Bath, surely Lady Evangeline would know? Ralph told me that she had arrived there before he and Sophia left."

  Greville gave a facile smile. "Yes, and she is now here in Brighton for Christmas, when she intended to spend it with Lady Jane. She will not volunteer a reason for the change of arrangements, and I was hoping you could shed some light. Clearly you cannot." He glanced at Megan, who was endeavoring to seem interested in Twelfth Night, but was actually more concerned about not being able to hear what he and March were saying. Her inordinate perturbation about the little tete-a-tete convinced him more and more that something was going on. Greville was certain that March knew all about events in Bath, and was equally certain that Megan knew March knew. That she would wish to keep the shameless circumstances of her dismissal a secret he could understand, but what was March's motive? Clearly not discretion in front of Chloe, otherwise the salacious details would be being divulged man-to-man right now!

  Oliver was shaking his head. "No, I cannot shed any light at all because I know nothing."

  "I see. Well, that's that, then." Greville gave another facile smile, and turned back to the others just as Twelfth Night was abandoned in favor of London gossip. Chloe was anxious to hear everything. "You have been in London for some time now, Greville, so I expect you to be bang up to the mark with on dits."

  As Greville began to recount the news from the capital, Megan wondered greatly what he and Oliver had been talking about. Surely Oliver could not have regaled him with her inappropriate advances? No, somehow she thought not, because that would mean the very real risk of his own past misdeeds being exposed. Her gaze moved to Oliver, who was once again dancing attendance upon Chloe with such doglike devotion that it was impossible not to know he had marriage in mind. No wonder Brighton daily expected an announcement, she thought, marveling anew that Chloe and her father could be so easily duped into thinking him suitable.

  From London the conversation moved to Brighton, and the social calendar up to Christmas. Chloe enthused about the next night's masked ball, and expressed immense delight that Megan would be attending as well. When Rupert's name was mentioned, however, she did not seem in the least enthusiastic, indeed she made much of changing the subject. Megan wasn't quite sure whether it was for Oliver's benefit, or she really wasn't interested in Rupert, or if it was a screen to hide her true feelings. It had to be one of the three, and this time Megan did not care to hazard a guess.

  Another carriage pulled up alongside the other vehicles by the library, and a middle-aged lady and gentleman alighted. Megan did not know who they were, but she saw the appalled expression on Oliver's face, and could not help but notice how he immediately tried unsuccessfully to persuade Chloe to take a drive with him in his curricle. Greville smiled sleekly at Oliver's discomfort, for the lady and gentleman were Lord and Lady Garsington.

  The head of the unmusical family of musicians was a stout, beak-nosed man who still liked to wear the powdered wig and tricorn hat of his youth. Not for him the elegance of a greatcoat; instead he preferred a fur-trimmed cloak, as did his bespectacled wife. Lady Garsington was his equal when it came to stoutness, but had a small upturned nose and buck teeth, putting Megan in mind of a studious, overweight mouse. Her ladyship's shortsighted gaze soon alighted upon Greville, and she nudged h
er husband.

  They bore down upon the small group on the verandah, and immediately made their feelings very plain where each person was concerned. Greville and Sir Jocelyn received warm smiles and kind inquires regarding health, Megan-introduced merely as Miss Mortimer-was granted a brief glance that assessed her as a nonentity who did not warrant the condescension of a greeting, Oliver was frozen out completely because he had committed the unpardonable sin of casting aside their daughter Sybil, and Chloe was given a fixed smile because although she was the reason for Oliver's defection, she was also Sir Jocelyn's daughter.

  The purpose of the Garsingtons' foray to the library was soon apparent; they had decided to mark Christmas Eve with another musical extravaganza, and at such short notice they were at a struggle to find guests. Mr. Mellish was always ready to accept, but apart from him their hopes had to rest with those who had just come to town and who had yet to fill their diary, or those they caught unawares, like poor Sir Jocelyn.

  "Ah, Admiral," gushed her ladyship. "I do trust that you and dear Miss Holcroft will be able to attend our little soiree musicale on Sunday evening?"

  Chloe's father, that grand seafaring man who had faced many an enemy without flinching, gave a start like a nervous rabbit. "Eh? Oh, I-"

  "Good," Lady Garsington interrupted smoothly. "We will expect you at eight. Oh, and you, of course, dear Sir Greville."

  Megan lowered her eyes, for the omission of Oliver and herself was so pointed as to be rude. Why Oliver was in the woman's bad books Megan couldn't imagine, but her own exclusion was clearly due to her less than superior appearance. Yet for all Lady Garsington knew, she might be an eccentric princess who liked to travel incognito! Megan hid a smile at this preposterous thought, but nevertheless it was true to say that Lady Garsington's manners and judgment left a great deal to be desired.

  But if Megan was considered beneath consideration, Greville certainly was not. Lady Garsington knew he had replaced Oliver in Sybil's affections, and so singled him out for particular indulgence. "Sir Greville, what a very agreeable surprise it is to find you here in Brighton after all. Your dear aunt told me you were staying in London this Christmas."