There was one last round of change seats and Channing called out a new game. ‘It’s time for our finale, Throwing the Smile.’ Channing paused with a grin, waiting for everyone’s attention. ‘Only this time, we’ll mix in a game of forfeits.’ There were oohs and nervous giggles as Channing explained the game. ‘Marcus will start. He will stand in the centre of the circle and try to make someone laugh. Then he’ll wipe his smile off his face and give a “straight look” to someone in the circle. If they smile, they have to pay a forfeit, instead of sitting out.’ There was an excited outburst of talk at the announcement. Channing raised his hand for silence. ‘As game master, I’ve decided what the forfeit will be. Do you all see the mistletoe ball hanging in the doorway? A Christmas kiss will be the forfeit. Are we ready?’
The game was under way amidst laughter and much commotion debating who had or hadn’t smiled. Marcus struggled, needing three rounds in the centre before Meredith took pity on him when he threw her a stare and she smiled back. ‘I can’t have anyone else kissing him, can I?’ she’d joked, dragging Marcus to the mistletoe ball, but it was Marcus who swept her into his arms with a dramatic kiss worthy of Drury Lane. Then Ellis kissed Alyson and the point of Channing’s game became obvious not long after. The forfeit rule was designed to let suitors claim a kiss or perhaps more covertly for would-be suitors to announce their intentions in a fun, entertaining venue.
The circle began to shrink as people sat down with the ones they’d caught throwing a smile, even though the rules hadn’t required it. There were few people left. Catherine wondered who she’d have to kiss—maybe nice Lord Richard, who had so far resisted the stare, although several of the girls had tried, no one trying harder than Jenny Brightly. Or maybe Channing. Lady Alina had pleaded a headache after dinner and gone to her room. Catherine’s pulse began to race. Channing had made it a point to spend time with her today after she’d returned from the river with Finn. But it had felt different, awkward almost.
A part of her felt disloyal to Finn although there was no reason for it. She’d spent time with Channing before. Her conscience made short work of that argument: Yes, when you were ten years old, when you were nothing more to him than a little girl with carroty hair and he was nothing more to you than a grubby boy. This was different. Still, why not spend time with Channing? Finn had told her to forget about the kiss. Besides, Channing was her fairy tale, he’d always been her fairy tale. He was fun and exciting and today at the lake proved it. Didn’t it? They’d spun in playful circles, but it had been Finn who had truly excited her with his talk of unseen lands and dark forests where the sun never reached the earth.
Channing can’t even remember to call you by the right name. Well, everyone had their foibles. It was a very little thing, really, as foibles went. Finn had his foibles too, always talking about things in Latin. She wondered what Finn would call a kiss in Latin. The thought brought a smile to her face.
No, don’t smile! But her warning to self came too late. She was smiling and Channing had caught her.
‘Time to pay the forfeit, Cat.’ Channing was grinning, others were applauding, some even whistling. The crowd was getting rowdy as the evening neared its end.
Under the mistletoe ball, Channing tipped her chin up. ‘Make it a good one, Cat.’ It was said in fun, but something else glimmered in Channing’s eyes just before his mouth caught hers. He wanted this kiss—some important test rode on this for him.
This was it, the dream! Channing was kissing her, had sought her out for this kiss on purpose. She waited to feel something, anything. But nothing came. She supposed the kiss was technically proficient as kisses went. It wasn’t wet or sloppy or chaste. But in the end, it was just a kiss under the mistletoe, only a forfeit from a parlour game, and it left her surprisingly unaffected. Unfortunately, it hadn’t left everyone as unaffected as she.
Chapter Five
Finn had slipped in the back of the room and he was angry, seethingly angry. Catherine knew it right away as soon as she spotted him, standing with his arms crossed. She didn’t think anyone else noticed, though. He was one of those sorts who just got quieter and grimmer the angrier he became. Like the day he’d had to climb up the apple tree in the Deverill orchard to get her down after he’d warned her not to climb the tree in the first place. But Channing had dared her and she never backed down from a dare.
Her eyes met Finn’s briefly through the crowd. She flushed and looked away, feeling a prick of guilt as if she’d been caught doing something illicit, as if she had betrayed Finn. Such a feeling was ridiculous. Why should she feel guilty? It was a parlour game, a silly forfeit. Everyone else had done it. Even if it had meant something, that should be all right too. Just because Finn had kissed her first didn’t mean he had any rights over her. With that kind of logic, it meant Billy Fisher should feel jealous since he’d kissed her once at a birthday party in the village when they were thirteen. Billy Fisher had definitely been ‘first’ long before Finn’s devilish kiss on the river.
Catherine could feel her own fury start to simmer. Why should he be angry at all? He’d declared the kiss was a mistake in the first place, something that should never have happened. A horrid thought occurred to her. Had Finn been as unaffected by their kiss as she had been by Channing’s? Was that the reason he wanted to forget it? He’d been disappointed? She certainly hadn’t been. How awful to be the only one. Her thoughts leapt back to Channing, who still had his hand on her arm. Had he alone been affected by their kiss? She tossed him a bright smile so he wouldn’t feel badly if that was the case. Perhaps he wouldn’t know.
Finn surely hadn’t known, otherwise he wouldn’t look so quietly thunderous at the back of the room. The guilt swamped her again. She could only imagine how it had looked: Channing’s golden head bent to hers, Channing’s hand cupping the sweep of her jaw. It had probably looked quite stunning to the viewer if it had borne even half of Channing’s usual grace. But it had meant nothing.
Finn was the first of the adults to arrive, the music room crowd heralding the coming of the tea cart, her parents among them. They’d come over in the afternoon while everyone was still at the lake. Her father sidled over to Finn and Finn’s expression seemed to soften. They bent their dark heads together, engaged in conversation, Finn bringing up his hands every so often to make a point. She wondered what they were talking about. Her father had always liked Finn, always said he had a good head on his shoulders.
‘You’re staring,’ Channing said at her ear. He hadn’t left her side since the kiss. Apparently his test had been passed. But not hers.
‘I was just wondering what could be of such interest to the two of them.’ Catherine shrugged, looking at Channing as if seeing him for the first time. He was unquestionably handsome, but what else was he? He hadn’t sailed the tributaries of the Orinoco, or walked the depths of the rainforest. Tonight, Channing Deverill came up lacking by comparison and by extension—so had the dream.
‘Flowers or crops would be my bet.’ Channing laughed, entirely unaware of her inner thoughts. ‘Not exactly topics of scintillating conversation to the rest of us. I guess it is good they have each other to talk to.’ He smiled, his blue eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. ‘Speaking of conversation, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’ He led them apart from the crowd, over by the window. Finn’s window, although it was silly to think of it that way. It was anyone’s window really. No one owned that space.
‘What is it?’ Catherine asked, a bit breathless, but not for the reasons she’d imagined at the prospect of Channing pulling her aside.
‘Will you save me a waltz tomorrow night at the Yule Ball? I have it on good authority from my mother there will only be three.’ He made an exaggerated moue of disappointment. ‘I told her there should be more; everyone dances the waltz these days. But she’s surprisingly old fashioned when it comes right down to it. Anyway, I wouldn’t want
yours to be filled up before I could ask.’
‘Of course I’ll save you one.’ She favoured him with a warm smile. Was that a flicker of relief? Was the handsome and sought-after Channing Deverill relieved that she, Catherine Emerson, daughter of the local gentry, had accepted a dance? It was enough to make her think the world had turned upside down. But she was not naïve and there was one question she had to ask.
‘What about Lady Alina?’
Channing’s smile faded ever so slightly. ‘There are three waltzes; I couldn’t possibly dance all of them with her, could I?’ he answered with a glibness that didn’t quite match his expression. ‘Besides, I want to dance with you. You left for Paris before we could have a proper dance together.’
Catherine couldn’t argue with that. She’d been fifteen when her great-aunt had sent for her. She’d not been old enough to attend the local assemblies and more grown-up parties. ‘I would be glad to dance with you then, as long as I’m not upsetting Lady Alina.’
‘Don’t worry about her. It’s not what you think.’ Channing paused, appearing to debate something in his mind. ‘She’s been out of society for a while. You could say I’m helping her reintegrate.’ Channing’s voice dropped, his pressure on her hand tightened. ‘She has no claim on me that matters, Catherine, nothing beyond the duties required of being a good host.’
The implied message was staggering. Catherine rummaged her brain for an appropriate response. What was it her friend Vivienne, who had never lacked for male attention, had always used? Ah, she had it. ‘Then I am most honoured,’ Catherine said softly.
Channing raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. ‘It is I who am most honoured.’ His blue eyes held hers for a long moment. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me? I need to see to the guests. Mother will skin me alive if I dominate the prettiest girl in the room while old Mrs Anderson goes languishing for lack of tea.’
Finn was gone when she looked around the room. He was no longer standing with her father when she went to join him and her mother, nor was he with anyone else, although Catherine sensed she wasn’t the only one hoping to spy him. Lady Eliza seemed to be looking for him as well. Catherine sipped her cup of tea, thinking Finn might reappear after running some hosting errand for his mother. Finally, when it became apparent he wasn’t going to come back, she broke down and asked, ‘Was Finn feeling unwell?’
Her father shook his head. ‘He had some things to see to in the library.’ In the library? In the middle of a house party? Only her father would not find such an excuse odd.
Catherine couldn’t help but ask the most obvious of questions. ‘What things? What could be so important Finn had to see to them right now?’
‘Lord Swale,’ her mother corrected softly, but Catherine didn’t miss the insistence in her voice. Catherine stared at her mother, not quite digesting the comment. Who? Oh, Finn.
‘You’re not children any more, Catherine. It’s not seemly to use his first name. He’s the heir.’
‘He’s always been the heir,’ Catherine said testily simply for the sake of argument. What did that have to do with anything anyway?
Her mother gave her a reproving look. ‘You’re grown up, it’s different now.’
Catherine smiled an apology. She was just being peevish and it wasn’t fair to take it out on her mother. ‘I’m tired from the long day outdoors. I think I’ll go up to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’ She kissed her mother on the cheek.
‘Sleep well, darling. I hear there’s shopping in the village tomorrow for last-minute Christmas presents and the ball tomorrow will make a late night.’
‘I will.’ And she would sleep just as soon as she paid one last visit to the library.
* * *
Finn stared into the fire, a book open on his lap. He hadn’t read a page of it. In fact, he hadn’t done much of anything since he’d come in here. He simply couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Channing, watching him woo Catherine. More than that, he couldn’t stand to watch Catherine smile back at his brother as if she welcomed those attentions.
There was no ‘as if’ about it. Finn had seen the way she’d looked at Channing that first night. He’d seen the way they’d laughed together today on the lake, spinning in those ridiculous circles. And he’d seen the way they’d looked together when Channing had kissed her under the mistletoe ball.
Finn rather wished he hadn’t seen that. But he had and they had looked beautiful together. Then Channing had led her aside and they had talked and Channing had kissed her hand. Finn hated that move of Channing’s, who had been perfecting the art of hand kissing for years. His brother once told him he had a way of doing it where his eyes lingered just over the tops of the knuckles because women thought it was irresistible. Had Catherine thought that? Had she liked Channing’s mistletoe kiss? More importantly, had she liked it better than his?
That last thought was not well done of him. It reeked of jealousy and for no reason. He’d kissed women before and there’d been no need for validation. The door to the library opened a crack and a form slid inside in a susurration of gold-tissue skirts and matching slippers. This was the second visitor today. His private lair was becoming deuced popular.
‘There you are!’ Catherine’s voice was a loud whisper. ‘I wondered where you went when you didn’t stay for tea.’ Her voice was full of false cheer. She was nervous. There was some consolation in that unless she was nervous because she’d come to tell him bad news. In this case, bad news was defined as anything he didn’t want to hear. Finn managed a smile and manners. He gestured to the empty chair beside his. He set aside his book and gave Catherine all his attention, which wasn’t hard to do. She’d had it before she’d entered the room.
‘Channing’s asked me to save him a waltz,’ Catherine began, taking extra time to settle her skirts. She didn’t meet his eyes and that ‘bad news’ scenario was definitely spot on. He no more wanted to hear about waltzing with Channing than he wanted to hear about the plague.
‘Your mother has requested three waltzes for the ball.’ She did look at him then, a little sideways glance and a quick half-smile on her lips, lips he’d kissed. He was afraid he would spend the rest of his life looking at those lips and thinking of that kiss. That one moment had now succeeded in dividing a lifetime into before and after.
‘I’m sure yours will fill.’ Why was she telling him this?
Her gaze was more direct now. She turned to face him in her chair, the firelight catching her hair and turning it the most wondrous shades of flame. ‘I’m sure they will too. I am certain Lord Richard will want one and that leaves just the other left.’ She paused and drew a deep breath. His usually confident Catherine was flustered, at least slightly. The next words came out in a rush. ‘I’m wondering if I should save it for you?’
He should hit himself in the head with the book he’d been pretending to read. He’d been obtuse. The man who’d sailed to the far side of the world and sought out indigenous plants never before seen to the English eye had missed this simple inquest. She wanted to dance with him. She’d sought him out. She’d only told him about Channing in order to propel him into action. When he hadn’t taken the hint, she’d been forced to be more direct. If she hadn’t been sitting right there watching, he’d have given his forehead a good smack. Now all he could do was reply in a fashion that wouldn’t embarrass them both.
‘I would like that very much. Thank you for thinking of me. Do you think you might save me the opening quadrille too?’ Then he added hastily, ‘Unless it’s already spoken for?’
Catherine gave a little laugh. ‘No, as far as I know, it’s still the custom to mark one’s dance card the night of the ball.’ An awkward silence sprang up. ‘Are you going into the village tomorrow? My mother tells me there’s a shopping expedition.’
‘I haven’t decided yet. There are preparations for the ball that might de
mand my attention.’ Ask me to go. I would come if you wanted it. He simply didn’t want to go and watch Channing’s pursuit of her.
‘You should come.’ It wasn’t quite worded exactly as he wished but it was a start.
‘Why?’
Catherine smiled. ‘Because the shops are full of Christmas treats and because I want you to, Finn.’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘My mother thinks I shouldn’t call you that.’
‘Call me by my name?’
‘Yes. She thinks I should call you Lord Swale because we’re not children any more.’
‘But we are still friends, aren’t we, Catherine?’ He couldn’t imagine calling her Miss Emerson at this late date and he knew he could not tolerate Catherine of all people calling him Lord Swale. He didn’t want to be a viscount to her.
She reached between their chairs and squeezed his hand. ‘We’ll always be friends, Finn.’ To tell the truth, that wasn’t precisely what he wanted to hear. He couldn’t imagine being only her friend at this late date either. They’d crossed an invisible line today and there was no going back, not for him.
The conversation lagged awkwardly and she reached for the book he had left on the table between their chairs. ‘Is this what you were reading? Botanicals of the Rainforest?’ Her eyes perused the cover, coming to rest on the small gold letters at the bottom. ‘You wrote this?’ There was awe in her voice as she opened the cover.
‘It’s from my expedition with Viscount Wainsbridge, he and his family have permanently taken up residence in British Guyana to oversee British interests there.’
‘You needn’t be so modest, Finn.’ Catherine smiled at him over the pages. ‘My father writes books and I know good work when I see it. Are these your drawings as well? You’re a talented artist. I’m impressed.’
A Sprinkling of Christmas Magic Page 15