Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,10

captivated others so totally?

After the housekeeper left the room, Stevie directed his attention to his mother. “Is it too early in the day for me and Lord Paxton to go out gathering the greenery for the Yule decorations?”

His mother gave him a stern look. “Indeed it is. It’s still very cold. Much too cold for your lungs, dearest.”

The lad’s face clouded.

“And,” Mrs. Milne added in an uncharacteristically authoritative manner, “you’re not to say me and Lord Paxton. What are you supposed to say?”

The boy thought for a moment. “Lord Paxton and me.”

She nodded, a smile tipping the corners of her mouth.

“You sound exactly like our old governess, Miss Fortescue,” David said. “She was a dragon.”

Stevie’s eyes rounded. “A dragon?”

Mrs. Milne looked at David with amusement, and both laughed.

“What I mean is that she was excessively stern.”

“You didn’t like her?” Stevie asked.

“She scared me to death.”

“My Mama’s not like your Miss Fortescue. She’s not at all like a dragon.”

“I’m sure she’s not.” David eyed the mother and spoke with great seriousness. “I have not been in your mother’s company enough to pass judgment, but those who have are most favorably impressed by her. Both my late father and Mr. and Mrs. Ballard seem to be…perhaps enchanted is the word that best describes how they feel, or felt, about your mother.”

Had he just said she was enchanting? Perhaps that was the word that did best describe her. Even he, fight it as he might, was enchanted by the woman in the faded blue dress.

God help him.

David set down his fork and addressed the lad. “I’ll tell you what. After we finish eating, why don’t you and I play a game of cribbage? You do play, do you not?”

Stevie’s face brightened. “I should love that! I used to play with the old lord.”

Mrs. Milne nodded. “It was your father who taught him how to play cribbage.”

David swallowed over the lump in his throat. “He taught me, too.”

Later, as he and Stevie played at a table that had been set up before the fire in the drawing room, he kept discreetly watching the boy’s mother, who sat near them, knitting. Finally, he asked, “What, madam, are you knitting?”

She put index fingers to her lips. “It’s a secret. I’m knitting a new shawl for Mrs. Ballard for Christmas.”

It suddenly occurred to him he hadn’t any presents for anyone. He would have to remedy that omission.

As the game continued, he pondered Mrs. Milne’s own meager wardrobe. Obviously the dress she had worn the previous day had gotten muddy when she fell, so it would have to be cleaned today. That she was now wearing the dress she’d worn to dinner must indicate she possessed but two dresses. Why was she sitting here knitting for someone else when she had desperate need herself of a new dress?

He couldn’t seem to purge his mind of her lack of feminine coquetry. Did she not attempt to make herself alluring to men? From what he had observed, the only thing she seemed to care about was the boy.

Ah! That explained it. She’d used her charms with men to give her son a better life.

She was a clever one. Look at how she had won the allegiance of his old servants! Here she was slaving away to create a gift for Mrs. Ballard.

Then he felt dreadfully guilty for having no thoughts himself of presenting Mrs. Ballard a gift. Of course, he always had a monetary gift on Boxing Day, but Mrs. Milne’s gift was much more personal. He would have to think of something. Perhaps Mrs. Milne could offer a suggestion.

As much as David wanted to dislike the mother, he could harbor no ill feelings toward her son. He enjoyed the cribbage game very much, and he found the lad to be well-manned and likeable. “You’re far too good a player,” David told him. “You must have had a very good teacher.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Did my father ever lose to you?”

Stevie hung his head. “Once, just before we had to go back to London.” He sounded sad. “I think the old lord was not feeling very well.”

Now, David felt sad. He had not known his father was dying. His father had told him he merely wanted to spend some time at the lodge away from Society, that he wanted leisure to read in peace and quiet. David thoroughly understood the lure of Darnley and never imagined that his father had gone there to die.

How he wished he had come to Darnley