Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,14

to his vehicle. “Come, Stevie, it seems to be getting colder by the minute. We’ll hurry home and get you in front of a warm fire, and we’ll have Mrs. Ballard whip up some hot wassail. How does that sound?”

In the daylight David realized Stevie’s blond hair was the same shade as his mother’s. He was also possessed of her sweet nature.

“I love wassail!”

“If the weather’s good tomorrow, you and I are going to the village to purchase Christmas presents for your mother.”

And David knew exactly what he was going to buy for her.

When they arrived at Darnley, David tensed when he saw Benedict Blatherwick’s coach and four drawn up right in front of the doorway. Did the man think he was the proprietor here? “No consideration whatsoever!” he barked.

“Oh, lookey! Mr. Blatherwick’s brought his whole team—and they’re all matched,” Stevie said with admiration.

“My son does love horses,” Mrs. Milne said, smiling.

David was repulsed by the man’s blatant display of wealth. While the use of a coach and four was normally reserved for long travels, Blatherwick was no doubt intent on showing off the fruits of his fortune.

And why in the devil was The Buffoon paying a call at Darnley? It no longer belonged…Then David remembered about the drawn-out story about Blatherwick’s flowers. He’d been bringing them to Mrs. Milne. The fellow meant to be her suitor!

The very idea sent David’s gut plummeting. What a gross misalliance!

He’d show The Fool! He hopped down, then drew Mrs. Milne into his arms while instructing Ballard, who’d just opened the door, to bring in the collected greenery. When she hooked her delicate arms about his neck, David’s breath thinned. He fleetingly wished he could march right upstairs to his bedchamber with this most intoxicating of women. For nothing had ever felt so good as holding her in his arms.

“Mr. Blatherwick awaits in the drawing room, Mrs. Milne,” Ballard said.

David climbed the stairs. In spite of her slimness, by the time he reached the landing, he was winded, but he was determined to make it all the way to the drawing room with her in his arms. He’d show Blatherwick!

He proceeded into the room and went straight to the sofa in front of the fire where he placed her, instructing her to stretch out her legs in order to keep her ankle elevated. Then he turned to the boy. “Why don’t you come and warm yourself by the fire, Stevie?”

Throughout this entrance, Blatherwick had stood, and now Mrs. Milne addressed him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Blatherwick.”

“Good afternoon. Your housekeeper has done me the goodness of putting the flowers I brought you into these vases. Are they not beautiful? Just like the woman for whom they were intended.” He indicated a full vase of pink roses on a tea table near the sofa and another vase of multi-coloured blooms arranged in a footed porcelain pot on the mantelpiece.

David wondered if The Buffoon was going to inquire about her ankle.

“Indeed they are,” she said. “Thank you very much.”

David went to the mantle and removed the flowers, setting them on a table near the window. “We’ll be putting a conifer garland here for Christmas,” he explained as Ballard entered the chamber, laden with arms full of assorted bits of tree branches which he deposited on the floor by the fire.

“We’ve been gathering greenery and pinecones,” Stevie said, unable to suppress his excitement.

“My servants decorate my many chimneypieces,” Blatherwick said. “I’ve heard it said Ambersley Hall has more chimneys than any house in Sussex.” A cocky smile eased across his face. “As to our mantelpieces, we copied a picture of the Regent’s own mantelpiece at Carlton House. I daresay one wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between mine at Ambersley and that of the Regent.”

He turned to address David. “You may recall that I almost met the Regent once. He wasn’t the Regent then. He was the Prince of Wales, and I would have gotten to meet him were it not for the fact his travel plans changed. My great aunt had very high connections. Her husband’s sister’s husband was brother to Viscount Harrington, you may recall.”

“How could I forget,” David said. The man incessantly referred to his high connections. David did not feel like being particularly civil to the man. He addressed Stevie. “Shall we start with the decorations?”

The lad’s quick smile revealed his dimples as he leapt for his basket of pinecones and sprigs.

It did not escape David’s notice that Blatherwick eyed the mistletoe. “Who hung