Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,161

until I know the truth.”

“The truth?” She wondered where this was leading. “About what?”

“Dorothea, there you are!” Mother came into the Great Hall, smiling for once. “You must help put up holly and evergreens.”

This was almost like the time before Dorothea reached marriageable age, when Mother had planned the decorating and made the house beautiful, almost magical, for Christmas.

But now…Dorothea stifled a groan. Judging by the grin on Lord Wellough’s beefy countenance, there would be mistletoe. If she kissed one man under the odious bough, she would be obliged to kiss anyone who asked. “Thank you for showing me your sketches, Monsieur Dufair.” She cast about for help, but Cecil, bless him, was already beside her.

“I excel at decorating for Christmas.” Cecil moved her out of Lord Wellough’s eager reach. He lowered his voice. “And disposing of mistletoe.”

She grasped his arm like a shipwrecked sailor on a spar in a stormy sea. Perhaps, despite seeming oblivious, he’d been watching her all morning.

That was frequently his assignment, after all. She shouldn’t make too much of it.

Cecil escorted her to the drawing room, where piles of cuttings lay upon two side tables, along with an assortment of ribbons and wires. Lady Alice and the Contessa followed, and somehow, there was no mistletoe by the time the greenery was festooned around both the drawing room and the Great Hall.

“What, no mistletoe?” Lord Wellough cried.

“We’re short of it this year,” Restive lied. “It’s too high up in the oaks, and Lady Alice didn’t wish to risk the footmen’s necks for the sake of a few kisses.” Actually, there was plenty of accessible mistletoe in the orchard, but Restive had laughingly agreed to pretend there was none.

“Except this one tiny sprig, which I gathered myself,” Cecil said. He pulled Dorothea close, dangled it over their heads, and gave her a quick kiss. She blushed and laughed. He shoved the sprig of mistletoe into his pocket, dodging easily when Lord Wellough tried to grab it.

What a pity Mother then spoiled the fun with a gaze of fury. Dorothea felt a twinge of remorse—for she had also spoiled her mother’s enjoyment. Only a twinge, though; she shouldn’t be obliged to kiss anyone unless she chose to.

In the early afternoon, tea and substantial refreshments were served, for dinner would be only wassail and Christmas pie. The ladies retired to their bedchambers for a nap. Dorothea was pondering how to get a moment’s private talk with Cecil, when Mother stormed into the room.

“Dorothea, I know full well you kissed that—that nobody to annoy me. You must cease such folly at once. You cannot marry him, and well you know it.”

This was most likely true. Cecil showed no sign of anything more serious than a few kisses, and she’d been the one to start that.

Usually, it was men who made overtures and women who accepted or rejected them. Why shouldn’t it be the other way around? What was the worst that could happen?

For the first time, she felt a pang of sympathy for men who summoned their courage, only to suffer disappointment.

“I kissed him because I like him. He is charming and kind, and as I said before, we share many ideals.”

“Stuff and nonsense. He is a fortune hunter, and so is that Frenchman. They are beneath your notice. Henceforth, you will ignore them.”

“I can’t do that, Mother. It would be impolite, and it wouldn’t serve your purpose either. I have already said I won’t marry Lord Restive—who is enamored of the Contessa in any case.”

“His liaison with that foreign trollop means nothing,” Mother said. “However, if you feel obliged to encourage the company of those two nobodies, you must also encourage that of Lord Wellough. He’s a dear friend of your father and deserves especial respect.”

How typical of Mother to twist things her way. “Papa calls Lord Wellough a tedious old roué. I’m sorry, but I find him repugnant. I wish he would stop leering at me.”

She shut her ears to the tirade that followed, which had mostly to do with the shame she brought upon her long-suffering mother. She whiled away the time by contemplating kissing Cecil again.

The instant she was left to herself, she jumped up and ran to the door. She peeked out in time to see Mother’s door shut with a slam. Perfect…but where would she find Cecil? She hurried downstairs and peered into the empty drawing room, the billiards room, the library…

“Go in,” said a voice behind her. How did Cecil move so silently?