status quo.
Meanwhile, there was this damnable business of espionage requiring his attention.
He dressed for the evening celebration and left his bedchamber to see what he could do to help with the preparations. The Great Hall must be a-bustle with servants scurrying to and fro…
Utter silence reigned below. Then a furious female voice cried: “I shall marry a plain mister or no one!”
Good Lord. That was Dorothea.
“Now, now,” Lady Alice said, “it’s Christmastide.” Sharply, she added, “Back to work, all of you.”
Movement recommenced, subdued speech broke out, and Cecil proceeded down the stairs. Trestle tables had been set up, and a huge cauldron by the hearth would hold the lamb’s wool, a favorite wassail at Restive Manor.
Lady Alice ushered Lady Darsington away from the drawing room, with Mrs. Kelly following. “You must calm yourself,” she said. “If you cannot stay in the same room with Dorothea without indulging in a shouting match, then I suggest you help Mrs. Kelly serve the lamb’s wool.”
She noticed Cecil and said, “There you are, Mr. Hale. Please go to the drawing room and help Restive with his guests. There is brandy, and also ratafia, I believe, but I don’t have a footman to spare.”
“My pleasure,” Cecil said. She thanked him, but Lady Darsington glared with such hatred that even he was startled. With difficulty, he prevented himself from glaring right back. How dare she upset Dorothea?
In the drawing room, his darling stood next to the Contessa, fists clenched, her complexion blotchy, her eyes moist. She turned away from his concerned gaze. This was his fault; he shouldn’t have kissed her with such passion in full view of the house. Her mother must have given her the worst dressing down of her life.
If only he could sweep her off her feet and ride away with her over his saddle bow. Alas, duty required him to stay.
He helped Restive serve drinks to the vicar and Lord Wellough, and settled them comfortably by the fire. By this time, Dorothea seemed more composed.
“Did your mother scold you dreadfully?” He took her hands and uncurled those clenched fists. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you out there where she could see.”
“I wanted you to kiss me.” But she didn’t tighten her fists again. “I am used to her tirades, but never before has she shouted at me in public. I can’t believe I lost my temper and screamed at her. I’m so mortified.” She wiped away a tear.
“Why?” the Contessa asked. “It is natural to shout at one’s family. How else can one…how do you say it, clear the air?”
“It didn’t clear the air. It made matters worse. I wish she would just leave me be.”
“She cannot,” the Contessa said. “I have known women like her. It is proper for a mother to interfere, but she must also know when to stop.”
Dorothea nodded bleakly. “I’m getting so tired of it. Whichever way I turn, she tries to trap me into wedding a man of her choice—always a wealthy peer, no matter how stupid or ugly or depraved he may be.”
“She will have to stop once you actually do get married,” Cecil said.
“I believe you’re right,” she said with a tremulous smile. “The only way to—to get past this hurdle is to do so.” She took a deep breath. “Get married, I mean.”
“An excellent notion.” To hell with his expectations; he would put the question to her tonight, confess all, and hope for the best.
“I believe so,” she said. “I wish…”
“You wish…?”
Her eyes met his for a long moment. Then she took another deep breath. “I have an idea, Mr. Hale. Perhaps we should elope and get it over with.”
Dorothea’s heart thudded fit to burst her chest. How she’d summoned the courage, she had no idea, but she’d done it. She’d proposed to him. Albeit in a jesting sort of fashion, but…
“Before or after the Christmas pie?” Cecil shot back.
Dorothea gave a little hiccupping laugh. Was that a yes? Breathlessly, she managed a response. “After. I refuse to elope on an empty stomach.”
“And leave us to deal with your bedlamite mother?” Restive asked, then murmured, “She is in the doorway, listening to us aghast.” He raised his voice again. “For shame, Miss Darsington.”
Dorothea was tempted to whisper, but instead she stood her ground. She was going to marry Cecil. She would not give in, and if Mother scolded again, she refused to let it mortify her. She summoned a titter. “I’m sure you would do perfectly well without us, my lord.”
“Fortunately,