Mismatched Under the Mistletoe - Jess Michaels Page 0,8

where he could observe the couple without being noticed. Where he could more easily pretend that his feelings for Emily were just as brotherly as his feelings for Andrew had been.

Sometimes the party had been smaller, though. Sometimes it was just him with the two of them. Just him with his adoration for them both, and his jealousy that always reared up and had to be shoved back down with all his might. That action had become second nature eventually. And if Andrew noticed Cav’s feelings…well, he had never said a word. It had certainly never damaged their friendship, for which Cav was eternally grateful.

Cav had joined Emily here a handful of times since Andrew’s death, too, though always with others. It had never felt the same. That first year, Emily had hardly been able to stave off the weeping. She had roamed these halls, walked the ones in her home in London, and her pain had been unbearable. Yet Cav had borne it, because she needed him to do so. He’d walked with her, held her up, talked her through the unthinkable loss of her husband, followed swiftly by her beloved parents.

That she could survive such grief was something he respected. That she was finally coming back to herself, to the light, was more than a relief.

She laughed in that moment, drawing him back to the present from those painful memories, as if to prove the point she couldn’t even know he was making. She gave the large room a sense of warmth with her mere existence. She was welcome and kindness embodied, and no one could feel less than embraced in her presence.

He was seated far down the table from her, but in some ways that position allowed him to watch her more closely. She was a butterfly, beautiful wings fluttering furiously as she chatted with her guests and nodded to the servants to move from one course to the next.

How many nights had he watched her like this, Andrew at his side, both in awe of her? Both loving her from afar as she brightened the room. And then, later, Cav would watch Andrew and Emily go up the stairs to their bed and he would…drink.

He hoped this party wouldn’t lead to the same. Pining was unattractive. He was well aware of that.

The Earl of Allington was seated at his right, and before Cav could descend into even more maudlin musings, the earl elbowed him. “An interesting party, isn’t it?”

Cav blinked and glanced again at Emily, looking over her gathering like a queen. She had not been subtle in pairing off the potential matches, despite all her talk of easing the group into her madcap scheme.

“Lady Rutledge always makes things interesting,” Cav said carefully. “Do you remember that party she and Rutledge threw all those years ago with the snail races? The competition got ferocious.”

Allington arched a brow at him. “I’m not talking about snail races or bygone times.”

Cav knew exactly what he was talking about, but refused to admit it. “Then what?”

“You mean you haven’t noticed the pattern in the seating chart?” Allington huffed out. When Cav remained silent, he grasped his arm. “Look again: gentleman, lady, gentleman, lady.”

Cav glanced down the table as if he had not noticed this and shrugged. “Well, there are more ladies than gentlemen, to be fair.”

“Because of the chaperones,” Allington said with a roll of his eyes. “All of them sharpening their blades at the thought of landing one of the men in this room.”

Cav chuckled at the look of desperation in his companion’s eyes at even the thought of being caught in such a scheme. Poor Emily would have her work cut out for her if this was the reaction to a mere seating chart. And what could Cav do but try to help?

“But you and I are seated next to each other, and I am not a lady,” he said. “Does that not ruin your hypothesis?”

A long glare was his friend’s response, and then he sighed. “You are thick as thieves with Lady Rutledge and you are awfully quick to dismiss my observation. So I will ask you directly, man to man: is she playing matchmaker with this gathering?”

Cav shook his head with a stifled laugh. Poor Emily. She never did anything by half. It was her nature to run up to cliffs and jump off, arms outstretched and filled with belief she would either sprout wings or land safely away from any rocks below. It was one