Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem: A Bluestocking Belles Collection

by Mariana Gabrielle

  "I know your cousin, George," Bosville said.

  "Of course you do," Rick replied.

  Bosville, whose color was already high, flushed still more. "He is a good man, is George. Good ton."

  "No doubt you think so." Rick knew Cousin George to be a rakehell and a bounder.

  Bosville, his nostrils flaring, decided on another point of challenge. "Cousin Mary, whatever are you doing alone at an inn with a gentleman? I know you have had… an unusual upbringing, but Lieutenant Redepenning is from a good family. He should know better. You will come with me, Cousin Mary, and we will see what we can salvage of this situation."

  Did Bosville realize he had just insulted her family? Mary wondered whether to laugh or hit him, and decided to do neither. "Lieutenant Redepenning and I are about to eat, Cousin. You will excuse us, I am sure."

  Bosville drew himself up to his full height, a full head shorter than Rick. "Cousin Mary, I demand you come with me. You have no idea of the damage…"

  "No damage," Rick said, moving in so he was looming over Bosville. "Miss Pritchard has been accompanied by her maid at all times, since before she honored me by accepting my escort. Besides, she has been recognized only by her cousin, who will, I am sure, not speak a word of the encounter, nor even think a slur on the lady's reputation."

  Bosville took a step back, but said, "Maid? I see no maid."

  "Miss Pritchard?" Polly, as if summoned by Bosville's disbelief, appeared at Mary's elbow. "They do a good bread here, they do. And oxtail soup, I thought, if it pleases you. Thick, it is, like your aunt makes, Miss. And a lardy cake too, and cheese and fruit."

  "That sounds excellent, Polly," Mary told her. "Cousin, if you will excuse us."

  Rick held a chair for her, and then for Polly, eliciting a disgusted snort from Viscount Bosville.

  "Really, Redepenning, you should know a maid doesn't sit with her mistress."

  Polly, looking distressed, made to stand, but Mary put out a hand to stop her. "Stay where you are, Polly. Really, Cousin Bosville, I certainly cannot eat in public without a companion."

  "As your nearest male relative…" Bosville began.

  Mary interrupted, "No sermons before our meal, Bosville, I beg you. Ah, here it is now."

  A procession of servants from the inn brought the dishes Polly had mentioned, plus fresh butter, dishes of pickled red cabbage and pickled onions, a plate of pork pies, and jugs of cider and beer.

  Bosville watched, clearly trying to decide what to do next. Mary ignored him. Any hope he might just go away was dashed when he pulled out the remaining chair at the table.

  "Dashed if I won't join you. You do not mind, do you, Cousin?" He sat without waiting for an answer, and helped himself to a wedge of bread and a mug of beer.

  "So, Redepenning," he began. "How do you happen to be travelling with my cousin?"

  "It is my privilege to escort Miss Pritchard," Rick said.

  "Lieutenant Redepenning saved our lives, and so he did," Polly said, nodding to emphasize her words. "Broken to pieces, that's what would have happened, if he hadn't stopped them horses."

  Mary prepared to defend Polly from Bosville's fire. He was outraged at a servant eating with them; surely, he would be furious she dared to speak? But Bosville just looked away, meeting no one's eyes and shifting uncomfortably. "Horses bolted, did they?"

  Surely Bosville wouldn't have… She and Rick exchanged glances. He had the same thought, clearly.

  "They were deliberately spooked," Rick said. "Know something about that, Bosville?"

  His eyes darting everywhere, resting nowhere, Bosville protested. "What do you mean? I don't know anything. What could I know? Ridiculous accusation, Redepenning. Why, I wouldn't hurt a hair on Miss Pritchard's head. I was nowhere near. Word of a gentleman. And if the post boy says different, he lies."

  Rick was on his feet, suddenly all hard edges, the cheerful companion submerged in the dangerous warrior. "You fool. Miss Pritchard and her maid could have been killed. What did you plan to do? Ride up and claim the hero's reward? What stopped you? Did your horse throw you?"

  Bosville flushed bright red. "Nonsense. Absolute rubbish. You have no proof. None at all. Never meant the chit any harm. Word of a gentleman." As he spoke, he abandoned the table and started backing towards the gate to the inn's yard. "Goodness. Is that the time? Must take my leave, Cousin. You are in good hands with Redepenning. Earl of Chirbury's cousin. Your servant, Cousin. Word of a gentleman. Your servant, Lieutenant."

  He reached the safety of the gate and disappeared from sight, obviously fearing that Rick was about to pursue and dismember him.

  Mary, though, saw the gray edge of pain at the corner of Rick's lips. "He is gone, Rick. Sit down before you fall," she said.

  "That swine. You heard him, Mary. I should strangle him with his own entrails, the stupid, lily-livered cockroach."

  "Yes, I heard." Mary supported Rick from his good side, as he lowered himself into his chair, then sat back down next to him. "How did you know what he meant to do, Rick?"

  "I was guessing," Rick admitted. "But I was right. You saw him, Mary. He as much as admitted he paid the post boy—and, I imagine, the rock-throwers—to frighten the horses so he could rescue you from a runaway carriage."

  Rick's anger was gratifying. He must be a little fond of her, surely?

  "I think he meant it when he said he did not mean for me to be hurt. He was genuinely pleased to see me when we first arrived."

  How did a man so fair manage to look so dark? Rick's face was a thundercloud. "I daresay he was sorry he'd lost his chance at your fortune," he growled.

  Chapter Eight

  That might not be the most stupid remark Rick had made in his lifetime, but it was certainly in the top ten. Mary closed up like a tulip at night. He knew what she was thinking: that Rick, like Bosville, thought her fortune was her main attraction. He even knew how to convince her he thought nothing of the kind.

  But his hands were tied. She was alone with him, with only the dubious protection of her maid. It would be unconscionable to begin to court her in such circumstances. In all honor, he had to hold her at a distance until he returned her to her family. No matter that he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until the fire sparking under her chilly surface flared up to consume them both.

  In truth, he was not up to much kissing, and certainly not anything more than kissing. He'd strained the deuced leg again, and would be paying for it the next sennight, undoubtedly. Six months before he could return to the sea, the doctors had said. He hoped this latest strain would not delay his recovery.

  ***

  Mary's aunt and her husband invited Rick to stay with them in their large rambling house in the countryside, just outside of Oxford.

  "This place is much too big, now that all the children have flown," the aunt insisted. "It will be delightful to have young people under our roof again, will it not, Eustace?"

  This proved to be an exaggeration: young people trooped in and out of the house all hours of the day. Rick soon found that Dr. Wren, though he had given up his fellowship when he married thirty years or more ago, was much in demand as a tutor. Mrs. Wren, Mary's Aunt Theodora, mothered a large and constantly changing horde of young men and their sisters, and their sisters' friends.

  Everyone was full of plans for the Christmas party they would hold in just a few days, before most of them departed for family celebrations. Some, however, would stay on.

  "We have eight children, dear," Mrs. Wren explained, "and some of them are too far away to come home for Christmas. I'm happy to give a little love to some other mother's child, and perhaps someone else is doing the same for mine."

  They looked an ill-assorted pair: tall, thin, and elegant Mrs. Wren, and short and dumpy Dr. Wren. Her tidy afternoon gown was a triumph of understated elegance, but Dr. Wren might have been wrestling in the clothes he wore under the open academic gown. The gown, too, sat half on and half off his shoulders, and his Tudor cap tilt
ed insecurely on his balding head.

  But the connection between the two was palpable, she catching his eye and smiling at the end of every sentence, he watching her over the top of his spectacles, with a twinkle that seemed to approve of whatever she wished to say.

  Rick was barely able to move the day after they arrived, but he lay on the couch in a sun room off the Wrens' parlor, where he could join in or rest, as he needed, simply by asking for the connecting doors to be opened or closed.

  Mary organized the room for his comfort: a jug of iced tisane close to his elbow, a jar of biscuits, in the unlikely case he became hungry between the large meals Mrs. Wren produced at regular intervals, a rug for his knees, several books, the day's newspaper, and writing materials, so he could catch up on correspondence. Her attentions never bothered him the way his sister's had. Mary didn't fuss. She just got on with the job of making sure he had whatever he needed.

  At first, apart from checking from time to time to see all was well, she left him to rest, but when he complained that he lacked company, she turned the room into a gathering place for the visitors, and he found himself discussing philosophy with an undergraduate, arguing naval strategy with another, and playing chess with a disconcertingly clever young woman who trounced him soundly but was magnanimous enough to suggest his leg might have been a distraction.

  Chapter Nine

  On the following day, he was up and about again, but still found it impossible to get Mary alone. Indeed, she seemed always to be leaving a room as he entered it, and when he tried to follow, good manners required him to stop and attend to whichever person she'd sent to ask his opinion, challenge his beliefs, invite him to a game, or otherwise distract him. He grew sick of hearing, from one person after another, "Lieutenant, Miss Pritchard says…"

  So it continued, a cat-and-mouse game that Mary appeared not to notice, and the Wrens watched with benign amusement. He was well enough now to continue on to London, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to leave.

  On Friday night, several days after he arrived, and only a few days before Christmas, they sat fifteen for dinner. It was cheerful, loud, and not at all decorous. People talked across the table, and several were participating in more than one conversation. Dr. Wren was holding his own in a debate about whether Lancelot was a later addition to the Arthurian canon or an original round table member under another name, while simultaneously sharing recipes for mead and arguing about a point in mathematics that Rick nearly understood.

  Farther down the table, a group of young ladies were proposing ideas for setting up a dance floor in the garden, since no room in the house could accommodate dancing, as well as the number of guests who would be at the Christmas party on the twenty-third. The chief problem, it seemed, was providing sufficient light so the dancers could see, without setting fire to the trees.

  The house would be full on the night of the party, with those staying for Christmas arriving early, and those leaving for home waiting till the next morning. Rick had already told Mrs. Wren he'd move to one of the Oxford inns ahead of the festivities.

  The butler, who was really a general factotum, came to stand between Dr. Wren and Rick, and bent over so he would be heard above the hubbub. "Doctor, your nephew, Viscount Bosville, has arrived."

  Rick turned to look at the door. Sure enough, the blackguard was there, studying the noisy dinner table with a barely concealed sneer.

  "Theo," Dr. Wren bellowed, silencing the guests. "Theo, young Bosville is here for a visit. What do you want to do with him?"

  Mrs. Wren went to greet her nephew. The guests took up their conversations, so Rick couldn't hear what she said. In any case, he was watching Mary struggle to maintain an expression of benign indifference.

  What the hell was Bosville after? As if Rick didn't know. He toyed with the idea of telling the Wrens what Bosville had done, but he had no proof, and, after all, the man was their nephew.

  That settled that. He could not leave now. However she might feel about it, Rick was sticking to Mary. Limpets would be amateurs, compared to Rick, for as long as Bosville stayed in this house.

  Chapter Ten

  Mary spent the morning dodging Bosville; successfully, thanks to several timely interventions. She was in the dining room near the front door, helping to decorate for tomorrow's party when Cousin Enid arrived.

  As if Cousin Bosville were not enough.

  "I do beg your pardon for coming unannounced," she heard Enid say. "But my mama was so worried about our dear Mary, after we heard that the coach nearly crashed. And we are such dear friends, Mary and I…"

  Mary's hands stilled on the ribbon she was tying around a kissing bough. The lying cow!

  Aunt Theo answered, her voice too low for the words to be understood.

  "Oh, thank you. I would love to stay, if you are sure it will be no trouble. Why! Lieutenant Redepenning! Are you still here? I had no idea… How delightful."

  "Miss Rumbold." Rick sounded politely bland, the voice he used when he wished he were somewhere—anywhere—else. She'd often heard him use it, though, come to think of it, never with her.

  They moved away from the door, Enid chattering gaily about how happy she was to see Oxford—"so beautiful, just as I'd heard"—and how pleased she was that Lieutenant Redepenning was back on his feet.

  Mary tugged the ribbon with such unnecessary force, it knotted, and she could not unravel it. "Such dear friends," was it? Well, if Enid Rumbold thought to catch Rick Redepenning in her marital claws, she could think again.

  Over the noon meal, without a word being said, Mary and Rick joined in a mutual defense pact. Bosville circled, but was deflected with by a sharp glare from Rick. Enid fluttered her eyelashes madly, but desisted when Mary asked, "Why, Enid, darling, do you have something in your eye? Come to the kitchen, and I'll help you wash it."

  Bosville tried to enlist Aunt Theo. "Seems like the lieutenant is well enough to move on and stop taking advantage of you, Auntie."

  "Lieutenant Redepenning is welcome to stay as long as he wishes, Bosville," Aunt Theo told him. "We enjoy his company."

  "We like invited guests," Uncle Wren added, with a frown.

  As at every other meal in the Wren household, an assorted group of people who happened to be in the house at the time sat to eat, but didn't stop the conversations about the projects or activities that brought them to visit.

  Bosville had already repelled all attempts at familiarity, and was now being ignored, but the assembled young people were generously willing to include Enid in their conversation.

  Their friendly overtures were unsuccessful. Enid had no opinion on water wheel systems for lock construction, or whether Merlin's real name was Myrddin, or the best translation for the Greek word paidiskê. When Mary suggested that women should be allowed to attend lectures at the university, Enid was invited to give her thoughts on the vigorous debate. She batted her eyelids at Uncle Wren, "How dreadful. As if any real woman would want to know about such unladylike things. Oh, but of course, Mary was raised on a navy ship. Very hard to be a lady in such circumstances. I do feel badly for you, Cousin."

  Uncle Wren frowned at Enid, and then deliberately turned a shoulder to her. "May I pass you the soup, Mary, my dear?"

  Despite the snubs, the two unwelcome guests persisted. Mary avoided them by retreating to the kitchen to make gingerbread shapes—stars, bells, holly leaves, hearts, and ladies and gentlemen, using the cutters the tinker had made for her. She would ice them in the morning.

  Aunt Theo knocked on the door just before she hopped into bed. "May I have a moment, my love?"

  "Of course, Aunt Theo. Polly, off you go to bed. I won't need you again tonight. Is anything wrong, Aunt?"

  "Just those two cousins, my dear. I am sorry that you are so bedeviled. Dr. Wren wishes to toss them both out, but we can hardly send Miss Rumbold out the door when she has travelled three days to be here, and if I cast Bosville into the night not a day before Christmas, my sister will be most off
ended."

  "Oh, Aunt, I do not expect you to do that."

  "Just be careful, my dear," Aunt Theo warned. "Do not be alone with my nephew, and do not leave your poor lieutenant alone with Miss Rumbold."

  Mary blushed scarlet. "He is not my lieutenant, Aunt Theo."

  Her aunt just smiled. "He will be if you want him, dear." With that, she left Mary to her dreams.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Mary came down to breakfast the following morning, Uncle Wren was there, deep in a conversation with Rick about the kinds of ships that might have been available to King Arthur in defense of his realm. Mary smiled.

  Rick, who was looking her way, stumbled over his sentence.

  "I am sorry, sir," he said to Uncle Wren, "I have forgotten what I was saying."

  Uncle Wren gave him, and then Mary, a benevolent smile. "Well, it does not matter, young man. I have suddenly thought of some correspondence I must to attend to. Will you excuse me?"

  As soon as they were alone, Rick crossed to Mary. She looked up into his vivid blue eyes. Could such a magnificent man possibly want her, plain Mary Pritchard?

  "Mary." His smile was warm, and his voice, when he said her name, purred along all her nerve endings. A caress in a single word.

  "Rick." She tried to match him, and, judging from his sharp intake of breath and the flare in his eyes, was not a total failure.

  Then Enid arrived, followed closely by Bosville, and Mary could not help but believe they were up early just to annoy her.

  As the morning wore on, she became convinced of it. Bosville was everywhere she turned, and Enid, too, though Mary blamed that on Rick's constant attendance. Enid had clearly decided Rick was to be the next victim of her charm, and was pouring it out with such a lavish hand that Rick looked decidedly ill.

  All three even followed her to the kitchen and watched her decorate her gingerbread biscuits with boiled icing and bits of dried fruit.

  Mary was grateful to escape on a brief shopping excursion with Polly, slipping out the kitchen door to avoid company, though if she'd been able to attract Rick's attention without alerting Enid's, the walk would have been even more pleasant.