Mistletoe Everywhere

by Linda Banche

  Mistletoe Everywhere

  By Linda Banche

  Published by Linda Banche at Smashwords

  COPYRIGHT 2010, 2017 by Linda Banche

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Start of Book

  Author’s Note

  Discover Titles by Linda Banche

  Connect With Me!

  About Linda Banche

  End

  Chapter 1

  Cornhill-on-Tweed

  Northumberland, England

  December, 1814

  “Oh, Jane, how could you invite him?”

  Across the drawing room stood the one man Miss Penelope Lawrence never again wanted to see.

  Mr. Charles Gordon.

  Miss Jane Preston blanched. “I am so sorry. His name was not on the guest list I saw. Step-mama must have sent him a late invitation. She and Papa wed only a year ago, so she does not know how badly he treated you.” Her eyes widened. “Step-mama is bringing him this way.”

  Penelope grabbed Jane’s hand. “Come, let us leave.”

  “My dear girl, I would like to make you known to this gentleman.” Baroness Preston caught Penelope’s sleeve.

  Trapped, Penelope turned, but didn’t smile. She couldn’t smile. Not at him.

  Charles, equally trapped by their hostess’s other hand on his arm, stiffened, his own smile as frozen as the arctic weather outside.

  Penelope shivered.

  “I am delighted to introduce you two.” Inexplicably, Lady Preston didn’t shudder at the sudden plunge in temperature.

  “Step-mama, Penelope and Mr. Gordon are already acquainted.” Jane detached Penelope from her stepmother’s grasp.

  Lady Preston’s mouth curved downward. “Oh, dear. I did not know the two of you had already met.” She released Charles. “I do so like to make introductions.”

  Charles straightened his cuff. “No harm done, ma’am. I shall take this opportunity to thank you for your kind invitation.”

  Kind? If his thunderous expression was any indication, he wished both her and Lady Preston to Hades.

  “You are most welcome, sir. At these Christmas family gatherings, we always suffer a dearth of handsome, unattached young men.”

  One of his eyebrows quirked up. “Quite. I believe Lord Baring would like a word. If I may take my leave?”

  “Of course.” Lady Preston waved a dismissive hand. “Have a good time.”

  He bowed without glancing at Penelope and then strode away as if he’d already forgot the unpleasant encounter.

  Penelope bit her lip to keep from uttering a scathing remark. At the same time, she held still to prevent herself from running after him. After the way they’d parted, she couldn’t expect him to greet her with open arms, even as her traitorous heart yearned that he would.

  “Step-mama, Penelope and I have not seen each other for an age. We would like to have a coze.” Jane tugged Penelope away.

  With a vague nod that set the egret feather in her grey hair aquiver, Lady Preston tugged on the sleeve of the gentleman in front of her. “I would like to introduce you to…”

  Across a gently swaying sea of bodies, Charles spoke with the pretty lady who stood by his side.

  Of course the lady would be pretty. Pretty ladies had always flocked around Charles.

  Jane frowned. “I apologize again. But the house is large and packed. You can avoid him, if you choose.”

  Penelope gave an unhappy nod. Yes, she could. Her battered emotions would thank her, cowardly as that was.

  But then she lifted her chin. Never would she let him dictate her actions. She would hold her head high and show him how much she loathed him, the despicable toad. If she ran into him—by accident, of course, she would never seek him out—she would be haughty and formal—and then walk away before he did

  The butler waded through the crowd. “Miss Jane, the wine merchant didn’t make his usual delivery today, and we’re almost out of champagne. Would you like me to serve port or sherry?”

  “Oh, I am not sure. Let me see if the champagne will last until dinner. Then we can decide what to do.” She squeezed Penelope’s hand. “I will only be a moment.”

  With Jane gone, the holiday atmosphere, so bright and cheery a moment ago, pressed in on Penelope like a dark, dank, rainy day.

  Fixing a smile in place, she found an unoccupied chair a distance from the others. She would watch the throng. She always did enjoy Christmas revelry.

  Until now. Unwilling, but drawn by some inexplicable attraction, she once more picked Charles out of the sea of merry-makers.

  He laughed at something his companion said, and his mouth curved into the wondrous smile she remembered.

  Her pulse stuttered.

  Good gracious, but he was still the handsomest man she’d ever seen. Five years ago, he had been tall and boyishly slim. He was taller now, and the youthful slightness had broadened at the shoulders and narrowed at the hips. His short dark hair, neat yet tousled in elegant waves, must have cost a pretty penny at the barber’s. Both his deep blue, double-breasted coat and lighter blue brocade waistcoat clung without being tight. The knife-edged sharp folds pressed into his snowy cravat accentuated the knot’s simplicity. His buff-colored trousers didn’t hug his legs, yet left no doubt that they were both lean and muscular.

  He looked splendid.

  She pressed her palms to her suddenly warm cheeks. How could she still want him after he had used her so ill?

  The lady at Charles’s side beckoned to another lady.

  Charles, still smiling, turned slightly in Penelope’s direction.

  His lips compressed into a hard line. After a curt nod, he abruptly pivoted and smiled again at his companion.

  Penelope’s fists clenched. The blackguard! That brief nod insulted her more than the cut direct. She was the injured party—he had nothing to be angry about. Did he think she pined over him? That she wanted him back?

  Her resolve to remain aloof evaporated in a searing flash. She gathered up her skirts and then stormed through the crowd. She would give him such a piece of her mind he would reel.

  “Dinner is served.” The butler’s announcement rang out over the buzz of conversation.

  Penelope’s Aunt Lydia trundled over. “Come, my girl, time for dinner.” She took Penelope’s arm. “Fear not. I will protect you from that dastardly Mr. Gordon.”

  They, along with the rest of the assemblage, filed into the dining room.

  Thwarted. For now.

  ***

  At the table, Charles laughed and chatted with his dinner companions. From long practice, he kept his expression genial as every muscle in his body clenched.

  The sight of Penelope—the one person he never again wanted to see—had slammed into him like a punch to the stomach.

  But his herculean efforts to choke off all thought of her were for naught. Every detail of their brief meeting flashed through his mind in endless repetition.

  How beautiful she was. When last he saw her, she had been a lovely girl. Short and slim, with a happy smile and huge cinna
mon-brown eyes that lit up whenever they were together.

  Now, she was a stunning woman. These few years of added maturity had defined her cheekbones and plumped her lips. Her pale blue dress, despite its long sleeves and high neck, hugged distinct curves, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and the smallness of her waist.

  And her hair…that golden brown hair shining in the candlelight like a newly minted penny.

  His Shining Penny.

  He jabbed his fork against his plate so hard the tines bent. Damnation, after she had treated him so shabbily, how could he still ache for her?

  She sat on the same side of the table as he—a mercy, that, since the intervening guests blocked her from view. But he couldn’t stopper his ears. The lilting laugh he adored rose over the chattering voices and the rattle of silverware, taunting him anew. After all this time, he’d been positive his love had died. But one look at her had resurrected every painful longing.

  He poked at the roast beef on his plate. He brought the fork to his mouth three times before he noticed the utensil was empty.

  Muttering a curse, he set aside the forlorn fork and then beckoned the footman for another. Good thing the soup course was over. He didn’t care to provide a comical interlude by dribbling soup over himself from a crumpled spoon.

  With his new fork, he slid the food around on his plate. After this blasted meal ended, he would confront her.

  His muscles knotted tighter and tighter as course succeeded course at the pace of a snail laboring up a slippery rock. And then, after the ladies departed—which, fortunately, also took away that fat old tartar, Lady Bayle, Penelope’s widowed aunt—he had to tarry another eternity while the men smoked, drank port and guffawed at lame jokes the alcohol soaking made hilarious.

  At long last, the men abandoned their drinks. He jumped up and led the way to the drawing room.

  Penelope wasn’t hard to find. She stood beneath the ornate crystal chandelier, chatting with Lady Preston.

  How misleading appearances were. Penelope looked nothing like the deceiving wench she was, but everything like an innocent young lady awaiting her beau beneath a kissing bough bursting with mistletoe.

  He narrowed his eyes. Odd, that kissing bough hadn’t been there when he arrived this afternoon. The servants had probably hung the decoration during dinner. With the estate named Mistletoe Manor, copious amounts of the plant must abound all around.

  Candlelight glinted off the mistletoe’s deep green leaves and white berries. According to custom, a gentleman would take his kiss, and then detach a berry. With so many berries, he could feast on Penelope’s lips, lose himself in the depths…

  He jerked his head to the side. What was he thinking?

  Now that he thought on it, none of the men had approached Penelope. Mr. Gavin, that old lecher, never missed a chance to kiss a pretty woman. But Gavin sat calmly by the fire, ogling the giggling young miss beside him on the settee.

  Although he’d confided in only his closest friends about Penelope, mayhap the other men had discovered how she, the toplofty, rich viscount’s daughter, mistreated him and were giving her the cut. Indeed, she acted the hoyden, standing so demurely under the kissing bough, as if inviting someone—anyone—to kiss her.

  An elbow jabbed into his arm, and Charles half-turned toward the man’s muttered apology. When he looked back, their hostess stood alone. Penelope was no longer there.

  Neither was the mistletoe.

  The chandelier now held only candles, flickering slightly.

  Where had the mistletoe gone?

  Chapter 2

  The fire’s crackling and the ladies’ soft murmuring filled the drawing room. Candles glowing in wall sconces and candelabra fought off the darkness of the encroaching winter’s night.

  Penelope handed Aunt Lydia a cup of tea and then sank onto the chair beside her.

  Her aunt, double chins quivering, took a sip. “Just a moment, my dear. Please fetch me another lump of sugar.” She sipped again. “No, two.”

  “Yes, Aunt.” Penelope rose and returned to the tea table, where she nodded at Jane, who was serving the tea.

  How dreary to be Aunt Lydia’s companion, especially since her aunt always had an endless supply of tasks for her. If she were of a suspicious mind, she would think Aunt had deliberately waited for her to sit down before making her request.

  But that was silly. Aunt Lydia wasn’t evil, just demanding.

  “Here you are.” Penelope resumed her seat with the plate containing the sugar on her lap.

  “Thank you, dear.” Her aunt added one of the sugar lumps to her tea and then drank. “Yes, exactly the way I like my tea.”

  Dinner had ended a short time ago. The ladies had then trooped en masse to exile here whilst the gentlemen drank, smoked and pursued other masculine activities presumably too debauched for the ladies’ delicate sensibilities.

  Soon the respite would end and she would encounter Charles. She clenched the edges of the plate. She wouldn’t avoid him, but they had met only the one time yesterday. Last night, her aunt had insisted that Penelope accompany her from the drawing room just as the gentlemen arrived.

  Tonight, if she could, she would face him. Her stomach fluttered. She didn’t look forward to the meeting, but she wouldn’t shrink away, either.

  Jane rose from the tea table and walked over. “Penelope, can you help me with the tea?”

  “Of cour—”

  “Jane, I require my companion’s presence at all times.” Aunt Lydia pressed a hand to her ample bosom. “My constitution is so weak.”

  Jane’s lips pursed. “The tea table is close by. If you need Penelope, she can be with you in a trice.” With that she grabbed Penelope’s arm and hurried her away.

  Aunt’s frown could curdle milk.

  Penelope stifled a smile.

  Jane reseated herself behind the elegant silver teapot. “That woman is such a trial. I am glad she is only a relation by marriage, and a distant one, too, but not distant enough, in my opinion. Her only saving grace is that her kinship makes you a relative, too.”

  “However tenuous the connection.” Penelope set the sugar plate on the tray with the dirty cups and then sat beside Jane.

  “Fustian. I will happily claim you. How can you bear her?”

  “With no money and my parents dead, I have little choice.”

  Mr. Gavin ambled up and Jane poured him a cup of tea. He leered at Jane and Penelope before adding a biscuit to his saucer and departing.

  Jane set the teapot down. “Come live with us. I would adore having you all to myself.”

  “Our family ties are too distant for that.”

  “I know! I can hire you as my companion.”

  Penelope laughed. “Now you talk fustian. We are the same age. I cannot be your companion.”

  “Well then, what of your Aunt Elizabeth? You two rub together well.”

  “Aunt Elizabeth is poor. Taking me in would strain her finances.”

  Jane tapped a finger on her chin. “We have quite a crop of eligible young men visiting. Perhaps a few will notice you.”

  Penelope shook her head. “No man will pursue a penniless companion. When my father died, I had no idea he had gambled our coffers dry, including my dowry. I have nothing to attract a beau.”

  “Of course you do. You are a beautiful woman. Your beauty will attract a man, and then your kindness and intelligence will keep him.”

  Penelope hugged her friend. “You always make me feel better, no matter how bad things are. I am so grateful I have you.”

  Jane hugged her back. “I speak only the truth.”

  Penelope brushed at the tears pricking her eyes. “I can but hope.” Then she straightened. “On a happier note, I am grateful for your rescue. Now, and this afternoon, too. I vastly enjoyed the sewing room.”

  Jane grinned. “Quite clever of me, spiriting you away from your aunt for a few hours like that. Since you embroider so well, I knew you would like that particular room.�
��

  The sewing room was a tiny alcove filled with bolts of fabric, spools of thread and several elaborate embroidery frames. Buried in an out-of-the-way part of the house and covered with layers of fine dust, the room was the perfect hiding place. “The peace and quiet was splendid and we had a wonderful coze.”

  “You can go there whenever you wish. Not many know of its existence. I myself did not, either, until last week.”

  “The frames are so lovely, finer than anything I have ever seen. Too bad I cannot say the same for the embroidery.” Her questing fingers had stumbled over knot after knot in the embroidery stretched over the frames. With such poor workmanship, no wonder the owner had abandoned the sewing.

  “Not everyone has your talent and skill. Indeed, very few do. I treasure the dress you embroidered for me.”

  “Thank you. I would love to use one of the frames.”

  “Take your pick. You should have a frame to match your expertise. Oh, dear, your aunt is waving at us. I will pretend not to see her.”

  “As will I.” Penelope turned away. “But for now, let me enjoy my temporary freedom. Our annual family gathering is usually so small. Look at all the new people here.”

  “I noticed that, too. We children are all grown up and have embarked upon the marriage mart. Many relatives asked if they could bring prospective candidates along.” Jane’s eyes twinkled. “Need I say Step-mama invited them all?”

  One that stood out was a girl who sat beside an older lady whom she resembled. The young lady was short and slim, with a pretty countenance and golden brown hair. Charles had sat beside her at dinner last night and again tonight. She looked to be about nineteen, the same age Penelope had been when Charles courted her.

  He was six-and-twenty now, and from the snatches of conversation she had heard, still unwed. Mayhap he was in the market for a wife.

  Her hands clenched once more. “Tell me about them all.”

  “Over there by the window is Mrs. Tighe…” Jane loved tittle-tattle, and usually had a large store. She rattled off detail after detail about each of the ladies present.

  At first, Penelope drank in the rain of gossip like a thirsty garden. Unfortunately, most of the information was boring and run of the mill, and after a while, she resorted to half-listening. Then, at long last, Jane reached the girl who had sat beside Charles at dinner.