Hearts Beneath The Mistletoe (Handful 0f Hearts Book 1)

by Jenna Jaxon

“A kiss.”

  Jenny gasped as did most of the room around her. She’d be humiliated, ruined.

  He grasped her hand and pulled her toward him.

  She stretched backward, turning her face away from him. Would no one help her?

  Lord Somersby lifted her hand and placed a chaste kiss on the top of her glove. The crowd roared its approval. He drew her back toward him.

  “That’s not to say more may not be forthcoming before the week is out,” he said, sotto voce. “We must find the mistletoe at the Christmas Eve Ball.” Then he stepped back and held out the scarf to her. “Would you like my assistance, Miss Crowley?”

  “I will help Miss Crowley, thank you, my lord.” Celinda stormed up and grabbed the lacy scrap. “Turn around, Jenny.”

  The world went dark as her friend set the soft material over her eyes. A faint scent of citrus assailed her nose. Lord Somersby’s cologne she’d wager. The gentleman had certainly made his interest known. But what about his intentions?

  “Can you see?”

  Celinda’s voice sounded loudly in her ear and Jenny jumped. She fingered the lacy scarf. “No. Not at all.”

  “All right. I’ll spin you.” Then her voice whispered in her ear. “I told you so!”

  Then she was whirling, three times around, until she came to a stop, unsteady on her feet. Hesitant, she extended her hands before her, certain no one would be there. Correct. A step to the left and giggles erupted to her right. High pitched. Miss Newel she suspected. She stepped quickly to the right, following the squeals of laughter.

  Drat. She’d never been good at these games. A murmur behind her. A muffled “Who is that?”

  Lord, if she didn’t hurry she’d be a spectacle for half the night. She would willingly do murder on Somersby for putting her in this position.

  Someone cleared their throat. She spun toward the sound, hands outstretched, trying to grasp anyone at all.

  A puff of air struck her face. A whiff of cologne came with it, not citrus, but a scent of rich sandalwood that inexplicably reminded her of home. She lunged forward, determined to snare a guest at any cost.

  Her fingers landed on heavy fabric that covered the ropey muscle of a masculine arm.

  A shout of approval went up. “But who is it? She must identify her quarry,” someone called.

  Somersby? She shook off the thought. Tentatively, she slid her hands up toward his shoulders. A tall man, for her hands kept sliding up and up. Finally they came to rest upon wide shoulders. Could it be Eric? There were so many people she didn’t know here. If she failed to identify the man, would she have to seek another?

  The gentleman covered her hands with his and drew them down again until he held them between his. He gripped them in a hard squeeze and let go.

  Jenny gasped and grabbed the scarf, tearing it from her eyes as she cried, “Alec?”

  Chapter 7

  She could scarcely believe he stood before her. What on earth was he doing here?

  “I’m sorry I’m late to the party, Miss Crowley. The carriage I was riding in lost a wheel just after we passed Bath.” He smiled, the lopsided grin she’d seen a thousand times. Always exasperating, because he did it just to annoy her. He could smile perfectly well when he wanted to. But his tall, muscular build, sandy blond curls and vivid blue eyes were a most welcome sight after all these strangers.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come.” She paused a split second, then embraced him, throwing her arms around his neck.

  He started, then grasped her around the waist.

  She pressed her mouth to his ear. “We need to talk. The front reception room after the dance?”

  He nodded and she stood back, blinking at the crowd she had quite forgotten.

  “Was that his forfeit, Miss Crowley?” Celinda grasped her hand, tossed the scarf to Alec, and propelled her toward the door to the hallway. “From the look in his eyes, I’d say he’d welcome such a forfeit on a regular basis.” They slid past members of the orchestra, on their way back to their instruments. “Who was that?”

  Now that she was no longer the center of attention, Alec no longer her rescuer, Jenny found herself peeved once again. “He’s my betrothed.”

  Celinda stopped in the middle of the corridor. “Him?” The dumbfounded look on her face might be comical if the situation wasn’t so grim.

  Jenny rolled her eyes heavenward. “Come on.” She pulled Celinda into the small receiving room, the one she had told Alec to meet her in later that evening. She ran straight to the Queen Anne sofa and plumped herself down on it, and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Celinda closed the door, paced slowly to her friend and sat beside her. Her mouth screwed up into a menacing pucker. She opened her lips, closed them and sighed. When she opened her mouth again, only one word came out. “Why?”

  Jenny snapped her head around to look at her. “Why what? Why am I to marry him? I told you that story. Why is he here? I have no idea.”

  “I want to know why you are so upset? The gentleman is quite well set up.” Celinda sighed and sank back into her seat, eyes bright.

  “He’s just Alec.” Jenny waved her hand dismissively. “And he’s going to ruin everything.”

  “Well, you were the one throwing yourself into his arms,” Celinda pointed out.

  “I know.” Jenny’s cheeks burned. They must have made a perfect spectacle. What had gotten into her? “It was just he was so familiar when everyone else was a stranger.” She couldn’t explain it any better than that. He had been a much needed breath of air from home.

  “And how on earth did you know who he was? You weren’t expecting him, obviously.” Celinda leaned forward, hanging on Jenny’s words.

  “He squeezed my hands as he shook them. He’s always done that whenever we’d meet at home. And I suppose I recognized his cologne. Just like Somersby recognized mine.” And Somersby would have seen that embrace. “Oh, drat! Alec will ruin everything.”

  “You mentioned that earlier. What will he ruin?”

  “My chances with Somersby, or any of the other gentlemen. Once he tells them I’m engaged to him, they will have nothing to do with me. No dancing, no cards, no laughing together at dinner.” It really wasn’t fair. Her one chance to have fun, to flirt with the young gentlemen, and perhaps find the one meant for her. And Alec would take that all away from her.

  Celinda shook her head and patted her arm. “I doubt he has come here to do such a thing. You told me he wanted the marriage as little as you did.”

  She nodded. That was certainly true.

  “And the only way he can get out of the betrothal is if you find another gentleman with a title who wants to marry you. I think he’s here to make sure you find a husband.”

  Jenny looked up startled. “Hmmm. I hadn’t thought of it that way. But I’ll find out shortly. I’ve asked him to come here and talk.”

  “By yourself? Alone?”

  Jenny laughed. “I will be very careful. No one will see. And we’re engaged, remember? That status does come in handy for some things.” She stood and stretched, bouncing on her toes. More dancing would be lovely. “The musicians have returned. We should go back as well.”

  Celinda rose and put a hand out to stay her. “And you truly do not feel an attachment to Mr. …”

  “Isley. No. None at all.”

  “But why not?”

  “I’ve known him all my life. It would be like marrying my brother.” She shuddered.

  Celinda bit her lip. “Then you would not mind at all if I flirted with Mr. Isley?”

  Jenny stepped back, startled. Thought of her friend laughing together with Alec caused a ripple of unease, but she shook it off. “Of course not. Please, Celinda, if you have an interest in him, then by all means, set your cap.” She smiled, trying to make the words lighthearted as her friend opened the door for them to return to the party and finding it harder than she had expected.

  * * * *

  The last dance ended as Jenny curtseyed to
her final partner of the night, Charles Armstrong, a gangling lad who had likely just seen his eighteenth birthday as well. Jenny took her leave of him and raced to her rendezvous. The door was closed, so she listened, ear pressed against the panel. She would not want to walk in upon a couple bent on mischief. Hearing no sound through the smooth panel, she pressed the latch.

  The door opened easily on an empty room lit by only two candles in sconces burning atop the mantelpiece over a banked fire. She hurried to the fireplace, stretching her hands out to the low blaze. The warmth felt delicious and she yawned. Please let him be here soon. The dancing had been lovely, still all she wanted right now was her bed.

  A quiet click several minutes later sounded like a canon’s boom to Jenny. She jumped and whirled around as the door swung open. A strange man stood in the shadowy doorway, his towering figure dressed impeccably in black superfine and an elegantly tied cravat. He closed the door, his face still in shadow, and started toward her. Her mouth dried instantly and she backed up until the heat of the fire threatened to singe her gown.

  “Are you frightened of me, Jenny?”

  At the sound of the familiar voice, she relaxed, the rigid tension in her shoulders draining away instantly.

  Alec stepped into the light, shaking his head, a frown brushing his brows.

  “No. Of course not.” She shook her head to dispel the silly notion that he was a stranger. A very attractive stranger who brought an air of excitement to the room.

  “Good.” He smiled his real smile, and a prickle of warmth touched her heart. “You looked like you saw a ghost or something.” He motioned to the sofa she’d sat on earlier with Celinda.

  “I was just startled to see you here, that’s all.” She perched on the edge, suddenly aware that they were very much alone.

  “But you asked me to meet you here.” He cocked his head, his tone one of infinite patience—as one would speak to a child.

  “No, idiot, here at Marbury House.” Was he being difficult on purpose? Did he not realize what his presence might do to her chances here?

  He gave her a curious look, but shrugged and sat back. “Your aunt, Lady Marbury, wrote my mother last week, asking if I would like to come to the house party.”

  She started back. “She did not tell me that. I had no idea you were to be invited.”

  “Do you mind very much?” He said it with firm lips, but behind his brilliant blue eyes lurked a hint of pain.

  Jenny lowered her head, which seemed ready to explode, and gripped it. “No, Alec. I guess I don’t mind.” She sighed and looked at him. “Truly I don’t.” She put her hand on his arm and he closed his other hand over hers. Warmth permeated her gloves. “But you do realize that if the other young men find out we are betrothed, they won’t show any interest in me. I won’t get to dance or play cards or enjoy any of the entertainments as I should. We agreed I was to come here to have a good time and meet young men because I won’t be allowed to do so in the spring.” She gripped his arm.

  He patted her hand and disengaged his. “I know, Jenny. I promised you I wanted nothing but your happiness. That has not changed. I came here solely to make sure that you get the happiness you deserve. No matter the cost.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. The flame that ignited her hand, despite the glove covering it, sent a wave of faintness through her so intense she slid back onto the sofa, her back hitting the cushion with a thump.

  He let go her hand, and stood. “I hope you will allow me a dance or two while we are here.” His eyes gleamed in the candlelight, like a cat’s. “A secret betrothal should entitle me to that at least.” Executing a perfect bow, he left, taking the aura of excitement with him.

  Jenny sat still, staring at the door as the room grew cooler around her, puzzling over why Alec Isley’s presence would both comfort and infuriate her.

  Chapter 8

  “Celinda!” Jenny called to her friend next morning as she entered the breakfast room.

  The fire crackled cozily near her friend, who beckoned to Jenny, patting the chair next to her. “I’ve found the warmest spot in the room. We’d best store up as much heat as we can. Right after breakfast Lady Marbury has decreed we are all to trek into the woods to cut greenery and run the mistletoe.” Celinda paused to take a forkful of kippers.

  “Run the mistletoe?” Jenny seated herself and a footman brought her tea. “What on earth does that mean?”

  Celinda sent her a long look and her mouth puckered, as if she were trying not to smile. “Have you never been to your aunt’s Christmas celebrations before?”

  Jenny shook her head. “No, we usually spend Christmas at home and visiting with Great-Aunt Henrietta.” She shuddered. “Not the jolliest time, I assure you.” In past years she and Mama had had to endure Christmas tea with her great-aunt and her friends. Grand affairs, but deadly dull for Jenny, the only person there under the age of thirty.

  Celinda laughed and buttered a hot roll. “I believe I’ll let you find out about mistletoe running on your own. Or perhaps Lord Somersby will enlighten you.” She burst out into giggles as she broke the roll into pieces and spooned orange marmalade onto a fluffy bite.

  “Celinda! Tell me.” Jenny’s stomach clenched. Mistletoe had something to do with kissing, but that was all she knew.

  “Go get your breakfast.” Celinda nodded toward the heavily laden sideboard. “We’ll be leaving shortly and you’ll be famished if you don’t eat.”

  “Oh, very well.” Jenny rose and headed for the feast of meats, fish, cheese, breads, jams and jellies. She shouldn’t worry. Her aunt would never do anything improper. Still, the thought of Lord Somersby and kissing filled her with a fearful excitement and sent her appetite plummeting. Which was a shame. Breakfast at home was never so grand. She gazed at all the glittering dishes and took heart. Determined to enjoy the repast, she filled her plate with a little bit of everything, although she’d do well to finish half.

  She returned to Celinda, who was pouring more tea. “I know I shall never finish all of this, but it looks so good. My eyes are larger than my stomach, Mama would say.”

  “Then it is fortunate your mother was left at home.” Celinda nodded fiercely, stirring sugar into her tea. “Have fun this Christmas, Jenny. Begin by eating whatever you have a fancy for, or leave your plate untouched.” She sipped her tea and added another small lump of sugar. “Do what you wish for a change, Jenny.”

  “I suppose you are right.” Jenny slathered butter on a steaming hot roll and sank her teeth into it. “I could eat nothing but Mrs. Morgan’s rolls and be satisfied.” She closed her eyes and savored the sweet, yeasty bread that melted on her tongue.

  “That’s the contented look you’ll have when you catch your husband.” Celinda laughed, dabbing more marmalade onto her roll.

  “Celinda.” Jenny laughed in spite of herself. “I hope I will look a good deal happier with my husband than I do with this roll.”

  “Well, perhaps a bit more.” Her friend sipped her tea, a smile still on her lips. “It’s a good thing I know exactly what you need to do to secure a young, handsome, titled gentleman.” Celinda turned inquisitive eyes toward her. “Have you set your cap for Lord Somersby? He’s quite an eligible parti. One day you’d be a marchioness.”

  Jenny chewed in silence, remembering her encounters with the tall, blonde lord. Somersby was dashing and very good looking. He seemed to be paying her a lot of attention in just two days. Still, he’d abandoned her on the dance floor last night during Blind Man’s Bluff. Thank God Alec had rescued her. His bright blue eyes had been such a welcome sight.

  “Good morning, Miss Crowley.”

  She jumped as Alec sat down beside her. Lord, as if her thoughts had summoned him. She swallowed and the bread got stuck in her throat. Coughing brought tears to her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” His brows puckered with concern.

  Jenny nodded, still sputtering into her napkin.

  “Good morning, Mr. Isley.” Celinda beamed at him. �
��Have you ever heard of running the mistletoe?”

  “I don’t believe I have, Lady Celinda.” He smiled and shook his head, his hair like burnished gold in the sunlight.

  Celinda grinned and sipped her tea. “Then we are all in for a very educational morning.”

  * * * *

  The long cold trek into the woods surrounding Marbury Place proved uneventful, despite the excitement that continually bubbled up inside Jenny. She, Celinda, Alec, Lord Somersby and Aunt Arabella rode in the family coach. The remainder of the party followed behind in two of Lord Marbury’s hunting brakes, well bundled against the cold that had intensified overnight, although new snow had not fallen.

  Jenny shivered as she slid from beneath the warm plaid carriage blanket and stepped onto the brownish-green grass covering the hard-packed earth. The footing here was good, but she glanced at the woods where the party would cut down greenery for decorating the Great Hall. A mat of damp multi-colored leaves covered the forest floor providing a much more slippery surface. She glanced at her new half-boots and hoped she didn’t make a spectacle of herself with an ungainly fall.

  “We’ll warm up quickly, Miss Crowley,” Lord Somersby said, falling into step with her as they headed into the pine scented woods. “We’ve got to walk a fair distance to get to the best greenery and then of course, running the mistletoe will keep us quite warm.”

  On the tip of her tongue to ask him about that particular custom, Jenny instead turned to her aunt, several paces behind her. “Aunt Arabella, what is this running the mistletoe Lady Celinda told me about? I’ve not heard of it before.”

  “Well, that is a bit of a story.” Her aunt laughed and linked arms with her. “It’s a particular custom in Marbury’s family. His mother is German and when she married, she brought a lot of those customs to England. That’s why we celebrate Christmas with a Christmas tree.”

  “I’d wondered about that,” Jenny said with a smile. “Mama thought it very odd when she first heard of it.”