Teach Me Under the Mistletoe (11 page)

But if her sister suspected anything, she didn’t mention it. “I wanted to warn you about the holiday ball.”

Kitty shrugged out of her cloak and draped it over the back of the green wingback chair near the window. Though she acted like she hadn’t a care in the world, her ears perked up as she unfastened her walking gown and pulled it over her head.

Jenny fingered a pink silk ribbon that hung from the pale gray sarsenet day gown she’d retrieved from the rosewood armoire. “Mother’s invited most of the neighbors, and you know what that means.”

“I made out the invitations with her,” murmured Kitty, accepting the gown her sister held out. She knew exactly who had been invited. She’d even taken care to craft Lord Strathern’s invitation herself, hoping he would notice the neat penmanship.

Unexpectedly, thoughts of the note she’d penned to Hugh popped into her mind. She’d penned the first one with precise strokes as her governess had taught. But when she’d sent the second missive, afraid of being caught, she had hastily scribbled the words across the page. What had he thought of that? Warmth swelled within, and the corners of her lips lifted as she drew the sarsenet over her head with a swish.

“…don’t know why Mother chose to invite those harpies, but there you have it.”

“H-harpies?” What on earth was Jenny talking about?

Jenny sighed with exasperation. “Penelope and Cicely. Have you listened to nothing I’ve been telling you?”

“Pen—” Kitty stared at her sister as a veil of horror stole over her. “No. That can’t be right. Cicely was invited with her parents, but Penelope is staying with her aunt and uncle in London. There’s a gentleman…”

Jenny grimaced, shaking her head. “Not any longer, there’s not. Lord Westin seemed to take offense at Lady Penelope’s waspish manner when he overheard her telling Miss Anne Hammell that she expected him to make an offer for her over the holidays.”

She tittered, but Kitty barely heard it over the blood rushing in her ears. “But I thought… that is, they made the perfect couple…”

The titter became a bark of unladylike laughter. “Yes, apparently everyone but Lord Westin
thought
… In truth, she’s quite fortunate she hasn’t been ruined with the way she took liberties, dodging behind her uncle’s back, sneaking out without her chaperone.”

Kitty snorted. “I have no doubt she believed she could assure herself of Lord Westin’s cooperation had she been ruined.” If she had to see the quarrelsome Lady Penelope over the holidays, at least she could imagine how desperate the other girl must have been, and how wise of Lord Westin to break off with her before
his
good reputation was ruined. In the middle of tying the pink ribbon, she glanced over at Jenny and frowned. “How do you know all of this?”

Jenny offered a smug smile. “My dear, I have many sources in the city.”

Kitty thought of her father’s insistence that she join him and her mother for tea. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why Father and Mother have requested I join them for tea…?”

Jenny raised one fine eyebrow. “I expect because it’s the civilized thing to do.” With a secretive smile, she lightly tripped from the room, closing the door with a soft thunk.

“Oh, she knows all right,” muttered Kitty, picking up her hairbrush. One thing her father would expect. When she joined them for tea, she’d best be at her utmost presentable. Once she’d wound her hair into neatness again and pinned it, she added a jeweled comb at the back of her head. Then, after drawing a deep breath to fortify her resolve, Kitty strode to the door.

In the drawing room, she found her mother sitting in one of the crimson damask chairs near the window, a spool of thread rested in her lap and a silver crochet hook glinted between her fingers. A tray with a pot of tea and a plate of scones sat on the drum table. Kitty’s father sat in the matching chair on the other side of the table, his nose planted in a thick, leather-bound book. Noting the three white, china cups decorated with a ring of pink roses, lined up along one edge of the tray Kitty gritted her teeth. No one had poured, which meant they’d awaited her arrival. Her papa glanced up from his book and smiled. Kitty’s breath locked in her throat. He wore his benevolent father face, which meant he was concerned about her, and likely the pair of them had concocted a plan of some sort. One she was quite certain she would find objectionable.

What edict was about to be directed toward her? Kitty strove for as sunny an expression as she could muster. “Good afternoon, Papa.”

“Good afternoon, my dear…” Her father paused, frowned, then closed his book without marking his page and set it next to the tray on the drum table.

Oh dear, he plans to be the Earl of Strickland today.
She stiffened her spine and made a sweeping gesture toward the scones and tea. “These look lovely, Mama.”

“Do sit down, Caroline,” said her father, his tone brusque. He pointed at the brown tweed settee across from what she was beginning to think of as her parents’
trônes
du jour
— thrones of the day for the purposes of her personal audience with them. This was quite likely to be painful. Kitty perched on the edge of the seat and pulled her knees demurely to the side, watching as her mother set aside her crocheting and picked up the teapot.

“You seem to be rising early these days,” observed her father, accepting his tea with a murmured thanks. Louise glared at him, and he cleared his throat. “Where have you been off to so early, my dear?”

Kitty’s hand trembled a bit as she accepted her cup, and some of the dark, steaming liquid spilled over onto the saucer. Her mother slid the tray of scones and cream toward her, but Kitty shook her head. “Thank you, no.” With the knots in her stomach, if she tried to eat, she’d surely embarrass herself.

“Caroline? I asked a question.” Her father paused with his tea halfway to his lips and waited.

“I’ve been walking, Papa.” Kitty brightened her smile. Maybe if Papa saw how happy walking made her…

Her mother sighed. “But the chill—”

With a harsh clearing of his throat, the Earl of Strickland achieved the effect he’d no doubt intended. Louise Tyndall clamped her mouth shut, and Kitty straightened her posture and focused her attention on her father.

“Where do you take yourself off to during these strolls of yours?”

The knots in her belly tightened. She dared not mention the follies as she had to Jenny. “Oh, around the gardens, sometimes near the hedgerows in the lawn. I wander to… different places each day.” She sipped her tea, hoping it didn’t show on her face that she’d told only the partial truth.

“The gardens!” Her mother gasped. “Why the gardens are nothing but mud and dead plants this time of year.”

“Oh, no, they aren’t Mama!” Kitty no longer needed to pretend excitement. “They’re filled with interesting designs. A few sparrows like to fly among the brambles collecting seeds from the pods that are left. And I’ve seen rabbits and the—”
Stop! Don’t mention the reflecting pool!
She forced herself to smile. “…er, well, lots of pleasant things, really.”

“But the cold,” protested her mother again. “You’ll come down with a fever. Or worse!”

“Oh, Mother!” Kitty allowed some of her frustration to show. “It’s no different from ice skating in mid-winter, and a lot warmer, too. I make certain I’m dressed appropriately, and I do come back if I feel cold. Really, I’m not a child.”

“Hrmph,” muttered her mother, but she said nothing else.

“Well, then…” Kitty’s father nodded, clearly quite tired of the conversation. “It seems you take the proper precautions. Do be careful, though. Illness can be a nasty business this time of year.” He took a sip of tea and contemplated his scone, then took a bite.

Kitty eyed a scone and reconsidered eating one. They did look quite delicious, after all. And that pot of cream…

“Where did you go the other day when you took the curricle with young McCollum?” asked her father just as she reached toward the plate.

Instantly Kitty snatched her hand back, her heart fluttering like the wings of a small bird. “Hu— Erm… to whom are you referring, father?”

The skeptical stare Lord Strickland sent her likely quelled his business associates. It certainly made Kitty squirm. “The young man you drove off with in the curricle last week.”

“You know who he is, Kitty.” From the doorway, Jenny’s soft voice seemed to echo through the room. “The groom. His older brother is Papa’s new trainer?”

Kitty glanced at Jenny, trying to fathom what she was up to. One of her sister’s eyes closed and then opened, so quickly Kitty might have imagined it. Had Jenny just winked at her?

The whole room seemed to stop breathing, waiting for her to respond. Jenny stared at her hard, her green eyes seeming to flash a message:
Say something!

“Oh… oh, yes. Is that his name? I’m afraid we barely conversed. Terribly rude of me not to inquire after his name. I asked him to drive because the horses were behaving with a bit too much spirit.” She sipped her tea, watching her family over the rim of her cup.

“But where did you go, dear?” asked her mother.

Kitty inclined her head. “Over to St. John’s to visit with Mrs. Pratt. I’m certain I mentioned it, Mother.” She winced inwardly at the blatant falsehood. She’d pay for that one if she ever got to heaven.

Louise’s forehead creased, and her lips moved soundlessly as she seemed to process Kitty’s declaration. Finally, she gave a tiny shake of her head and smile. “Why, yes, I suppose you must have.”

Kitty took another sip of tea, her tension easing as her mother apparently accepted the lie as truth.

“Well then, I suppose that’s settled,” groused Kitty’s father. He finished off his scone.

“Mother, did you tell Kitty the wonderful news?” asked Jenny, planting herself on the edge of the settee. Her pale yellow day dress with the wide white satin ribbon just under her bosom reminded Kitty of a spring narcissus.

“Wonderful news?” she echoed her sister.

“Why yes, dear,” gushed Louise, becoming animated again. She set aside her teacup. “When I saw how you and young Lord Randall were getting on at dinner the other night, I extended him a last minute invitation to our ball. Even though it was horribly discourteous of me, he accepted.” She turned the full force of her smile on Kitty. “He’s agreed to be your escort for the evening. Now you shan’t be attending alone.”

Kitty’s mouth fell open, and she didn’t bother to close it. Objectionable? She’d thought she would find her parents’ news objectionable? Despicable was more like it.

Chapter Ten

“I cannot believe Mother took it upon herself to ask that gawky jackanapes to escort me!” Lady Caroline prowled the terrace near the wall overlooking the reflecting pond. A ruby red circle dotted each cheek, more from her fury than the cold, Hugh surmised. “It’s not bad enough that I have a tendency to be clumsy. When that man spots a patch of ice ten feet away he falls with the mere
thought
of walking across it!”

Hugh hadn’t a notion how to respond, how to assuage her anger, when all he wanted to do was snatch her up and kiss her until she softened in his arms. He’d known from the start it had been a mistake to agree to her plan. Why he insisted on compounding the blunder by continuing the insanity, he preferred not to dwell upon.

She kicked a stone and kept walking, apparently oblivious to the hapless pebble’s journey through the air straight toward him. Hugh hastily ducked, and it struck one of the thick marble columns of the Roman folly behind him with a sharp clatter, Lady Caroline whirled around, eyes wide.

“Is someone there? What was that noise?”

“An unfortunate bystander touched by yer wrath,” he answered wryly, nodding toward the nick in the column. In truth, he wanted to laugh at her outrage, but he dared not.

The color in her cheeks darkened a shade. For a moment, Hugh allowed himself to hope her temper-filled rant had run its course. Alas, it had not.

“And do you know who Lord Randall’s father is? The Baron of Thistledown.
Thistledown!
” She wrinkled her nose. “Lord Randall shall one day be the Third Baron of
Thistledown
. Have you any idea what thistledown is?”

Hugh raised an eyebrow and waited.

“It’s fluff! Tufts of fluff that a weed gets when its flowers die.” A visible shudder wracked her from head to toe. “As if I could ever— Oh!” She huffed out an exasperated breath. “I may as well begin calling myself Lady Fluff!”

The laughter that Hugh had struggled to hold in freed itself in a loud guffaw.

“Oh, so you find humor in my misery.” Lady Caroline subjected him to a dark glare.

Shaking his head, Hugh bowed at the waist, but he didn’t bother curtailing his mirth. “Not at all, m’lady.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer, and began pacing again.

“I find it humorous that you consider yourself to be in such a position of
misery
.” His laughter trailed off. “Can ye truly not see the advantage in this?”

That halted her in her tracks. Slowly, she turned and captured him in her tumultuous gaze. “Advantage? I shall forever after be paired with Lord Fluff. Every function we attend, I shall be placed next to him at dinner, expected to allow him my first dance — and have no doubt, from now on, we shall both be invited to the same balls and dinners. We will be unofficially a ‘couple’. Everyone will be looking to our parents to announce a match.”

Hugh crossed his arms over his chest. The heavy drumming of his heart suggested it sought release from his body. Better a match with a bumbling lord than one with a rogue, a scoundrel who would take what he wanted and leave her broken and ruined.

“Well, if all goes as ye’ve planned, ye’ll be changing partners before the end of the evening anyway… once Lord Strathern finds himself under the mistletoe with ye.”

“Yes…” she answered, her tone decorated by caution. “But Lord Strathern isn’t likely to… respond if he believes I belong, however unofficially, to another.”

At the thought of either man touching her — under the mistletoe or not — angry heat washed over Hugh, engulfing him, threatening to burn him in the devil’s own pit.