Teach Me Under the Mistletoe (21 page)

"I'm having a gown made for my granddaughter…" The dowager kept her head high, her blank gaze straight ahead as she spoke in regal tones. "She is to attend the Kringles' Christmas ball at Holly Hall, in London, where her parents and I hope she will…" She heaved a sigh. "…attract the attention of a suitor."

Ahh… so 'twas all about a granddaughter's quest for a mate.
The young woman in question winced and a deep wine color stole up from her neck into her cheeks. And yet, she met his questioning gaze straight on.

Then she smiled. Not one of those simpering, falsely gracious smiles he'd seen all too often on the faces of young chits in search of a good match. The lady's smile emanated from laughing blue eyes as she offered a helpless lift of one shoulder. The floor seemed to crumble around him, leaving Phillip standing on uneven ground.

After a hard swallow, he recovered his wits enough to lean over and examine the samples of cloth set before the two women. A fine fragrance wafted to tease his nostrils… what was that scent? Not quite floral, stronger, a bit acrid, reminding him of the pine wood near his home. Her grace gave a delicate cough and Phillip forced his attention back to the requested task.

By far, he preferred the brilliance of the amethyst and lavender swatches. But he pretended to consider the fabric before he said so, noting that the granddaughter's gaze strayed frequently to the pale blue cloth, and that those swatches rested closer to her right hand.

He smiled and inclined his head to the side. She wore a day dress in a brighter shade of periwinkle, so blue might be a color she favored. Perhaps because her eyes reflected a blue as deep as the sea off the cliffs at Dover. Yes, fabric in shades of blue might set her eyes off. But the amethyst would bring out the glints of violet in the outer rings of her irises.

The lady quirked an eyebrow. Slowly, she lifted one finger and pointed toward the blue swatches. So, she wanted him to choose the blue. She was willing to put on a show of allowing a stranger to make the choice for her grandmother, but she sought the safety of what was likely a typical choice for her.

A slow smile tugged at Phillip's lips.
Only if you want to appear as wraithlike as a young chit at her debut, my lady
.

"The amethyst and lavender," he murmured. "That is what would draw my eye from across a crowded ballroom."

One fine brow arched briefly, and then the granddaughter narrowed her eyes and her defiant gaze collided with Phillip's. So much for the indulgent smile and laughing eyes. She pressed her lips into a firm line. But it was her eyes that stole Phillip's ability to draw a breath. Her blue gaze sparked with purple glints as she allowed him to see her temper.

A warm smile stole over the dowager's features. "Thank you, Mr. Green." She turned her smile in Madame Duroche's direction. "We should like a proper gown fitted with the amethyst and lavender."

Effectively dismissed, Phillip offered the young lady another bow. The smile still stretched his mouth upward, and he bit back the urge to laugh at her outraged expression.

He took his time leaving, strolling along the edge of the store and admiring the bright colors. A whisper of the scent that had clung to the stranger chased after him. For the first time in his thirty years, he experienced the desire to follow an impulse. But of course, such things had a time and place…

The Kringles' holiday ball… Now, that presented all sorts of possibilities.

****

The oaf! Was he so witless he couldn't understand a simple gesture? The memory of his sapphire blue eyes surfaced. Oh, they had twinkled with merriment as they'd followed her gesture. Then he'd smiled and deliberately named the other color as his preference. The impertinence of the man! Ivy licked her lips. Just the thought of him was like sucking on a lemon!

The man had probably never attended any social function, let alone a ball as prestigious as the Kringles' holiday gathering. What had Grandmama been thinking to announce to a stranger how they hoped to gain the attention of a suitor? Why not just hand her a sign and set her to marching along Piccadilly in London?

"Hold still, Lady Ivy," scolded Madame from behind her. She gave a little push in between Ivy's shoulders. "Straighten up,
chérie
. I need to get your
correct
measurements."

Ivy puffed out an exasperated breath. Thanks to
him
, she stood in Madame Duroche's fitting area, draped in shades of purple while the dressmaker measured, gathered bits of cloth in her nimble fingers, and shaped it over and around Ivy's body.

"The rich tones are a perfect match for your coloring." Monique pulled the fabric away and spread it out on the sturdy oak table she used for measuring and cutting. Smiling, she reached around Ivy's waist, drawing a bit of string to meet in front. Then she dropped one end and stepped over to her table, where she laid the string alongside her measuring stick.

"I think I preferred the blue," murmured Ivy, smoothing a hand over her petticoat to straighten an errant wrinkle. "Who was that gentleman?"

Tilting her head to one side, Monique leveled a perplexed gaze on Ivy. "The gentleman? Oh, he is… a client." She wrote something on the piece of paper next to her measuring stick. Then she looked up with a satisfied smile. "Très bon. Your measurements have not changed since your last dress fitting."

Ivy glanced down at her slender figure, what she could see of it beneath the white muslin undergarment. "Please don't tell Grandmama. She often tells me I am as lean as a stick."

"Then I shall make you a gown that will show you are no
stick
." Still smiling, Monique picked up the length of lavender satin and walked back to the dais where Ivy stood shifting from foot to foot. "It's all in the way the fabric is arranged." She laid the soft cloth over Ivy's shoulders and drew it into an X across her chest. Then she stepped to her work table and chose the darker velvet again. This, she wrapped around Ivy until it met in the middle, just below her breasts. "Hold still now," she cautioned in soothing tones and deftly secured the fabric in front with several pins.

Ivy's eyes strayed to the wall, where the blue fabric had been stowed. If she leaned forward just a bit, she could make out the bolt with the sapphire cloth where it rested against a roll of satin in a pleasing shade of emerald.

"Up! Stand up straight." Still tugging and fluffing the fabric, Monique gave a gentle push inward between Ivy's shoulders. "Your grandmother was quite exacting in her instructions,
chérie
. Your gown for the Kringles' ball is to be made with the amethyst and lavender."

"But Grandmama…" Ivy shook her head. Chloris was resting in Madame Duroche's lounge on the upper level. Of course, it was no use trying to convince Monique to switch the fabric. She'd never defy the dowager duchess. Besides, although her grandmother would never see the gown, she'd know. Someone would mention the color and Grandmama would realize Ivy had defied her.

"He was correct, you see, Lady Ivy?" Monique gathered more fabric and arranged the folds. "
Monsieur
Phillip made the bold choice for you that you never would have made for yourself, and he was correct." She pointed toward the looking glass standing off to the side. "You always choose a shade of blue, but the amethyst and lavender bring out the light in your eyes. Look. See?"

Ivy stared at her reflection. The young girl gazing back at her should have been familiar. And in a way she was. Her chestnut hair still framed her face in soft curls as Elise had arranged it for her earlier. But the rather plain cornflower blue eyes she'd seen in every mirror since she'd been a child had somehow taken on a deeper tone, leaning more toward violet, almost as though they were borrowing the color from the material draping her shoulders.

She blinked with surprise.

"You see?" Monique waved her hand from the cloth up toward Ivy's eyes. "The fabric enhances the colors in your eyes." She lifted one shoulder. "Quite amazing, actually, that a man should notice such a small detail. Do you not think so?"

Ivy leaned closer to the mirror and studied her reflection while she considered Monique's words. Once again the question of the stranger's identity rose in her mind, but this time she held her tongue. With her vague answer, Monique had made it quite clear she'd said all she planned to on that subject. Oh, what did it matter? Obviously he was no one of consequence, or Ivy would have recognized him. Hampstead simply wasn't large enough for members of the peerage or their agents to be overlooked.

"The fabric is lovely in any case," conceded Ivy. "I've never had anything like it."

Monique placed another pin in the fabric between Ivy's breasts and then stepped back. "You will be the most coveted lady at the Kringles' winter ball, Lady Ivy."

"The most coveted by what, though?" Ivy wondered aloud.

Monique angled her head. "Your parents are still pushing the marriage issue?"

"It seems they have become even more desperate with Laurel's marriage," said Ivy, wrinkling her nose.

"How is your sister these days?" Monique made a note on her paper and then removed several pins from the velvet and stripped it away from Ivy's body.

"She's quite happy with Lord Adrian." Ivy lifted her arms to give Monique room to work.

Yes, Laurel was deliriously happy, and it wasn't that Ivy begrudged her the happiness. Appearances being everything, with Laurel two years her junior, their parents had begun to make references despairing of Ivy's impending spinsterhood.

"I trust you had a pleasant season in London?" asked Monique as she lifted the silk from Ivy's shoulders and laid it on the table.

Ivy nodded, well aware that Monique was interested in finding out whether any in the nearly a dozen potential suitors her parents had arranged for her to meet had been a fitting match. "It was quite lovely, Monique, and all the more so because of the beautiful gowns you stitched for me."

Monique beamed at the compliment, but she expelled an impatient breath and turned away when Ivy didn't elaborate. In truth, Ivy had nothing to elaborate on. Without question, any number of men she'd been introduced to during her time in London would have pleased her parents. But they wouldn't have had to live with any of them. She shuddered. She'd never met such dismal prospects for falling in love. Not, she admitted, that love had anything to do with being married off to avoid becoming a spinster. But each suitor in succession had been worse than the last, as far as Ivy had been concerned.

And each was likely to attend the Kringles' holiday ball. She sighed.

"What an incredibly sad sound,
chéri
," murmured Monique. She'd folded the fabric and laid it neatly on one end of the table. She fluffed out a length of white muslin. "What can possibly be so
tragique
?"

Ivy giggled. "It's not tragic, Madame." Or not especially so, at any rate. More of an annoyance. "I met several gentlemen while I was in London… But, er… well, none held a great deal of appeal."

"Ah… you lacked the
étincelle
… mmm — the spark between you! No?"

In her direct manner, Monique had managed to light on the heart of the problem. While for the most part, Ivy's callers had been pleasant, if somewhat foppish at times, none had managed to ignite her interest in more than a passing manner. She shuddered. And the last one in particular had been most unpleasant when she had declined his invitation to attend the Kringles' ball on his arm, having found him far too amorous for her taste.

Still, the Kringles' annual ball was a widely attended event, and she certainly would have a chaperone in the capable Elise. It might have been better to attend on Lord Roland's arm than to be paraded before yet another suitor. For she had no doubt her parents had someone in mind for her to meet. She'd caught them with their heads together in the parlor and they'd fallen to sudden silence at her entry into the room.

Did Grandmama know who the next prospective suitor might be?

"Not every match sparks a flame, you know." Monique wrapped the muslin around Ivy's body and pulled it tight. Nodding with approval, she withdrew the fabric. "Sometimes the best one can hope for is kindness and comfort."

Tears burned the backs of Ivy's eyes. She had no desire to settle for kindness and comfort. Not when Laurel had proven wedded bliss was possible.

Also from Astraea Press

Chapter One

Albuquerque, NM
December 22

Some women are satisfied with one man in their life. There are even women who would say that’s too many. Not me, though. Oh, no. Not me. I get to juggle two.

Avery Weston stormed into her editor’s office and slammed the door behind her. Mitchell peered up from his catastrophe of a desk. The newsroom had been battling mice off and on for two years now, but Mitchell’s office had remained rodent-free. Her theory?
The little beasts are terrified of getting squashed under a falling stack of paper, or worse, getting lost in this mess and starving to death.