“Still in the boot, but—”
“It’s jammed shut by the angle of the carriage and I couldn’t get it open.”
“But all my things are in the trunk,” Lucilla wailed.
“Now don’t fuss, Lucilla,” he said firmly. “The trunk is stuck in the boot, and that’s where it will have to stay until we get the carriage pulled back up on to the road. My valise and the bandboxes were, as you know, strapped to the top of the carriage, which is why they almost got washed away. Your trunk is perfectly secure. I know you want your things, but it’s not as if anyone can steal them, can they? If I can’t get to it, nobody can.”
Lucilla opened her mouth to argue, and Allie realized a distraction was called for. “Let us go into the sitting room,” she said. “Lucilla, you will find some games in the cupboard beneath the window. Let us play and take our minds off our woes.”
“Excellent notion,” Lord Kelsey said crisply, and held the door for his sister, who trailed reluctantly from the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
After dinner they played cards for the rest of the evening, and Allie found herself laughing more than she had for a long time.
You got to know people quickly over cards; Lucilla was daring, impulsive, intensely competitive, but hilariously inconsistent. Her brother, on the other hand, was a demon card player, intelligent, observant, and cunningly strategic, but on the rare occasions he was beaten, he took his defeat lightly and well.
The three of them soon fell to behaving like old friends, abusing each other good-naturedly and laughing when disaster struck or a daring win was achieved. But all the time, Allie was subtly aware of Lord Kelsey’s attention. He was a powerful distraction.
Finally, it was time to go to bed. Earlier in the evening, Lord Kelsey had lit a fire in each bedroom, so they waited, warm and welcoming.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asked Allie as she packed the cards away.
She glanced out of the window where snow was falling steadily. “It depends on the snow. I was hoping to collect greenery to decorate the house for Christmas.”
“Are you expecting visitors?” he asked.
“No, it’s just for me.” She hesitated and decided there was no point in hiding it. “This will be my last Christmas at The Oakes—I’m moving to Bath in the New Year, so I want to celebrate Christmas the way I used to as a child, a kind of farewell to my childhood home.”
He said nothing, made no intrusive query, but he looked at her with that steady, unsettling gaze that seemed to see much more than she wished.
“Oh, I love decorating for Christmas,” Lucilla exclaimed. “Can we help? John, can we, before we leave, I mean?”
He said with a rueful expression, “We might not be leaving tomorrow at all if this snow keeps up. I could no doubt make my way to the nearest village, but whether the road would be passable or not is another matter. We might be forced to trespass on Miss Fenton’s hospitality for more than a night.”
“You’re very welcome to stay for as long as necessary,” Allie said warmly. “We’ve plenty of food, and I’ve enjoyed your company very much.” And it was true. She couldn’t recall when she’d had such a delightfully cozy and pleasant evening with such easy and congenial company.
“Then we’ll collect greenery tomorrow?” Lucilla asked. She seemed to have put all thoughts of her trunk aside.
“Yes, if the weather allows it.”
The next morning was Christmas Eve. Light, powdery snow continued to drift down, but it didn’t deter them from going out to collect greenery, so after a hearty breakfast of porridge, ham, and scrambled eggs, they bundled up well and set off.
They gathered lengths of green ivy, sprigs of holly vibrant with red berries, and fragrant boughs of pine. And even though Allie insisted it wasn’t at all necessary, Lucilla sent her brother up a tree to cut a large bunch of mistletoe. As he handed his prize to his sister, he gave Allie a smile that set her cheeks glowing—and not just from the cold.
Lucilla waited until Lord Kelsey’s back was turned and sent a snowball whizzing through the air that caught him square on the back of the neck.
He turned. “Oho, war, is it?” and the fight was on. Snowballs whizzed back and forth and the air rang with laughter and shrieks. Lucilla was a surprisingly good shot—brothers who played cricket, she explained—and she and Allie ganged up against her brother. Then the snow started to fall again, this time in earnest, and they gathered up their greenery and made their way back to the house, cheeks and fingers and tips of noses glowing with cold and life and laughter.
Once inside they changed into dry clothes and met in the kitchen for luncheon—sausage and vegetable hot pot that Allie had popped into the oven before they went out.
“Unless this snow stops soon, we might not get to Lady Holly’s at all,” Lord Kelsey commented, looking out of the window. “Not that I’d mind. I’d be happy to stay here for the whole of Christmastide, if Allie would have us.” At some stage during the morning, they’d become Allie and John; a snowball fight had a way of melting formality.
“John, don’t you dare say so!” his sister exclaimed, then blushed and hastily added, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, Allie—your hospitality has been wonderful. It’s just that I do soooo want to dance at Lady Holly’s Christmas ball.”
Allie laughed. “I know, and I’m not the least bit offended. And I’m sure the snow will stop in time for you to make the journey. It’s not far to Lady Holly’s, and we have four whole days before the ball. Now, anyone interested in decorating the house?”
They’d gathered far too much greenery for just the sitting room and so they decorated the hall and even the kitchen as well. Allie produced a thick roll of red tartan ribbon and Lucilla set herself to fashioning bows and bunches of tartan-enhanced greenery, which Allie and Lord Kelsey hung, draped, and suspended from every possible position. By the time they’d finished, the house looked gloriously festive and smelled fragrant and Christmassy.
While Lucilla and her brother tidied up the mess, Allie went to prepare supper—leek and potato soup, with cheese and ham on toast followed by apple tart.
“Do you need a hand?” a deep voice behind her asked.
“Thank you, but it’s just a matter of heating things and not letting them burn,” she told him. “My cook left me extremely well provided for.”
“As I see.” He eyed the apple tart with approval.
“You could bring some wood in,” Allie suggested. “The woodpile is through that door.”
Lord Kelsey went to fetch the wood, and Lucilla entered. “Could you set the table please, Lucilla?” Allie asked.
“I’m not sure where everything is. Couldn’t I stir the soup instead?” Lucilla suggested.
Allie handed her the spoon. “Go ahead,” she said and began to set the table.
Lord Kelsey brought in the wood and was stacking it in the wood bin beside the stove, when Lucilla said, “Allie, can you check this soup please?” in an odd-sounding voice. Allie hurried over, just as Lord Kelsey straightened.
“Oh, look, mistletoe!” Lucilla exclaimed, pointing. Allie looked, and there, over the fireplace where it had not been a minute ago, hung a bunch of mistletoe tied with a tartan ribbon. “Now you have to kiss her, John.”
Lord Kelsey looked down at Allie. “I’m afraid my sister is a minx.” His deep, quiet voice seemed to vibrate right through her.
Allie felt a blush rising. She tried not to look too self-conscious and lifted her face, expecting a lighthearted buss on the lips, which was her experience of mistletoe kisses in the past.
Instead, he cupped her chin in one big hand and gazed for a long moment into her eyes. It felt as though he was seeing her clear through to her soul. She waited, breathlessly, and finally he covered her mouth with his. His lips were firm and warm and a streak of heat flickered through her, startling Allie.
She blinked and swallowed and found she was clutching his arms. He stared down at her a moment,
seeming to ask a silent question, then his eyes darkened and he bent to kiss her again. His kiss was warm and firm and possessive and it seemed to fill an aching void in Allie she hadn’t realized was there until this moment. She leaned into him, kissing him back with a hunger that surprised her.
Lucilla’s laughter and clapping broke the spell. “Oh, famous! The first kiss of Christmas! See, Allie, I told you we needed mistletoe!”
Fighting her blushes, Allie returned to stirring soup. It was, after all, just a kiss—well, two kisses—and prompted entirely by mistletoe. A tradition, pure and simple. So she’d gotten a little carried away. She would not think any more about it.
But of course she couldn’t get it out of her mind. It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed, but never had a kiss been like that. Like a small lightning flash passing between them.
Had he felt it, too?
For the rest of the evening, whenever John Kelsey’s blue gaze settled on her—which it did too often for her peace of mind—she felt herself warming.
Her card game went to pieces. Each time he looked at her, she forgot entirely what cards she’d played before. Thankfully, Lord Kelsey didn’t seem to mind, and when Lucilla restlessly got up and walked over to the pianoforte, he tossed his cards aside and said, “Yes, Luce, give us a tune.”
And because it was Christmas Eve, Lucilla chose a carol, and then they were gathered around the piano singing, their voices blending, the fire blazing, the air inside fragrant with pine and beeswax, while outside the snow continued falling, softly and silently.
It was a Christmas Eve to remember, Allie thought.
After mince pies washed down with hot milk and honey—brandy in Lord Kelsey’s case—they collected their lanterns to go up to bed. Lucilla went first.
Halfway up the stairs, she suddenly stopped and turned around. “Well? Are you two blind?” Another bunch of mistletoe hung over the stairs.
“Go on up to bed, baggage,” Lord Kelsey told her. “We can manage without you.”
Laughing, Lucilla went. Allie made to follow her, but a large hand stopped her and a deep voice said, “You’re not going to run out on me, are you? When there’s mistletoe waiting?”
“Oh, it’s just a silly old country tradition,” Allie mumbled. She didn’t meet his eyes; she was afraid her desperate desire for his kiss would be embarrassingly obvious.
His eyes gleamed in the lamplight. “Some traditions are worth preserving,” he murmured, and drew her against him.
At the touch of his lips, she trembled and without thinking slid her hands up over his chest to twine around his neck. And pull him closer. At his prompting, she opened her mouth to him and the taste of him flooded her senses, a dark masculinity laced with a hint of brandy. Intoxicating. Addictive.
Finally he broke the kiss and eased back a little. Slowly, reluctantly, she loosened her grip around his neck and let her hands slide down his chest. His breathing was ragged and uneven. As was hers. She could feel his heart thudding beneath her palms.
“Well,” he said after a long moment spent just looking down at her. “This mistletoe is dangerous, isn’t it?”
She didn’t know what to say. Was the kiss just a lighthearted Christmas pastime for him? He was a sophisticated man of experience. No doubt he was used to such exchanges. She was not.
She took refuge in convention and propriety. “Good night, Lord Kelsey,” she murmured, and forcing herself to let go of him, she grabbed her lantern and hurried up the stairs on legs that were distinctly rubbery.
Safely in her bed, shivering between cold sheets, she relived the kiss in every detail. The way he smelled, tasted, the way he’d held her against him, his strength, the way he’d made her feel. She curled up, her body so alive and throbbing.
Only a few more days until Lady Holly’s ball. Would he dance with her? He would, of course, even if it was only out of politeness, but she wanted, oh, how she wanted it to be the waltz. To twirl in his arms under the glittering lights of the crystal chandelier, be touched by the magic that happened year after year at Lady Holly’s Christmas ball. When people fell in love.
She fell asleep hoping he would dance the waltz with her. After that, it was in God’s hands. As Lady Holly had said, it would be her last chance....
But then, was that not what Lady Holly’s ball was all about? Last chances.
She hugged the thought to herself.
CHAPTER FIVE
Christmas morning dawned white and cold. The snow was lighter now, sifting down like feathers. There was too much snow for them to get to church, but Allie didn’t mind. A hush had fallen over a landscape etched in shades of silver and white.
“The world looks so quiet and peaceful,” she said, “As it should be at Christmas.”
“Certainly it’ll be more peaceful now that Napoleon is safely incarcerated,” John Kelsey commented.
The Kelsey siblings helped Allie prepare the Christmas dinner—John had insisted, and Lucilla was happy to join in—it was a novelty for both of them. Under normal circumstances, Lord Kelsey and his sister would never even step into a kitchen, let alone help with the cooking or fire tending.
Mrs. Meadows had left a fat capon to be baked, with strict instructions for the stuffing, so Lucilla was crumbling a stale loaf of bread, while John was chopping onions.
From his demeanor, last night’s shattering kiss might never have happened. Allie found his attitude confusing.
When he’d come down to breakfast that morning he’d wished Allie happy Christmas with a light kiss on the cheek, but he’d kissed his sister the same way a moment later. Not by word or glance did he seem to be affected by it. Unlike Allie.
“John saw Napoleon once, you know,” Lucilla said, frowning in concentration as she grated a crust of bread into a bowl.
“Only because I’m tall and could see over the heads of some other fellows,” her brother said. “For all that he cast a long shadow over Europe, he’s quite a small man.”
“Were you a soldier for long?” Allie asked.
He nodded. “From the age of sixteen. Being a younger son, I needed a career. I was a hey-go-mad young buck and the army appealed. It suited me perfectly.”
“Do you miss the army life?”
“It suited me then, and I miss the comradeship at times, but . . .” He smiled. “Peace is a fine thing. And though learning about such things as crop rotation and drainage occupies my time, it turns out to be a great deal more interesting than I would have imagined at sixteen.”
Allie laughed. “I know. It sounds terribly dry, doesn’t it, but the more you learn, the more fascinating it becomes.” Seeing his surprised expression, she explained. “We’ve been experimenting with different crops here, too. It’s amazing the difference it can make.”
“You have?”
“I’ve been more or less managing the estate for the last five years,” she said, adding with a droll expression, “but please don’t mention it in public—it’s terribly unfeminine, Lady Holly tells me. I think she fears I might introduce the subject of manure to the drawing room.”
He laughed, and for the next few minutes they talked about the experiments in agriculture that were changing the face of farming and estate management in England.
Lucilla mixed herb, sausage, and chopped onion into the breadcrumbs. “I didn’t know you knew Lady Holly, Allie. Are you going to the ball, too?”
“Yes, I’ve known her all my life. Lady Holbourne and my mother were friends.” Allie said. “Now for the pudding.”
The Christmas pudding had been hanging in its cloth in the cold larder for the last month. Allie carefully lowered it into a kettle of boiling water.
“That’s a sizeable pudding,” John Kelsey commented, watching. “You certainly have been left well provided for.”
Allie laughed. “I know. Thank goodness you two are here to help eat some of it. Mrs. Meadows is used to cooking for a much larger household. Since Papa died and my cousin inherited, the household is much
reduced.”
“Your cousin?”
And she found herself telling him about Cousin Howard.
He frowned. “You have to leave here?”
She wiped down the table with a damp cloth. “There’s no need to look so concerned. I have a small nest egg from my mother, and I am planning to move to Bath. Such an interesting place, Bath, and I will have a much more social existence—as long as I remember not to talk about manure.”
That made them laugh. She didn’t tell them the nest egg was miniscule and that she would be working in Bath; she had no desire to be an object of pity—and besides, working with lively young girls would be more sociable.
She finished stuffing the capon and put it in the oven to roast, and set them to peeling potatoes, parsnips, carrots, turnips, and celery root, which would roast with the capon.
She asked him about Spain then, and about being in the army, and he told them stories about his days as a soldier, and some of his adventures. He even touched lightly on some of the grimmer times. He portrayed them as amusing adventures, but Allie could read between the lines.
They talked and talked while the pudding bubbled in its pot and the fire crackled and the kitchen filled with delicious smells, while outside a light southerly wind soughed softly through bare branches.
Lucilla seemed as interested as Allie in her brother’s tales, and when he left the room to tend the sitting room fire, she said, “This is all new to me—John never talks about being in the army—not to me or to Mama or anyone else I know. But he seems to like talking to you.”
Allie felt a small glow of pleasure at that, but she didn’t let herself refine too much on it. They were snowed in and making the best of an accidental situation. John Kelsey hadn’t given her any indication that the kisses they’d shared had affected him in any way. She’d been lacking the companionship of like-minded people for so long, she’d forgotten what it was like. That was most likely the reason for the strong sense of connection she felt.
They moved in very different circles, she reminded herself. He was Lord Kelsey of Kelsey Manor; she was simply the woman whose doorstep he’d landed on. He was kind-hearted—the sort of man who would give up a week of hunting so that his little sister could attend a ball. Allie was a country girl—no, not a girl, a spinster, well and truly on the shelf—who’d never been anywhere, not even to a ball, a lady of birth, but no fortune, who was going to be a teacher.