Page 15

Next to Miss Penrose sat the quiet Miss Fairchild.

She was, undeniably, the greatest beauty of all the ladies present.

Her lush, dark hair piled upon her perfectly shaped head.

Her lips were of the exact fullness to make them most desirable.

Her lashes were long and seductive. But she was untouchable.

Her father was a brigadier. Any man who thought to take liberties with his daughter could find himself posted to Australia.

Miss Fairchild was therefore quite safe from being surprised under the mistletoe—the very public kissing bough. But there were other options. William patted the tiny sprig in his pocket. It held just one berry. He only needed one.

“I wonder what the halls of Munro House look like tonight?” Lady Penrose mused.

“It is the new viscountess’s first opportunity to add her touch to what has been, I believe, a rather somber affair for some years.

When the dowager left to live with her married daughter, the young viscount did not host parties or pay attention to frivolities like decoration.

Lord Howell was never much for idle amusement.

Do you think his bride will have changed him?

I understand you have met her, Lieutenant Cole.

Would she be the sort to influence a man so set in his ways? ”

All heads swiveled toward William, curiosity clearly piqued.

He froze. The mention of Ellena had been wholly unexpected and he was not prepared.

Speaking of her was still quite impossible for him.

The mere thought of her was only just becoming bearable.

Three months had passed. But the image of her in the garden—denouncing him—was burned into his soul as if it had just occurred.

“I… I…” he stuttered. “I’m afraid I barely knew her,” he lied. “I happened to visit my sister while Elle—I mean, Miss Trenton was staying as a guest before her nuptials. I did not even attend the wedding.”

“But you must have formed some impression of her. Even a superficial one. What did you make of her? We thought she was rather an oddity. So many rumors…” Lady Penrose collected herself. “Of course, now she is everything a viscountess should be. Munro is lucky to have her.”

The words that William had struggled to say now came rushing all at once to his lips. “I assure you, when I knew her as Miss Trenton, she was a model of perfection. I cannot imagine that has changed just because she married…” He restrained himself with difficulty. “Him.”

“Goodness,” cried Lady Penrose. “The model of perfection, you say. That is fine praise indeed. Well, then, I think it is safe to say that festivities will abound at the great house tonight. Perhaps she will even persuade Lord Howell to host a ball in the spring. That would be a wonderful opportunity for us all to celebrate their happiness.” She glanced at her daughter.

“And it wouldn’t hurt to have Munro’s finest gathered under one roof. ”

Miss Penrose’s face lit up. “Oh, Mama! Do you think they might? Really? A ball at Munro House!” She clapped her hands in delight. “I would need a new dress,” she decided promptly.

“Hmph, one would think you had enough dresses to clothe half of England,” her father grumbled.

“Papa, you are funny.” Miss Penrose laughed.

“I can’t go to a ball at Munro House in any of those old things.

” She fluffed her skirts and smiled coyly at William with her cat-like green eyes.

Then they widened, and she asked with some excitement, “Would the officers be invited too? Surely, Lord Howell would want to shake their hands for their service to king and country.”

William suppressed the urge to pull a sour face. He certainly had no desire to shake the hand of the rival who had won. Nor would the viscount want to make pleasant conversation with the man he had chased from Munro only a few months ago.

“If he did, it would only be the field officers,” her father explained. “Sorry, Larson. Not that you aren’t deserving.”

Captain Larson gave a stiff bow with his head. “No need to explain, my lord. Everything has its time and place.”

“Yes. Quite right.” Lord Penrose puffed out his chest.

Good , thought William. Awkward reunion averted .

“I think you are getting ahead of yourself a little, Frances,” Lady Penrose warned.

“Nothing of the matter is decided. But I shall make inquiries. Perhaps even a suggestion or two to the right people.” She sniffed.

“I am sure someone as young as Lady Howell—and so inexperienced in the ways of the nobility—would welcome advice from the more established members of the class.”

William needed fresh air. He couldn’t listen to any more of this pomp and pretense masquerading as genteelness.

They didn’t know Ellena at all. She was nothing like them, and thank goodness for that!

If she were here, she would have put that snooty baroness in her place.

No one could step on her and get away with it.

It got her into trouble sometimes, but at least she stood her ground.

Watching them imagine themselves superior to her just because they’d been born into position made his blood boil.

He edged his way around the room until he reached the door to the hallway.

When he was sure no one was looking, he slipped out and headed down the corridor to the library, a room he might have an excuse to be in if caught.

It was dimly lit but empty. William sank into a chair and rubbed a hand roughly across his forehead and hair.

He had to stop getting so worked up whenever Ellena was mentioned As long as he was stationed in Munro, Lady Howell would be a popular topic. He would have to get used to it.

At least no one was harassing him about matters in Fernbridge.

A small mercy. He imagined Miss Verity Lockhart was just as happy to be free of their once-expected alliance as he was.

Although she did have an annoying habit of creeping into his thoughts.

Like now. Why, when he smarted at the memory of Ellena—whom he’d loved passionately and lost—did his mind always lead him back to the vicar’s daughter?

She couldn’t possibly compare. She was so… so…

Fascinating. She was fascinating. A challenge. A mystery. She wasn’t as feisty as Ellena, but she had a quiet strength. Being around her had grounded him, albeit briefly. Long enough to focus his mind and choose his own path forward. For that, he owed her much.

What would now become of poor Miss Lockhart?

Would her parents find her a better match?

Or would she be a spinster, with her nose ever in a book, muttering about butterflies and beetles to anyone who’d listen?

It seemed wrong for those piercing-blue eyes not to light up as they had at the pond.

She should be outdoors, her pale hair shimmering in the sunlight, net in hand, sketchbook waiting.

Would she, instead, be condemned to a parlor, serving tea to her husband’s guests?

Or hidden in a cramped space in a boarding house, left behind as her much older siblings gradually were lost to her?

William didn’t like these thoughts at all.

He shook himself mentally to cast them off.

He was not responsible for Miss Lockhart.

And, just down the corridor, sat Miss Fairchild, with lips that begged to be kissed.

She couldn’t hurt him. And he owed her nothing.

It would only be a moment of bliss, a tender memory.

She would blush whenever she saw him again.

A secret shared. That was all he needed now.

If he said it often enough, he could convince himself of it.

William got up from his chair. He still needed to hang the mistletoe. The evening was full of promise. The past should stay in the past.

He made his way back to the bright space of the yellow drawing room. Seizing the branch of mistletoe, he looked about for a suitable spot to place it. All at once, Miss Penrose launched from her seat with what could only be described as a squeal of delight.

“Oh, Lieutenant Cole, you are standing under the mistletoe, and so am I!”

William looked at the bough in his hand. “Well, strictly speaking, I am not quite under it. Not yet, anyway.”

“That is easily remedied,” she purred. “You merely have to lift your arm, and I am yours.”

“Frances!” Lady Penrose’s voice was thick with shock. “This is not how ladies of good breeding conduct themselves! Sit down at once!”

“But, Mama, I might not have another chance if…”

“That is quite enough,” Lady Penrose hissed. “Sit. Down.”

Frances Penrose sat down sulkily, all grace and decorum quite forgotten.

Her mother looked up rather helplessly at William.

“I apologize for my daughter, Lieutenant. She is a little overzealous, what with this being her first experience of Twelfth Night. She is not aware that we wait until after dinner before the more, shall we say, frivolous events of the evening.”

William grinned at the glowering face of Frances Penrose. “Then may I be so bold as to say, I hope dinner may be brief.”

The effect was immediate. Miss Penrose settled at once, all traces of sour mood gone as quickly as it had come. Her fingers lifted to her neck, which she arched coyly at him.

Saints above, she is such a minx!

“Um, I will probably need a ladder to hang the mistletoe,” William said to no one in particular.

Lord Penrose turned to a footman. “Fetch the lieutenant a ladder and hold it for him.” While he waited for his instructions to be carried out, he inquired of William, “Where were you thinking of, Cole? The chandelier?”

“Oh, goodness no!” Lady Penrose exclaimed. That is in the center of the room. People will be constantly coming and going beneath it and there will be far too rapid a depletion of the berries. No, I think a quiet corner somewhere. What catches your eye, Lieutenant?”