A Mistletoe Masquerade

'Makes it worse.' Will tossed aside his knife and put his prayer book in a drawer. 'You'll forget the rules and she'll not know whether you're serious or not. Unless you are going to offer her a carte blanche? You haven't got a mistress in keeping at the moment, have you?'

'No.' Lucas felt decidedly snappy. Of course he was not going to offer Daisy a carte blanche. Of course he

was not going to get any deeper into this than he already was. But there was the sprig of mistletoe in his pocket, and the memory of her curves and warmth and sweetness to make his body ache and his groin tight.

He bent and picked up Will's discarded boots. 'Do you need anything else?'

'No. Thank you. Go and get some luncheon while you can. But, Lucas-what are you going to do about the Servants' Ball?'

'They have one here?'

Will nodded.

'When?'

'Christmas Day. You need to pull back, Lucas, let her down lightly. If the pair of you spend all evening dancing and making sheep's eyes at each other there'll be hell to pay in the morning.'

'I won't hurt her,' he said tightly, wondering if it was himself who was going to get hurt. His mind seemed all too full of Daisy Lawrence for comfort. 'She thinks me an amusing rogue, I believe. She's too bright to fall for my blue eyes, Will.'

And Daisy certainly did not appear to be inclined to pay him much attention when he reached the kitchens. She was patiently helping one of the lads unravel a skein of Cook's knitting wool the stableyard cat had knotted into a tangle while the kitchen maids bustled about them laying the table for the upper staff to eat their luncheon.

'Get along out of here.' It was the under-butler, his arms full of bottles, arguing with someone unseen at the back door. 'There's nothing we want here.' The person outside must have been persuasive, for eventually he turned and called, 'The potter's here with a cartload of stuff if anyone's interested.'

The young women, apparently uninterested in any hawker not selling ribbons and furbelows, turned back to their tasks by the warm fire, but Cook, arms floury to the elbow, and several of the men braved the cold to look.

The potter had a flatbed cart laden with baskets and pulled by a skinny nag. 'Presents for your loves,' he wheedled. 'Fine serving dishes for your table.'

'I want a good big ashet, and nothing that' 11 chip and crack at the first hot thing that goes on it, either,' Cook said, peering into the biggest basket.

The men went to dig amongst the mugs and bowls, gaily painted with mottoes and flowers.

Idle, Lucas looked over their shoulders, smiling at the naive vigour of some of the decoration. There was a little brownish-green mug, almost the colour of Daisy's eyes. Lucas stretched a long arm and hooked it out, twisting it in his fingers to read the slipware motto. 'I'll take this.' He handed over a few coins, starting a flurry of buying, and went back indoors, asking himself what had possessed him to buy something like this.

'Is there anything interesting?' It was Daisy, right by his side.

'No, just kitchen wares and crude stuff.' The little mug was small enough to slip into his pocket, where it made an inelegant bump.

'Oh.' She turned away to admire Cook's new ashet, and he took the opportunity to slip away to his room to hide it.

Like a lovesick ploughboy with a fairing for his girl, Lucas sneered at himself as he set it on the dresser. On impulse he found the battered sprig of mistletoe in his pocket and dropped it in, then, shaking his head at his own foolishness, ran back downstairs to eat.

CHAPTER SEVEN

December 24th

Monday, Christmas Eve, dawned clear and dry, and, with the wind dropped, felt slightly warmer. Rowan left Penny to the tender mercies of Lady Rolesby and went to get dressed for a walk. Penny's godmother had decided that all that was required to convince Lord Danescroft of Penny's eligibility was to hear her play the piano and sing and, with only one day to practise, had borne her off to the music room.

There was nothing Rowan could do to help-Penny played well enough, if rather stiffly, and her singing voice was sweet, but never raised above a terrified whisper in company. She normally made herself highly popular by volunteering as an accompanist to more confident singers or by playing at small dancing parties. A recital by her would only captivate Lord Danescroft if she was sitting on his lap so he might hear it.

Smiling at that improbable image, Rowan picked her way down the rutted lane to the hamlet of Tollesbury Parva, where the biggest building was the Lion and Unicorn, a coaching inn on the toll road. Many of the guests had left their carriages, horses and grooms there, to relieve the pressure on the big house. When they had set out on the journey Penny had left with her dresser, Kate Jessop, in the family carriage. A few miles along the road, well clear of her stepmother's beady gaze, they had been joined by Rowan in her hired chaise with Alice Loveday and all her trunks.

The dressers, the Maylins' coachman and the groom were now ensconced in three rooms in the inn with Rowan's luggage, looking forward to several days' holiday from their usual duties with all the activity of the inn for entertainment.

The four were sitting in the bigger chamber, playing cards with a pile of broken spills for stakes, when Rowan walked in. The men effaced themselves while Kate and Alice swept the cards off the table and pulled the bell for tea.

In answer to Rowan's concerned questions they were adamant that they were comfortable and happy, but were much more eager to talk about Penny and Rowan than their own situation.

'How are you getting on, my lady?'

'Well enough, Alice. I haven't disgraced your teaching yet I don't think, and Miss Penelope is very patient. But I've brought you this-Miss Penelope's organza. I can't seem to get the wine stain out-and I need something to wear for the Servants' Ball tomorrow.'

Kate tutted over the mark and bustled off downstairs to borrow something from the kitchens that she swore was a sovereign remedy, while Alice dragged out trunks and threw back the lids.

'How about your second-best cream silk?'

'Too fancy, don't you think?' Rowan eyed the thick lace trimming doubtfully.

'Probably. And there isn't time to get a plainer lace to fit this deep vee neck.' Alice folded it back and dug deeper. 'Here! There's the bronze-green silk that has that stain near the hem we can't identify and nothing will shift. It isn't terribly obvious, and it could well be the sort of thing a mistress would pass on to a dresser.'

'Excellent. And the brown kid slippers, because I wouldn't be able to afford the ones we had made to match it, and the cream kid gloves that have been cleaned a lot. Miss Penelope can help with my hair.'

Alice began to sort out the linen needed to go under the gown while Rowan rummaged in the box containing her simpler jewellery. 'This comb, the amber ear drops and this lace-trimmed handkerchief. Perfect.'

Warmed by the tea, and the knowledge that their staff were happily settled, Rowan pulled her scarf up over her nose and trudged off, basket over her arm.

'Hello. Have you sneaked out for a mug of huckle my buff?'

Rowan jumped, dropped the basket and made a wild grab at the handle before the contents fell out on the ground. 'A what? Look what you have made me do, Lucas.'

'Hot beer, egg and brandy,' he explained, removing the basket from her grasp and hooking it over his arm.

'Certainly not. It sounds disgusting. Although I assume that is why you are here. Miss Maylin's groom and carriage are at the inn and I came down to get some things that had been left by mistake.'

'I haven't touched a drop. Smell my breath.' He leaned invitingly close. Rowan pursed her lips and resisted the temptation to meet his. 'See-no spirits. I came to check on my…on Lord Danescroft's horses and grooms and to get some fresh air.'

'I can manage the basket.' Rowan eyed him uneasily. She had half convinced herself in the course of a