Mistletoe Mischief

Evangeline looked at him. 'Greville, if only you would understand and accept that with your father gone, the last five years of your mother's life were far happier.'

'I beg to differ on that point.'

'But you were only eleven and away at Eton when she died. She was happier, believe me. Anyway, I wish you to let bygones be bygones while you are in this house.' Evangeline decided to give him a moment or two to consider this, so she introduced Rupert to Megan first. 'Miss Mortimer, this is my nephew and heir, Lord Rupert Radcliffe.'

Rupert had been observing Megan, and was now of the firm opinion that she could not possibly be the scheming witch Ralph Strickland claimed, so he stepped gallantly forward to raise her hand to his lips. 'I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Mortimer.'

'Lord Rupert,' she replied with a grateful smile. At least he was a gentleman!

Evangeline braced herself as she turned to Greville again. 'And this disagreeable fellow is Sir Greville Seton. I forget what his relationship to me is exactly, but suffice it that he is definitely family.'

Greville had no intention of emulating Rupert, but if Aunt E required politeness, politeness she would have. 'Miss Mortimer,' he murmured, and showed the limit of his chivalry by merely inclining his head.

'Sir.'

Evangeline wasn't about to let him off lightly. 'Sir, I think you should apologize to Miss Mortimer for your disgraceful physical attack upon her.'

Greville was provoked. 'Aunt E, this was my room when I departed for Mahomed's Baths, so it was reasonable enough to presume that it was still my room when I returned. When I found someone in a hooded cloak apparently examining my luggage, of course I thought it was a thief!'

'So you acted first, and asked questions afterward. I'm deeply disappointed in you, Greville, for I thought such lamentable conduct was the preserve of half-witted hotheads like Sigismund Garsington.'

Megan felt dreadful, and wished the whole business could be dropped.

'Aunt E,' Greville answered in a labored tone, 'if I were Sigismund Garsington, I'd have fired a pistol at Miss Mortimer, not simply apprehended her. However, you are right to castigate me for my actions, and so I will indeed apologize.' He turned to Megan. 'I trust you are able to forgive me, Miss Mortimer, for you may be sure that if I had realized, I would not have dreamed of acting as I did.'

'Of course I forgive you, sir.' She didn't really, but there was little else she could say.

Evangeline was satisfied. 'I have removed you to the mauve chamber, Greville, because I wish Miss Mortimer to be close to me. Fosdyke has aired it and had a fire kindled there, so it will be sufficiently warm by the time you retire tonight.'

'As you wish, Aunt E, but it would have been pleasant if I had been informed of this when Rupert and I came back from the baths. Such consideration would have prevented me from making such an error.'

'Fosdyke was instructed to do so, but he clearly did not realize you had returned. Besides, who are you to carp about being kept informed? I do not recall being informed that you were going to take liberties with my home in my absence.'

He knew he was beaten, and gave her a wry smile. 'I concede defeat, Aunt E. The laurels are yours.'

'Yes, I rather think they are,' she declared archly.

'Do you really mind us being here?' he asked, knowing she didn't.

'Of course not, you silly boy.' Evangeline fingered the gold locket at her throat. Mind? On the contrary, for their timely arrival on the scene speeded up her plans considerably. 'Now, then, gentlemen, I believe you have both forgotten something.' She presented her cheek for a kiss.

Rupert obliged warmly, but as Greville kissed her as well, she tapped his sleeve with her fan. 'Why, your shampoo has left you smelling of rosemary. It is quite appetizing. I almost wish Mrs. Fosdyke were preparing some mutton, or better still, some sweet Welsh lamb.'

'It was not my intention to smell like a roast dinner,' he replied.

'Nor, I'll warrant, was it your intention to spend Christmas with me,' she observed shrewdly.

'That isn't so. I'm more than pleased that you have returned,' he protested untruthfully, then added. 'Er, why have you returned?'

'Oh, this and that,' she murmured, studying his face. 'Acting will never be your strong suit, will it? Be honest, sir, you are absolutely horrified to see me, and already you begin to suffer the onset of stage fright! How is your Malvolio coming along?'

'He isn't,' Greville replied frankly. 'Aunt E, I may as well be honest; I have no intention of being Malvolio or anyone else.'

'Nonsense.' Her eyes were wickedly knowing. 'Greville, I can just see you in cross- gartered yellow stockings, and although I concede that it will be out of period, I think it might be amusing to fit you with the Henry VIII codpiece as well.'

Rupert made a strangulated noise, and Greville was aghast. 'Aunt E, I positively, absolutely refuse to even consider that-that thing!” The codpiece in question had been hidden away at the very back of the theater wardrobe for two years now, because of its shocking size. It had been intended for a production of Shakespeare's Henry VIII, but Evangeline had been so certain that its appearance onstage would result in charges of indecency, that it had languished among the wardrobe cobwebs ever since.

She pursed her lips. 'Well, on reflection perhaps it would be a little too much, but the stockings stay, for they are essential to the play.'

'Essential or not, I will still not be wearing them,' Greville replied doggedly.

She shrugged. 'Well, no one is forcing you, so if you wish to scuttle back to London, I will quite understand. I am sure that Mr. March will leap at the opportunity to play alongside Chloe, who is to be Olivia. I did write to one of you about Mr. March, did I not?'

Rupert scowled. 'I don't want that scoundrel leaping into anything, unless it be a pit of vipers.'

'Well, at least we are agreed on something, for he is indeed a scoundrel, but Chloe seems quite taken with him,' Evangeline replied. 'Still, Greville's craven desertion means a replacement is needed, and I happen to know that Mr. March is very fond of amateur theatricals, so he will have to do.'

Greville saw the anguish on Rupert's face, and felt obliged to reverse his decision, even though it meant Malvolio, stockings and all. 'I'm not cravenly deserting anyone, Aunt E, I'm staying right here.'

'Then, you are going to be Malvolio, and that, sir, is that.'

'I know,' he answered heavily, and Rupert looked away to hide his unutterable relief. Megan cordially hoped Malvolio would cause Sir Greville Seton endless embarrassment.

Evangeline was triumphant again. 'It is settled, then. You are to be Malvolio, Rupert is Duke Orsino, Chloe is to be my Olivia, and Sir Jocelyn will be my Sir Toby Belch. Your cousin Ada is to be Viola, her husband will be Sebastian, and her sister insists upon being the maid, Maria, although with her squeaky little voice I fear it may be a disaster. Your other cousin Archibald, who as you know is very shy and retiring, has very bravely undertaken to be Sir Andrew Aguecheek. He promises faithfully not to hide behind the scenery as he did last year. After that I quite forget who is to be who, but they are all rather minor considerations.'

'And who, pray, are you going to play, Aunt E?' Greville asked curiously, noticing the singular omission.

'Feste.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Isn't he the clown?'

Evangeline twiddled the locket. 'Er, yes, he is.'

Greville folded his arms. 'And doesn't he wear bells and brightly colored hose?'

'Yes.' Evangeline wouldn't look at him.

'And doesn't he sing?”

'Yes.'

Rupert groaned. 'Oh, no…'

Evangeline was cross. 'I may not have a voice like Catalini, but-'

'No, you have a voice like Caterwauli!' Greville interrupted crushingly. She was tone deaf in his opinion, and the prospect of her off-key trilling was almost worse than that of Sybil Garsington.

Evangeline drew herself up indignantly. 'I'll have you know that I have been taking lessons, Greville, and I think you will be agreeably surprised by my Feste.'

'I await your performance with bated breath.'