Mistletoe Mischief

to walk a respectful six paces behind!

But as they passed through Mrs. Fiske's tasteful chocolate-brown door, which was fixed with a discreet knot of holly and was set between two fine bow windows containing a display of hats and bonnets, Greville ceased to be uppermost in her thoughts. It was agreeably warm inside after the bracing air of the street. A fine coal fire glowed in a hearth that had a polished brass fender and blue-and-white Delft tiles, and there was a sumptuous smell of costly materials: velvets, silk, exquisite Indian muslins, and richly colored winter merino. Beautiful clothes of every description hung haphazardly from a curtain rail that ran around every wall except by the windows, and there were several tall floor-standing mirrors in which one's appearance could be admired or lamented.

Two ladies, one tall and thin, the other short and buxom, were at an oak counter examining a selection of lace trimmings that had been brought for them by a young man wearing a cream coat and blue-spotted neck cloth. Female voices came from behind a maroon velvet curtain that was drawn across one alcove next to the fireplace, while in the other there was a sofa where a lady was turning the pages of a catalog of the latest designs. Her face had the dry look of one who had failed to protect her complexion sufficiently from the rigors of the Madras sun, and lolling beside her was a wheezy pug with a jeweled collar that glittered in the light from the windows. The only other gentleman was a high-ranking cavalry officer who Megan guessed was the pug lady's husband.

The alcove curtain was jerked aside, and Mrs. Fiske emerged with a figured velvet pelisse over her arm. She was a severe woman of about forty-five in a charcoal gown and starched muslin bonnet, and Megan's heart sank still further at the way she snapped her fingers at the young male assistant, who immediately bore the pelisse through another door at the rear of the premises. The lady whose garment it was came out of the alcove with her maid, who was still endeavoring to arrange the long gauze scarf of her mistress's jockey bonnet, and the cavalry officer gallantly opened the front door for them to go out to the carriage waiting at the curb across the street.

Mrs. Fiske came over to Greville with an ingratiating smile. 'Why, Sir Greville, what an unexpected honor,' she declared, then bestowed a withering glance upon Megan's hat and cloak.

Greville explained his errand. 'I am charged by my aunt, Lady Evangeline, to bring her companion to you to be fitted for some new clothes. I believe you know what is required?'

A companion was to be fitted for clothes? Shocked eyes turned upon Megan, to whom it seemed that even the pug dog gasped. Mrs. Fiske's gaze was impenetrable as she inclined her head. 'Ah, yes, I received her ladyship's message last night, and everything is in readiness. Sir Greville, if you will take a seat, I will attend to Miss, er…?'

'Mortimer,' Megan supplied, hoping her face wasn't as aflame with embarrassment as it felt.

'This way, if you please, Miss Mortimer.' Mrs. Fiske returned to the alcove, and held the curtain aside for Megan to go inside, then hurried away, leaving Megan alone inside.

Megan was glad of the privacy. This was an ordeal, not a pleasure, and the sooner it was over, the better she would feel. She glanced around. There was an uncomfortable wrought-iron chair with a pink satin cushion, and a cheval glass that looked as if it might once have graced a French chateau. The only garment was a midnight-blue evening gown that had been tossed almost carelessly over the chair. Made of sequined gauze over watered silk, it was one of the most beautiful gowns Megan had ever seen. If only it were there in case it would do for Lady Evangeline Radcliffe's new companion! Megan touched the glittering sequins on the low-cut bodice, and imagined herself dancing in it at tomorrow night's Christmas bal masque at the Old Ship. The gauze and silk were exquisitely matched, the sequins must have taken an age to stitch, and the craftsmanship was of matchless quality. Why, Queen Charlotte herself would not be ashamed of such a gown.

The curtain was jerked aside again, and Mrs. Fiske returned with various clothes over her arm. She hung them one by one on a rail, and then turned to cast a knowledgeable eye over Megan's figure. 'Yes, Lady Evangeline was right, you and Miss Holcroft are indeed the same size,' she declared, and began to remove Megan's hat and cloak.

Greville had seen the clothes taken into the alcove, and considered them far too good for mousy Miss Mortimer, who did not warrant such plumes. The curtain hadn't been properly drawn across, and he could just see the flick of a ruby dinner gown in part of the mirror. Thus was a companion being raised above her station in life, he thought sourly. Then he saw Megan's profile for a moment. With her smile and soft brown eyes, and her thick brown hair made unexpectedly rich by the ruby of the gown, she was perhaps more handsome than he gave credit for, and there was something very graceful and ingenuous about the way she turned her head to see herself from a different angle. Had she been anything other than a companion, he would have found her tolerable. Annoyed with the route his thoughts were taking, he looked out of the window instead.

Half an hour later, the better by the ruby dinner gown, an apricot-and-white-striped woolen morning gown, a simple white silk evening gown that would serve well for the following night's ball, a gray velvet spencer, and a fine dark-green woolen cloak richly trimmed with honey-colored fur, all of which would soon be on their way to Radcliffe House, Megan and Greville left the repository again.

As they emerged on to the pavement, Megan was dismayed to see Oliver drive past toward the Steine like a fox pursued by hounds. He was dressed as he had been in the churchyard that morning, and he clearly considered his driving to be very much the tippy, for he brought the swaying curricle to a flourishing standstill by the crush of vehicles on the corner by Donaldson's. Vaulting down, he vanished into the library after flinging the reins and a coin into the eager hands of one of the local boys hanging around for just such lucrative tasks.

Greville glowered after him. 'March is a fellow I would delight in seeing overturned,' he muttered.

'I would too,' Megan said without thinking. She knew it was simply postponing the evil moment, but nevertheless she still hoped she and Greville would pass by without encountering her loathed cousin.

'You are acquainted with him?' Greville asked.

'I-I met him once a long time ago, and this morning I encountered him again with Miss Holcroft by the-'

'You are acquainted with Miss Holcroft as well?' Greville interrupted in surprise.

'Well, not exactly. I happened to meet them both when I was out walking this morning.'

'And where was this?'

'In St. Nicholas's churchyard.'

Greville halted. 'Did you indeed? And what were they doing there?' he inquired, beginning to fear things might have progressed as far as the ordering of the banns.

'Miss Holcroft had been helping with the Christmas decorations.'

'Ah, yes.' He relaxed a little, but still looked at her. 'I went to St. Nicholas's myself this morning, after changing my mind about riding with Rupert on the Downs.'

'Oh?'

He gave a dry laugh. 'Miss Mortimer, I can tell by your face that although I did not see you, you certainly saw me.'

She flushed a little. 'I happened to be up in the gallery when you came in, but I made certain to keep out of your way.'

'Indeed? Well, I dare say that is an honest reply.'

'I dare say it is too,' she replied.

'Don't presume to employ the edge of your tongue upon me, madam.' For a split second he was tempted to tell her he knew all about her disgraceful behavior in Bath, but he didn't. He intended to write to his friend when they returned to the house, and as soon as confirmation had arrived of Miss Megan Mortimer's wrongdoing, he would expose her for what she really was.

Megan had been stung into forgetting herself. 'Then, you should not punish me for events in which I had absolutely no hand! I have grievances too, not least that when I was sixteen I was thrown out of house and home by my male cousin. Am I then justified in tarring all gentlemen with the same odious brush? Why not? If such an abysmal standard is fit for you, then it is fit for me as well!'

His gray eyes became icy. 'You overreach yourself, Miss Mortimer.'

Caution now eluded her completely. 'Perhaps, but after enduring you for an hour that might as well have been a lifetime, I feel very much better! You may rest assured that in future I will avoid you to the best of my ability, and if I am able to keep out of your way entirely, I will be more than glad of it!' With that she stepped into the road right in front of a fly-by-night.