Mistletoe Mischief

'I was.' He saw the tit-for-tat smirk on Oliver's face.

Lady Garsington continued to gush. 'Well, you can only just have arrived here, so do tell me how my dearest Sybil was when you left.'

'I have no idea how she was,' he replied, hoping to convey his complete lack of interest in Sybil Garsington.

Lady Garsington gave a twitter of laughter, and reworded the question. 'Well, how was she when last you saw her?'

'Er, in excellent spirits,' Greville answered. Excellent spirits? The unmanageable creature had been as frisky as a cart horse in season!

'I'm sure you will be delighted to hear that she and Sigismund are also returning in the next day or so. Oh, how foolish of me, for of course you must already know.'

The implication that he was only in Brighton in order to be close to Sybil was almost too much for Greville's sensibilities. Something had to be done that would make absolutely clear his indifference to her frightful offspring. Oliver had done it by besieging Chloe instead; Greville's thoughts raced, and on impulse he took Megan's hand, startling her greatly by drawing it very deliberately over his sleeve and leaving his fingers resting warmly on hers. Then he beamed at Lady Garsington. 'No, I'm afraid I didn't know Sybil and Sigismund were returning,' he said untruthfully. Nor do I care, he added silently.

The taking of Megan's hand caused Lady Garsington's face to alter most comically, and she drew back as if a vile odor had suddenly assaulted her nostrils. After murmuring something about having much to do, she and his lordship then stalked away into the library, which suddenly sinking ship was immediately subjected to the scrambled exit of fashionable rats. Nothing could be more guaranteed to disperse a gathering than the approach of the Garsingtons.

The sudden departure of people obliged the party on the verandah to divide, and Megan found herself stepping aside with Greville. She took the opportunity to make her displeasure known, for companion or not, she would not be treated like that. 'I do not like being used, sir,' she said, snatching her hand from his sleeve.

'I concede that it was ill done on my part, Miss Mortimer, but if you knew their daughter…'

'I don't care what reason you have, Sir Greville, for the fact that I am only Lady Evangeline's companion does not entitle you to-'

'I know,' he interrupted. 'I can only ask you to forgive the imposition, Miss Mortimer.'

She gave a curt nod. 'The matter is at an end, sir.' She turned to go, meaning to quit the library and scurry back to Radcliffe House.

'Miss Mortimer…?'

'Sir?'

'Thank you for not saying this in front of Lady Garsington.' The acknowledgment was uttered with the enthusiasm of one whose teeth were being drawn.

Megan hesitated. 'I thought her to be an unmannered person who did not deserve any more consideration than she showed to me.'

'Oh, believe me, you are fortunate to be omitted from her wretched soiree musicale. Evenings at Garsington House are to be avoided at all costs. Why else do you imagine the library has emptied so sharply?' He nodded toward the evacuation just coming to an end. So many vehicles had already pulled away that Oliver's curricle was one of the few still remaining. Oliver, Chloe, and Sir Jocelyn were now at the far end of the verandah, warning newly arriving acquaintances of the hazard within. Chloe glanced back, and her manner intimated that she was now more convinced than ever of something going on between Sir Greville Seton and his aunt's companion.

Greville looked at Megan. 'So my bacon was only saved because Lady Garsington is beneath contempt?'

'Yes.'

'Your capacity for blunt speaking is-'

'Almost a match for yours? Yes, Sir Greville, I suppose it is.'

Chapter 15

When Megan and Greville returned to Radcliffe House, they found the hallway piled high with the Christmas greenery Fosdyke and the two footmen had purchased in the town. Rupert was still out on his ride, having decided to make a virtual day of it, but he was expected back soon, and from the kitchens there wafted the delicious smell of gingerbread.

Evangeline usually supervised the decorations, but her fitting for her jester's costume was running late, so no start had been made. She was in her apartment with the dressmaker, whose store of patience was rapidly diminishing because the little folly bells on the bright red and yellow outfit's shoulders had been rearranged five times over the past hour, and still Evangeline was not entirely satisfied. On hearing from Annie that Megan and Greville had returned, she immediately sent the maid to bring them to her, so that she could call upon their advice as to the bells' most becoming position.

Her apartment was on the east of the house, with a splendid view over the Steine. A fire crackled brightly in the hearth of the blue silk dressing room, where she was standing upon a stool the better to assist the dressmaker. The room contained wardrobes, a chest of drawers, and a washstand behind an elegant black-lacquered screen. There was also a dressing table upon which lay a three-horned jester's hat, and a lute with long ribbons that floated in the fierce heat from the fire.

The sight of Lady Evangeline Radcliffe in a tight-fitting fool's suit was not conducive to solemnity; indeed it encouraged the sort of mirth that was not on any account to be revealed, on pain of her considerable wrath. Her figure was a challenge for any needlework, and the unfortunate costume strained alarmingly along every seam. She was red and yellow lozenges from head to toe, her face was crimson from another flush, and she tinkled with so many bells that Greville could not help recalling a herd of goats he once encountered in the Swiss Alps.

She confronted Greville in all seriousness. 'Well? How do I look? Am I not the very personification of Feste?'

He swallowed. 'I, er, think you look quite exceptional, Aunt E,' he replied.

Then she turned to Megan. 'What do you say, Miss Mortimer?'

'I have never seen anything quite so singular, Lady Evangeline.'

Evangeline beamed. 'There, I knew it looked excellent,' she declared with some satisfaction.

Megan could not help glancing at Greville, and she saw his lips were pressed together in an effort to maintain a straight face.

Evangeline surveyed herself in the dressing table mirror, and saw nothing comic at all. 'My cap! Bring my cap!' she cried, pointing to the item on the dressing table. Megan took it to her, and watched in fascination as Evangeline tugged it over her hair. Now my lute!' she commanded next, and Megan brought that as well. Evangeline posed in the mirror, and then struck a few exceedingly discordant notes. 'Oh, I am looking forward to all this,' she declared.

Greville caught Megan's eyes. The dressmaker gazed at the floor, and Annie, who stood by the door, was so still that she might have been a statue. No one dared to speak. Except Rollo, who suddenly revealed his presence by murmuring. 'Mistress, thou lookest fit to explode.'

Megan felt as if she would too, but Evangeline's expression did not alter. 'I am considering hiring a proper manager for my theater,' she said in a matter-of-fact tone that hinted at a task virtually accomplished. Rollo gasped, then hurried from the room. Evangeline's lips twitched with satisfaction. That would teach him a lesson!

Greville had heard nothing, of course, and so expressed surprise. 'A manager? Aunt E, you don't require such a person.'

'I know. It was just a passing thought, and best forgotten,' Evangeline replied, holding out a hand to be assisted down from the stool, and her bells jingled as she went to the window. 'I am informed by Mrs. Fosdyke's bunion that against all the usual odds, Brighton is about to have a great deal of snow,' she said.