Mistletoe Mischief

hardship at all to step out with her for another allemande. But soon his smile was extinguished as he espied a voluptuous young woman clad in diamonds and magenta. She was wearing a domino that all but hid her face, and her dark hair was tucked beneath a gray silk turban adorned with silver tassels. Greville knew it was Sybil Garsington, for he would have recognized that statuesque figure and alarming bosom anywhere. She was dancing with her rotund, bald-headed brother, Sigismund, who shuffled rather than danced. But although the future Lord Garsington was far from light-footed on the dance floor, when it came to fighting a duel with swords, he was very nimble and sure indeed.

'Oh, good Lord above!' Greville breathed, praying neither of them would glance in his direction.

'Is something wrong?' Megan asked quickly.

'Do you see the vision in magenta!'

'What of her?'

'It's Sybil Garsington, and that is her brother Sigismund with her.'

Recalling what had been said at Donaldson's, Megan's head turned immediately. 'I fear she has observed you, sir.'

He groaned. 'Well, at least she cannot descend upon me while the dance is in progress.'

'Maybe, but she has the look of an excellent bloodhound,' Megan said a little wickedly.

'You point out nothing I do not already know.'

'And she is no doubt anticipating your attendance at the soiree musicale tomorrow night.'

'You have no heart, Miss Mortimer,' he replied dryly. The polonaise was drawing to a close, and he looked urgently at her. 'I don't care what you do, Miss Mortimer, but I will be eternally grateful if you keep that woman away from me!'

The final chord was played, but as Megan rose from an elegant curtsy, she found herself without a partner, for Sir Greville Seton had made a very hasty and undignified exit from the floor. His parting entreaty was still in her ears as she turned toward the Garsington brother and sister; to her horror they were almost upon her! Fearing to be trampled, she began to move out of their way, but they stepped aside as well and there was a collision. Sybil lost her balance and went down with a furious piglet squeal that brought the ball to a startled halt.

What ensued was a noisy fracas such as only the Garsingtons could create. Sybil continued to squeal, and her lisping outrage was directed at Megan. 'Oh, you beathtly cweature! You twipped me!'

'I-I didn't mean to do it, truly I didn't,' Megan protested.

Sigismund Garsington hopped up and down and called for assistance as if he feared his sister had been mortally injured.

Megan tried to assist Sybil to her feet, but then the crowded floor parted like the Red Sea as Lord and Lady Garsington surged anxiously to their stricken offspring. For a second time Megan was obliged to step hastily aside, and this time she was successful, which was as well; otherwise she would have been elbowed out of the way.

At last Sybil was persuaded to get up, but even this she did with considerable volume. Lord Garsington patted her hand and kept asking her if she felt faint, which was exceedingly unlikely given the noise she was making, and Lady Garsington fussed with her crumpled gown and dislodged turban. Sigismund had retrieved her fan from the sanded floor; however, instead of trying to cool his sister, he employed it on himself! As Sybil was led to a sofa, they all four cast such accusing looks at Megan that she was left in no doubt they believed her to have acted with malice aforethought. When she glanced at the rest of the ball, she saw more such looks, mostly from those ladies whose jealousy had been apparent from the outset. She felt quite dreadful, and wished Sir Greville Seton in perdition for being the cause of her scrape.

To her relief the orchestra struck up Sir Roger de Coverley, and the ball got under way again. Sir Jocelyn had already come to her side, and now would not take a refusal for the reel. 'Ignore the Garsingtons, m'dear, for they are a very silly family,' he said, patting her hand as he led her toward a set where Rupert and Chloe had already taken their places.

The reel began, and as the sets whirled to the sound of much laughter, Oliver watched sourly from behind the sofa. He was consumed with jealousy to see Rupert and Chloe getting on well again. Rupert's unexpected return to Brighton had annoyed him greatly, for it did not take great intelligence to see that he was very much in love with Chloe and deeply regretted fumbling his chance with her; it was equally as obvious that Chloe was weakening toward him. That wouldn't do, it wouldn't do at all! Rupert had to be rendered hors de combat. It was annoying that the shove down the stage steps had not resulted in a broken leg or worse, but there was more than one way to skin the proverbial cat. Oliver smiled a little, for a fashionable ball was the perfect place to play a little trick upon Lord Rupert Radcliffe.

No sooner had he decided what to do than Evangeline unwittingly aided and abetted him. Seated on the sofa, she was already feeling the heat when suddenly she suffered from one of her flushes as well. 'Oh, dear, oh, dear,' she gasped. 'Mr. March, will you be so good as to procure me another fruit cup? I vow I am hot enough to ignite.'

'Certainly, Lady Evangeline,' he replied smoothly, and embarked upon the errand almost eagerly, for it was the very excuse he needed. He relieved a startled footman of an almost full tray of apple cup, and spirited it away behind a particularly lavish arrangement of ferns. There he placed it on a small table, disposed of most of the glasses, then took a vial of clear liquid from his pocket. It contained some of the eastern tincture with which he and Ralph had enjoyed such fun with the waiter in London. He emptied it all into one of the remaining glasses, then gave another of his thin unpleasant smiles. 'Your health, Radcliffe,' he murmured.

Chapter 24

Oliver picked up the tray to return to the sofa, making sure that the doctored glass was right next to his hand, so that if anyone other than Rupert tried to take it he could say it was his own. But then he saw Sybil Garsington and her mother seated alone on another sofa nearby. Lord Garsington and Sigismund had gone off somewhere, probably to the card room, he thought. The two women's heads were together and their fans were in front of their whispering lips, but by the daggered looks they were darting toward Megan on the dance floor, he knew exactly what they were saying.

The little incident with Sybil had amused him greatly because he thought it served his cousin right for daring to stand up to him. But he would have liked Megan to be punished more. He paused as a new idea slid slyly into his head. How entertaining it would be to spread a little selective gossip about dear Cousin Megan, and who better to choose as his town criers than the two Garsington furies!

Oliver almost changed his mind as Mr. Mellish suddenly went over to the sofa ahead of him. The man in white had been very much in evidence since the ball commenced, prancing around the floor to every single measure, his stylish feet twinkling and his coattails swinging. He was most peculiar to watch because he lifted his legs high, kept his arms rigidly at his sides whenever possible, and didn't smile once, so it was impossible to say whether he was enjoying himself or not. But then Oliver remembered that if there was one thing Mr. Mellish did enjoy, it was spiteful gossip, which meant that he and the two Garsington women were ideal to employ at Megan Mortimer's expense! Smiling once more, Oliver went over to them.

At first he was not received warmly. Sybil's breath caught, and her face went oddly pale; Lady Garsington's eyes flickered icily, and Mr. Mellish raised his quizzing glass to peruse him. But no one could have been more concerned and solicitous than Oliver March, more intent upon inquiring after dear Sybil's mishap, or more desirous to let unfortunate bygones be bygones. Lady Garsington softened before such earnestness, and Mr. Mellish followed her lead, but Sybil continued to stare at him, her expression still rather peculiar. Oliver's glance moved uncertainly toward her, then he concentrated upon Lady Garsington.

'Dear lady, how very dreadful that such an unworthy creature as Lady Evangeline's companion should have dared to deliberately-'

Lady Garsington's fan snapped closed. 'Lady Evangeline's what?' she demanded.

'Why, her companion. Didn't you know?'

'Of course I did not know!' replied Lady Garsington, her outraged gaze following Megan, who danced on