“Oh?” Her concern must’ve shown on her face, for Emma frowned.
“Lucy, you’ve been with Aunt Edith too long. You’re becoming too stodgy. We’re only having a bit of fun.”
Lucy gave herself a mental shake. Nothing needed to happen that she didn’t want to happen. What harm could a children’s game cause? She should relax and enjoy the evening.
Yet when her gaze found Hugh, easily imagining searching him for her slipper, her stomach dipped alarmingly.
Soon dinner was served, and she sat beside Viscount Jameson.
“I understand you were quite the heroine today,” the lord said as they waited for the first course to be served.
“Not at all,” Lucy denied with a smile. “I merely kept Miss Barnes company until help arrived.” It took all her fortitude to keep from looking at Hugh.
“But if you hadn’t realized Miss Barnes was missing, her rescue would’ve been delayed.” Viscount Jameson held her gaze for a long moment. “You are to be praised for your part, and I would like to add my thanks to the others. I hate to think how much worse the outcome might’ve been without your help.”
“You are quite welcome.” Lucy had been pleased to hear that Miss Barnes was feeling better though she’d remained in her bedchamber this evening.
The viscount raised his glass to her in a silent toast. The gesture was kind and she appreciated it. Feeling the weight of someone’s stare, she turned to see Hugh watching, his brow furrowed.
Her attention was pulled away by the guest seated on her other side. But a warm sensation filled her to think Hugh might be bothered by Viscount Jameson speaking with her.
With a sigh, she realized how ridiculous her thoughts were. One moment, she was determined to keep her distance from Hugh, and the next she was pleased to think he might care for her. Already she felt out of her depth with the situation. No matter that she wasn’t here to flirt with anyone, but only to support Emma in making a decision.
Unfortunately, a pair of charming blue eyes and an engaging smile made that difficult to remember.
Hugh sighed as he joined the other unattached guests in the sitting room where a fire burned brightly in the hearth. He had no desire to play some silly children’s game, but Emma’s smile and enthusiasm suggested he needed to play along if he wished to stay in her good graces.
And he did. Didn’t he?
“Now then,” Emma began as she stood in the middle of the room where the furniture had already been pushed back. “We shall all stand in a circle.”
The guests obediently did so, several of the ladies giggling in response.
Lucy stood across the circle beside Jameson, her smile somewhat forced. She didn’t look as if she wanted to participate either.
“I will go first so everyone sees how to play the game.” Emma bent and removed her slipper, a pale pink that matched her gown. With a flirtatious smile, she held it before her and moved to stand before Jameson. “You will be the chief cobbler for this round.”
“Am I to fix it?” Jameson reached for the slipper and turned it over as if looking for a hole.
Laughter ensued.
“Cobbler, cobbler, mend my shoe. Get it done by half-past two.” Emma curtsied then left the circle briefly before returning, eyes closed until she reached the middle of the circle and looked at the viscount. “Is my shoe ready?”
Jameson raised a brow as if uncertain how he should answer.
Lucy took pity on him and leaned close. “Now you say, not quite, call again in an hour’s time.”
“An hour?” Jameson asked. “This game will last all night.”
Everyone laughed again. Even Hugh had to smile as well. Jameson was being a good sport.
Emma left the circle, closed her eyes for a minute, then returned, and the process was repeated. The next time she left the circle, Lucy took the shoe from Jameson and passed it around, gesturing for Mr. Barnes to hide it behind his back. Then she motioned for everyone else to put their hands behind their backs as well.
Emma returned to the circle once more. “Cobbler, is my shoe mended?”
Jameson looked to Lucy, who whispered to him. Then he said, “Your shoe has been sent home.”
“What?” Emma asked with mock surprise. “I cannot believe that to be true.”
“It’s clearly not here,” Jameson responded as he glanced about, his hands still behind his back like everyone else.
“Then I shall search for it myself,” Emma declared. She moved to stand before Jameson and patted his suit coat while the guests chuckled before moving to another person, pausing before Johnson and searching him for the shoe.
Several of the ladies were laughing so hard they could barely stand straight. The exaggerated look of alarm Johnson had as Emma searched made it impossible not to join in.
Emma moved on to her next target, this time a lady. “Have you seen my shoe?”
“I have not.” But she kept her hands behind her back, leaving Emma to peer around her in an attempt to spot it. The lady shifted, doing her best to keep Emma from seeing her hands.
Emma released a pretend sigh of frustration then moved on to Mr. Barnes. She held his gaze for a long moment, and Barnes’ pale cheeks slowly reddened. “You must have my shoe.”
“No shoe here.” Yet the man was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.
“I don’t believe you,” she declared and began her search. She’d only patted a few places on his person before he produced the shoe, his face now an alarming shade of red. “I knew it.” She patted his cheek. “You are the next shoe owner.”
Barnes looked distraught at the order.
Hugh chuckled, his gaze catching on Lucy, who laughed as well. He liked to see her having fun. They shared a smile and the tightness in his chest eased. Perhaps this wasn’t so terrible a way to spend an evening.
If he had the chance to hide her shoe, he intended to take it.
Chapter Seven
Lucy followed Aunt Edith into the dining room the next morning, looking forward to the task ahead of them. Playing Hunt the Slipper had been fun, but she’d been relieved that she hadn’t been picked. Making kissing boughs was a preferable activity as far as she was concerned. The room had been cleared from breakfast and now held most of the female guests along with gold paper, evergreens, ribbons, holly, and most importantly, mistletoe.
“Thank you all for helping.” Aunt Jane gestured for Lucy and Aunt Edith to take a seat. “Make whatever style you’d like. All I ask is that each have at least one sprig of mistletoe.”
The ladies dove into the task, cutting and tying and occasionally pricking their fingers with the holly as well as the wire used to hold the items together. The chatter and laughter rose to a dull roar.
“It’s been an age since we made kissing boughs,” Aunt Edith said to Lucy with a youthful grin. “What fun.”
Lucy was pleased her aunt felt well enough to join the merriment. Though she often wondered if Aunt Edith truly felt poorly or merely pretended, she’d come to realize the older woman’s dour thoughts were a major part of her wellbeing. Melancholy often took over and seemed to drain her energy. Whether it was missing her husband, who’d been gone so long, or a general ennui, Lucy didn’t know. Her aunt rarely spoke about her feelings.