Both girls fell into sudden fits of giggles, squeezing each other’s hands. They laughed until they couldn’t any longer, then sighed contentedly.
“Say Claire… do you remember that night of Merrick’s reception?”
“How could I ever forget?”
“That look on your face when Merrick put the ring on your finger!”
“Ian,” Claire corrected.
“Ian,” said Alexandra. “He’s nice,” she relented.
“He is, and so is Prince Merrick… if you’ll give him a chance.”
Alexandra tried to reconcile that man belowstairs with the man she’d met at Almacks—the one who’d made googly eyes at his wife and tried so hard to put a stranger at ease at the dinner table. “I suppose there’s more to everyone than meets the eye,” she said.
“Yes, which brings me to Ben,” she said. “Really, Alexandra, you must know he blames himself.” Claire squeezed her hand. “He’ll never speak an ill word of my father, but you must know that my father left us in too deep, and Ben… well, he tried to save us.”
“Really?” said Alexandra, turning to look at Claire in surprise, and Claire nodded very soberly. “But I thought—”
Claire shook her head, knowing only too well what Alexandra must have thought… that Ben was the one responsible for all their woes.
“I see,” said Lexie, and suddenly she did. She understood something she didn’t before… Ben didn’t so much blame Lexie… he blamed himself… no less than she blamed him as well. It was no wonder he’d responded so coldly to her… he knew her well enough to see it all in her eyes… so then… if she wanted that to change, she must look at him another way…
“Feel better?” asked Claire.
Alexandra smiled. “I do,” she said. “I really do.”
CHAPTER 7
21 DECEMBER
Rule No. 7:
On Keeping It Quick.
A kiss beneath the mistletoe must be quick and close-lipped. Only a peck upon the cheek or the lips will do. If a napkin is required after, then you have done it all wrong!
The very next morning, Alexandra encountered Ben in the gallery, with his hat in hand, studying a portrait. Embarrassed by her outburst in the parlor last evening, she longed to slip away unnoticed, but he peered up the stairwell to catch her eye, and she was forced to put on a brave face.
“Morning,” she said, but not so coolly as she’d spoken to him yesterday evening.
“Morning,” he replied.
It was only belatedly that she realized he had a hat-full of mistletoe and she tilted him a questioning look.
“This,” he said, tilting the hat so she could see that it was already full to the brim. “I thought I’d spare us both,” he said with a sheepish smile.
* * *
He couldn’t help himself.
Ben swallowed as Alexandra approached. She was a vision this morning with that bright red ribbon tied about her ivory dress, looking like a Christmas present he’d like to unwrap… lovely as ever, though something seemed entirely different this morning… different, but inherently familiar… and seeing the Lexie he recognized only made him all the more determined to spare her the grief of having to endure all this mistletoe.
Damn Claire and her meddling.
He reached up, meaning to pluck down a sprig that was hanging from the chandelier in the foyer, but Alexandra approached him and reached up to stay his hand… “Don’t,” she whispered.
Ben swallowed convulsively. The scent of her was entirely too intoxicating… painfully familiar and he winced. She touched his hand very gently and withdrew as though burned.
“It’s not for us,” she said, and Ben stared miserably into his hat… remembering another time he’d stood before Alexandra with his hat in his hand, only begging… alas, he wouldn’t do that ever again…
Beg.
Already, he’d swept through the house, and managed to remove every last sprig downstairs, except this one…
Alexandra smiled conspiratorially. “How will Lady Morrissey entertain herself if you take them all away,” she asked, and he peered up to find a familiar glint in her eyes.
“Right,” he said, with a bit of a smirk. “I’ll put them back.”
“I’ll help,” she said, and without another word spoken between them, they rehung the mistletoe, then parted ways. This time, when Ben watched her go, he didn’t find her quite so vexing… nor himself quite so tormented.
In rare winter form, the snow continued to fall—more than six heavy inches over the course of two short days.
It was barely cold enough to keep the snow from melting, but not quite cold enough to keep it light and fluffy. The air itself was permeated with a dampness that sank straight into the bones, and there it remained. And therefore, the building of snowmen, or truly, any outdoor enterprise was less than desirable, particularly for those who did not plan for inclement weather—namely Alexandra.
All the fireplaces throughout the residence were lit and kept tended. Activities of preferences were any such endeavor that kept them near to the hearths. All except for singing by the pianoforte. No one else could play well enough to accompany, and Alexandra was too abashed to give it another go.
Using the drift-covered roads as an excuse, the Duchess and her brood did, indeed, end their journey at Hampton Court Palace (even despite the fact that only a mere seven hundred meters separated the Pavilion from the Palace). But that was well and good. Victoria was closer to Merrick’s father than she was to Ian or Merrick, and perhaps knowing their father wasn’t planning to attend the holiday, she was far less inclined to be present.
And really, although poor Drina was more than accustomed to adult company, it would seem a tad gauche to involve her in a holiday with so many twains. Alexandra herself might have considered it perfectly gauche to be invited, though she was beginning to catch a notion of what Claire had intended. And, it seemed to Lexie that God himself must be conspiring with Claire, because in these parts, they rarely experienced snow days, and when they did arrive, it was already melted by eventide. Quite to the contrary, it was piling upon windowsills, frosting panes, and generally turning everything white, white, white.
So, it seemed, Claire had some less than angelic help as well…
Chloe might be perfectly innocent of their schemes, but Lady Morrissey was conspiring even unto the finer details. Her attention was ever on the sprigs of mistletoe, which she appeared to be moving suspiciously, hither and thither. Either she was placing them strategically for her own designs… else she was plotting… with Claire.
And whatever her true intent, it didn’t stop her from teasing Mr. Cameron every chance she got, greedily collecting mistletoe kisses.
In fact, their behavior was scandalous, locking lips, and suckling faces at every juncture in the house.
Regrettably, however, Alexandra no longer had any taste for gossip, and far more than stir her sense of scandalmongering, it fortified her resolve to avoid it at every cost—equally so much as she was resigned to avoiding Ben, as well as the mistletoe.