Ben, too, had made himself scarce after their meeting in the foyer. He and Alexandra formed an unspoken truce, avoiding each other whenever possible, and so it was that when everyone retired to the drawing room for another game of charades, and Ben decided to join them, Alexandra declined the invitation. Instead, she set out to find herself a safe location to sketch—not in the foyer, nor the ballroom, nor the gallery, nor the music room, nor the dining room, nor the study. All of these rooms were infested with mistletoe.
“Alexandra!” she heard Claire call as she passed by the parlor, but this time Lexie daren’t be caught. Unfortunately, it was beginning to feel as though her only recourse was to trespass into someone’s bedroom, or hide away in the servant’s quarters… or…
She found the library only by chance, hidden away behind another gallery. One glance about the room revealed it to be entirely free of mistletoe. No doubt Claire believed it would be the one place in the house she would have no interest in, which only proved how clandestine Alexandra had been about her studies. And meanwhile, Claire was rarely without a tome in hand, and never much cared one way or another whether she might be called a bluestocking. Her own father had lovingly called her a solitudinarian—a thing Alexandra was learning to appreciate, if not entirely by choice.
Once she was safely ensconced in the library, and blissfully sheltered from any possibility of bumping into Ben, she perused the shelves, homing in on the horticulture and botany sections. There, she ran a finger across the leather-bound volumes, delighting in all the titles…
The Rambling Botanist, Trees and Ferns, ABC and XYZ of Bee Culture, Culpeper’s Complete Herbal, Hortus Cantabrigiensis: A Catalogue of Plants, British Botany, and Harold Glover’s Book of Botany…
That one, she decided, because it was Glover’s work that most inspired her, along with Nicholas Culpeper’s. Someday, Alexandra hoped a proper woman would join their ranks. And meanwhile, she discovered precisely what she was searching for within the pages of Harold Glover’s tome. Satisfied, she settled in to read…
The common name for heliotropium was Indian heliotrope. Species: H. indicum; family boraginales.
And yes, indeed, it did have medicinal properties, although it did appear to have a cumulative toxic effect upon the liver.
Occasionally, the leaves were used as a vegetable, but with disastrous results. However, the proper uses were many—in the treatment of warts, inflammation, tumors. It also served as an analgesic to ease rheumatic pain, and then, too, as a diuretic. A decoction of the entire plant could be used to treat thrush, control menses and dyspepsia.
Additionally, mixed with a bit of coconut oil and a very minute amount of salt, the leaves might be administered to children as a remedy for grippe and cough.
Moreover, a poultice made from the leaves could be applied to wounds and to insect bites.
Fascinating.
She only wished she had her sketchpad.
Itching to draw, she got up to search the escritoire, discovering an amazing mechanical pencil and a single sheet of paper. With both in hand, she sat again, placing the sheet atop the book, and putting her pencil to paper, trying to remember the precise form and texture of the leaf from the garden.
If she dared to brave the weather without her pelisse, or the chance of bumping into Ben, she might have gone back to pluck another, but, really, no need… the pencil moved of its own accord… outlining and shading. And yet, much to her surprise, once she lifted the pencil to examine the rendering, she gasped to find it wasn’t a leaf she was sketching at all. It was…
Speak of the devil, who should appear… certainly not a chubby and plump, jolly old elf…
Benjamin Wentworth opened the library door, peering within. “Oh!” Alexandra exclaimed, and immediately concealed the evidence of her reverie. “Ben! What are you doing here?”
He lifted a brow, only this time, it hadn’t a trace of contempt, only perhaps surprise. “I could ask the same of you.”
Wholly embarrassed, she folded the drawing and slid it into the book, then hid the book between her hip and the arm of the chair. “I was… well… hiding,” she confessed.
“From?”
You, she longed to say.
“The mistletoe. It’s everywhere.”
“I see,” he said, and rather than leave her be, he sauntered into the room, closing the door behind him.
Alexandra’s heartbeat quickened painfully. “What are you doing?”
“The same as you,” he said. “Hiding.”
Alexandra found herself entirely flummoxed. “But really, in here?” She asked desperately. “Why? Can’t you find your own hiding place… elsewhere?”
“Actually,” he said. “I’m here for the same reason you chose this room.”
Alexandra tilted him a suspicious glance. “Why?”
He grinned. “Because there’s no mistletoe in here, why else?”
Alexandra blew out a sigh, only grateful that he didn’t ask about the book. Only now she wholly regretted having convinced him to leave the mistletoe up.
Seemingly without a care in the world, he slid into one of two red, leather wingback chairs, and then stretched his legs, reclining comfortably. Alexandra couldn’t help but note the sinew of his thighs—so apparent even through the fabric of his too-tight trews.
Now what?
“Do you plan to stay… there?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Why?” It was all she could do not to come off sounding as though she were whining, because indeed she was.
Ben tilted her a curious look. “I’ve already said.”
Alexandra pleaded again. “Ben, please! Can’t you find another room?”
“Where?”
“I don’t know… perhaps the garden?”
“It’s snowing in case you haven’t noticed.”
Alexandra gave him a huff of frustration and began to tap her fingers restlessly atop the arm of the chair.
“Am I making you nervous?”
“No.”
“Then why are you tapping? Or is that a new habit?”
Alexandra tilted him a long-suffering glance. “Like smoking?”
He smiled again and slid a hand into his jacket, then said, “Speaking of which…”
Alexandra put up a hand. “Please… do not!”
He gave her a half-hearted smile, and said, “Anything for you… Turtle Dove.”
Alexandra’s cheeks flushed at hearing his nearly forgotten term of endearment—but it also upset her, because she couldn’t tell if he were being facetious. “Please don’t call me that,” she said.
“As you wish.”
The two fell silent, though while Alexandra had the good grace to look away—at literally anything else in the room except for Ben—Ben seemed to be staring at her, and every time her gaze returned to his face, he was still watching her.
“You’ve been hiding quite a lot,” he said.
“Yes.” It was a simple word, devoid of any defensiveness. She was, indeed, avoiding him, and so she believed he must be avoiding her as well. It was a very keen arrangement, and she only wished he would go back to it forthwith, instead of sitting there, watching her with that ever-so-slight devil of a smirk on those sinfully beautiful lips.