CHAPTER 8
23 DECEMBER
Rule No. 8:
On Touching.
All the while kissing, keep your hands firmly by your sides, or behind your back. Unless invited to do so, you are not to reach out and touch the person or the mistletoe. Wandering hands are bad form, and fodder for gossip. Respect your lady friend and keep your hands to yourself!
Alexandra stood eyeing the folded paper in her hand.
Like a frightened schoolgirl, Alexandra fled the library, but she didn’t return to the parlor as she’d claimed. Instead, she escaped to her room, where she’d hidden a small book beneath the bed—André & François Michaux’s Flora Boreali-Americana. And there, she remained, until Claire returned, arriving with a look on her face that, in retrospect, seemed entirely suspicious—only perhaps Lexie didn’t realize because she herself had been behaving rather dubiously, thrusting her pirated book beneath the bed the instant she heard footfalls approaching.
However, only Claire could have slid this piece of paper beneath her pillow. And nevertheless, she had risen and dressed this morn, hurrying away without a word—and, really, since when was she ever so eager to break her fast?
Recognizing the nature of the fold, as well as the texture of the paper, Alexandra very carefully unfolded the parchment, grimacing over the artwork. It was her depiction of Ben—with his hat in hand and a sprig of mistletoe peeking out from within. Drawn from memory, he was younger in the drawing, with his best features in good show—the devilishly arched brow, the twinkle in his eyes, the sensuous lips…
Good Lord! She had forgotten about it in her rush to quit the library… and now, her cheeks burned again.
Had he discovered this and given it to Claire to return to her? And if so, why didn’t Claire say anything about it?
Clearly, Claire was aiding and abetting her dear brother, and, so, it seemed, Alexandra encountered yet another plot once she descended to breakfast…
The instant she stepped into the dining room, everyone except Ben exited the room—clearing their plates at once, stuffing their mouths and abandoning their seats, making excuses one after another, until no one remained… except Alexandra and Ben.
Well… she wasn’t going to let it bother her. She was quite famished, and, unlike Claire, she was a great fan of breakfast, and there was a little of everything on the buffet—eggs, toast, jam, bacon, bangers, mash, and even a bit of that leftover plum pudding.
“Did you sleep well?” Asked Ben, while she filled her plate.
The last to leave the dining room, Lady Morrissey gave them a giddy backward glance, and then made a good show of pulling Mr. Cameron beneath a sprig of mistletoe in the entryway. Alexandra frowned, hard-pressed not to toss the lady a napkin so she could wipe her chin.
“Splendid,” she said, ignoring the pair, as she brought her plate to the table and sat as far as possible from Ben. “And you?”
“Excellent,” said Ben. “Most excellent,” he said. “I had a fascinating dream…”
“About?”
“Hats.”
Filled with mistletoe, Alexandra supposed. Her brows collided, though she refused to rise to the bait. If in fact he meant to poke fun, she was having none of it. “Oh?” She said.
“Indeed.”
“Oh,” she said again. And then, for all their ease together in the library yesterday afternoon, she felt awkward. “I wonder where everyone has gone off to,” she said, forcing conversation only to chase away the silence.
“Perhaps to find a closet,” he said, with a grin, and really, it was precisely like him to jest about something so bawdy. It only seemed out of character because of their interactions over this past year. Still, Alexandra tilted him a reproving glance, and then occupied herself with inspecting the eggs on her plate—with an audience in the hall, unbeknownst to Ben, unless he had eyes at the back of his head.
Consequently, conversation was excruciating, but Alexandra did her best to ignore the wretches as Ben discussed the merits of bacon at length.
And then they talked about snow… lots and lots about snow: Apparently, the roads were impassible—it was no wonder the Duchess had remained at Hampton Court Palace. The last time they’d had such a heavy snowfall was back in ’14, when Lexie was only six. Mad King George was still on the throne when the Thames froze over and the city held a Frost Fair, where elephants marched across the river at Blackfriars Bridge and folks stood by eating gingerbread and sipping gin. Ben chattered incessantly, far more chipper than he’d been in ages—at least so far as Lexie knew—although the one subject he did not broach was the caricature Alexandra drew—talk about elephants in the room.
She had half a mind to bring it up now, but some cat got her tongue, and after a while, the silence on her part seemed to be a challenge for Ben.
“So… you enjoy botany?” he asked.
In the distance, Lady Morrissey’s head bobbed behind a plant. Then Claire’s did as well. “Hmmm?”
“That book you were reading.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I do.”
“And what is it about botany that interests you, precisely?”
Annoyed, even though she didn’t wish to be, Alexandra dropped her toast onto her plate. “Really, Ben. Do you truly wish to know?”
He nodded emphatically, and suddenly, inexplicably, her mood lifted, and she forgot about breakfast, forgot about time, and even forgot about the Peeping Tom’s in the foyer.
“Well… of late, I have been following the works of Charles Darwin. Perhaps you recall him? He spent one summer a few years ago helping his father in Shropshire before attending University.”
“You mean the bloke who was on about eating beetles and owls?”
Alexandra pursed her lips and nodded.
“I believe that was the same year—”
“Yes!” Alexandra said quickly, nodding again. “He came to dinner again after you and Claire left. I believe my mother had romantic designs, until he went on and on about bombardier beetles discharging in his hand.”
Ben laughed. “Did she show him the door?”
Alexandra giggled, and nodded. “She couldn’t see him leave quickly enough, though he did give me a book before he went away, and I’ve been enthralled ever since.”
“Really,” said Ben, nodding, his brow furrowing, and he seemed genuinely surprised. “I never even knew.”
Alexandra smiled contentedly. “Most recently he wrote a paper about divine design in nature, and, so I understand, that on the twenty-seventh of this month—three days hence—he is to embark upon a journey to investigate geology.”
“Where to?”
Alexandra shrugged. “Who knows. My mother didn’t say. I suppose she’s only pleased he won’t be returning to Shropshire any day soon. And yet I shall, indeed, await his discoveries with bated breath.”
“So… this is your interest as well—divine design in nature?”
“Oh, no!” said Alexandra. “It is not. I am, of course, fascinated with natural philosophy and zoological speculation, but I much prefer learning about the medicinal properties of plants more than their evolution.”