Miss Murchison’s Mistletoe Memories

Prologue

She folded the delicate silver paper back around the mistletoe leaves, their shape still clearly visible through its pale translucent surface, and slipped them back into their place, between the early pages of her diary.

She remembered the moment that she’d picked those leaves from the tangle of mistletoe that he’d dragged down out of the tree for her, after catching her when she’d fallen, trying to reach it herself.

He’d looked at her then as if she was somehow precious, something more than an annoying girl who had followed him around, always full of curiosity and endless conversation – conversation that he had tolerated, and even seemed to welcome, even though she was years younger than he was.

The way that he had treated her had been a gift of the best kind, although she hadn’t understood that until years later.

But after that year, she’d never really seen him again, beyond a very few quick glimpses in the distance.

He rarely came to the family property in Scotland, and she supposed that he had studies, and responsibilities in society, to worry about. Much more important things than the girl who lived on the estate next door.

Had he married by now? Probably. After all, men of the aristocracy had a duty to breed heirs and ensure that their family lines survived.

But the thought of him, married, brought a pang to her heart. No one else had ever treated her the same way. He had taken her seriously, even back then, as no one else had, almost ever since.

She sighed, and looked at the few words she had written in the diary today. They were simple, yet they summed up the essence of her state of mind right now.

What will London be like? Will I hate it?