Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
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.
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.