Christine Merrill - The Mistletoe Wager

Nick hoped that the game they were really playing would be over once Harry had caught his wife. Elise looked more resigned than happy to be playing, but at least she was no longer as angry as she had been in the hall. But Harry stopped at the last moment and turned, moving across the room again, away from his wife.

Elise put her hands on her hips and glared at his back in disgust.

On his way to wherever he thought he was going, Harry managed to catch himself on a small table and tip it, sending a carafe of wine cascading down the leg of Nick’s best buff trousers.

He stifled an oath and mopped at the stain with his handkerchief.

Rosalind glared at him, making frantic gestures that he should hold his tongue and keep to the spirit of the game.

‘I have upset something,’ announced Harry, grinning without remorse.

Rosalind reached him from behind and spun him, giving him a forceful shove to send him back towards Elise.

Harry lurched again in the direction of his wife, only to catch another woman by the shoulders. ‘And this is the elder Miss Gilroy. For I have danced with you before, and recall you as being most slim and just this tall.’ The girl dissolved into a shower of giggles.

Elise’s countenance darkened with the clouds of a returning storm. As Harry made another pass through the room, instead of avoiding him she stepped in front of him, so that he could not help but run into her.

He swung his arms wide again, turned suddenly, and reached high instead of low, catching Tremaine by the throat. ‘What’s this, then? Have I caught the turkey for tomorrow’s dinner?’

He gave a warning squeeze, and Nick gagged slightly.

‘Oh, no. Not a turkey at all. It is Tremaine. I recognise that artfully tied cravat. You’re out of the running, old man. Sit down.’ He released his throat, spun him around and gave a sharp push to his shoulders that sent him stumbling towards the sofa. ‘And stay out of my way.’

The other people in the room laughed knowingly.

He turned again, ‘How many is that, then? Almost everyone? But there must be someone left.’ He walked deliberately past his own wife again.

Elise was getting angrier by the minute, and was now actively trying to be found-repeatedly stepping into his path, only to be avoided as he seized and identified someone else.

Nick was near enough to Rosalind to hear her fervent whispering. ‘Don’t toy with her, Harry. Do not toy with her. She does not appreciate it.’

But either Harry did not hear or did not care. He was still pretending that he did not know the location of his wife. He groped in the empty air to the right of her, and when she moved into his path he turned again. It was plain to all there that he was deliberately avoiding her.

‘Where is she?’

Several guests laughed, and a young girl called out, ‘Behind you. Look behind you.’

At last, Elise could control her temper no longer. ‘If you seriously wish to find her, she will be in her bedroom. With the door locked.’ Elise gave her husband an angry shove, then marched past him and through the drawing room door.

The room went silent, waiting to see what would happen next. When Harry yanked off the blindfold he looked, for a moment, as though he were torn between staying and following her. And then he smoothed his hair and let out a hearty laugh, to prove that there was nothing seriously wrong.

The guests relaxed and laughed with him.

Rosalind caught Nick before he could leave the room to find Elise. He frowned at her. ‘You need some practice, I think, in your tying of the blindfold. Your brother could see us all, clear as day.’

She let out an exasperated puff of air. ‘Of course he could. It would make little sense for him to have wandered around blind.’

‘That is the point of the game, is it not?’

‘When you are in a room with your wife and her lover it is never a good idea to be blind.’

‘He has pretended blindness on the subject long enough,’ said Nick, with a growing understanding of Harry’s predicament.

‘But now it is long past time for him to stop pretending.’ She glared in the direction of her brother. ‘I am so angry with Harry that I can hardly speak. He must have known what I was about by tying the handkerchief the way I did. I gave him an excellent opportunity and he wasted it. But if I question him on it, he will claim that he knows his wife better than I. And she will return to him in her own good time and there is little else to be done about it.’

‘You gave him no choice but to act as he did, Rosalind. I had my doubts, when he welcomed me into his home, but the man does have his pride. He wants his wife back, but he does not want to be forced to admit the fact in front of an audience.’

‘And why ever not? Admitting that you love your wife is nothing to be ashamed of.’

Nick shook his head. ‘Perhaps not. But to solve this problem someone must be willing to sacrifice their pride. And each one is still hoping that it can be the other.’

‘It might be easier for us to reconcile them were they not so perfectly suited in their bullheadedness.’

He glared at her. ‘It might also be easier if you would include me in the plans that you are making. At least a small warning would have been welcome just now. The man positively mauled me, and I had to stand there and take it in good humour.’

‘It serves you right,’ she said with vehemence. ‘You are quite horrible, you know.’

‘I am no worse than I have ever been.’

‘And no better than you should be. Harry is right in one thing, Tremaine. You need to change your ways. And, while it pains me to see Harry and Elise struggling with pride, I have no compunction in sacrificing yours. If this season gives you a chance to do penance, then so be it. You may start afresh in the New Year.’

‘What if one suspects that no matter what one does the next year will be no different from the last?’ He shook his head. ‘I find it no cause for celebration.’

‘Only if you are unhappy with your life,’ she said. ‘I thought you claimed to be content. If so, another year of the same will not bother you.’

Damn her for making him think on it. For as he did he realised that he was far too bored to claim contentment. ‘And you are so content in yours, then?’ He gave her a sour smile.

She lifted her chin. ‘My view of the future is somewhat more optimistic than yours. I do not worry myself over the things I cannot change, and apply myself diligently to those things that I can. I view the New Year as a promise that things do not always have to be the same.’ She held out a hand. ‘While the book is closing on 1813, there is no telling what 1814 will bring us. You might be a better man.’

Nick stood too close to her, and was satisfied to see the flash in her eyes that proved she was not so immune to his charms as she pretended. ‘Are you still convinced there is something wrong with me as I am now?’

Instead of responding playfully to his comment, she looked at him in all seriousness and said, ‘Yes, there is. You wonder how it is that you manage to be in such trouble with Harry, and why your life does not change from year to year. But you have only your own behaviour to blame for it.’ She glanced towards the hall, in the direction of the absent Elise. ‘I saw the two of you together when I brought Harry into the room. And I saw the look you gave her as she left. Do not tell me that you were not about to follow her. It is more than difficult, trying to get the two of them to co-operate and reconcile. If you can muster enough sense to set her free, then it will be much easier for all of us.’

The next day, Nick was lying on his back on the library sofa, struggling to enjoy the peace and quiet of Christmas afternoon. The roads to the village were better, but still suspect. So the party had forgone church and let Harry lead them in morning prayer in the dining room. After luncheon, the servants had hitched up sleighs, and Harry had taken the majority of his guests to go ice skating on a nearby stream. Others had retired to their rooms. There had been no sign at all of Elise since she had taken to her room the previous evening.

He felt a touch of guilt over that point. But jollying her back into good spirits would mean he must forfeit the afternoon, which was going just as he preferred it: dozing with a full stomach, in air scented faintly with pine and punch, and none of the frenetic eagerness to make fun where none was needed. Nor did he wish to give Rosalind Morley fuel for her spurious argument that he did not know how to let well enough alone when it came to his ex-intended. If Elise needed cheering, then perhaps it was time for her husband to do the job.

It had occurred to him that if he wished any real peace, it would be a far better idea to stay in his own bedroom than to stretch out in a common area, where he was likely to be interrupted at any moment. But he had rejected the idea for the illogical reason that it would give him too much privacy. Rosalind would not think to look for him if he rested in his room. And he had to admit that he was growing to expect a disruptive visit from the sweet Miss Morley as part of his daily routine. He had promised to stay out of her way, and he had meant to be true to his word. It was no fault of his that she insisted upon searching him out.

His mind ran over and over their conversation of the previous evening. She seemed to think that he was still to blame for the troubles between Harry and Elise, even though he was doing everything in his power to rejoin them. Had he not brought her home? Was he not doing his best to stay clear of them while they sorted out their difficulties?

And had he not immediately fallen back into his role of devoted admirer the minute he’d seen Elise’s unhappiness? Damn it all, he did not want to lie with her any more than she wanted his attentions. But the suggestion of it had been enough of a distraction to coax her back to the punch bowl.

Now, despite nagging doubts about the wisdom of it, he would leave Elise to have her sulk. He would be sure to point the fact out when Miss Morley put in an appearance with whatever scheme she was currently hatching. There was no telling what chaos she was likely to bring with her when she came today. He smiled. Although she was a most annoying young lady, at least she did not bore him.

Nick glanced at his watch, and was surprised to see it was almost three. Several hours had passed in relative silence, and he should have been able to settle his mind and get the sleep he’d been craving. Although the library sofa was much more comfortable than the miserable mattress his host had allotted him, he could not seem to find peace.

He looked over the back of the couch at the mistletoe, still hanging in its proper place above the door. On impulse he rose and removed it from the hook, dropping it on the floor under a table. Then he went back to his place by the fire and pretended to sleep.

Rosalind came into the room a short time later, but took no notice of the missing decoration. Instead, she strode directly to his hiding place, coming round to the front of the couch to slap at the sole of his boot. ‘Wake up, Tremaine. I have plans for you.’

He pretended to splutter to consciousness, looked up at her, and hurriedly closed his eyes again. ‘Then I am most assuredly still asleep. Please leave me in peace.’

‘There is much work to be done if you wish to go home alone.’

‘Far more than that, I wish to go home alive. And the best way to assure my safety is to stay right here, far away from Harry. The man laid hands on me yesterday. He cannot be trusted.’

‘You are being silly again. It was an innocent game.’

When she scolded him, her curls bounced in a most amusing fashion, and he had to force himself not to smile at her. ‘The game was innocent enough. But I do not trust some of the players any further than I can throw them.’ No more than he trusted Rosalind. He suspected that she had other reasons for wishing him to play.

‘You have nothing to fear from Harry. I have known the man almost a quarter of a century. Although he might threaten, he would never do you bodily harm.’

He laughed. ‘When you reach that advanced age, little one, and make such claims, then I shall take your word.’

She glared down at him. ‘Twenty-five is not an advanced age, and it is most unflattering of you to call it so. The fact that I am near to it does not put me so far beyond the pale.’

Four-and-twenty? But she could barely be eighteen now. He was convinced of it. He looked at her more closely. But hadn’t he thought the same thing when he had met her the first time? And that had been years ago. If she was twenty-four, then…He counted upon his fingers.