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Later that evening
L
ynette sat stiffly next to her mother on one of the low sofas in the drawing room. Though the Ivy family and servants had done a spectacular job of decorating many of the rooms on the lower level of the castle, the holiday greenery failed to cheer her. Each time she caught sight of the tin bells and colored glass balls nestled in the evergreen branches or looked up the bright red ribbons woven through the boughs, unexpected sadness assailed her.
I miss my husband.
More than that, she missed the closeness and the romance of having an attentive man by her side during this time. There was a certain knowing when one had that, the keeping of secrets, the whispered conversations, the kisses one might steal while passing beneath mistletoe. Her husband had adored this time of year, and that had made their celebrations all the more special, but for so long it had been her and John that some of the magic had been lost along the way.
“Stop moping, girl. Soon we’ll retire upstairs then you can brood all you want,” her mother groused with a poke to her ribs from a bony finger.
“I won’t apologize for feeling maudlin. It’s when I miss Charles the most.” Her son and Lucy sat on the floor off to one side, studiously making chains out of strips of paper. Later, they would hang them in their respective bedchambers in an effort to extend the holiday cheer.
She glided her gaze over the other occupants of the room—the Ivy family plus Lord Hollingworth’s new fiancée. They either talked in small groups or sat by themselves. The Duke and Duchess of Whittington stood together near the fireplace, their heads together, whispering intensely.
What might it be like to have had such a lasting marriage over the years?
The youngest Ivy brother—Lord Bonham—suddenly perked up. “Why don’t we play the game Bullet Pudding?” His eyes twinkled, and from the way he held himself, he knew himself to be scandalously handsome. “We haven’t done that for years.”
The twins exchanged glances. Did Stephen understand what his brother wished without words? That relationship had always fascinated her over the years.
It was he who nodded. “That sounds like a capitol idea, Graham.” Was his smile sly or had she imagined too much into it as he looked about the room. “Any objections?”
Everyone shook their heads, but the word “game” had snagged the children’s’ interest. They bounded to their feet.
“What sort of game is Bullet Pudding?” John asked, for he liked nothing more than learning new things, and during the course of playing tin soldiers with Stephen earlier in the day, he’d had many of his newest questions about battlefields answered.
She was forever grateful for Stephen’s patience.
“Well, it’s when the players make a huge pile of flour. Usually, a bullet or a ball from a pistol is placed atop, but tonight we’ll use a marble. The point of the game is to have everyone slice a piece of the ‘cake’ without causing the marble to drop.” Stephen’s eyes sparkled as he talked with the boy. “When that happens, the player who let the marble fall has to retrieve it by using their lips only. And if they don’t, it’s declared a forfeit and that player has to do a dare or follow through with something else agreed upon.”
“That sounds like jolly good fun, Lord Tilbury. May we do it?”
“Yes, please, Uncle Stephen?” Lucy threw her pleading in with John’s.
The duke decided it. “Graham, run down to the kitchens and ask Cook for a wide serving platter as well as enough flour to play the game.”
“I’ll return shortly.” With that, the youngest Ivy brother ran from the drawing room as if he were lad of John’s age again.
“The rest of you, help me arrange the furniture so we can all gather ‘round one of these tables.”
Her mother stood. “Playing a game doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. I’m going upstairs. There’s some embroidery work I’d like to finish.”
“If you’re certain?” Lynette murmured. It was probably for the best that her mother left the party, for she had the tendency to drag the uplifted atmosphere down.
“Oh, yes. The rest of you can cavort all you wish, but mind John doesn’t stay up too late.” She met Lynette’s eyes. “He doesn’t need to pick up the bad habits of indulgent lords.”
“He won’t, Mama, and the Ivy men are quite harmless.”
Her mother shook a finger at her. “I know men, and these three are full of mischief.” She dropped her voice. “To say nothing of the duke. He’s up to no good. I can tell.”
Too tired to debate with her mother, Lynette sighed. “Enjoy your evening then. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“If I don’t expire in my sleep. My room is overly drafty.”
With a sigh, she watched her mother exit the room, and when her gaze connected with that of Lady Whittington’s, she offered a slight smile and a shrug. The older woman flashed an encouraging grin, and the understanding in her eyes did more to make Lynette feel at ease than anything else.
“Some folks have lost the ability to be happy,” she said as she drifted close to Lynette’s location. “Don’t let her attitude sour your own.”
“I won’t, but she’s turned bitter over the last year or so that sometimes it’s difficult.” Lynette frowned. “I have my own life; she needs to live hers instead of being dependent on me.”
The duchess patted her shoulder. “She’ll learn.”
Then Graham returned with a handful of servants, including the butler.
“Excellent!” The duke waved them into the room. “Set everything up right here.” He indicated a low, square-shaped table.
Mr. Alberts made a grand show of setting down the shallow platter while one of the kitchen maids poured a measure of flour into a large mound inside it. The ivory-hued mountain seemed unnecessarily tall for the game, but the duke didn’t dissuade them. Then Graham produced a black marble from his waistcoat pocket. Where he’d procured it from was anyone’s guess. He gently placed the marble atop the flour mound with a grin.
“Now, who shall go first?” The duke rubbed his hands together while tossing a glance about the room. Obviously, he still enjoyed a good game.
Lord Hollingsworth’s gaze fell upon her. “Why don’t we let Mrs. Hodgins go first since she’s a baker. Let’s see if she’s lucky around flour.”
“Good idea, Griffin.” The duke beamed and gestured her over with a hand. “Come, Mrs. Hodgins. No need to be shy.”
Twin threads of unease and excitement twisted down her spine. It had been an age since she’d indulged in such antics. Stephen and the duchess came to stand at her sides while the rest of the company gathered around the table. One of the kitchen maids handed her a shiny pie wedge. “All right. I guess there’s no use in delaying.” She kneeled at the table and carefully sliced into the flour mound without disturbing the marble. The flour she removed with the pie wedge, she deposited onto a platter that another kitchen maid held.
Lord Hollingsworth took a turn after her, with the same results.
Then Lady Lettice made a slice. The marble remained precariously balanced atop the flour as the three of them continued to watch while still on their knees.
John glanced between the flour and Lynette. “I wonder when it’ll fall?”
Stephen dropped to the floor beside her and nudged her gently in the ribs. “Take another turn, Mrs. Hodgins. Then the rest of us will have a go at it in a new game.”
“Why me again? Someone else should have a turn.” She couldn’t think clearly with him so near, but there was nothing she could do about it in front of all these people.
The duke snorted. “Have a go, Mrs. Hodgins. We’ll play multiple games,” the duke said with a nod and a twinkle in his eye.
“Fine.” Lynette accepted the pie wedge from Lady Lettice. The pile seemed all too precarious now. With care, she sliced into the soft, fluffy flour, but the dratted marble fell with a dull thud to the platter.
“Ah ha!” The duke clapped his hands. “You must retrieve it with only your lips, Mrs. Hodgins. No cheating!”
Oh, how embarrassing. She looked at Stephen, took in his slight smile, and she huffed. “Of course it would have to be me.”
“You can do it, Mama,” John encouraged as he leaned on his bit of table.
“Easy as pie,” Stephen whispered, and when she put her hands behind her back, he slipped the fingers of one hand about her wrists in a barely there touch. “Just in case you wished to cheat, you see,” he said with a wink, much to the amusement of his brothers.
With nothing for it, Lynette edged over the serving platter, highly aware the Ivy family as well as servants looked on. Forced to scrabble for the marble, her nose encountered the remaining pile of flour. Lord Hollingsworth kept cracking jokes, which made her laugh despite her resolve to appear dignified before the company. On one particular violent laugh, she unfortunately inhaled some of the flour. A fit of choking and coughing soon followed, much to the hilarity of the assembled guests.
The marble dropped back into the dish.
“Start over or forfeit, Mrs. Hodgins,” the duke called, his tones echoing in the room.
“I think I’ll take the forfeit,” she said. I must look a fright. As Lynette eased away from the table, she glanced at the smiling faces around her. “I would have been just fine had you not decided to joke about it.”
“That’s quite the fun of it, Mama.” Happiness danced in John’s eyes. “But you can try again later. Right, Lord Tilbury?”
“Absolutely.” Stephen gained his feet and then helped Lynette to stand.
“Oh, look at me! I could be a ghost with this mess.” When she tried to brush off some of the flour from her face and front of her gown, laughter circulates about the company.
Graham guffawed quite strenuously, which set off another avalanche of laughter. “The ghost of Ivy Castle lives!”
“Do shut up, Lord Bonham.” She sent a mock glare his way.
“Come away, so they can play another round and you can compose yourself,” Stephen said in a low voice as he drew her from the area and to the other side of the room. “There’s a mirror on the wall there if you need visual assistance.”
“Thank you.” One last look at the table showed the butler remaking a flour pile, that John and Lucy promptly destroyed with the pie wedge. Flour went everywhere, and no one nearby came away unscathed, but laughter abounded, and they didn’t seem annoyed.
“Your family is lovely, and quite intense when it comes to games.” She accepted a handkerchief from Stephen and then scrubbed at her face.
“Yes, they do rather enjoy a good laugh.” When he grinned, she couldn’t help but do the same.
“Did I get it all?” Flour was a messy endeavor on any day, let alone putting one’s face into it.
“Not quite.” Stephen took the handkerchief from her fingers, and as he glided the cloth lightly over her cheeks and chin, she trembled from his touch.
Oh, he smells so good! Lynette forced moisture into her suddenly dry throat. He was so close that the heat of him seeped into her body.
“There, that should do it,” he whispered, his face but a hair’s breadth from hers. “I got most of it.”
“Thank you.” A glance around showed that everyone else was busy either trying to clean up flour or engaging in a flour fight or trying to get through another round of Bullet Pudding. She looked at Stephen. “What’s the forfeit? That was never decided.” When she brushed at the front of her gown, flour showered to the floor.
Mischief danced in his eyes. “How about a kiss under the mistletoe?” He pointed upward.
Anticipation battled with annoyance as she glanced up. A ball of mistletoe hung from a bow directly above her and the mirror. “How did you know I’d be here?”
“I didn’t.” His shrug was a thing of elegance. “It’s pure coincidence.” There was no hint of scheming in his chocolate-hued eyes. “Do you agree?”
Once more Lynette darted a glance to the rest of the occupants in the room. No one paid them the slightest mind. “All right.” Another sweep of her hand wouldn’t dislodge the flour still clinging to her clothes.
“We’re starting to make a habit of meeting under the mistletoe,” he said in a barely audible whisper. Then he put a hand to her waist and reeled her close. “It really was in good fun, that game.”
“Oh, I know.” She could hardly think with him so close. When he fit his lips to hers, her eyes fluttered closed. Never did she think she’d ever enjoy a kiss from him again after breaking their engagement years ago. He moved lightly over her lips seeking permission, asking for her attention, reminding her of what they once shared. It was so exquisitely sweet that she trembled from it and laid a palm against his chest.
Stephen apparently took that as permission, for he settled her more comfortably in his embrace and treated her to tender but long, drugging kisses that made her forget her own name let alone where they were. It was as if the intervening years and words said between them had vanished, and once more she belonged to this man.
Awareness came sailing back and she pushed at his chest, breaking the connection. He released her, and she snickered, for he had flour on his coat and waistcoat, damning evidence they’d been close and pressed together. “You’ve been branded as guilty.”
His rich laughter washed over her and left stronger anticipation behind. Need darkened his eyes—the same feelings coursing through her veins. “Of kissing you? I won’t even try to deny it.” He brushed at the flour. Temporarily, he glanced at his family, but they were still involved in antics and games. When he gave her his attention once more, he lowered his voice. “Or of wanting you back in my life? I’m coming to think that I do.”
“Oh.” Lynette sobered. Confusion worked to shove everything else from her person. She put more distance between them and when the backs of her knees hit a chair, she flopped onto it. “I hadn’t expected that.” Now she didn’t know what to do. Her pulse raced wildly as she stared at him. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” Being with him again would tempt her, and she might lose herself like last time, but now she had a child to think of, and John came first.
Disappointment clouded his eyes, dimming their light. “I’m not asking for a commitment, Lynette, merely an opportunity to have you reflect upon a new match between us.”
“All right.” That was simple and safe enough, so she nodded. “I promise to think about it.”
“And if we should—”
The moment, and whatever he would have said, was broken by the arrival of her son. “Mama, Mr. Alberts told me I might keep this marble.” He held out a flour-caked hand to show an equally flour-covered marble.
“You may. It’ll be a wonderful remembrance of the night.”
“Thank you!” Despite the boy being more or less covered with flour, he bounded over to Stephen’s position where he stood near the mirror. “Lord Tilbury, Lady Whittington said you have a bang-up collection of marbles, and that you and Lord Hollingsworth used to play as children. Will you show me?”
Slowly, Stephen nodded. He gave the boy a smile, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. “I will if I can locate the toys. It’s been an age since I’ve seen them.”
The butler cleared his throat. “I believe they’re in a trunk the attics, my lord. I can retrieve them if you’d like.”
“Yes, yes please! Might we, Lord Tilbury?” John jumped up and down, and flour fell to the floor like snow.
With a speculative glance at her, Stephen said, “That would be lovely, Mr. Alberts. Thank you.”
Noise in the room dimmed while everyone attempted to rid themselves of the clinging flour.
“Lord Tilbury?” It seemed John had procured another round of questions.
“Yes, John?” There was nothing but patience in Stephen’s face, and for that she adored him. Oh, he would have made a wonderful father. Hot guilt and regret circled through Lynette’s belly. They could have had that...
“Does mistletoe work if it’s the man standing under it?”
Stephen peered upward. A certain crestfallen look came over his face. “Ah, I’m not certain.”
By then, the duke’s notice has been snagged. He sauntered over to their side of the drawing, pulling his duchess by the hand with him. “I don’t see why not. Mrs. Hodgins, since you’re the closest lady, go over and give my son a kiss. He seems at sixes and sevens at the moment.”
Wasn’t that the way she’d left him all those years ago? Heat jumped into her cheeks. “But I’d rather—”
“Humor me.” The duke came closer with an intense gleam in his eye. “I’m a duke and my health is fragile.”
“Oh.” Belatedly she remembered what Stephen had said about his father’s heart.
John tugged on her hand, imploring her as only a seven-year-old could. “Yes, Mama, kiss him. It was ever so nice when you did it in the kitchens earlier.”
Merciful heavens. Her cheeks burned all the hotter when the duke and duchess stared at her with confusion. “Very well.” If she didn’t, John would keep on and she’d have to explain what had occurred earlier. Lynette stood. When she joined Stephen beneath the mysterious greenery, she sighed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you planned this,” she whispered, battling both sadness and excitement... and perhaps a trace of fear.
“Not this, I didn’t.” His expression reflected emotions she couldn’t read. Regret perhaps? But why?
It serves you right. If he hadn’t attempted to plan out every year of her life, they might still be together. With nothing for it, and nearly everyone looking on, Lynette lifted on tiptoe and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips. “Christmastide blessings, Stephen.”
“Thank you. To you as well.” He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary, his eyes clouded and inscrutable. Then he looked at her son. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Come with me to the kitchens. Perhaps Cook will give us a tart or a hand pie if we return her serving platter.”
The duke snorted. “Mr. Alberts can do that.”
Stephen shook his head. “Let me. I need the exercise anyway.”
Lynette watched them go with a tight squeezing pain around her heart. She’d lost her husband all too soon and hadn’t had time to recover from that heartbreak. Was a second chance with Stephen worth the potential for pain if something happened to tear them asunder again?