Sandra Heath - Mistletoe Mischief

"Not now, if you please, Master Witherspoon, for I have things of my own to think about."

"As thou wishest, mistress."

Evangeline gazed into the mirror, her twenty-six-year-old favorite nephew and chosen heir, Lord Rupert Radcliffe, uppermost in her mind. He had dismayed everyone when he foolishly spurned Chloe, the daughter of Evangeline's oldest and dearest friend in Brighton, Admiral Sir Jocelyn Holcroft. Chloe was adorable, with short golden hair, big blue eyes, and a dainty figure. Enchantingly scatterbrained, impulsive, and kindhearted, Chloe was the perfect bride for Rupert, who was the youngest son of Evangeline's brother, the Duke of Dencaster. But he had bungled his opportunity, and now a certain Oliver March was slyly insinuating himself into her affections. The latest whisper suggested an announcement on St. Valentine's Day, which wouldn't do at all! Mr. March should be given his conge, and Rupert's ears should be soundly boxed.

Evangeline gave her reflection a long-suffering look, for her other nephew, Sir Greville Seton, presented as great a problem. Greville wasn't strictly her nephew, more a third or fourth cousin one removed, or some such convoluted thing, but whatever the connection, she called him nephew. He was handsome, dashing, charming, wealthy, and sought after; but he was also complex and- occasionally-downright difficult. At thirty-four he should have been married long since, but there was no sign of a bride. That had to be rectified, for if ever a man was in need of a wife, it was Greville.

Finally, in Miss Megan Mortimer, Evangeline had the orphan in need of rescue; provided she was the right Megan Mortimer, of course. Oh, surely there could not be another who apparently fitted the bill so completely? This Megan's age and background was right, so she must be the right one. It was a great pity that she was a companion, because Greville would dislike her on principle, but it couldn't be helped. Whatever his opinion on the matter, his aunt was determined to gather the young lady safely into her protection. And to think that if the customary Christmas arrangements had not gone wrong this year, Megan might never have been discovered at all.

It had started several weeks ago, when she realized that her usual yuletide guests could not come until New Year's Eve because of prior commitments of one sort or another. Then had come an invitation to stay in Bath with her old friend Lady Jane Strickland, with whom she had almost lost all contact. Yesterday she had arrived in Bath to find Jane's loathsome son and daughter-in-law, Ralph and Sophia, on the point of leaving for London, having cut short the first visit they had made to Bath after a long family rift. The rift was apparently in danger of resumption because Sophia, elder daughter of Lord and Lady Garsington of Brighton and every bit as objectionable as her parents, had discovered Ralph in shocking circumstances with the young woman employed as his mother's companion. Ralph claimed to have been the innocent victim of shameless advances, and Sophia had demanded the companion's immediate dismissal without a reference.

Jane had rather reprehensibly complied, for it was apparent to everyone that if any shameless advances had taken place, they had been of Ralph's lecherous doing. But Jane's compliance had not been swift enough for Sophia, who had never wished to mend the rift in the first place; hence the precipitate departure for the capital.

The ill-used companion, Miss Megan Mortimer, had already packed and departed when Evangeline arrived at the Strickland residence. Megan had come here to Wells because a post was advertised by the bishop's wife, although without a reference her chances of success were minimal.

The moment Evangeline heard the companion's name, she had abandoned all thought of Christmas with Jane in order to give pursuit. In a few moments now she hoped to come face-to-face with the young woman who had no connection with her whatsoever, but whose welfare was vital to her peace of mind. She reached inside her cloak to finger the beautiful gold locket at her throat.

Maybe it was all going to be in vain, but whatever the outcome, she would have tried her best.

Rollo broke into her thoughts by suddenly clearing his throat. "Wilt thou hear my soliloquy now, mistress?" he asked hopefully.

"Master Witherspoon, your wretched soliloquy will have to wait until we are home in Brighton, for this is neither the appropriate time nor place for Hamlet!” Evangeline replied tartly.

His footsteps crossed to the abandoned greenery, which he kicked pettishly. "Yon surly Ramsbotham taketh a plaguey long time," he grumbled.

"I dare say he is being deliberately slow to spite me," she replied.

"A knave, if ever I perceived one." The ghost sighed. "Mistress, art thou quite sure of all this? Might it not be that Master Ralph spoke truthfully? What if Mistress Mortimer is a trollop after all?"

"I've already told you, I'm not sure of anything," she replied a little impatiently, for they had argued about this all the way from Bath. Of course there was a chance that Ralph had been honest for once, but she rather thought pigs would sew fishing nets on the Steine first!

At that moment there came a timid knock at the door. Evangeline braced herself for her first glimpse of Miss Megan Mortimer. First impressions were so very important… "Enter," she said.

Megan came in. She was in her early twenties, and of medium height, with a small-waisted figure and heavy nut-brown hair that was pinned up beneath a white muslin day bonnet. Her mustard wool gown was high-waisted and tightly buttoned at the cuffs, and there was a plain white shawl around her shoulders. Her face was striking rather than pretty, for her mouth was a little too wide and her nose perhaps a fraction too straight, but her complexion was without fault. Her eyes, light brown and melting, were respectfully lowered as she came in and closed the door.

Evangeline's heart quickened, for the likeness was quite uncanny, especially those eyes. She drew herself up sharply. Don't let your heart rule your head completely! "Look at me, girl, and come closer, that I may see you properly," she instructed.

Megan obeyed, and then asked. "Why do you wish to see me, Lady Evangeline?"

The question was answered with another. "Does my name mean anything to you, Miss Mortimer?"

"I have heard Lady Jane Strickland speak of you, and know that you are to spend Christmas with her this year, but that is all I know. Lady Jane was my last employer," Megan added.

"Yes, I am aware of that. So my name has never been mentioned in the past? Before you went to Lady Jane?" Evangeline held her breath.

"Before?" Puzzlement shadowed Megan's eyes. "No, Lady Evangeline."

Well, that was only to be expected, Evangeline supposed. "May I inquire why you left Lady Jane's employ?" Let's see how discreet the girl could be.

Megan met her inquisitor's gimlet gaze. "I left because I felt it was time to make a fresh start."

"Pastures new?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. And you have made this momentous decision immediately before Christmas, when you have no new position to go to, and no reference either? With all due respect, I find that hard to believe."

"I came here because I knew of a post with the wife of the Bishop of Bath and Wells, but the place has been filled. There is an element of doubt, however, so I thought it might be prudent to stay for a few days, in case the vacancy should arise again. When Mr. Ramsbotham told me someone wished to see me, my first thought was that it was someone from the Bishop's Palace." Megan avoided Evangeline's eyes, for the truth of it was that her lack of a suitable reference from Lady Jane had raised doubts in the mind of the bishop's wife.