Mary Balogh - Under the Mistletoe

And then a snowball collided with her chin and dripped down inside the collar of her cloak before she could brush it away. Another struck her on the shoulder. She could think only of her discomfort, of getting back indoors, where it was warm and quiet and dry and sane and all was familiar to her.

“The best defense is invariably offense,” her husband advised from close beside her, and he struck Peregrine, her chief tormentor, on the nose with a large, wet snowball.

Elizabeth laughed and felt suddenly, unexpectedly exhilarated. She stooped to gather a handful of snow, formed it into a ball, and hurled it, also at Peregrine, who was still sputtering and trying to clean off his face. It struck him in the chest, and Elizabeth laughed with delight, even as another snowball from an unidentified assailant shattered against her shoulder.

After that she forgot about discomfort and cold and dignity and hurled snowballs as fast as she could mold them at any foe within her range.

Soon, without even realizing it, she was helpless with laughter. She was also liberally caked with snow from head to foot. But several minutes passed before she spared a moment to slap ineffectually at her cloak with snow-clogged mittens.

By the time the fight was losing momentum, the children having discovered an even more amusing activity. They had captured Mr.

Chambers, two of them hanging off each arm, one off each leg, while a few others pushed and shoved. With a ferocious roar he went down on his back.

“Bury Uncle Edwin!” Charles shrieked over and over again, and the other children took up the cry until it became a chant.

They proceeded to heap snow over him until only his shoulders and head were visible-and his hat, which had tipped to a rakish angle.

“Poor Mr. Chambers,” Aunt Amelia remarked.

“He is a jolly good sport, I must say,” Uncle Horace commented. “You would not catch me letting them do that to me.”

Elizabeth stood and watched while the other adults and young people slapped themselves and one another relatively free of snow and recovered their breath. Mr. Chambers was laughing good-naturedly and putting up only enough of a struggle to amuse the children. She felt as if she were gazing at a stranger. Where was the cold, humorless, dour man she had married? By some instinct, the children had picked out the very adult who would indulge them and play with them and allow himself to be played with. How had they known?

For the first time Elizabeth could see her husband as the son of that hearty, jolly man who had arranged the marriage with her own parents and insisted upon having a private word with her in order to assure himself that she was not being coerced into anything against her will. Her husband, it seemed, possessed the same generous, fun-loving nature, though he had never displayed it for her benefit.

She felt plunged into sudden depression again. He had not wanted to marry her, of course. He disliked her. He very probably despised her.

Five minutes later the play portion of the morning was over and they were all trudging off in relatively good order toward the west woods.

Mr. Chambers had accomplished the transition without any apparent effort, Elizabeth noticed. And indeed, there was no feeling among them that they were now off to dull work. It was as if they were merely heading off toward some new game.

Mr. Chambers had divided them into four groups, two to cut down pine boughs, one to gather holly, and a group of four to search for the mistletoe the gardeners had assured Mr. Chambers was to be found growing on the older oaks. He was himself a part of the last group, as was Elizabeth. The other two were Cousin Miranda and Sir Anthony Wilkins, her betrothed.

Elizabeth could not quite believe she was doing this. The snow was deep and heavy underfoot, her fingers inside her gloves were tingling from the cold, her cheeks and nose were almost numb and must be unbecomingly red, and yet at this point in the morning she would not go back to the house for all the inducement in the world. She knew suddenly that she had never enjoyed herself even half as much as she was enjoying herself today. And there would be only today, and perhaps tomorrow, though Christmas Day had always been one of her least favorite days of the year. After that Mr. Chambers would surely return to London, and it might be a long time before she saw him again. She might never see him quite like this ever again.

“Perhaps you can lead us to where the oaks are,” he said to Elizabeth.

But although she was familiar with the park, she had never ventured deep into the woods. They searched for many minutes before finding what they had come for. Fortunately the snow was not as deep here, as the canopy of branches overhead acted as a sort of roof.

“As I suspected,” Mr. Chambers said when they were all standing beneath a particularly stout, ancient oak. “It is rather far from the ground.”

It was the mistletoe he was talking about. Elizabeth tipped back her head and saw it an impossible distance overhead. Surely he was not intending…

“Are you willing to risk your neck?” he asked, looking at Sir Anthony.

Anthony was in love with Miranda, as everyone knew, and was eager to impress her. And so the two men swung up into the branches of the tree while Miranda gasped nervously and Elizabeth pressed one gloved hand to her mouth. They would kill themselves!

“Don’t slip,” Miranda admonished her betrothed. She lowered her voice.

“Oh, Lizzie, I do so admire Mr. Chambers. He is not at all stuffy, is he? Yet he is not vulgar either. I am very happy for you. Mama said last year that it was a great shame you were forced to marry a cit only because Aunt and Uncle were improvident, but this year I do not doubt she will declare that you were fortunate. He is such fun.”

Yes, he was. With other people. Not with her, though. He did not like her.

“Oh, Edwin, do be careful!” She clapped a hand to her mouth again. His foot had slipped, but he recovered his balance almost immediately and grinned down at her.

Her knees turned weak. Because he had almost fallen?Or because he had smiled at her? And she had, she realized in some embarrassment, called him by his given name.

Anthony was the first down. He held a clump of mistletoe triumphantly in one hand.

“Now, then,” he said while Miranda laughed again, “the victor claims his prize.” And he raised his hand aloft, dangled it over her head while he caught her by the waist with his free hand, and kissed her with smacking relish on the lips.

“Tony!” she scolded. “Mama would have a fit of the vapors.”

“But we have Mrs. Chambers to act as chaperon,” he said.

“Lizzie is younger than I,” she told him.

He turned to look at Elizabeth in some surprise. She was feeling so embarrassed that she would have been blushing rosily if her cheeks had not already been bright red from the cold. She had never before seen two adults kiss. Mr. Chambers had just reached the ground and was looking down ruefully at a deep scuff mark along the inside of one boot.

Elizabeth hoped he had not seen the kiss.

“In that case,” Anthony said, grinning, “you must chaperon Mrs.

Chambers, Miranda.”

“Absurd!” she said, laughing too. “Lizzie is married to Mr. Chambers.

He may kiss her whenever he pleases.”

Elizabeth scarcely knew where to look. She had not stepped away from the tree as the gentlemen descended, with the result that she was suddenly almost toe-to-toe with Mr. Chambers, and he was looking into her face, a question in his own. He was holding mistletoe. Did he think she had held her ground deliberately? Did he think…? She stared back at him.

She was having trouble with her breathing.

“A man really ought to be rewarded,” he murmured, “for risking both his life and his boots.”