A Holiday by Gaslight(26)

“No ordinary man could have made of his life what you have. Not if he’d started where you did.”

“That was only ambition and a bit of luck.”

“I think it must have taken very hard work,” she said.

He smiled. “That, too.”

Her lips tilted upward, returning his smile briefly before she opened the lid of the next trunk. Inside were crumpled newspapers and a few brittle remnants of dried-out greenery. She cleared them away, revealing the shimmer of silver foil and gold tinsel beneath.

“Is that what you were looking for?” Ned asked.

“Yes, precisely.” She rummaged around. “But the ribbons aren’t here. They must be in that one.”

Ned stood and opened the trunk he’d been using as a makeshift seat. A wild tangle of red and green velvet ribbons sprang up from within. He attempted to lift one of them out, but it was inextricably knotted to its brethren.

“Oh dear.” Sophie bit her lip. “What a dreadful tangle.”

“Do you still want them?”

“Yes.” She moved to rise. Ned reached out his hands to assist her. She took them gratefully, allowing him to draw her to her feet. It was the first time their bare hands had met. There was a warmth to it. An intimacy that made her stomach quiver. As if a hundred butterflies had just fluttered their wings. Did he feel it as keenly as she did?

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve gone stiff from kneeling on the floor.”

“And collected all the dust from it besides.”

“Have I? What a nuisance.”

He gazed down at her, his large hands still engulfing hers. “I’ll carry those trunks down for you, shall I?”

“You needn’t. We can just as easily summon a footman.”

“I’m happy to do it.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “We’ll need to get started disentangling those ribbons.”

Sophie brushed off her skirts. “We can leave them with the older ladies and gentlemen while the rest of us go out to gather greenery tomorrow. It will give them something to do.”

“You don’t include the older guests?”

“In cutting down greenery and dragging back the Yule log? Everyone is welcome, naturally, but there are always a few who’d rather stay behind. Some of them can’t abide dampness and chills.”

“My own mother for one.”

“And mine,” Sophie said. “They wouldn’t get much enjoyment tramping about in the snow, searching for mistletoe.”

“Does mistletoe grow hereabouts?” Ned asked.

She nodded. “Far out in the woods.”

“You’ll have to show me,” he said softly.

Her heart thumped hard. “If you like.”





Ned thrust his hands into the pockets of his heavy woolen coat as he walked along with the rest of the guests who’d chosen to brave the elements. There were about twenty of them altogether, not counting the servants. All bundled up in coats and scarves and fur-trimmed cloaks as they made their way out into the woods behind Appersett House.

The weather had grown chillier overnight. He’d been awakened by an icy draft seeping in through the chimney. The windows of the guest bedroom he occupied had been covered with frost. When he’d peered out through the encrusted glass, he’d scarcely been able to see for the snowfall. It was a blur of white, not only falling but whipping round in little flurries

It had calmed by midmorning, permitting them all to venture out to gather greenery. Even so, the remnants of that tiny blizzard were visible everywhere.

The landscape was blanketed in a pristine layer of snow. It covered the paths, cloaked the shrubbery, and disposed itself in sparkling heaps on the branches of the trees. So much snow glittered in the weak sunlight it almost hurt his eyes to look at it.

It wasn’t unduly cold for all that. At least, Ned didn’t think so. His blood was pumping hot in his veins at the prospect of spending more time with Sophie.

He was making progress with her at last. Little by little, he was somehow managing to talk to her. To share something of himself. Of his history. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to open up to her? To show her who he really was?

It was the complete opposite of what the Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette advised.

According to the chapter on polite conversation, a gentleman was never to discuss business with a lady he was courting. He wasn’t to overwhelm her with the tedious details of his professional life. Nor was he to sink into low conversation about personal matters.

Ned wasn’t entirely sure what qualified as low conversation, but he suspected that matters of finance would be at the top of the list. Money, it seemed, was only a suitable topic when speaking with a lady’s father.

As for what was appropriate to discuss with the lady herself, the book was rather vague.

Rule No. 25: Let your conversation with a lady be dictated by sound sense, and on the common topics of everyday occurrence.

The weather, in other words.

It was not his favorite subject at the moment. Not that it mattered. As they trudged through the woods, there was little prospect for private conversation.

Sophie was busy playing hostess. She’d gathered a cluster of ladies around her, including her sister, three of her sister’s very silly friends, the village schoolmaster’s wife, a rather toplofty viscountess, and two highly eligible society misses who Ned recognized from the London season. They giggled and talked over each other and intermittently broke into a discordant verse from a Christmas carol.