Page 17 of The Right to Remain Single

James glanced about for inspiration. “Not at all. I’m thinking about the mistletoe.”

“Joey and Mick will gather it next,” she said.

“Yes, but that’s not the mistletoe I meant.” He guided her under an apple tree and pointed over their heads. “I meant that one.”

She looked up, and he swooped in and kissed her.

* * *

A frisson of pleasure ran through Thomasina. After a brief moment, James raised his head and smiled at her. “Merry Christmas.”

She touched two fingers to her lips. “That was…lovely.”

“Yes,” he said softly, “wasn’t it?”

If she stayed right where she was under the mistletoe, would he be obliged to kiss her again?

At a muffled laugh from behind them, she turned. “What?” she demanded.

Mick tried to hide his grin, and Joey put up his hands to fend off explanations. “Sorry, we didn’t mean nowt, Miss Tommie.”

She blushed and backed away from the tree. “Collect as much mistletoe as you wish for the servants’ quarters,” she told them, “but only one sprig for the rest of the house.”

“Only one?” James offered his arm as they strolled away.

“Mistletoe is like a trap. I do my best to avoid it, but several sprigs in the house make it well-nigh impossible to avoid kisses.” She giggled at his crestfallen expression. “Not yours. But Mr. Tilson will try to kiss me, and so will Sam. Mick and Joey know that’s why I want only one sprig.”

“They seem like good fellows.”

“They are. All our servants are wonderful, and they do their best to protect me, but they are afraid of Sam.” She paused. “He must be short of money, for he didn’t even bring his valet with him.” Another thought. “Which means Joey will be obliged to do for him, which he will absolutely loathe.”

“Perhaps if he does the job poorly enough, Furbelow will leave in a fit of rage.”

She laughed. “Maybe I should ask Martha to dampen the sheets on his bed.”

“Or scorch his shirts while ironing them,” James said. “Or Joey could nick him whilst shaving.”

“You seem to know a great deal about bad service,” she said.

“Only because I prefer to travel on horseback with as little baggage as possible, and therefore am forced to rely on inn servants—and myself, of course. I am quite a dab hand with an iron, and I can even cook sausage and onions on a campfire.”

“How enterprising of you.”

“My father finds it appalling and beneath my dignity, but I like to know how to do things, you see. Doesn’t matter whether it’s dancing the quadrille or translating Latin poetry or laundering my own shirts. Every task has its interesting aspects, if only one approaches it with an open mind.”

Her mind jumped a few phrases back… “You translate poetry? I thought you only transcribed what the ghost dictated.”

“Er….”

Heavens, was that a tinge of color in his cheeks? “I do believe you’re blushing, James.”

“Because I shouldn’t have mentioned it, and now I can’t explain.”

“Why ever not?”

“Propriety,” he muttered.

She burst into laughter. “I thought we were being frank with one another.”