Page 20 of The Right to Remain Single

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Thomasina suppressed an urge to scream. It was all very well for James to bet he could rid her of this plaguey suitor, but it was far too much to hope for. She scooped up a box of ribbons and string and marched back out of the kitchen. “The groom and footman are collecting mistletoe now, but it is for the kitchen and other rooms used by the servants.”

“That is most unwise.” Gingerly, Mr. Tilson picked up a basket of holly. “Servants will get up to no good if allowed to hang mistletoe.”

“Gentlemen will also get up to no good,” she returned. “I loathe the custom of kissing under the mistletoe.” Which would have been true an hour ago, but now was a lie—at least regarding kisses from James Blakely.

“Ah,” Mr. Tilson said, “you wish to remain entirely pure and unsullied for our wedding day—not even a Christmas kiss from another man.”

She set down her box in the Great Hall. “Mr. Tilson, you presume too much. I have not agreed to marry you.”

He clucked like an elderly hen. “So delightfully coy, my dear, but your father has promised you to me, and as an obedient daughter, you will of course comply with his wishes.”

She wanted to shriek that no, she would never, ever marry him, but if she did so, he would confront Papa, who would gasp and cough, and might die, and it would be her fault… So she put her nose in the air, saying, “As I said, do not presume, sir.” He laughed indulgently, and she longed to hit him.

James, coming up behind with a basket of ivy, mimed kicking him in the seat of his ugly yellow pantaloons. She wanted to laugh, but it was so hopeless!

“All we need do is rid ourselves of the ghost, and the marriage will go forward immediately. Ouch!” Tilson sucked on his finger. “This holly is extremely prickly. The servants will have to put it up.”

“What’s a little prickle in the spirit of Christmas?” James said. “Miss Warren, tell me where to place the garlands of ivy.”

Gratefully, she walked away with him to discuss decorating the walls and bannisters. “Don’t worry,” James said softly. “We will get rid of him. Just follow my lead.”

She couldn’t ask for clarification, because Mr. Tilson had hurried up behind them. Despite his unhelpful interpolations, soon the Great Hall was festooned with ivy, with holly tied here and there.

Mick arrived with a single sprig of mistletoe, and Mr. Tilson bustled over to take it. “It must go in the doorway to the drawing room.”

Thomasina opened her mouth to protest, but James did better—he snatched the sprig from Mr. Tilson. “I’d better test it first.” Without further ado, he held the mistletoe over Thomasina’s head and took her lips in a swift kiss. “Seems to be mistletoe.”

Thomasina laughed.

“Perfect,” James whispered, and kissed her again. “Mistletoe for sure.”

“Come now, that’s most unfair.’ Mr. Tilson reddened angrily and reached for the sprig. “She’s my betrothed.”

James whipped the mistletoe behind his back. “The doorway is all very well if a lady wants a kiss, because she has no choice but to pass through it, but since Miss Warren dislikes the custom, we must find a better place.”

The suitor scowled. “A lady does not dislike a kiss from her future husband.”

She was about to expostulate for the thousandth time that she had not agreed to marry him, but James got in first. “That’s not the point, Mr. Tilson. The custom exposes her to the importunities of any man who wishes to take advantage. Unfortunately, there is just such a man in this house now.”

Tilson stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Her cousin,” James explained. “Mr. Furbelow is a libertine, a gamester, and an altogether disreputable man.”

How in God’s name was this supposed to help get rid of Mr. Tilson? It would make him even more likely to hover around her!

Mr. Tilson’s scowl deepened. He turned to Thomasina. “A distant cousin, I presume?”

“No, he is the son of my father’s sister, and therefore a first cousin.” She dug around in the box of supplies and found a longish bit of red ribbon. “He’s not a good man, but he doesn’t cause trouble here. After a few days of boredom, he will hurry back to London.”

James tutted. “Kindly keep this to yourself, Tilson, but Furbelow accosted Miss Warren during a previous visit.”

She had mentioned that in confidence! How dare he tell stupid Mr. Tilson, who would rush straight to Papa? She shook her head. “It was nothing.”

“I disagree. His behavior was unforgiveable,” James said.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and received the slightest flicker of a wink in return. She didn’t know what he was getting at, but she had to protect her father. “It was nothing, and I don’t wish to discuss it.”