Page 11 of The Recluse and the Runaway

Mr. Hicks, a tall, thin man whom Rupert had known since childhood visits to his uncle, greeted them affably, gazed upon Nell with a fatherly eye, and made his approval of her clear. Damn, what a fool Rupert would look if he couldn’t convince her to stay.

Nell went into raptures over the Green Lady’s prize ale. “We’ve the aid of the fairies,” Hicks said with a wink. “The Green Lady is our guardian spirit, or so the legends say.”

“How lovely that must be,” Nell said, “to have a guardian spirit.”

“Aye, ’tis, Miss,” Hicks said, “as the whole of Wonderly village knows. Now that you’ve come to stay, she’s your guardian spirit, too.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t stay long,” Nell said sadly.

“Tsk,” said Mr. Hicks, shaking his head. “It’s plain to see that you belong here.”

Rupert and Nell strolled companionably home along the wintry lane. It was all very well to talk of guardian spirits, but it was best not to depend too much on such beings. Instead, Rupert concentrated on the practical—on what he could do.

Which meant escorting Nell back to the kitchen, where she was sorely needed. He rousted out Tom the groom, Joey Jenkins, his manservant, who combined the roles of footman and valet, and Harry the gardener, who would be hurt if not included despite his advanced age. They all tramped into the woods, where with a bit of help from Samson and plenty of grunts and laughter, they hauled a massive log all the way to the front door, up a makeshift ramp, and into the enormous fireplace in the Great Hall.

Then they returned to gather holly from along the path, ivy from the garden walls, and mistletoe from the orchard.

They dined early on bread and pea soup, for which Nell apologized. “Sorry, sir, but we’d no time for a proper dinner, what with all the preparations for tomorrow.”

“It’s perfect, Nell. I don’t want complicated meals, just good ones. Hot, nourishing, filling…what more could a man ask? And don’t fret about tomorrow. You’ll have a couple of girls from the village to help out.”

After dinner, they all repaired to the Great Hall with stepladders and tankards of ale, to festoon the room with holly and ivy. After this was done, Nell asked, “Shall we make a kissing ball?”

“Yes, let’s!” Millie and Peg giggled with glee, and they set to work with scissors and red ribbons. Rupert did the honors, climbing a much taller ladder and fastening the kissing ball around one of the huge oak beams.

Rupert also saved a sprig of mistletoe and a bit of ribbon for a plan of his own. But how to put his plan into action?

Christmas Eve dawned, and a flurry of activity kept everyone busy, even with the help of a few village maidens. How the devil, Rupert wondered, would he ever get a chance to kiss Nell? He didn’t want to do so in front of everyone. It wasn’t a simple Christmas kiss, the sort of silly, \ harmless bussing that was part of the festivities.

It was a private sort of kiss.

It was, Rupert realized, a declaration of love.

Chapter Four

Now that the kissing ball was up, Nell was dying to kiss Sir Rupert—although not under the kissing ball itself, but in a rather more private setting. She loved him, and she wanted to let him know—but it would have to be today, her last day here. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, she would leave. Her feet didn’t hurt anymore, and with luck, she would arrive in Oxford by early afternoon.

She sighed sadly; she liked Mr. Albert Dilson, Papa’s dear friend and man of business, but the pain of leaving Sir Rupert loomed large.

Mr. Dilson was a reasonable, trustworthy sort of man. He and Papa had been somewhat estranged after he’d married Stepmother. Mr. Dilson disliked her and made no bones about showing it. However, Papa had still allowed Mr. Dilson to handle his affairs and trusted him with everything, including herself.

Mr. Dilson knew the ring was hers. It had once belonged to her mother. Papa had given it to her on his deathbed and recommended that she place it in Mr. Dilson’s care, for with him it would be safe. Fool that she was, she’d hidden it where others couldn’t find it, yet where she could take it out and treasure it from time to time.

But what if Stepmother had indeed found it? It was hard to believe—for if so, Stepmother would surely have taken it, not put it back—and yet, what else could be her horrid plan?

It didn’t matter. With Mr. Dilson, she would be safe.

In the meantime, she absolutely must kiss Sir Rupert—just once, to remember him by. What had he said? That there was mistletoe in the orchard.

She dried her hands on one of the kitchen rags, pulled a shawl around her shoulders, and hurried out the door, saying, “I’ll be back in a moment.” She couldn’t take long, for they needed her there, with so much work to do.

She hastened through the garden, past the stables, and opened a gate that led to the orchard. The apple trees were bare but for clumps of mistletoe here and there…just out of reach.

Well! She’d climbed trees as a child; she’d even climbed them as a young woman, when nobody was there to see her tie her skirts up out of the way.

She glanced about and saw no one. Worth the risk, she thought, and hitched up her skirts. She pulled herself onto the lowest branch and reached for the second.

“My dear Nell, whatever are you doing?”