Mistletoe Kisses and Yuletide Joy by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page B

digging out her mother's old curling iron?
    Irritated by her own folly, she set her black straw bonnet firmly on top of her hair and went to find Pol.
    She had to admit to curiosity as to what her maid would wear to go courting. Over the years, Kitty had given her a number of gowns to alter and refurbish for herself. Pol was shorter, and so the gowns did fit with a little letting out.
    Kitty was pleased to see that the girl had not given in to any extravagant impulses. She wore a cream muslin gown that Kitty remembered, but which was now pleasantly trimmed with embroidered red flowers around hem and neckline and on the inset panel at the front of the bodice. The low neck was filled with a soft, white fichu. On her head she wore a red cloth toque that enclosed all her hair but a few curls at the front, and they were disguised by a pretty pleated frill.
    It was just the sort of headdress a nimble-fingered lady could make for herself, and very fetching. Kitty couldn't help thinking that such a frill would soften her own looks without curls.
    " Pol, you look delightful," she said honestly. "I think perhaps I should promote you to lady's maid."
    Pol's color was already excited, and now it deepened. "I do like to make pretty clothes, miss. But..."
    Kitty grinned. "But you're hoping not to be in my employ much longer. Very well. Let's go on our adventure."
    Merely adding large warm shawls to their outfits, they slipped out the back door and crept across the dark garden. Kitty felt like a housebreaker and the crunch of frosted grass beneath her half-boots sounded like a fusillade of arms loud enough to wake their neighbors. She half expected one to fling up a window, crying, "What's amiss? Who goes there?"
    When the gate hinges squealed, she cringed, caught between the urge to stand stock still hoping to be invisible, and to run through before they were caught. This whole area of London, however, remained undisturbed.
    Still, as they stepped carefully down the narrow footpath, Kitty wondered if she was demented to have agreed to this plan. What would her parents have thought?
    She was sure they would have supported Pol's chances of a good and loving marriage, but she doubted they'd have liked the means. Perhaps she should have insisted that all the wooing take place in her house. It was too late now, for they were into the Wells Street garden and approaching the back door.
    At the merest tap it flew open and Ned ushered them into a back pantry, quickly taking their shawls. Nothing ardent was said or done, and yet something -- something bright as a hearthfire -- danced between the two blushing servants.
    Kitty experienced a sudden, startling stab of emptiness. She had never felt anything like that. She had never -- not even for a fleeting moment -- been so important to a man.
    Ned led them through to the kitchen.
    "Where is Lord Chatterton?" Kitty asked.
    " In the drawing room, miss." Ned pulled an uneasy face. "I thought down here. He said up there."
    Perhaps he'd felt the same qualms that Kitty did and wanted to keep things formal. "And why not?" she said with a smile.
    As she followed Ned up plain servants' stairs, however, she suddenly worried that Lord Chatterton might have dressed for an evening entertainment. She would feel even more out of place.
    He was, however, in day dress, and seemingly prepared to be the perfect host. Two sofas had been arranged on either side of the fire, and he smoothly arranged it so that Ned and Pol ended up on one, with he and Kitty on the other.
    Soon after, the nervous valet went off to make tea. Pol made a move to help him but Lord Chatterton prevented it by engaging her in conversation. Kitty played her part, but she marveled at how easily he chatted to Pol, with whom he could have little in common.
    Kitty was not of a tongue-tied nature, but she generally spent her time with friends, or with people gathered for a shared interest -- political reform perhaps, or gas lighting. Now she observed in