Page 33 of Snowed In with the Runaway Bride

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Hugo did not see much of Penny for the rest of that day as she joined Mrs. Robson and her children in the kitchen to help create the garlands.

And the kissing ball.

He cursed himself for a fool. If he had kept his self-control just a little longer, he might have been able to continue to conceal his feelings from Penny. Now she could be in no doubt, and he felt almost naked, unsure what she would do. Would she be cold to him for taking liberties? Would she be indifferent, kindly explaining she could never feel the way he did and then flitting away out of his life for good?

He was too afraid to think what might happen if she kissed him in turn, so he remained in the taproom, observing the occupants and sipping small beer. The men seemed to anticipate the Christmas Eve preparations as a welcome break in the tedium of being snowed in. Some of the younger men and boys built forts outdoors and had snowball fights in the afternoon, but Hugo liked his comfort too well to risk receiving a ball of ice to the face.

As the sun began to sink in the sky, Mrs. Robson stepped into the room and clapped her hands for attention. “Gents, we’ll need your help with this part.”

With alacrity, the men who had not drunk too deeply that afternoon got to their feet as Penny and the Robson children—mostly the girls—brought in the garlands to be hung, evergreens dotted here and there with ribbons and sprigs of holly. He had to admit they looked quite nice, better than he had expected.

He stood near Penny as she directed two of the men. Her movements were a little stiff, showing she had overexerted herself with gathering the greens and helping to create the garlands.

“Go sit down, Penny,” he murmured just loud enough for her to hear, and she tilted her head to scowl at him. She did have the most adorable scowls.

“I am quite all right, thank you, Captain Dalston.”

She squeaked as he slid his arm around her waist and bent to whisper in her ear. “You are not all right, and there is no one here you need to make a good impression on.” As she tried to tug away, he added, “Don’t you want to be able to dance tomorrow night?”

She bit her lip, and he could see the indecision in her face. At last, she nodded ungraciously and allowed him to lead her to a seat by the fire as the room hummed with activity around them.

Mrs. Robson bustled up. “There you are, Mrs. Dalston! We’ll need more bows for the garlands, if you don’t mind.” She dropped scissors and reels of ribbon on the bench next to Penny, winked broadly at Hugo, and hurried off again at a call from the other side of the room.

“I suppose this is all I’m good for,” Penny sighed. “Playing with ribbons.” Still, she began cutting lengths and experimenting with different ways to make the bows, layering different colors of ribbon together or creating extra loops to make them resemble flowers. Despite her cynical words, the Robson children snatched each one up almost as soon as she completed it, bringing the bows to their mother so she could direct the men where to hang them.

From somewhere in the stables, a tall ladder was produced, and everyone watched with bated breath as Mr. Robson himself affixed the kissing ball to the ceiling. It was near the center but a little offset, and Hugo resolved to keep himself and Penny as close to the edges of the room as he could. There was no point in complicating matters between them with a public kiss.

Hugo was surprised he was not called on to assist the hanging, but everyone in the room seemed to know what was expected, so he held his peace. Clearly, this had been a tradition at the inn for many years, and he would only end up stepping on someone’s toes—literally or figuratively—if he tried to jump in. Instead, he leaned against the tall back of the bench Penny sat on and watched her create beauty again and again with only a few pieces of ribbon at her disposal.

Once the decorating was completed to Mrs. Robson’s satisfaction, the workers were provided with steaming cups of punch, which they used to toast each other and their hosts. Hugo fetched punch for Penny and himself and sat next to her on the bench, puzzled. Everyone else seemed to be waiting for something to happen, but Hugo was unsure what it could be. Unless…

Faintly, he began to hear the beat of a drum outside the inn, moving closer and closer as the rest of the instruments began to play.

He knew that sound.

“Oh, God.”

Before he could pull Penny to her feet and excuse them from the taproom, the door burst open to reveal a group of mummers, the decorated horse’s skull used as a puppet peering from behind the lead man, bobbing and weaving as though it was looking around the room.

Penny clapped her hands in delight. “Mummers!”

Hugo shifted closer to her. He told himself it was only so he could be nearby if she needed his help.

“A wedding!” Clad in faded red robes, the masked man in the doorway looked expectantly around the taproom. “We have come to greet the newlyweds!”

Hugo groaned as the rest of the crowd turned to them, hooting and cheering. Penny elbowed him in the ribs, a wide grin on her face. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Hugo. Not on Christmas Eve.”

Mr. Robson ceremoniously waved the mummers in and a group of five spilled through the door, all in costume. The mummer operating the horse’s skull was covered in a green brocade cloak that Hugo suspected moths might have gotten at during the summer.

He looked down at Penny, whose face was lit with delight at the mummers’ antics, and sighed inwardly. He could not bring himself to dampen her enthusiasm for the vulgar entertainment they were about to witness even as the man in the red cloak cleared his throat and began to declaim the familiar words:

Silence, brave Gentlemen, if you will give an eye.

Alexander is my name, I’ll sing the tragedy.

A ramble here I took, the country for to see.