Page 27 of Holly & Folly

“No doubt she has already forfeited enough,” came a man’s murmured but amused response.

“Or perhaps these forfeits are too tame for a woman of her…experience,” replied the woman.

Nell’s cheeks burned, and Wesley stirred beside her, but she caught his wrist and gave him a warning look. She hated that she had put him in a position where he felt the need to defend her honor—not that she had any left.

Miss Stroud was caught—Nell could have almost sworn on purpose—and was required to give a forfeit. She chose Wesley as the one to receive it.

A movement brought Nell’s attention to Lady Dalmeer as Mr. Fowell stepped up beside her and whispered something, covering his mouth with a hand.

Their gazes moved to Nell, and Lady Dalmeer smiled and nodded.

Nell looked away in a hurry, her stomach clenching as Mr. Fowell returned to his place.

The mistletoe was returned to the floor behind the countess, and she turned her back to the guests, adjusting the crown on her head.

There was a pause, and Mr. Fowell began to move, setting Nell’s heart racing.

Her eyes darted to the door. Could she step out quickly enough to avoid whatever he intended to do if caught?

“Excuse me,” she said to Wesley.

“Are you unwell?” he asked softly, worry creasing his brow.

She forced a smile to reassure him. “Not at all. I shall return in a moment.” She slipped past him, ignoring the question in Millie’s eyes, and threaded her way through the guests as quickly as propriety would allow.

She set down her teacup on the table near the door, wincing when the porcelain rattled, then reached for the doorknob.

“Ha!” came Lady Dalmeer’s delighted voice. “You are caught!”

Nell turned as though she was the guilty party. Only on her tiptoes could she gain a view of the front of the room.

Mr. Fowell stood a few feet from Lady Dalmeer, but he was not smiling. His expression was fixed elsewhere.

Nell shifted to follow it.

Lord Dalmeer stood in front of his mother, the mistletoe hanging lazily from his fingers.

Nell stared. When had he…?

She let her hand fall from the doorknob, relief rushing through her. Whatever Mr. Fowell had been planning, the earl had offered her a reprieve.

“Very well, Mother,” Lord Dalmeer said. “What is my forfeit to be?”

The countess could not have looked more thrilled if the Prince Regent had just arrived for the duration of her house party. “Your forfeit is this: to bow to the prettiest, kneel to the wittiest, and kiss the one you love most.”

Nell suppressed a scoffing laugh. It was a clever forfeit, for it would require her son to consider and then single out three women.

Lord Dalmeer gave a submissive bow. “As you wish.” He rose to a stand. “What was the first?”

“Bow to the prettiest,” his mother readily reminded him.

A smile tugged at Nell’s mouth as he began a leisurely stroll about the guests, as though he was half-heartedly admiring a garden.

He paused in front of his cousin, Lord Weymouth, smiling in a way both teasing and threatening. He tilted his head, considering his cousin’s beauty.

Weymouth gave him a look that said if you bow to me, you may as well choose pistols or swords.

After his inspection, Lord Dalmeer made an unimpressed expression, then continued his perusal of the guests. Nell lost sight of him for a time, though there was a general straightening amongst the women—both old and young—to mark his path.