A moment of silence, and then…
“You should really return inside now, Miss Snow. The weather has taken a turn and I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”
Her laughter tinkled like sleigh bells. “I can assure you that I’ve never felt warmer. But if you’re cold, here is your jacket.”She shook it off before she returned it to him, and when their fingers brushed she heard his hiss of breath as if he’d touched a kettle in the fire. “See?” she said softly, watching his countenance for any revealing flicker of expression that would tell her what he was thinking behind his stern façade. “Warm.”
“Here,” he said stiffly, turning his head away. “I’ll get the door.”
Lillian pressed her lips together as she preceded him into the front hall. She heard the door click closed behind her and then he was gone, striding past with such speed that a train would have likely had trouble keeping pace.
“How do you like that?” she asked her reflection when she stopped in front of a gilt-framed mirror to check her appearance before continuing on into the ballroom. Her hair was damp and the curls slightly flattened from the snow, but it wasn’t anything a quick tease with a comb procured from a pocket sewn into her skirts–an old theater trick for storing hidden property–couldn’t fix. A bit of light pinching to bring a rosy glow to her cheeks and she was ready for her Yuletide Ball debut.
“Name and invitation, if you please.” A dour-faced butler held out his hand expectantly at the base of the grand staircase leading up to the ballroom on the second story. The mahogany bannister was wrapped in garland and strings of festive red holly berries. From the top of the stairs came the sound of music and thetromp, trompof feet in a synchronized dance.
“Miss Lillian Snow. And here you are.”
“Your invitation is…wet,” said the butler, his bulbous nose wrinkling as he accepted the wet, crumpled parchment she’d shoved carelessly into her bodice and subsequently forgotten about before going out onto the terrace. Some of the black ink had run, staining the inside of her dress. Thankfully, the red hid it well.
“I was outside,” she explained, nibbling the inside of hercheek. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ll have to return in the summer, when our gardens are more suitable for viewing.”
“That sounds lovely, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to, Mr…”
The butler squared his shoulders. “Mr. Clause, miss.”
“Mr. Clause. You see, I’ve a confession.” She lowered her voice. “I’m notreallysupposed to be here. I won this invitation in a game. I haven’t a chaperone or a title or any money. This gown is a costume.” She touched her throat. “These jewels are glass. I’m an actress pretending to be an heiress who was just kissed by a duke. And it’s all so fantastical that I have to tellsomeone. I’m sorry, Mr. Clause, that you happen to be that someone.”
The butler cleared his throat. “Miss Snow.”
“Yes?” she sighed, certain that she was about to find herself escorted out. And maybe that would be for the best. She’d already managed to chase off one duke before the ball had even started. What were her chances of winning another to her cause? Forget champagne in fancy crystal flutes. She would probably be better off going to find Marjorie at the Blue Pig and drowning her troubles in a tin mug of ale.
“The heiresses I have met would never apologize with such frequency.” The faintest twinkle shone in Mr. Clause’s gaze. “Straight up the stairs and through the doors to the right. Enjoy your evening, Miss Snow. Should you like to come back to Foxhaven House in the future, I shall make sure that you have arealinvitation. No need to rely on a fortunate roll in hazard.”
It wasn’t until Lillian had entered the ballroom that she realized she hadn’t told the butlerhowshe’d won her invitation. A lucky guess, she reasoned as she picked her way through dozens of dancing couples to stand beside a life sized ice sculpture of a…
“Are you a unicorn or an elephant?” she asked aloud.
“I believe it’s supposed to be a stag.” This from a sandy-haired gentleman wearing a brocade waistcoat and a charming grin. “That’s an antler, not a horn.”
Lillian’s head canted. “I rather thought it was a trunk.”
The man gave a hearty chuckle. “Now that I look at it again, you may very well be right. Have you ever seen one in person?”
“A unicorn?” she said, the corners of her lips twitching.
“No, an elephant.”
“I have not. You?”
He nodded. “During my Grand Tour, we followed a herd of them in Sierra Leon. It’s an experience I will not soon forget.”
“Nor should you. Where else did you travel during your tour?”
“The usual places. Rome, Naples, and Florence for my first. West Africa by way of Egypt for my second.”
“Two tours,” she said, suitably impressed.
His charming grin widened, revealing a dimple high on his left cheek. “What can I say? I’ve always had a penchant for exploration and adventure.”
