Mistletoe Everywhere

By Linda Banche

A man who sees mistletoe everywhere is mad—or in love.

Mr. Charles Gordon sees mistletoe. Not surprising, since he's spending Christmas at Mistletoe Manor. But the mistletoe always hangs over Miss Penelope Lawrence, the despised lady who jilted him the day after she accepted his marriage proposal. Even worse, no one else sees the benighted plant. Real or imagined, the weed taunts him with the treasure he lost. And might also drive him insane.

Penelope wants nothing to do with the faithless Charles, who broke her heart into tiny pieces when he cried off after proposing marriage. But try as she might, she’s never succeeded in removing him from her heart and mind. The baffling thing is, he stares at her all the time. Or rather, at something on the empty ceiling over her head.

Despite their struggles to extinguish every ounce of feeling, their love still burns bright. According to folklore, mistletoe is the plant of peace. Can Penelope and Charles, so full of hurt and anger, heed the mistletoe's message and make peace?

A sweet, traditional Regency romantic comedy. 34,000 words. A new version of the previous work, expanded and completely rewritten.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Banche
• Release date: Oct 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370580729

Linda Banche

Tired of the same old, same old? Then...Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!Quirky Regency drawing room, not bedroom, romantic comedies with nary a rake or royal in sight, sometimes spiced with paranormal, fantasy, mystery or science fiction.But comedy is my love, and I've created my own wacky blend of humor and Regency with stories that can elicit reactions from a gentle smile to a belly laugh.I'm a two-time EPICON finalist. I live in New England and I like ducks.So, laugh along with me on a voyage back to the Regency era. Me and my ducks. Quack!Visit me at my website http://www.lindabanche.com for more information.

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Mistletoe Everywhere

By Linda Banche

Published by Linda Banche at Smashwords

COPYRIGHT 2010, 2017 by Linda Banche

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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Table of Contents

Start of Book

Author’s Note

Discover Titles by Linda Banche

Connect With Me!

About Linda Banche

End

Chapter 1

Cornhill-on-Tweed

Northumberland, England

December, 1814

"Oh, Jane, how could you invite him?"

Across the drawing room stood the one man Miss Penelope Lawrence never again wanted to see.

Mr. Charles Gordon.

Miss Jane Preston blanched. I am so sorry. His name was not on the guest list I saw. Step-mama must have sent him a late invitation. She and Papa wed only a year ago, so she does not know how badly he treated you. Her eyes widened. Step-mama is bringing him this way.

Penelope grabbed Jane’s hand. Come, let us leave.

My dear girl, I would like to make you known to this gentleman. Baroness Preston caught Penelope’s sleeve.

Trapped, Penelope turned, but didn’t smile. She couldn’t smile. Not at him.

Charles, equally trapped by their hostess’s other hand on his arm, stiffened, his own smile as frozen as the arctic weather outside.

Penelope shivered.

I am delighted to introduce you two. Inexplicably, Lady Preston didn’t shudder at the sudden plunge in temperature.

Step-mama, Penelope and Mr. Gordon are already acquainted. Jane detached Penelope from her stepmother’s grasp.

Lady Preston’s mouth curved downward. Oh, dear. I did not know the two of you had already met. She released Charles. I do so like to make introductions.

Charles straightened his cuff. No harm done, ma’am. I shall take this opportunity to thank you for your kind invitation.

Kind? If his thunderous expression was any indication, he wished both her and Lady Preston to Hades.

You are most welcome, sir. At these Christmas family gatherings, we always suffer a dearth of handsome, unattached young men.

One of his eyebrows quirked up. Quite. I believe Lord Baring would like a word. If I may take my leave?

Of course. Lady Preston waved a dismissive hand. Have a good time.

He bowed without glancing at Penelope and then strode away as if he’d already forgot the unpleasant encounter.

Penelope bit her lip to keep from uttering a scathing remark. At the same time, she held still to prevent herself from running after him. After the way they’d parted, she couldn’t expect him to greet her with open arms, even as her traitorous heart yearned that he would.

Step-mama, Penelope and I have not seen each other for an age. We would like to have a coze. Jane tugged Penelope away.

With a vague nod that set the egret feather in her grey hair aquiver, Lady Preston tugged on the sleeve of the gentleman in front of her. I would like to introduce you to…

Across a gently swaying sea of bodies, Charles spoke with the pretty lady who stood by his side.

Of course the lady would be pretty. Pretty ladies had always flocked around Charles.

Jane frowned. I apologize again. But the house is large and packed. You can avoid him, if you choose.

Penelope gave an unhappy nod. Yes, she could. Her battered emotions would thank her, cowardly as that was.

But then she lifted her chin. Never would she let him dictate her actions. She would hold her head high and show him how much she loathed him, the despicable toad. If she ran into him—by accident, of course, she would never seek him out—she would be haughty and formal—and then walk away before he did

The butler waded through the crowd. Miss Jane, the wine merchant didn’t make his usual delivery today, and we’re almost out of champagne. Would you like me to serve port or sherry?

Oh, I am not sure. Let me see if the champagne will last until dinner. Then we can decide what to do. She squeezed Penelope’s hand. I will only be a moment.

With Jane gone, the holiday atmosphere, so bright and cheery a moment ago, pressed in on Penelope like a dark, dank, rainy day.

Fixing a smile in place, she found an unoccupied chair a distance from the others. She would watch the throng. She always did enjoy Christmas revelry.

Until now. Unwilling, but drawn by some inexplicable attraction, she once more picked Charles out of the sea of merry-makers.

He laughed at something his companion said, and his mouth curved into the wondrous smile she remembered.

Her pulse stuttered.

Good gracious, but he was still the handsomest man she’d ever seen. Five years ago, he had been tall and boyishly slim. He was taller now, and the youthful slightness had broadened at the shoulders and narrowed at the hips. His short dark hair, neat yet tousled in elegant waves, must have cost a pretty penny at the barber’s. Both his deep blue, double-breasted coat and lighter blue brocade waistcoat clung without being tight. The knife-edged sharp folds pressed into his snowy cravat accentuated the knot’s simplicity. His buff-colored trousers didn’t hug his legs, yet left no doubt that they were both lean and muscular.

He looked splendid.

She pressed her palms to her suddenly warm cheeks. How could she still want him after he had used her so ill?

The lady at Charles’s side beckoned to another lady.

Charles, still smiling, turned slightly in Penelope’s direction.

His lips compressed into a hard line. After a curt nod, he abruptly pivoted and smiled again at his companion.

Penelope’s fists clenched. The blackguard! That brief nod insulted her more than the cut direct. She was the injured party—he had nothing to be angry about. Did he think she pined over him? That she wanted him back?

Her resolve to remain aloof evaporated in a searing flash. She gathered up her skirts and then stormed through the crowd. She would give him such a piece of her mind he would reel.

Dinner is served. The butler’s announcement rang out over the buzz of conversation.

Penelope’s Aunt Lydia trundled over. Come, my girl, time for dinner. She took Penelope’s arm. Fear not. I will protect you from that dastardly Mr. Gordon.

They, along with the rest of the assemblage, filed into the dining room.

Thwarted. For now.

***

At the table, Charles laughed and chatted with his dinner companions. From long practice, he kept his expression genial as every muscle in his body clenched.

The sight of Penelope—the one person he never again wanted to see—had slammed into him like a punch to the stomach.

But his herculean efforts to choke off all thought of her were for naught. Every detail of their brief meeting flashed through his mind in endless repetition.

How beautiful she was. When last he saw her, she had been a lovely girl. Short and slim, with a happy smile and huge cinnamon-brown eyes that lit up whenever they were together.

Now, she was a stunning woman. These few years of added maturity had defined her cheekbones and plumped her lips. Her pale blue dress, despite its long sleeves and high neck, hugged distinct curves, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and the smallness of her waist.

And her hair…that golden brown hair shining in the candlelight like a newly minted penny.

His Shining Penny.

He jabbed his fork against his plate so hard the tines bent. Damnation, after she had treated him so shabbily, how could he still ache for her?

She sat on the same side of the table as he—a mercy, that, since the intervening guests blocked her from view. But he couldn’t stopper his ears. The lilting laugh he adored rose over the chattering voices and the rattle of silverware, taunting him anew. After all this time, he’d been positive his love had died. But one look at her had resurrected every painful longing.

He poked at the roast beef on his plate. He brought the fork to his mouth three times before he noticed the utensil was empty.

Muttering a curse, he set aside the forlorn fork and then beckoned the footman for another. Good thing the soup course was over. He didn’t care to provide a comical interlude by dribbling soup over himself from a crumpled spoon.

With his new fork, he slid the food around on his plate. After this blasted meal ended, he would confront her.

His muscles knotted tighter and tighter as course succeeded course at the pace of a snail laboring up a slippery rock. And then, after the ladies departed—which, fortunately, also took away that fat old tartar, Lady Bayle, Penelope’s widowed aunt—he had to tarry another eternity while the men smoked, drank port and guffawed at lame jokes the alcohol soaking made hilarious.

At long last, the men abandoned their drinks. He jumped up and led the way to the drawing room.

Penelope wasn’t hard to find. She stood beneath the ornate crystal chandelier, chatting with Lady Preston.

How misleading appearances were. Penelope looked nothing like the deceiving wench she was, but everything like an innocent young lady awaiting her beau beneath a kissing bough bursting with mistletoe.

He narrowed his eyes. Odd, that kissing bough hadn’t been there when he arrived this afternoon. The servants had probably hung the decoration during dinner. With the estate named Mistletoe Manor, copious amounts of the plant must abound all around.

Candlelight glinted off the mistletoe’s deep green leaves and white berries. According to custom, a gentleman would take his kiss, and then detach a berry. With so many berries, he could feast on Penelope’s lips, lose himself in the depths…

He jerked his