Page 80 of From Rakes to Riches

Mama. For months after he and Helena married, the boys had persisted in calling her “Miss Templeton.” It had made his heart sink every time, as no one aside from Sophie herself could have been as much of a mother to Ryan and Etienne as Helena was, but every time it happened Helena only smiled, shook her head, and said, “Give them time, Adrian.”

Time, as was the case with so many things, had wrought the change he’d hoped for. Occasionally Helena was still “Miss Templeton,” but more often than not now, she was “Mama.”

Except he hadn’t asked them where Helena was, had he? Not yet, anyway. “How curious, Ryan, that you should be so quick to deny any knowledge of Mama’s whereabouts when I didn’t even ask after her.”

“Well, she’s not outside, so there’s no reason for you to go out—ouch, Etienne!” Ryan glared at his brother, who’d just elbowed him hard in the ribs. “That hurt!”

“We weren’t supposed to say anything! You’re tattling it, Ryan!”

“Ididn’ttattle it! I never said a word about the alder tree!”

The alder tree! “Good Lord, don’t tell me she’s gone up that tree?” Helena had been muttering about mistletoe for days, as The St. Mary’s Ladies’ Benevolent Society Christmas Fete was only a few weeks away. She’d been made the head of the decorations committee this year, after Lady Codswaddle was dethroned in a unanimous vote.

He’d seen what was coming, of course, and had absolutely forbidden her to climb that blasted tree, but once Helena set her mind to a thing, nothing less than an act of God would deter her. “Devil take it.”

“You shouldn’t curse, papa,” Etienne scolded. “Mama doesn’t like it.”

Well then, he and Helena were even so far this morning, weren’t they? “Come on, boys, let’s go get her down.”

“Yes, let’s!” Rather than showing even a shred of remorse for having given Helena’s secret away, the boys scurried joyously after him, chasing him through the door and down the drive, the frigid morning air whipping bright color into their cheeks.

He caught sight of her well before they reached the end of the drive, in part because she looked like some exotic winter bird,her blue cloak like bright plumage against the backdrop of the somber gray sky above, but also because of the round bundles of mistletoe sailing through the air and hitting the ground beneath the tree.

“Helena! What the devil do you think you’re doing? Get down from there at once!”

She peered down at him through the dark branches, a bundle of mistletoe caught in her fist. “But I haven’t finished yet.”

“You are most assuredly finished, my lady. I’m warning you, Helena. Either come down from there at once, or I’m coming up to fetch you myself.”

There was an exasperated huff, then the thorny bundle of mistletoe landed at his feet. “There’s no need forthat, I assure you. I’m nearly done. If you come up here now, you’ll only slow me down.”

“That’sit, madam. Stay where you are.” He braced his foot on one of the thicker branches near the bottom and caught hold of another one above his head.

“Hurrah!” The boys cried out gleefully. “Papa’s going up the tree!”

Helena’s head popped back into sight with her lips turned down in a frown. “For pity’s sake, Adrian, you’re the most stubborn man alive.”

“Then we’re well matched, are we not, my lady?”

“What do you intend to do when you get up here? Carry me down on your back?”

“If that’s what it takes to get you out of this bloody tree, then yes, and I warn you that once I have you down, I’m going to have the gardeners remove this cursed thing.”

“What? But it has the nicest mistletoe in all of Steeple Barton!”

“Yes, well I’m very sorry for it, but as my wife can’t seem to stay out of this tree, I haven’t any other choice than to removeit.” He’d nearly reached her now, just a few more branches and he’d have her.

There was another huff from above him. “Your wife is perfectly capable of making her way up this tree, and back down again, my lord. I’ve done it a dozen times.”

“That, Helena, is precisely the problem.” He was nearly there, just another few branches… “There! I’ve got you.” He curled his arm around her waist, holding her carefully between his chest and the trunk of the tree.

“Where, my lord, will we get our mistletoe if you have the tree removed?”

“This may surprise you, Lady Hawke, but I don’t give a damn about mistletoe. If the Benevolent Ladies insist upon having kissing balls, they’ll have to start climbing trees themselves.”

“Why, you awful man. Don’t say you mean to send poor Lady Goodall up a tree.”

It was meant as a scold, but the corners of her lips were twitching, and her eyes, more a blue than gray today, because of her cloak—were twinkling. He couldn’t help but press a kiss to her lips, which resulted in a chorus of boyish giggles drifting up from the base of the tree.

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