Holiday House Parties by Elizabeth; Mansfield

sincere denial, her eyes troubled, “but that’s only because we have such a strong affection for Greek drama in common.”
    â€œI’ve heard of happy marriages with less in common than that,” Lady Powell said coyly.
    â€œMarriages!” Caroline gasped. “I assure you, Lady Powell, that marriage is the furthest thing from our minds. Truly! It’s quite beyond the intention of either Mr. Dawlish or me.”
    Emmaline Dawlish gave her braying laugh. “You sound just like Jane, Caro. She also likes to deny that her suitor, Lord Dunvegan, has intentions toward her.”
    â€œ My suitor?” Jane squealed again on an even higher register, color flooding her pale cheeks. “Geordie is your suitor, and you know it.”
    â€œFeatherhead!” Emmaline said, patting Jane’s hand fondly. “Hasn’t the fellow taken you round the gardens every afternoon since he arrived?”
    â€œHasn’t he ridden out with you every single morning?” Jane turned a pair of pleading eyes to Caroline. “You tell her, Caro. You, of all our friends, are the most perceptive. Tell her which of us you think Geordie is pursuing.”
    â€œI can’t answer that, Jane,” Caroline replied, her eyes fixed on the sprig of mistletoe she was affixing to the bottom of a basket. “I take no notice of the activities and intentions of Lord Dunvegan. His doings are of no interest to me.”
    Maud, at the opposite end of the table, leaned over to her friend Lucy Powell and laughingly whispered, “I think the lady doth protest too much.”
    Lady Powell blinked at her friend in disbelief. “Are you suggesting that Caro has an eye for your Geordie? That, my dear, is nothing but wishful thinking. I’m convinced she cares only for Dawlish.”
    But Maud shook her head. “I think you’re out there, Lucy,” she said with quiet self-assurance. “I’ve noticed that Caro shows interest in Douglas Dawlish only when Geordie is present to observe it. When Geordie is not there, Dawlish seems to bore her to death. Watch them next time, and see if I’m not right.”
    â€œMakes no difference if you are,” Lady Powell argued in as firm a voice as whispering permitted. “Geordie is going to offer for Lady Jane, if he offers for anyone. I’ve wagered ten guineas on it.”
    Maud did not respond. Only the knowing smile that hovered on her lips for the rest of the morning told Lady Powell that her friend was not at all convinced.
    Since the snow continued to fall all through luncheon, the entire party, gentlemen included, spent the afternoon attending to the decorations. The women continued to weave and braid, while the men set to the hanging. They tacked the festoons over the windows, hung wreaths over the fireplaces, and nailed baskets over the doorways. Amid much laughter and the shouting of orders and suggestions, the house rapidly took on a festive look.
    Suddenly, above the merry din, came a pained scream. It issued from the throat of the delicate Lady Jane, who’d pricked a finger on the sharp spur of a holly leaf and discovered … blood! “Good heavens, I’m bleeding!” she cried, turning white.
    Bella and Caro exchanged amused glances, for they were quite familiar with Jane’s tendency to hysteria from their school days. So was Emmaline, who had no patience for her friend’s histrionics. “Heavens, Jane, must you carry on?” she hissed. “It’s only a little pinprick.”
    But Jane stared in horror at the bit of blood, now swelling into a huge drop. “I think I shall … swoon,” she gasped.
    â€œDon’t you dare,” Emmaline ordered. “You know you only do it to get attention.”
    The gentlemen came running in from various parts of the house, Lord Powell and Archie from the drawing room where they’d been hanging a festoon between the two windows on the west