Holiday House Parties by Elizabeth; Mansfield Page A

wall, Dawlish from the library where he’d been decorating the mantel of the fireplace, and Geordie from the dining room where he’d been nailing a kissing bough on the lintel of the room’s high doorway. “What on earth’s amiss?” Lord Powell asked.
    â€œPoor Jane has hurt her finger,” Maud said with the show of sympathy that was proper in a good hostess. “I think she’s feeling faint.”
    â€œYes,” Jane said in a weak whine. “I ought to lie down.”
    â€œI’ll take you up,” the good-natured Bella volunteered.
    â€œOh, rubbish!” Emmaline swore. “She doesn’t need to lie down.”
    â€œA little rest won’t do her any harm,” Bella said, patting her fragile friend’s shoulder.
    â€œThen let one of the gentlemen escort her,” Lady Powell suggested with a matchmaking gleam. “Lord Dunvegan can do it. You’d like Geordie’s escort, wouldn’t you, Jane dear?”
    But Jane was too upset even to redden. She accepted Geordie’s arm, and with her head drooping against his shoulder, let him lead her from the room.
    Maud, after watching the pair go slowly out the door, threw her friend Lady Powell a look of amused disdain. “Much good that little ploy will do you, Lucy,” she said sotto voce . “A girl so lacking in spirit will never catch my nephew. You can kiss your ten guineas goodbye.”
    The wounded girl’s progress up the stairs was so slow that it took fully a quarter of an hour before Geordie could return to his task at the dining room doorway. But when he got there, he found that Caroline had taken his place. She was standing on a stepstool, attempting to nail the kissing bough to the lintel above her head, but she was having extreme difficulty. Even when standing on her toes on the very top of the three-step stool, she couldn’t reach the lintel. If she extended her arm to its utmost, the head of the hammer just touched the overhead beam. Geordie watched her struggle for a moment before making his presence known. “’Tis a wee lass ye are, Miss Woolcott,” he said at last. “Here, come down and let me do it.”
    â€œI’m quite capable of doing it myself,” Caroline muttered, wielding the hammer in a firm, upward swing that resulted in her banging her index finger painfully.
    Geordie pretended not to notice her wince of pain. “I ken ye can hammer a nail,” he said, “but since the stepstool isna adequate for a lady yer size, it’d be an easier task for me. Dinna be so thrawn this once, lassie. Come down.”
    Caroline glared down at him, ready to do battle. “If I remember our last conversation rightly, my lord, thrawn means perverse. I don’t care to be called thrawn, nor do I like the epithet lassie. You can take your insults and … and go away!”
    He did not move but continued to look up at her with what she interpreted as a leer. Despite the stinging pain of her finger, she made up her mind to show him that he was no better than she at any task. Once more she lifted the basket, once more she pushed the nail through the handle, and once more she swung the hammer with all her might. There was a very satisfactory thwack as hammerhead met nailhead, with no finger between them to blunt the contact. Gingerly she took her hand from the basket. To her delight, the kissing bough hung there quite securely.
    Still poised on the top of the stepladder, she smiled down at Geordie triumphantly. “There, my lord, I’ve done it,” she announced proudly. “Now, if you’d be so obliging as to step aside, I’ll climb down.”
    â€œNay, lass, I winna step aside. It wouldna be gentlemanly. Here, let me help ye down.”
    Without waiting for a reply, he boldly took hold of her waist and lifted her from the top of the stepstool. The act was so sudden it caused her to drop the hammer, which fell to the