The Kissing Bough by Alysha Ellis Page A

inside her head, she seethed with rebellion. She looked at the life her parents and their acquaintances led and knew she wanted more.
    She wanted more than economic security and an elevated place in society. More than the polite respect of an indifferent spouse. Sometimes she thought she wanted more than marriage.
    There had to be something else. Something to fill the bleak emptiness that made her chest ache whenever she contemplated the long, dreary years ahead of her.
    And yet, here she was at Beaufield Hall, probably the most respectable, dreary household in the country. She paid little attention to the hum of conversation drifting around her. She knew it all already. Polite nothingness, social interaction without meaning or interest. She followed the social protocols automatically, taking Edward’s proffered arm to enter the dining room, slipping into place behind the dowager countess as, doing what was right, what was expected…
    With a rush of noise and confusion, the calm predictability shattered. Through the servant’s door at the far end of the dining room erupted…a forest!
    Lucinda blinked, wondering if the tedium had finally sent her mad. No. There was definitely a pine tree walking into the dining room, its dark green branches snapping and swaying as they squeezed through the narrow door then spread out again.
    Edward gasped, the first sound of genuine emotion Lucinda had ever heard him make. Lady Beaufield staggered and seemed about to faint, when a deep voice issued from the pine tree and snapped her upright again.
    “Good evening, Mother.”
    In his second spontaneous response, Edward’s teeth snapped together. In a voice that could have frozen steam, he ground out one word, “James.”
    The pine tree tilted to one side, and a disembodied head appeared. Lucinda’s gaze flicked from Edward, to the newcomer’s face and back again. It was like looking into a mirror that subtly distorted the image.
    Every feature of the newcomer’s face, peering out from behind the evergreen branches, was similar to Edward’s, but no one would ever confuse the two.
    Where Edward’s hair was an unexceptionable brown, the other’s was a deep, rich chocolate. Faded gray-blue eyes sharpened to sapphire, sparkling with merriment or mischief. And the mouth! Edward’s pale, tight lips were transformed into a wide, white grin, lighting and warming the room more effectively than the feeble flames of the fire.
    The pine tree—and the man holding it—stepped forward and a line of servants shuffled in, carrying a barrel, and boxes, and arms full of additional pine branches, apples and paper flowers, all of which they unloaded in front of the hearth.
    The countess sighed, and in disregard for manners or decorum, sank onto the nearest chair.
    The skin on Edward’s face turned a mottled red, and his already narrow lips tightened. “How dare you just appear like this? You disappear after Waterloo with no word to tell us if you were alive or dead, and now, eighteen months later you arrive, unannounced, bringing this… this”—he gestured toward the growing pile on the floor—“whatever it is.”
    The man Edward called James placed the tree carefully on the floor and turned to face his brother. He was fashionably dressed for the occasion, with buff knee breeches and a plain black evening jacket, his neck cloth snowy-white and expertly tied. The only jarring note was his dark hair, over-long, reaching past his collar with no attempt to constrain it. A few wild curls teased his forehead where they had been tousled by the embrace of the pine needles. Strange how Edward was so ordinary and this man, so like him yet completely different, was quite the most beautiful individual Lucinda had ever seen.
    The man’s smile faded. “You knew very well I survived the battle and was heading for adventure in the New World. I sent a message home with Ellerdale. I know he delivered it, because I met him later in Quebec.” He stretched out a