The others in the room were listening now, and, sensing he had a moderately captive audience, the young giggling girls aside, he warmed to the subject. “Sprigs of mistletoe were hung in various homes in the hopes of heralding good fortune in the coming year. Did you know that mistletoe could also be used for medicinal purposes?”

“I did not,” Elinor commented in all sincerity, shaking her head.

“It’s true,” Mr. Partlowe insisted. “The plants were also used for medicinal purposes. It was believed they could promote female fertility and be an antidote for poison.”

Elinor nodded now, her eyes wide. “Fascinating, Mr. Partlowe. And…”

“But,” Mr. Partlowe went on, ignoring her attempts to end his explanation, “in Norse mythology, the mistletoe was a sign of friendship and love. It’s widely believed that it is this tradition that has led to the current customs regarding mistletoe.”

Hugh bit back a laugh as Elinor stared at her brother-in-law, the cursed plant still in her grasp.

“Indeed, what a thought,” she replied, her tone tight. Then she cleared her throat. “And is it bad luck if the mistletoe falls?”

Mr. Partlowe reared back a little, his thick brows rising. “I couldn’t say for certain, the details of such are unclear.”

“Would you think it would be a bad thing?” Elinor pressed, returning her attention to Hugh, keeping her tone ambivalent, even if her gaze was murderous. “Perhaps unlucky?”

What in the world was she getting at? Why would he be blamed for mistletoe falling anywhere? Was she plotting to curse him with falling mistletoe in the hopes that he would flee the house and her life forever in dismay? She would be disappointed, if that were the case.

Mr. Partlowe had no such suspicions. “That seems reasonable, yes,” he mused. “Most likely ill-fated love, if you believe in such customs.”

Elinor smiled, if one could consider such an evil curve to an otherwise impeccable set of lips a smile. “And what if one should have mistletoe thrown at them?”

Ah, there it was.

Now Mr. Partlowe looked alarmed. “Well, I can hardly see how that would be a good thing either, particularly with the customs being what they are…”

Hugh continued to stare at Elinor without shame, daring her to follow through with the unspoken threat after building it up to such an extent.

She tilted her chin ever so slightly, and he thought, for the space of several heartbeats, that she might actually do it.

Then the moment passed, and she shrugged, dropping her gaze back to the white berries and greenery in her lap. “Let us hope that no mistletoe should fall, then.”

“Or be thrown,” Hugh murmured, not bothering to also avert his gaze.

Elinor Asheley was a fascinating creature, and it surprised him to admit it. Her golden hair was plaited in a crown of sorts, though a few ringlets hung in front of her ears and a few curled tendrils flowed from the base of the crown itself. The effect gave her an almost angelic appearance, which was quite disconcerting.