“I have an idea about that, actually.” He pulled the horse to a stop and held up a finger, reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat.

She watched and waited, a wry smile playing at her perfect lips.

He pulled out the small bough of mistletoe and dangled it above their heads. “Look familiar?”

Elinor giggled as she looked up at it, her arms slowly stroking along his back. “I do believe that is the exact mistletoe that came flying at your head not so long ago.”

“Indeed it is, my love,” he replied, leaning closer. “I’ve been told the only way to break the curse of having mistletoe thrown at you is to spend a lovely amount of time obeying the custom beneath it.”

“Really?” she purred as she bumped her nose against his. “What wise individual imparted that bit of wisdom?”

Hugh quirked his brows at her, grinning. “Partlowe.”

Elinor’s eyes widened, and then she burst out laughing, one of her hands coming up to slap his chest. “Stop that, no he did not!”

“Letitia?” he suggested next.

Her giggles overcame her, and she dropped her head to his shoulder. “No. No, absolutely not.”

Hugh kissed her head, smiling still when she raised up to look at him once more. He stroked her cheek and her bottom lip. “Would you believe Uncle Dough?”

Elinor sighed and nuzzled him. “Probably. But let’s not make a habit of mentioning Uncle Dough before you kiss me.”

Hugh chuckled and briefly caught the lips of the woman he adored with his own. “I can agree to that, my love. Now, beneath this mistletoe, will you kiss me again?”

She hummed a smile against his lips. “Of course, my love. Always.”

Then they kissed again, and for quite some time, until any and all curses were gone.

Epilogue

Epilogue

The workings of fate are oft times bewildering, befuddling, and beyond understanding, be you spinster, bachelor, spouse, or spawn. No one understands fate, and no one is safe from it.

-The Spinster Chronicles, 30 December 1815

“Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

“What is?”

“I am astonished. Astonished, I tell you.”

“Congratulations. Care to share?”

“Apparently, if someone wants to get a husband, they just needed to accompany Elinor to her family’s estate for Christmas!”

Lady Edith Leveson sat up straighter and looked at Charlotte Wright in abject confusion. “What are you havering on about, lass?”

Charlotte waved the letter she was reading in the air, her eyes widening with impatience. “I have a letter here from Elinor. She’s to be married!”

Edith blinked unsteadily, waiting for her friend to laugh after such a fine joke, but the utter disdain in the woman’s face told her that laughter was not to come. “Crivvens,” she whispered. “Truly?”

“Would I make something of this severity up?” Charlotte demanded.

“Well, I dinna ken if you’re aware, lass,” Edith said with some impatience, “but you can be a wee bit on the dramatic side.”