Mistletoe and Mayhem by Kate Kingsbury Page A

Ellie has only been gone one day and her mother said she often stays with a friend when she’s upset…” She let her words trail off as his frown deepened.
    “You spoke to her mother?”
    “Yes, dear. This afternoon. I was doing a spot of shopping and thought I’d drop in to see her.”
    He narrowed his gaze. “Why?”
    “Why what, dear?”
    “Why would you take time out of one of the busiest days of the year to visit the mother of a maid who has been in our employ exactly a week?”
    Cecily felt a stirring of resentment. “I thought Ellie might be ill. Besides, it’s not as if her mother is a stranger. Mrs. Tidwell supplies the hotel with apples and cherries from her garden. I have met her on more than one occasion.”
    “What does all this have to do with you chasing after a missing maid? Why didn’t you send one of the footmen to enquire after her health?”
    Cecily raised her chin. “I do not question the management of your business, Baxter. I would thank you for not questioning mine.”
    He at least had the grace to look somewhat contrite. “I didn’t mean to criticize, my dear. I was merely concerned that you were getting yourself involved in another nasty mess that seems so prevalent around this time of the year. I-”
    Once more they were interrupted, this time by a petite woman in a purple velvet gown and a pink wide-brimmed hat weighed down by an assortment of flowers, feathers, and bright red cloth cherries.
    “Cecily, my dear! It has seemed simply ages since we last saw you, hasn’t it Frederick, dear?” She looked over her shoulder. “Frederick? Drat the man. He was right behind me. Where has he gone now?”
    “The bar, most likely,” Baxter said dryly. He rose to his feet and gave the newcomer a light bow of his head. “Mrs. Carter-Holmes Fortescue. What a pleasure.”
    “Oh, the pleasure is mine, dear Mr. Baxter.” Phoebe Fortescue giggled behind her fan. “As always.”
    Cecily smiled at her friend. “Hello, Phoebe. I’m so happy you could join us.”
    “Yes, well, I’m afraid we are a little late. Frederick takes such an inordinate amount of time to get ready. I swear that man falls asleep while he’s dressing.” Phoebe sank onto a chair and fanned her face, blowing little tendrils of hair about as she did so.
    Cecily was never quite sure whether or not to believe the rumor that Phoebe was quite bald and wore a wig under her massive hats. The fact that she had rarely seen her friend without a hat seemed to add credence to the supposition. Not that it mattered to her, of course. Phoebe was a dear friend, bald or not.
    “Yes, well,” Baxter said, making no effort to sit down again, “perhaps I should seek good old Frederick out, in case he has nodded off somewhere.”
    Phoebe looked up with a little gasp of gratitude. “Oh, would you, Mr. Baxter? So very good of you, I’m sure.”
    “Not at all.” Ignoring his wife’s cynical shake of her head, Baxter bowed again and hurried off.
    Cecily watched him leave, feeling an acute disappointment at having been robbed of her chance to dance with him. There was such little opportunity these days, and she missed the pleasure of whirling around the floor with him.
    Much as she had enjoyed her two-step with Sir Walter, it could not compare with a lively waltz in the arms of her beloved husband.
    “Such a gentleman, your husband.” Phoebe closed her fan and laid it on the table. “Tell me, Cecily, will Madeline and the good doctor be attending the ball tonight?”
    “I’m afraid not, Phoebe.” Cecily picked up a plate of hors d’oeuvres and offered it to her friend. “Madeline didn’t think it was a very good environment to bring a baby.”
    “Oh, of course.” Phoebe sniffed. “I forgot. She doesn’t have a mother with whom she can leave the poor child. Such a detriment to her social life. I wonder how Dr. Prestwick feels about being trapped in his house for the entire Christmas season. He always so enjoyed going out and