Read The Mischief of the Mistletoe: A Pink Carnation Christmas for Free Online

but irregular would suit as well.” Turning to the would-be pudding thief, who had levered himself up off the ground, she asked, “Who was it who sent you after the pudding?”
    â€œDunno. She came running up to me all distressed-like, grabbed my arm, and told me there’d be a guinea in it for me if I got ’er pudding back.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”
    â€œAnd you never asked why?” asked Miss Dempsey.
    The man gave her a look, as if to wonder why she would suggest such a harebrained thing as that. “There was a guinea in it,” he repeated.
    â€œRight, of course,” said Miss Dempsey, shaking her head slightly. “Naturally.”
    The man stuck out his hand at Turnip. “Speaking of guineas . . . Care to cross my palm and we’ll call it no ’ard feelings about the jaw-box?”
    â€œHow about a shilling?” asked Turnip, digging into his pocket.
    Miss Dempsey edged around him. “This woman. Where did she come from? What did she look like?”
    The man’s fist closed around the shilling Turnip dropped into his palm. “Dunno. She promised me a guinea for the pudding is all.”
    And with that, he touched his forelock and sauntered away.
    Miss Dempsey looked at Turnip thoughtfully. “Where did you get the pudding?” she asked.
    Turnip scratched his temple, displacing his hat in the process. “My sister, Sally,” he said. “Can’t think why she’d be hiding messages in—oh.”
    â€œOh?” Miss Dempsey tilted her head quizzically.
    â€œNo,” he said decidedly, dismissing the idea as quickly as it had arisen. It would be deuced unfair to Sally to go about accusing her of setting up illicit assignations. He had every faith in his sister’s moral rectitude. And her ingenuity. If Sally were to arrange an assignation, she wouldn’t do it in such an addlepated way. He was the addlepated one in the family, and he was sticking to it. “It ain’t like Sal to set up assignations through puddings. She’s not the assignating kind.”
    â€œMy assailant did say a woman,” Miss Dempsey murmured. “Perhaps one of the instructresses? Your sister might have got hold of the pudding by accident.”
    Turnip clapped his hat firmly back onto his head. “Only one way to find out, isn’t there? We can ask her.”
    â€œWe?”
    â€œYou will come with me, won’t you, Miss Dempsey?” Turnip flashed her his most winning smile. “You can’t expect a chap to venture back into that den of females unprotected, can you? No offense meant. Your being a female and all that, I mean.”
    â€œHow kind of you to notice,” muttered Miss Dempsey.
    â€œNothing against the breed—er, gender,” Turnip hastened to reassure her. “Some of my favorite people are females. But it’s when you put lots and lots of them together in a room . . . it becomes . . .”
    â€œA bit overwhelming?” Turnip spotted a hint of a smile beneath Miss Dempsey’s bonnet brim and knew he was winning.
    Turnip nodded vigorously. “The very thing.”
    â€œI have three younger sisters,” Miss Dempsey contributed. “All of them at home.” She didn’t need to explain what she meant. Turnip felt for her, right down to the bottom of his waistcoat. There was no saying what younger sisters might get up to.
    â€œWill you come with me?” he asked eagerly.
    Miss Dempsey looked at the pudding cloth in her hand and then back at Turnip. “Why not?” she said. “This day certainly can’t get any stranger.”
    It was not exactly a resounding affirmative, but Turnip knew how to seize his advantage when he had it. “Jolly good!” he exclaimed, hustling her forward before she could change her mind. “Shan’t regret it! Lovely girl, Sally. Most of the time.”
    â€œMost of the time?” repeated Miss