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reached the ground and was looking down ruefully at a deep scuff mark along the inside of one boot. Elizabeth hoped he had not seen the kiss.
    â€œIn that case,” Anthony said, grinning, “ you must chaperon Mrs. Chambers, Miranda.”
    â€œAbsurd!” she said, laughing too. “Lizzie is married to Mr. Chambers. He may kiss her whenever he pleases.”
    Elizabeth scarcely knew where to look. She had not stepped away from the tree as the gentlemen descended, with the result that she was suddenly almost toe-to-toe with Mr. Chambers, and he was looking into her face, a question in his own. He was holding mistletoe. Did he think she had held her ground deliberately? Did he think . . . ? She stared back at him. She was having trouble with her breathing.
    â€œA man really ought to be rewarded,” he murmured, “for risking both his life and his boots.”
    He intended to kiss her?
    She had shared the intimacy of the marriage bed with him on fourteen successive nights. She had taken his seed into her womb and borne his child. Yet she felt suddenly as if they had never touched at all. Certainly he had never kissed her.
    â€œOh, how foolish!” she said in what she hoped was a light tone,turning sharply away. “All the magic will be gone from the mistletoe even before we take it back to the house.”
    â€œWell, there is something in that,” her husband said from behind her, his tone matching her own. “But I reserve the right to be the first to test it there after the kissing bough has been made and hung—with the lady of my choice.”
    Miranda and Anthony laughed. Elizabeth forced herself to turn her head back toward her husband and join in their laughter. Had he really wanted to kiss her? He was looking at her with narrowed eyes, an unreadable expression in them.
    Had she ruined the morning?
    But he strode up beside her, and they led the way out of the deeper woods. Soon they could hear other voices and see the other groups busy about their tasks. Indeed, when they reached their starting point, they found an impressive mound of greenery waiting to be hauled to the house.
    â€œHow are we going to get it there?” Cousin Alex asked, lifting his beaver hat in order to scratch his head through unruly chestnut curls.
    â€œCarry it?” Peregrine suggested.
    But Mr. Chambers, as they might have expected, had organized everything in advance. Gardeners were to bring carts drawn by teams of horses, he explained. Indeed, they came into sight, raising clouds of snow, almost before he had finished explaining.
    And so they all trudged empty-handed back to the house, having to wade through snow that was considerably deeper than it had been when they set out. Elizabeth did not know who it was who began singing “The Holly and the Ivy,” but soon they were all singing lustily and not particularly musically and following it with other Christmas carols. Mr. Chambers, who was walking beside her, four-year-old Louisa perched on one of his shoulders, had a good tenor voice, she discovered.
    Elizabeth felt awkward and shy with him. Why had she avoided his kiss? She had wanted it. But had he laid claim to kissing her later beneath the kissing bough? With the lady of my choice. Surely that must be what he had meant. He was not angry with her, then?
    She would not think of his being angry. She would not think of her own lost opportunity. There was much to look forward to for the rest of the day. At this particular moment she was chilly, untidy, weary, heavy with milk—and suddenly so filled to the brim with happiness that somehow it seemed more painful than pleasurable.
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    The children were shooed off to the nursery as soon as they returned to the house. They ate luncheon up there, and some of the younger ones, despite loud protests, were put to bed for a sleep afterward. But all were promised by Edwin, who stayed with them while Elizabeth was feeding Jeremy, that