Mistletoe Mischief

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Lady Evangeline Radcliffe was not in the mood to brook argument. Oh, indeed not. The trials of being a certain age were irksome enough already without having an insolent lodging keeper to deal with as well. She had just journeyed twenty uncomfortable miles from Bath, enduring flushes that required an open carriage window regardless of the freezing December temperature, and she had no intention of being fobbed off by Mr. Tully Ramsbotham, a pompous carrot-topped fellow who was built like an outhouse and had the manners to match!

The plumes on her fashionable brown velvet hat trembled as she confronted him in the chilly hallway of his three-story kingdom in the market square of Wells. His stubborn effrontery was the only obstacle between her and the young woman she had been secretly seeking for eight years, so she glared up at him from her diminutive five feet one inch.

"Don't make the mistake of trifling with me, Mr. Ramsbotham, for I am not one of your unfortunate servants. Besides, this is supposed to be the season of goodwill, or had that escaped your attention? Now, then, I have been given to understand that a Miss Mortimer is newly staying here, and I wish to see her immediately." With a peremptory flick of her fur-lined traveling cloak, she marched into his cozy low-beamed parlor, where a maid was attaching a garland of Christmas greenery to the mantelshelf.

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