A Magical Regency Christmas: Christmas Cinderella / Finding Forever at Christmas / The Captain's Christmas Angel. Margaret McPhee
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What about Lady Littleworth?’
She swallowed. ‘And what will happen when she dies, or decides that I annoy her? She won’t be paying me, you know. I’ve thought it all out. I need to save enough for the future. Perhaps buy an annuity for my old age.’
His jaw dropped. ‘Polly—you’re twenty-one!’
And one day she would be fifty-one. With no money. Ignoring the little voice of fear, she countered, ‘Have you ever met Lady Littleworth?’
His mouth twitched. ‘Actually, yes. I take your point. Very well, the position is yours, Miss Woodrowe. When would you like to start?’
What had she done?
The following Monday, Polly stared at the fire glowing under her cook pot and hoped she wasn’t burning her dinner. Mrs Judd had brought along a piece of mutton during the afternoon and explained how to deal with it. It seemed simple enough and the smell coming out of that pot was making her stomach rumble in a most unladylike way. She looked around at the room that was now her home. A table and two chairs in the middle of the room, a mattress and bedding in the alcove, a small cupboard to hold a meagre amount of cutlery and earthenware crockery and here, by the fire, a small wooden settle. She had brought the pillow over from the bed to soften the wooden frame a little and was curled up in the corner of the settle, waiting for her supper.
In the schoolroom everything was prepared for tomorrow when the school opened. Lord and Lady Alderley were coming along with Mr Martindale to speak to the children. A dozen children to start. Boys and girls. She had met most of them after church the day before. Alex Martindale had made a point of it.
Despite the twisting knot in her belly, she thought it would be a great deal better than her respectable position as a governess. For one thing she wouldn’t have Mrs Frisingham constantly interfering, making excuses for bad behaviour and vetoing any discipline. Nor would she have the lady’s brother-in-law, young Mr Frisingham, lurking in corridors to paw her about and make lewd suggestions. She shivered a little.
She had left the Manor without fanfare. Neither Susan nor Mary had come downstairs to say farewell to her. Only her aunt had seen her off, mouth thin with disapproval.
I dare say it will not take you long to realise the folly of your actions.
Outside the afternoon was drawing in, she had already closed the shutters and blown out the lamp. There was enough light from the fire and she couldn’t afford to burn lamp oil wantonly. For the first time in her life, she was alone. Utterly alone. And she had a horrible feeling that loneliness was very close, waiting to pounce.
The knocking on the door made her jump. ‘Come in!’ she called as she scrambled up from the settle.
Alex Martindale stalked in, a scowl on his face. ‘Why isn’t the door bolted?’ he demanded. The stern effect was rather ruined by a half-grown, black-and-tan setter pup, who rushed across the floor to her, all outsize paws, lashing tail and enthusiastic tongue.
‘Bolted?’ She stared at him while the pup licked her hands. ‘Why?’
‘Why?’ He looked around. ‘Is something wrong with the lamp?’
‘No, nothing,’ she said. ‘Why should my door be bolted? It’s barely five o’clock.’
‘It’s dark!’ he retorted. ‘Or nearly so. Anyone could come by!’
‘Someone just did,’ she observed, patting the dog.
‘Who?’ he growled.
She stared. What on earth had him all on end?
‘You, of course,’ she said. ‘Who else would have bothered?’
‘Who else?’ he echoed. ‘Polly—Miss Woodrowe—any tramp could come by and see the light. Perhaps decide to find out who lives here.’ His mouth flattened. ‘And you’re here by yourself.’
‘Oh.’ She flushed. Felt a complete widgeon. ‘I see.’
‘Thank God for that. Now, will you promise to bolt the door in future?’
All her family’s concern had been for how her actions must reflect on them, how demeaning it was. His furious concern for her safety was as warming as the fire itself.
She nodded. ‘Yes. If you believe it necessary.’ And when she saw the relief on his face she warmed even more.
‘Good.’ He hesitated. ‘I won’t stay. I just wanted to give you this.’
He held out a parcel and she took it with trembling hands. ‘Thank you.’
He nodded. ‘Are you sure you’re quite all right here?’
‘Yes.’
‘And there’s nothing wrong with that lamp?’
‘No.’ She flushed. ‘I didn’t want to waste oil.’
‘Oh.’ He looked a little disconcerted. ‘I see. Bonny—sit.’
The pup sat, her tail lashing, then, with a sigh, lay down and curled up beside the fire.
‘Bonny?’
He smiled. ‘An early Christmas gift from Lady Alderley. She thought a dog would be good company.’ He eyed the pup dubiously. ‘Which is probably true, as long as she doesn’t cost me my housekeeper. Mrs Judd is not entirely convinced and nor is her cat.’
Polly laughed. ‘But she’s lovely. And dogs are good company.’
‘True. You’re all ready for tomorrow?’
Her stomach twisted. ‘Yes. Everything is prepared.’
His head tilted. ‘Including you.’
‘Yes. Including me.’ She hoped.
‘No regrets?’
That steadied her as nothing else could have. ‘None.’ And suddenly it was true. She had no idea how this would turn out, but she had made her choice. The choice she had wanted to make. Even if it all came crashing around her ears in the end, for the moment she had her independence and that was golden. If loneliness was the price, then she was prepared to pay it.
‘May I open my present?’ she asked.
To her amazement, he flushed. ‘It’s not a present, exactly. Just something I had by me. You might find it useful, that’s all.’ He scowled. ‘It’s nothing. Nothing at all.’
Her hands were busy with the string and the paper which came apart to reveal a small, plain wooden box with a key in it. A small posy of inlaid flowers decorated the lid.
‘Oh.’ Her breath came out on a sigh of delight. Hands trembling, she turned the key and opened the lid to reveal two inner lids with little brass knobs. A slightly pungent fragrance drifted to her and she knew what he’d brought her.
She had to swallow before she could speak. ‘It’s a tea caddy. Thank you.’ It came out as a whisper, all she could manage.
He said, awkwardly, ‘It’s not a very good one. It’s just a hobby. But—’
‘You made it?’ Her hands closed on the little box as emotion choked her. She forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Thank you, sir. It’s the loveliest gift I’ve ever had.’
She lifted one of the inner lids and saw the little wooden spoon, nestled in the tea. ‘And you made a spoon, too?’ She lifted it out, felt the silkiness of the wood under her fingertips, and swallowed the lump in her throat.
‘Two,’ he said, his voice gruff. ‘One for each compartment.’
Heat threatened behind her eyes as she replaced the little spoon in the fragrant leaves and closed the lid. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t!