Christmas Cinderellas

by Sophia James

  Somehow that kiss on the hand had set off an unexpected and inconvenient response within her, like ripples in a pond. And instead of decreasing, her heart, mind and traitorous body seemed ever more focused on Mr Beresford. Flirting with him had been a mistake. A mistake her body would—she hoped—eventually forget.

  She could not, however, escape him for ever, and before long nuncheon was done. Leading the way to the red drawing room, she decided that appearing bright and cheerful was probably the safest mask to wear.

  ‘I am so grateful to all of you,’ she declared generally, as they moved through the small parlour and into the drawing room. ‘As you see, there is plenty of greenery to be dealt with.’

  ‘But this is perfect!’ Lady Cecily smiled. ‘I much prefer to have something to do, you see. Idleness does not sit well with me.’

  The two of them spent the afternoon idly conversing over holly prickles, laurel leaves and assorted lengths of ribbon, while Miss Bridgeton flirted with a rather distracted Mr Beresford.

  Nell could not help but be amused by Miss Bridgeton’s increasingly desperate attempts to secure his interest. Mr Beresford either replied in the most general of terms, or seemed not to hear some of his companion’s sallies, so intent did he seem on crafting the most perfect garlands and wreaths. Nell, her eyes dancing, met a similarly amused gaze from Lady Cecily, and their friendship, already strong, was sealed.

  Eventually it was too much, even for the heedless Miss Bridgeton, who began including the other two ladies in her conversation. At this point Mr Beresford seemed to spring back to the present, engaging with all of them in a charming manner.

  I must not let him work his charm on me.

  Unfortunately, Nell’s heart was continuing to race in a most inconvenient manner in his company. She focused her efforts on behaving naturally. It was difficult at this moment to remember exactly how to do that...

  After a time Miss Bridgeton excused herself, stating that she would return shortly. She was presumably destined for the retiring room or her chamber. With a brief glance towards Nell and Mr Beresford, Lady Cecily made her own excuses a moment later, saying she was going to fetch the small scissors she had brought with her, which would be ideal for trimming ribbons, rather than all of them having to share the kitchen set.

  No! Do not leave me with him!

  Nell’s thoughts must have been apparent on her face, for Lady Cecily frowned slightly, as if surprised. Nell, belatedly re-establishing her polite mask, assured Lady Cecily that her embroidery scissors would be just the thing.

  Silence fell as the door closed behind her. Nell kept her eyes downcast, focused on her work.

  After a moment Mr Beresford said, ‘So...’

  ‘So what?’ Nell looked up, her tone defiant.

  He grinned. ‘Such pertness from a member of the household towards a guest!’

  She snorted. ‘A guest who has already breached good manners!’

  ‘How so?’ He looked unperturbed.

  ‘You should have told me you were to be a guest here.’

  ‘Ah, but then I would not have had the delight of spending time with you.’ His voice deepened. ‘Or the opportunity to kiss your hand.’

  ‘Precisely!’ She glared at him.

  ‘Precisely,’ he echoed softly. ‘That kiss will stay in my memory for a very long time.’

  She quivered, uncertainty replacing her righteous anger. Did he, too, think it special? ‘I do not know what to make of you, Mr Beresford.’

  Is he a heartless flirt or not?

  ‘The feeling is entirely mutual, Miss—’ He frowned. ‘I do not know your name. Much as I should wish to continue to refer to you as “Nell”, it would not be appropriate.’

  Ignoring the thrill tingling through her at the sound of her name on his lips, Nell lifted her chin.

  It is time to tell him who I am.

  ‘I am Miss Godwin.’

  ‘Godwin?’ A frown creased his brow. ‘So Mrs Godwin is your...?’

  ‘She is my stepmother.’ Nell grimaced at his raised eyebrow. ‘Yes, she is only sixteen years my senior.’

  ‘I see.’ The frown had returned. ‘Then this—’ he gestured vaguely ‘—is your family home?’

  A painful lump formed in her throat. ‘Yes.’

  He was looking at her closely. ‘And you assist your stepmother here?’

  She nodded. ‘I do. My stepmother is not particularly—that is to say...’

  ‘Household management and economy do not come easily to everyone,’ he murmured diplomatically.

  She nodded, grateful for his subtlety. Hopefully he would assume her assistance was limited only to tasks befitting a lady of quality.

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ he continued. ‘This conversation has been most enlightening.’

  It has? Why?

  Aloud, she said only, ‘Can you pass me another holly bough, please?’

  He did so, and a moment later Miss Bridgeton returned. Her eyes widened briefly, and she asked after the whereabouts of Lady Cecily with a hint of suspicion in her tone.

  Lady Cecily entered—with her scissors—an instant later, and they all resumed their work.

  Chapter Four

  Christmas Day

  So far the Christmas party was going smoothly. The staff had served an excellent breakfast, the children had been delighted with their small gifts, and the adults, too, had exchanged little presents.

  Beatrice had gifted each of her guests an embroidered handkerchief. The ladies had received lace-trimmed pieces embroidered with spring flowers—bluebells and daisies and primroses—while the gentlemen had each received a fine cotton square with their initials.

  Nell—who, of course, had done all the work—had stayed up until almost two in the morning, embroidering Mr Beresford’s initials in fine blue silk.

  The guests had all expressed their delight and gratitude, and Beatrice had taken their praise with equanimity.

  Nell had kept her gaze on her clenched hands. When eventually she had managed to hide her hot temper enough to raise her eyes, Mr Beresford had been looking directly at her, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead.

  So it was unsurprising now, when he sought her out as they walked to church. The carriages had dropped them in the village, and he took the opportunity to fall back until he was beside her.

  ‘Do you sew, Miss Godwin?’ he asked baldly.

  She shrugged. ‘On occasion.’

  He took a handkerchief from his sleeve. A sideways glance confirmed it was the one she had embroidered. ‘Did you sew this?’

  What to do? She could not lie, and yet she did not wish to expose Beatrice. By doing so she would possibly reveal the misery of her current existence; her pride would not allow it.

  Glancing at Beatrice, who was gliding ahead alongside Lady Fanny, she gestured airily. ‘Possibly. Beatrice and I often help each other on our sewing and embroidery projects.’

  Beatrice’s assistance was generally limited to instructing, criticising and taking credit, but she did not say this.

  ‘Oh, look! They have added candles to the windows of the store!’

  Candles in the window were a Yuletide tradition, barely worth commenting on, but she pretended to be interested in them long enough for Lady Cecily and Miss Bridgeton to join them. Thankfully Mr Beresford did not pursue the topic.

  The day was crisp and clear, and people were generally in a jovial mood. Mr Beresford continued to walk with her and the other young ladies as far as the church—which meant, somehow, that they ended up beside one another for the service.

  While singing one of the traditional carols, she sensed his head turning towards her. Unthinkingly, she turned to look at him, and their gazes collided. Ignoring her racing heart, she sang on, eyeing him steadily. He seemed to forget the words for an instant, and she flashed him a
challenging grin. He smiled back, and her heart felt warmer than at any time since Papa’s death.

  After nuncheon they played spillikins, at the request of the children, with the young ladies and some of the younger gentlemen taking part. Nell was surprised to find that Mr Beresford, showing the same good grace he had exhibited while helping with the greening yesterday, joined in the parlour games with enthusiasm.

  At one point she caught him looking at little John, and there was sadness in his gaze.

  Why?

  He was charming to all the ladies in equal measure, and was already a favourite with the matrons. The gentlemen liked him too, with many seeking him out for advice on matters of business. Their comments had given Nell to understand that Mr Beresford and his brother Jack, the Earl of Hawkenden, were both wealthy and knowledgeable on such matters. He was somehow different when he was discussing matters of business, Nell observed. Sterner. Colder, even.

  The children flocked around him like bees to nectar—which gave Nell the greatest trouble. Being herself drawn to him, and knowing she was as yet unsure whether to trust him, she was still to be convinced that there was true sincerity beneath his charming mask. But children, she had always found, were often more insightful than adults in the detection of falsity, and it confused her to see how much the little ones had warmed to Mr Beresford.

  He will be gone soon, she reminded herself. It will not matter then who he is or what his reasons for being here are.

  The thought was decidedly poignant.

  Once the children had been taken away by their nursemaids to rest before dinner, Mr Beresford suggested a brief walk outside for those hardy enough to enjoy it. Most of the guests declined, but Lady Cecily, Miss Bridgeton and Mr Emerson all agreed with alacrity.

  Lady Cecily pressed Nell into going along. Glad of the invitation—for she hated being cooped up indoors for long periods—Nell joined the others in donning cloaks, boots and hats, before they all stepped out into the quietness of a cold Christmas Day.

  The day was midwinter-dark, the clouds steel-grey, heavy and portentous. Nell shuddered. Some whisper of fear had sent a cold shiver up her spine.

  Ignoring it, she walked on with the others.

  On reaching the copse they began to wander apart a little, collecting fresh holly boughs to brighten the older ones in the house. Unexpectedly Nell, with her arms full of greenery, came upon Mr Beresford, who was reaching up to snap off a leafy branch festooned with red berries and glossy green leaves.

  ‘Oh!’ She could not help but exclaim. He was in her thoughts at all times, so to see him suddenly alone was like a wish come true.

  He turned and stilled when he saw who was there. His eyes pinned hers, and she was lost in her own longing—and his. Her heart was racing, her palms moist, and she could feel herself quiver. Who was he to have such an effect on her?

  Unaccountably, they were now standing face to face. Had she stepped towards him or he towards her? It mattered not.

  He lifted a hand to caress her cheek. She remained still, knowing what would happen next.

  I want this! she thought fiercely. Good things never happen to me, so I shall kiss him, and never see him again after the party, and always remember this moment.

  A moment later his lips touched hers, soft and warm, and she responded instantly, taking every ounce of pleasure she could.

  Minutes later they drew apart, both breathing hard.

  What a kiss!

  Her heart was racing, desire was pooling in her stomach and her hands were trembling.

  He had noticed, and was sliding his hands down her arms to claim both hands. Oh, how wonderful it was to feel the warmth of his hands on hers, his breath on her cheek, the heat of his body where it aligned with hers.

  During their kiss snow had begun to fall softly, caressing them gently with whispering coolness. It was perfect.

  His lips curved into a radiant smile, and she returned it with one of her own.

  What on earth am I doing?

  Some strange madness had taken hold of her, filling her with daring, exhilaration and, somewhere deep down, defiance.

  Inside I am still me. I am alive yet.

  Voices alerted them to the impending arrival of Lady Cecily and the rest of their party. Swiftly he turned, reaching again for a high holly bough.

  Nell bent to pick up her own twigs and stems, which had been abandoned to the undergrowth during their kiss.

  Praying her breathlessness and flushed cheeks would settle quickly, Nell hoped the others would think it due to the weather and her exertions. Thankfully, they seemed to notice nothing amiss, and amid excited chatter about the snow they all made their way back along the lane.

  Tom’s head was awhirl, his body ached with need, and his heart—he simply could not work out what was happening with his heart.

  When she had looked at him in church he had been overcome with a longing so intense it had closed his throat. Kissing her just now had been wonderful, inevitable—necessary. Never had another person, man or woman, disturbed him as much as Miss Nell Godwin was disturbing him. And he hated the discomfort of it even as his heart soared.

  He walked on with the others through the gentle snowfall, but in all the world to him there was only one other person.

  Nell.

  Christmas Evening

  Nell glanced around the salon. The Yule Log stretched right across the large hearth, barely touched by flames, so imposing was it. Around it smaller branches and blocks blazed merrily, ensuring the large room remained warm and bright. Branches of candles had been placed on most of the side tables, and the shutters had been closed to block out the darkness of the winter night.

  Beatrice’s guests were grouped in twos and threes in different corners, chattering, laughing and sharing the fine selection of expensive wines that Jemett had prepared for this Christmas Day. The children were gone to bed, dinner had been a clear success, and the gentlemen had recently joined the ladies after their port in the dining room.

  Christmas Day as a whole had gone well, Nell reflected with some satisfaction. The staff had outdone themselves in ensuring the comfort of all their guests, from the early breakfast before church, to the extravagant dinner tonight, when a fine fat goose had been the centrepiece, flanked by a range of well-prepared dishes including suet puddings, dumplings, vegetables in sauce and white soup, along with blancmanges, cakes and ices.

  Throughout all the feasting, praying, singing and games Nell had remained intensely aware of Mr Beresford—and of the momentous kiss they had shared earlier.

  Right now he was engaged in conversing with Beatrice, who was flirting outrageously with him using fan and eyes and—presumably—words. As she observed them it occurred to Nell that, while his attention seemed entirely devoted to her stepmama, in truth he was rather distracted.

  Nell was old enough to understand that a widow was free to do things denied to an unmarried maid like she, but the thought that Beatrice wished to share Mr Beresford’s bed disturbed her more than it should. Much more.

  There was no reason to believe he was returning Beatrice’s flirtatious intent. In truth, he might simply be interested in what Beatrice had to say. But that was unlikely, and therefore puzzling. Her stepmother’s conversation was rarely raised above a discussion of fashion and gossip—hardly the most interesting of topics. Yet no other explanation presented itself.

  ‘Thank you for a wonderful Christmas Day.’

  It was Lady Cecily, a hint of embarrassed kindness in her eyes. Had Lady Cecily drawn the same conclusions about the conversation between Beatrice and her handsome guest?

  ‘Oh, but I did nothing!’ Nell replied airily, grateful to tear her eyes away from them.

  Lady Cecily gave her a sceptical look. ‘My mama—whom I love dearly—has no more common sense than a kitten. I have been looking after her affairs for a number
of years now.’

  Nell understood perfectly. ‘My stepmama and Lady Fanny are great friends,’ she offered carefully.

  ‘They are so alike!’ declared Lady Cecily, with a grin.

  Nell gave her an answering smile. ‘As young ladies, we must always be careful not to criticise our elders...’

  ‘But we may look after them when needed!’

  In perfect charity with each other, they took a turn about the room, their shawls draped over their elbows in matching pose.

  Nell was wearing an evening gown of pale gauze, worn over a daring cherry-coloured underdress, with Vandyke points edging both the neckline and hem. She had not worn it since last Christmas, having refashioned it from an old dress. New clothes were no longer a regular part of her life. Beatrice had taken away her allowance, deeming it unnecessary because, she had said, Nell’s requirements were all met without the need for coin. Since then Nell’s talents with a sewing needle had regularly been put to good use...

  Lady Cecily’s gown was of blue silk, which emphasised her angelic beauty.

  While it was good to walk, after nigh on two hours seated at dinner, it was also gratifying when they received a number of compliments from men and women alike as they sauntered around the large salon, chatting lightly. As they passed the corner where Beatrice and Mr Beresford were still conversing Nell was careful not to look in their direction. She felt as though his eyes were upon her, but of course that might be simply her imagination...

  They regained their seats, and Nell began to inform Lady Cecily of their habits for the morrow—St Stephen’s Day.

  ‘We shall give the servants their gifts, and they will have the day off to visit their own families. Our guests’ personal servants will remain, of course—no doubt they will be given time off after they leave here—but apart from that we shall fend for ourselves.’ She grinned. ‘I shall take to the kitchen and serve the food, but it will be cold collations all day, I’m afraid.’

  Lady Cecily shrugged. ‘We have the same tradition at home. I confess I enjoy invading the kitchen on that one day in the year.’