That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,15

‘We do. I will attend the ball if you promise to host the Sunday school picnic. I cannot promise that everyone else will come, mind,’ she cautioned him.

‘You don’t need to. I will take my chances.’

There was something so unsettling in his eye as it roved over her face that Cicely stood up quickly, saying, ‘I believe I must be going.’

He stood up, too.

‘So soon?’ he asked, crossing the space between them in one stride and taking her hand in his.

Even through her glove she could feel the heat of his fingers, and she felt suddenly hot. The strange tingling started again, filling her with a strange restlessness. She tried to draw her hand away but he held it fast.

‘Will you not stay for tea?’

‘Thank you, no.’ She made a determined effort to free her hand, and to her relief he let it go - although mixed in with the relief was a strange drop in her spirits, as though some part of her had not wanted him to.

‘I must be getting back to the Lodge,’ she said. ‘I’m still trying to get to grips with the range.’

His eyebrows rose, as though he had not expected her to have to bother with such things as ranges. But he made no comment, saying only, ‘Very well.’

He rang the bell and a minute later the butler arrived.

Exchanging goodbyes with Mr Evington, Cicely retrieved her parasol and walked out of the house; leaving Alex looking after her, an unfathomable expression on his face.

A minute later the door opened and Roddy walked in.

‘Who was that?’ asked Roddy, glancing at Cicely, who could be seen walking down the drive.

‘That,’ said Alex, drawing his thoughts with difficulty back to the present, ‘was Miss Cicely Haringay.’

‘Miss Haringay?’ Roddy let out a low whistle as he turned his attention again to the graceful figure of Cicely, whose straight back and delectable curves held his eye. ‘I thought Miss Haringay was a spinster who indulged in good works.’

‘And so she is . . . in a way,’ said Alex with a wry smile.

Roddy laughed. ‘It’s enough to make me take up good works myself, in an effort to get to know her.’

‘I shouldn’t, if I were you,’ said Alex.

He cursed himself as soon as he had said it. There had been an unmistakeable note of warning in his voice, but fortunately Roddy, engrossed with the last glimpses of Miss Haringay’s retreating figure, had not noticed.

And why had it been there, that warning note? Alex asked himself. Before realizing that, in spite of the fact he deeply resented the landed classes for what they had done to his sister, he found himself devastatingly attracted to Miss Cicely Haringay.

What was it that so attracted him to her? he asked himself. He had known many beautiful women in his time, and Cicely was not beautiful, but there was something very appealing about her. Was it her hair? he wondered. It was not remarkable in either style or colour, but there was a softness about it that made him want to reach out and touch it. Or was it her eyes? They were certainly lovely, being grey and deep-set. Or was it her nose? No, that had been a little too long. Or her mouth? His face broke into a slow smile. It was certainly kissable enough . . . Or her chin?

His smile faded. No, it was definitely not her chin. It was too determined for his tastes, that chin. It reminded him that, soft and appealing as Miss Haringay might appear, she was in fact the product of a long line of the ruling classes, people who liked to have their own way.

His eyes lost their appreciative gleam and his manner became matter-of-fact.

‘You’ll be pleased to know that she has changed her mind about coming to the ball,’ he said.

‘Ah. Good.’ Roddy, too, became matter-of-fact. ‘Then the rest of the neighbourhood will follow suit. Which means that the ball will be well attended, and we can go ahead with our plan.’

Cicely was light-hearted as she strolled down the drive, her mission successfully accomplished. Not only had she managed to secure Mr Evington’s promise that the Sunday school picnic could go ahead, but she had also cleared the hurdle of making her first visit to the Manor as a guest. Though saddening, the experience had been bearable, and she was now secure in the knowledge that she would be able to visit it in future without having to dread the event. Which,