That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,30

you understand - and -’

‘Yes,’ said Cicely kindly, ‘Antoine is a fine chef, and his cooking is superb, but Chuff Chuff, I can’t marry you for a soufflé.’

‘Worse reasons to marry a chap,’ Chuff Chuff pointed out.

‘No, Lord Chuffington, it just won’t do,’ said Cicely, kind but firm.

‘Oh, well. Third time lucky, what?’

Cicely sighed. It was obvious she was not going to be able to persuade him that she could never marry him and it looked as though she would have to let him propose a third time, after which, perhaps, her refusal might sink in.

She turned the conversation, therefore, back to the garden, showing Chuff Chuff her more notable plants before taking him back inside and offering him some refreshment. He declined, however, saying he was expected back at Parmiston Manor.

Cicely rang the bell and Gibson, looking resplendent in his immaculate butler’s uniform, which he insisted on wearing no matter how small the household had become, showed him out.

Cicely gave a rueful smile as she thought over Lord Chuffington’s visit. Chuff Chuff was a dear, but it was difficult to get through to him sometimes. Ah, well! He would learn in the end, no doubt.

And with that hopeful thought she went upstairs and changed into her cycling outfit. A calf-length divided skirt was so much more practical than a floor-length skirt when she needed to do the gardening!

The next two weeks were busy ones for Cicely. There were a lot of arrangements to be made for Mr Evington’s house party, and on top of that she had to find a boy to help Gibson around the house.

The latter proved to be easier than she had expected. Tom, Mrs Johnson’s oldest boy, was looking for work, and he soon took up his duties at the Lodge. Cicely’s earnings did not allow her to employ him full time, as she also wanted to buy an annuity for Gibson so that he would have some financial security when he retired, but they allowed her to employ him for three mornings a week. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays were the days she settled upon, they being the mornings which would allow her to keep her employment at the Manor a secret.

Tom quickly became indispensable. He was friendly and willing, and what he lacked in experience he made up for in raw strength and enthusiasm. He fetched and carried, cleaned and polished, he chopped the wood and carried the coal, and all this he did with a cheerful air that made him a pleasure to have around the house.

As the house party at the Manor approached, Cicely spent more of her working hours visiting local families and inveigling them into offering their servants for the occasion, and less of them at the Manor with Mr Evington, for which she was thankful. Her unruly feelings had not subsided as she had hoped they would. If anything, they had grown worse. Every time she was with him her thoughts drifted back to their encounter in the barn, and she seemed to feel his hands on her face and his hot breath on her lips. It therefore came as a relief for her to be able to spend most of her working hours away from him.

Having finally arranged everything to her satisfaction, however, she was forced to spend the last Friday morning before the house party at the Manor, where together she and Mr Evington went through the week’s post.

He sat behind his desk as usual, and as he gave her instructions, Cicely could not help noticing the way the sunlight fell across his face, revealing its strength. The line of his jaw and the firmness of his chin gave evidence of his character, and she could understand how he had managed to rise from his humble beginnings to the position he now held. Reluctantly, she found herself coming to respect him.

Whilst she might still resent the fact that he had treated the purchase of her beloved Manor as a business transaction, she realized that this same feel for business had enabled him to rise from being a stoker to being the owner of Oakleigh Manor.

She could not help but admire his energy and enterprise. He was so different from the men she usually met, either in Little Oakleigh, or on the one or two occasions when she had visited her aunt in London. They did not move her in any way. They were pleasant and amiable, and utterly unmemorable . . . whilst Alex was unforgettable.

Having dispensed