That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,38

at hiding it than her daughter.

‘Let me introduce you to some of my other guests.’

He introduced them to the statuesque beauty, Miss Postlethwaite. With her elegantly coiffured dark hair, voluptuous figure, great height and majestic bearing, she reminded Cicely of the Wertheimer sisters, whose likeness had been caught so well by the painter John Singer Sargent a few years earlier. Like them, Miss Postlethwaite was the epitome of elegance and glamour.

Miss Postlethwaite greeted them politely, before moving gracefully away to talk to the other guests.

More introductions followed, and Cicely soon found herself the centre of a group of agreeable people, all of whom knew nothing of her exploding range and accepted her as just another of Alex’s guests.

‘If you’ll allow me,’ said Mr Stirling to Cicely as the dinner gong rang, ‘I’m to have the pleasure of taking you into dinner.’

‘Of course,’ said Cicely politely, her eyes unconsciously straying to Alex, who was escorting an elderly dowager into the dining-room. She felt her spirits lift. How stupid of her, to be so affected by such a little thing. For she had thought he would go into dinner with Miss Postlethwaite, and was ridiculously pleased when he did not.

Alice and Mrs Babbage were similarly escorted into the dining-room, and all three ladies took their places at the long table.

Mr Stirling was good company, and he and Cicely passed the meal pleasantly by talking about their favourite books.

‘I didn’t know you were a fan of Sherlock Holmes,’ said Alex, joining Cicely after dinner, when coffee was served in the drawing-room.

‘Oh. Yes, I am,’ said Cicely. She and Mr Stirling had talked about the splendid stories over dinner, and Mr Stirling had obviously mentioned the fact to Alex.

‘I didn’t notice any of Conan Doyle’s stories in the library,’ he said.

Cicely gave a mischievous smile. ‘That’s because I took them all with me!’

He laughed. ‘How are you settling in at the Manor?’ he asked. ‘Is your room to your liking? I haven’t had a chance to ask you before now.’

‘Yes, thank you, it is.’

‘Because if you would like another one you have only to say.’

‘No. I am very comfortable where I am.’

He was about to speak when one of his guests hailed him from across the room. ‘I say, Evington, what about a game of billiards.’

‘I’m afraid that will be impossible,’ he said.

‘Impossible? Pish!’ said the young man. ‘Nothing’s impossible.’

‘I’m afraid this is. You see, there’s no billiard room.’

‘What? No billiard room. Good Lord! You’ll have to hurry up and build one then.’

Cicely turned away. In one way she could not take exception to what the young man had said, for most country houses had billiard rooms. But it hurt her to have the Manor’s inadequacies spoken of. She knew it needed bringing up to date, but she loved it anyway, and although she could now enter it without feeling a loss of spirits, and had indeed enjoyed seeing it en fête, she did not like to hear it belittled.

Looking up, she caught Alex’s eye in the mirror. He was looking at her curiously, as though wondering what had brought the sudden look of pain to her face. But there was more than curiosity in his eyes. There was an unmistakeable gleam of tender concern as well.

Fortunately, Alice came up to her at that moment and distracted her, forcing her to break eye contact with Alex and give her attention to the other guests. Otherwise she might have been guilty of giving way to wholly inappropriate feelings . . . feelings that were becoming increasingly hard to deny.

She saw no more of Alex that evening, and as she undressed for bed later that evening she was grateful for it, because as she finally blew out the candle - the gas lighting not reaching this part of the house - she realized that staying at the Manor was going to cause her difficulties she had not foreseen. Not only was it going to bring her into contact with Alex every single day, but it was also going to force her to acknowledge her unfortunate reaction to the beautiful Miss Postlethwaite, whose statuesque image haunted her until she fell asleep.

Chapter Seven

Alex was up early the following morning. Although most of his guests thought the forthcoming ball was nothing more than a housewarming gesture, there was one person who knew that it had been arranged in order to snare the man who had almost ruined his sister’s life by framing her for a theft she didn’t commit.