That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,9

though far smaller than anything Cicely had been used to at the Manor, and had a variety of nooks and alcoves which gave it character and charm. French windows looked out over the gardens and filled the room with light. A faded sofa was set in front of the windows with another one facing it. A collection of inlaid console tables, brought from the Manor, were arranged artistically, and the far wall was adorned by a fireplace.

It will be Mrs Murgatroyd, thought Cicely as she settled herself down on the sofa. She will have come to talk to me about the arrangements for the Sunday school picnic.

But as the door opened, it was not Mrs Murgatroyd who walked in. It was the man who had knocked her from her bicycle!

He was looking every bit as attractive as he had looked the day before. His clothes - the trousers with their turned-up cuffs, and the jacket open to reveal the fob-strewn waistcoat - showed off the lean yet muscular build of his body. His dark brown hair was cut short, accentuating the strongly-defined planes of his face, and was shot through with gleams of chestnut. His eyes were a velvety brown, and something about the way he looked at her gave her the most peculiar feeling inside . . .

But this would not do. She was allowing her thoughts to run away with her. She needed to gather her wits, for with this provoking man she knew she would need them.

And yet, perhaps not. For on seeing her he stopped dead, and looked just as surprised as she was.

‘I was looking for Miss Haringay,’ he said uncertainly, turning to Gibson.

‘Thank you, Gibson,’ said Cicely quickly. She did not know what the driver was doing in her sitting-room but she decided to send Gibson away as quickly as possible. She had no desire for any of the distressing details of her previous encounter with him - or with the duck pond! - to leak out.

Gibson, his mouth open in the act of announcing the visitor, closed it again. ‘Very good, miss,’ he murmured, and backed out of the room.

‘My apologies,’ said the driver. His eyes flashed, sending a shiver up and down Cicely’s spine, and a wicked smile touched his mouth. ‘I seem to have come to the wrong house. I was looking for Miss Haringay.’

‘I am Miss Haringay,’ she said, standing up. She did not know why, but she felt she would be better able to hold her own if she was standing. But what on earth could he wish to see her about? Did he want to apologise, perhaps, for his earlier rude behaviour?

‘Miss Cicely Haringay,’ he said, as if to make the matter clear.

Already he was turning to walk out of the room.

‘There is only one Miss Haringay,’ she said, ‘and I am she.’

‘You are Miss Haringay ?’

‘I am. What is your business here?’ she asked. ‘I take it you had a reason for calling?’

‘Indeed I did. I wanted to introduce myself . . . ’

Not to apologise, but to introduce himself! she thought, startled. Whatever next?

‘And invite you to a ball.’

Her eyes flew open in astonishment. A ball?

She glanced at the door, wondering how long it would take Gibson to enter the room and throw him out, as he had clearly run mad.

‘You don’t need to call for your butler,’ he said, his eyes dancing again as if he could read her mind. ‘I’m not mad, and I haven’t wandered in off the streets for the purpose of asking you to an imaginary dance, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m Alex Evington. I have bought the Manor. We are neighbours, Miss Haringay, and I am here to make your acquaintance, and to invite you to my housewarming ball.’ He went on to explain. ‘I want to get to know my neighbours, and holding a ball seems the best way of doing it.’

‘Mr Evington?’ asked Cicely faintly, sinking down onto the sofa. Things were getting worse and worse.

‘Yes.’

She wondered now why she had not thought of it before. The man who had so carelessly knocked her from her bicycle was of course the same man who had so carelessly bought her beloved Manor, it was all of a piece.

He stood looking down at her with an amused air. ‘Is it such a terrible shock?’

It was indeed, but she was not about to admit it.

She noticed that he was still standing, and remembering her manners she bid him sit down.