Christmas Cinderellas

by Sophia James

  ‘I had not quite thought of it like that before.’

  ‘Well, there are different ways to look at every story, I should imagine.’

  Her aunt’s words were slow and measured and Christopher Northwell smiled.

  ‘I am completely in agreement with you on that, Lady Ludlow.’

  Ariana could not remember her aunt being so wordy in the company of strangers. More usually she was tense and terse and could not wait to have them gone.

  But the Earl had brought his notice back to Ariana now, his glance on her dress, his quiet humour apparent. Ariana wished she had not been quite so original with the cut and colour, but resisted the urge to worry.

  ‘My carriage is outside, Mrs Dalrymple. Perhaps we should go?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Collecting her thick red coat and small jewelled bag, she said goodnight to her aunt and followed him out. He was so tall he had to stoop slightly at the lintel to pass through.

  His conveyance was like one out of a fairy-tale. The polished gold of the chassis shone and the velvet cushions inside were numerous as she slipped in and sat down. She had never kept her own carriage, simply because the bother of stabling horses and hiring drivers had seemed like a great inconvenience, and she’d always been scared of the size and power in the animals.

  ‘I feel a bit like Cinderella.’ The words came as she leaned back into the comfort.

  ‘Cinderella in a gown spun from many colours and a fairy godmother of indeterminate fierceness?’ There was drollness in his query.

  ‘My aunt has a reputation that is not always deserved.’

  ‘Then I am glad for it.’

  She felt for the note in her pocket, just to make sure she had not misplaced it. He sat next to her, his long legs stretched out. His clothing was understated but very fine. He was not a man who needed any artificial embellishment, nor one who wanted to show off.

  ‘I would like to thank you for keeping your part of the bargain and for being here, Lord Norwich.’

  ‘You thought I would not?’

  ‘I am supposing that you do realise Lord Shawler and I have had our differences?’

  He laughed at that, and she felt exuberant. He was not overcome by her, nor intimidated. He was only himself. And in the light thrown upon him from street lamps his smile was beautiful.

  She thought of the bouquet that he had brought her, filled with the promise of Christmas. Fourteen days away. Gracious, how quickly Yuletide seemed to turn up, year after year. She wondered if he would still be enjoying her friendship by the time the day actually arrived, and decided he probably would not. There was tonight to get through, after all, and most men fled after a week in her company.

  She smiled at that thought. Christopher Northwell didn’t seem put out by her directness at all, nor by the fact that she was hardly a shrinking violet.

  ‘A friend of mine—the Earl of Harding—tells me that you are a champion for the rights of women who have been wronged.’

  ‘His Grace credits me with a large mission.’ She said this with a dash of humour. ‘The truth is that my aunt runs classes for women caught in difficulties. Sometimes I help her.’

  ‘Just as you mean to help her tonight?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Shock made her stiffen. Such perception was worrying.

  ‘The Shawler ball. You need an invitation. Andrew Shawler is hardly a saint when it comes to his behaviour with women. I cannot see that you are going simply for the fun of it?’

  ‘You think I would berate Shawler in front of everyone at a ball?’

  ‘I don’t know. Would you?’

  He did not sound fussed either way, and such indifference was beguiling.

  ‘What was it you did in the Americas, my lord?’

  ‘I built towns where none existed and sold them.’

  ‘An expensive undertaking, I should imagine?’

  ‘And one that reaped large dividends.’

  ‘An entrepreneur, then?’

  ‘People need homes, Mrs Dalrymple. I provided them.’

  ‘Why did you return to England, then, if things were going so very well?’

  He did not flinch as he answered. ‘My mother was ill. I thought I should come back.’

  ‘But she died before you arrived?’

  ‘I think she knew I was coming.’

  That came with an honesty Ariana could barely believe.

  ‘She didn’t want to see you?’

  ‘I didn’t quite say that.’ The smiling man had returned—the one who flicked off hardship and laughed at the world.

  As the carriage slowed and pulled in behind a row of others the reality of what she was about to do made Ariana feel slightly sick. She knew her reputation preceded her, and that she would not be welcome. No, she was the widow Dalrymple—a woman with a past no one could quite understand, of whom the whispers were loud. A woman who did not fit into the rigid compartments that Society wished her to.

  Three minutes later they were inside the entrance hall and her cloak was gone. The eyes of all those around were fixed upon her, and when Lord Northwell tucked her arm into his she was grateful beyond measure.

  Andrew Shawler was receiving his guests. North saw him before the man glanced over at them, next in line. He was a jowly red-faced man, with too much weight upon him and an irritating countenance of superiority. Once they had run in the same pack of wild young men, but now he could barely see any similarity between them.

  Perhaps he owed his mother more than he realised, because if he had not left England all those years before he might have ended up exactly the same. Lost, bored and entitled, and wondering why life had passed him by.

  Fury stamped Shawler’s face as he caught sight of Ariana Dalrymple, but before he could say anything North leant forward and whispered. ‘There are things I know about you, Shawler, that you might well wish I didn’t. Be nice to the lady.’

  A look of uncertainty followed, and their host’s cheeks were infused with an even brighter red.

  ‘Norwich.’ The word was flat.

  ‘Thank you for the invitation. I think you might already know Mrs Dalrymple?’

  ‘I do.’

  Shawler made little attempt to conceal his dislike, but with care North shepherded her past the man. Her hand was cold against his own, her fingers clenched and solid.

  ‘Don’t worry. He won’t make a fuss—though God knows what you have done to make him hate you so much.’

  ‘I hit him over the head with a statue last year, when he seemed unable to understand the word no.’

  ‘Hell.’ The world stood still, all the gaiety around him blurred by such a terrible truth. ‘Did you knock him out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Why the hell are you here, then? In this house at a ball that you can hardly have wanted to come to?’

  ‘For revenge.’

  She said this quickly, the words clearly bursting forth in her fright at Shawler’s reaction. Unthinking.

  ‘Your own?’

  ‘No.’

  Seth Douglas joined them before North could ask more, his friend’s arms coming around his body and lifting him up.

  ‘My God. Alistair said you were back, but I did not believe him—five years is a damned long time without a word, North!’

  Anna Charleston’s sister Pamela stood next to him, her eyes taking in his face. He had not seen her since calling upon her family when he had finally been well enough to do so after Anna’s death.

  ‘My lord.’ Her voice was so similar to her sister’s he felt thrown back in time.

  ‘Lady Douglas. I hear you and Seth are married? Congratulations.’

  ‘And we have a little girl who is fifteen months old. Her name is Anna Joy.’

  Layers of blame, guilt and fault shimmered, and North felt t
hem keenly as the past reached through time to claim him.

  Taking Ariana’s hand, he brought her closer—because at least her truths were honestly stated, and right now it seemed it was just them against the whole world. Surprisingly she came with an easy grace, and he liked her warm soft curves, even in the ridiculously colourful dress that showed off far too much skin.

  ‘We were sorry to hear about your mother’s passing, North,’ said Seth.

  No one mentioned suicide, but he could see the ghost of it in their faces—see the horror and the question. He was glad his father had refused to follow protocol and had his mother buried in consecrated ground in the small family cemetery on the far side of the Stevenage chapel. In his book, an illness of the mind deserved nothing less than celestial and eternal peace.

  For a moment North felt weightless and dislocated. The years he had been in the Americas had set him on a new path and he couldn’t find the man he had once been. He had changed beyond recognition. The manners and deceits of the aristocracy held only unfamiliarity for him now, with their lack of truth and their careful treading around anything that was awkward.

  Alistair Botham had joined them, and if there was one thing about his friend that never failed it was his ability to put his foot in his mouth.

  ‘I thought Andrew Shawler might have slugged you, North. I was hoping for more of a spectacle, or at least some insult that bore fruit and resulted in fisticuffs. Mrs Dalrymple. You are looking even more ravishing than you usually do.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ariana gave her answer quietly, and in that particular direct way of hers.

  ‘Shawler has the look of a bulldog that has lost its bone. Is that your doing, North? You always were good at raising his ire.’

  ‘Nope. All his own doing, I think.’

  ‘A lost soul, then.’

  ‘And one as far from the promised land as is possible. God knows why we ever allowed him near us.’

  ‘He has money,’ Seth said, ‘which makes it hard to take him down. You seem to have managed to find a chink in his armour, however, Mrs Dalrymple... I remember some scandal last year that involved a small statue used with force?’

  ‘A faulty strategy that unfortunately has him baying for my blood.’

  ‘Well, North is a great one to favour the underdog. At school he was always in trouble for it, so you are in good company.’

  School. It seemed like such a long time ago. In America he had felt free from such memory and reborn into independence. A land of opportunity and equality... He wondered momentarily how long he might have to stay in England before returning.

  Pamela Douglas had sidled across towards her, and Ariana could tell that she wanted to talk.

  ‘I didn’t realise you knew the Earl of Norwich, Mrs Dalrymple, but I think a friend like you will be good for him.’

  A surprising turn of conversation. She frowned. ‘You do?’

  ‘You are said to be a woman who believes in justice. I hope that is true.’

  ‘Because you feel he needs justice?’

  ‘More than anyone else in this room, I think. There is only so much gossip one can hear before one starts to believe it.’

  ‘Gossip about his mother?’

  ‘No. I am speaking of my sister—Anna. He was going to marry her, but she drowned before he was able to and I think he has blamed himself ever since.’

  ‘Something you don’t think fair?’

  ‘No one’s happiness is the sole responsibility of another. Do you believe that, Mrs Dalrymple?’

  ‘Implicitly.’

  ‘Then I am glad of it.’

  She could not quite understand what Lady Douglas was trying to tell her, but what she did know was that she liked the woman—liked her honesty and her lack of pretence.

  Ariana glanced around the room to see where Andrew Shawler was, and saw that he was busy with a group of men she did not recognise. Christopher Northwell was busy too, his friends around him laughing at something he’d said.

  Lady Douglas leaned closer and lifted her hand to shield her next words and prevent them from being overheard by others. ‘Shawler is what the Chinese would call a paper tiger. He blusters and bridles about his businesses and his importance but there is nothing save his title and his fortune that prevents him from being forcibly ejected from Society. I think every woman in the room probably hates him, and well they should.’

  This was a revelation to Ariana. ‘You believe that women have the right to state strong opinions outside of the home?’

  Lady Douglas laughed. ‘I hear you are a champion of the feminine cause and I commend you for it. One day in the future equality for all will be a normal thing, and people will look back and wonder at the primitive times we now live in.’

  ‘You surprise me. I have not heard these sentiments before from anyone save my aunt.’

  The other laughed. ‘There are many like me, Mrs Dalrymple. Hundreds and hundreds of us.’

  Normal women. Women who held friends for ever and had large, loving families. Women who were in good marriages and believed in hope.

  Ariana’s past had always precluded her from being a part of these groups, and the lonely life she led with her aunt had seen to the rest. She was out of step, that was the problem, and it had begun all those years ago when her parents had betrayed her.

  The room swam around her and she felt dizzy. She never thought of these things in company, and the horror of doing so here and now, in a salon full of prying eyes, was mortifying.

  North was suddenly there, holding her up, making certain she was safe, whispering in a tone that was comforting and leading her out into an empty chamber off the main hallway.

  When he had sat her down he took the space next to her on the large sofa. ‘What happened?’

  She could not answer him, even as she dug into her pocket for her handkerchief, extracting it to wipe her face and then wrench the fabric this way and that.

  He leaned over and picked up something from the floor, and she saw that he held the map that her aunt had drawn. His brow puckered as he tried to make sense of it.

  Resisting the urge to simply snatch it from him, she waited. Perhaps he would return it to her without realising what it was.

  ‘It’s a plan of this house.’

  Her heart sank.

  ‘This is why you wanted to come here, isn’t it? To this ball? So badly? God, you spoke of revenge before. Are you a thief?’

  She shook her head and took the piece of paper as he handed it back.

  ‘Then why?’

  ‘I told you that you only needed to give fifteen minutes of your time to me. I am sure it is past that, and I absolve you from any more.’

  He sat there in silence for a moment, and she did too. Then he spoke.

  ‘Vengeance has a dark side, Ariana.’

  She was sure he was speaking of himself, so she waited.

  ‘Bitterness drags you under until there is nothing left. You say you hit Shawler over the head and knocked him out. My advice to you would be to let that be enough and move on from it.’

  He thought she was doing this for herself? Out of an egotistical vengeance? She wondered what would happen if she told him the truth.

  She felt like simply giving it to him. She wanted to reach out and hold his hand—an anchor against the world, a safe harbour in stormy seas. She wondered what it must be like to have a man such as this on her side, aiding her, but of course she knew that was impossible.

  With care, she folded the small map and stood. ‘Thank you for helping me, my lord, but I think my night here is almost at an end, and it would be better for us to part now as friends.’

  ‘Friends...’

  He said this is a way that made her frown, for there was a tone in the word that sounded perplexed.

  ‘Before you go, Mrs Dalrymple, could I as
k a favour of you?’

  ‘One?’

  He nodded, and when she remained silent he continued.

  ‘Would you consider accompanying me to Stevenage on a visit to see my father?’

  Of all the things she’d thought he might say, this was the very last of them.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He is a man whom people find difficult, but I think you might manage him. We are largely estranged, you see, and there are times when I would rather it were otherwise. Before I return to America I would like to make my peace with him.’

  His honesty was startling. She wondered if he had ever told anyone else what he was telling her now, and thought it unlikely.

  ‘When would this visit take place?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow. We would stay at Stevenage for two nights and return the following day. Do you think your aunt might consider coming as chaperon?’

  Ariana smiled. ‘My aunt is as difficult as your father is purported to be, but if I asked her she would come.’

  ‘And will you ask her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He reached out and took her hand, and kissed the back of it in the way a gallant knight might have in one of the old tournaments, before the world had become modern. She felt the warmth of his mouth upon her skin and a shiver went through her.

  ‘Now, Mrs Dalrymple,’ he said, without looking at her. ‘Before you leave I want you to tell me why you have a detailed map of the Shawler house upon your person.’

  Chapter Three

  She felt her top teeth biting down on her bottom ones until they ached and then she stopped herself doing it.

  ‘I have told you that my aunt teaches classes for women of limited means. She teaches her pupils things that might help them rise up in life and in employment. These are not Society women, so to speak, but the daughters of gentlemen who have fallen on hard times.’

  ‘Of what do these lessons comprise?’

  ‘Book discussions. Conversation. Music. The art of gardening. The expectation of manners. All the things that might help a woman find her place.’

  She saw him smile and frowned.