Another snippet of Christmas Cinderella

As promised, here’s another snippet of  my new story, Christmas Cinderella. I’ve now figured out a back cover blurb  and I’m about to commission a cover for it. As always I’ll be making an e-book and a paperback, and when that’s done, I’ll put it up for pre order.
If you missed it, I posted the first part of the story here.

Chapter Two

         “I’ve known Peter since I was fifteen,” Sally began. “He moved to Maldon—his uncle’s estate—it shares a border with ours—when the old Earl of Maldon became ill with a wasting disease, a couple of years ago. Peter was training to become the Maldon estate manager because his cousin, John, Lord Maldon’s only son and heir, was too frightfully fashionable to have an interest in such mundane rural matters.” She rolled her eyes.

         “Lord Maldon doted on John, of course, and when he made one of his rare visits home for Easter, two years ago, old Lord Maldon held a grand dinner and invited the principal families of the neighborhood. I, being the least of the Destry family, and Peter, being a poor relation and newly arrived in the district, were seated next to each other at the lower end of the table.

         “We hit it off from the start—you know how it’s often so hard to talk to young men, Miss Westwood? Especially ones you’ve never met. And I had the most mortifying outbreak of spots—I begged Mama not to make me go, but she insisted. But it made no difference. Peter didn’t even seem to notice. We just talked and talked. And talked.

         “You needn’t think we were being rude,” she added hastily. “On my other side was Mr. Rush, who is as deaf as a post and in any case is only ever interested in his dinner. And Peter was seated beside Miss Throckton, who had no interest in a poor relation and was trying desperately to catch Peter’s cousin John’s attention. As were Julia and Mama.”

         She snorted and seemed ready to brood on that further, so Emm prompted, “So you and Peter found it easy to converse.”

         Sally nodded. “Yes, but it was more than that. It was as if . . . as if we just fitted together, liking the same kind of things, and . . . as if we didn’t need to explain some things, we just knew. Do you know what I mean?”

         Emm knew, all right. But whether this Peter fellow had also felt that way was quite another matter. Girls at that age could deceive themselves so easily. Emm certainly had, and it had led to disaster. . .

         But Sally didn’t notice her teacher’s distraction and rattled on. “And then the next day I went out riding, and I met Peter—quite by accident, I promise—and we spent the loveliest morning together. I showed him some of my favorite places, and he talked about how pleased he was that his uncle had offered him a position. Peter is the eldest son of a younger son, you see, and had no fortune of his own. And he talked about how unexpectedly interesting he was finding estate management.”         

         No fortune of his own, Emm thought. And perhaps Lord Maldon’s poor relation had learned that shy young Sally Destry was something of an heiress and set himself to charm her.

         “And that’s how it’s been every time I’ve been home since—Peter and I meet and talk and talk and talk, and it’s as if we haven’t been apart at all.”

         And there was nothing more trusting—and reckless—than a shy young girl who fancied herself in love for the first time, Emm thought. But all she said was, “He didn’t write to you while you were at school?”

         Sally gave a rueful smile. “He did once, but The Duck—I mean Miss Mallard—read it and sent it to Mama, and there was the most ridiculous fuss. Mama talked to old Lord Maldon and he gave Peter a thundering scold and forbade him to write to me again. And the very next time I saw him, he apologized for getting me into trouble and said he knew he shouldn’t have written.”

         Emm remembered the incident and had wondered whether Peter had instituted a clandestine correspondence. It seems he hadn’t.

         “Mama told me later she didn’t want me getting ideas about Peter—as she put it —because he had no fortune and was therefore ineligible—which is ridiculous, because both Julia and I will inherit Papa’s fortune, so what does it matter if Peter is poor?”

         “Your mama worries about fortune hunters.” And she was right to do so.

         “Yes, but Peter’s not a fortune hunter. The very idea is ridiculous.” She looked up, caught Emm’s expression and froze. “You think he is a fortune hunter? That he became my friend because of my fortune? Oh, that’s horrid! And mercenary. Peter’s not like that.”

         Emm made a noncommittal gesture. She wouldn’t be doing her job if she didn’t at least raise the possibility in Sally’s mind. If only someone had done that for Emm all those years ago.

         “I’m speculating—as we both are. But I gather that Peter is no longer poor.” It was quite possible that once his fortunes had changed, so had his intentions.

          “No, not since John was killed at Waterloo. John wasn’t even a soldier—he’d gone as a spectator, the silly fool, as if war was like the battles at Astley’s Amphitheatre. He caught a French bullet and died not long afterwards. It broke his father’s heart. He died a short time later.”

         “And Peter became the Earl of Maldon,” Emm said.

         There was a short silence and then Sally burst out —”Yes and that’s when Mama and Julia became interested in him—because he was the earl, not because he was . . he was . . . “

         “Peter.”

         “Exactly.” Sally swiped at the fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

         “And you think your sister and Peter will announce their betrothal at the ball?”

         “Isn’t it obvious?”

         Emm hesitated, unwilling to give the girl false hope, but equally unwilling to crush her youthful dreams. “It was certainly the impression your mother’s letter gave, I agree. But she also listed a number of other gentlemen who would be attending—”

         “Yes, but she said Peter was her new favorite person, and said the others were just his friends. It’s hard to get enough young men to attend country balls, that’s all she meant. If eligible young men come, eligible young ladies—and their mamas—will too, and the ball will be a success. That’s why Mama and Julia are over the moon. And because of Peter.”

         She brooded in silence a moment. “Julia never even used to like Peter!”

         “People can change,” Emm suggested.

         Sally snorted. “I know my sister.”

         “And Peter? Might he have changed?”

         “He must have, if he’s planning to marry her.” She sighed. “He was never interested in her before. I got the impression he thought she was a dead bore, though of course he never said so.”

         Emm had no answer to that. Men sometimes did marry dead bores, especially if they were beautiful. And Julia was very beautiful.

         But agreeing with gloomy predictions was no way to help a distressed young girl cope with a difficult and possibly painful situation. Sally had met this man when she was fifteen—a very vulnerable and susceptible age, as Emm knew only too well—and when he was a poor relation of the earl’s, new to the district, and was no doubt grateful for someone to talk to. Such masculine attention could turn the head of a shy, unconfident, sheltered girl. Of any girl that age, really.        

         The schoolgirls at Miss Mallard’s were always developing romantic tendres for the most unlikely and unsuitable men—the butcher’s boy, the curate, some man they saw in church—most of whom had no idea they were the object of a young girl’s dreams. Luckily most tendres were very temporary and soon died from lack of encouragement.

         This young man might simply have been friendly to a young girl who had misread his interest.

         On the other hand, he could just as well have been a fortune hunter cultivating the affections of a lonely young heiress. There was no way of telling, especially since his own situation had dramatically improved.

         Or he might have changed his mind and decided on the beautiful sister instead of the one with character and brains and heart. Emm had to admit her bias there.

         “I can’t go to Mama’s party, I just can’t. Watch Peter and Julia becoming betrothed? Pretend to be happy for them? I couldn’t bear it!” Sally clutched Emm’s hands in desperate entreaty. “Will you help me, Miss Westwood? Tell The Duck I’m too sick to travel or something? Please?”

         “Do you honestly think Miss Mallard would fall for such a stratagem?”

         Sally slumped miserably in her seat.

         “Besides,” Emm added gently, “There’s no point hiding away here, making yourself sick wondering and worrying about what might—or might not—be happening. You have to go home and find out one way or another. Face it and deal with it.” It might be painful, even humiliating, but it was better to know the truth and deal with it than to hide from it. Emm knew that from experience, too.

         “I can’t,” the girl wailed.

         There was a short silence, then Emm said, “I never thought you were a coward, Sally.”

                                                 * * * * *