A Magical Regency Christmas: Christmas Cinderella / Finding Forever at Christmas / The Captain's Christmas Angel

Her stomach twisted. ‘Yes. Everything is prepared.’

His head tilted. ‘Including you.’

‘Yes. Including me.’ She hoped.

‘No regrets?’

That steadied her as nothing else could have. ‘None.’ And suddenly it was true. She had no idea how this would turn out, but she had made her choice. The choice she had wanted to make. Even if it all came crashing around her ears in the end, for the moment she had her independence and that was golden. If loneliness was the price, then she was prepared to pay it.

‘May I open my present?’ she asked.

To her amazement, he flushed. ‘It’s not a present, exactly. Just something I had by me. You might find it useful, that’s all.’ He scowled. ‘It’s nothing. Nothing at all.’

Her hands were busy with the string and the paper which came apart to reveal a small, plain wooden box with a key in it. A small posy of inlaid flowers decorated the lid.

‘Oh.’ Her breath came out on a sigh of delight. Hands trembling, she turned the key and opened the lid to reveal two inner lids with little brass knobs. A slightly pungent fragrance drifted to her and she knew what he’d brought her.

She had to swallow before she could speak. ‘It’s a tea caddy. Thank you.’ It came out as a whisper, all she could manage.

He said, awkwardly, ‘It’s not a very good one. It’s just a hobby. But—’

‘You made it?’ Her hands closed on the little box as emotion choked her. She forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Thank you, sir. It’s the loveliest gift I’ve ever had.’

She lifted one of the inner lids and saw the little wooden spoon, nestled in the tea. ‘And you made a spoon, too?’ She lifted it out, felt the silkiness of the wood under her fingertips, and swallowed the lump in her throat.

‘Two,’ he said, his voice gruff. ‘One for each compartment.’

Heat threatened behind her eyes as she replaced the little spoon in the fragrant leaves and closed the lid. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t! Carefully she set the caddy safely on the shelf by the fire with the teapot.

‘Thank you, sir.’ There, she’d sounded quite steady.

‘It’s nothing,’ he said. The dark eyes watched her and her heart beat a little faster. ‘Is everything quite all right, Miss Woodrowe? You are sure you won’t feel lonely tonight?’

‘Quite sure,’ she said, her gaze going to the caddy.

* * *

Alex walked along the village street towards the rectory and his evening Office. Something rested, warm and glowing, near his heart. He’d made the caddy, just the caddy, last summer, intending it for Pippa, but it hadn’t seemed quite right for her and he’d set it aside. Seeing it on the back of his shelf the other day after showing Polly the schoolhouse, he’d known why he’d held on to the caddy; it was waiting for Polly. But he’d wanted to make something especially for her, and a tea caddy needed caddy spoons, didn’t it? That bare, bleak little room had haunted him while he carved them, but somehow, when he’d seen her face just now as she cradled the gift, the room had seemed full, glowing. Not bleak at all. He clicked his fingers and whistled for Bonny, who was exchanging greetings with the blacksmith’s old collie.

Davey Fletcher came out and called his dog. ‘Evening, Rector. Your Miss Polly all right, is she?’

‘Er, yes.’ No point denying where he’d been. His Miss Polly? It was natural that he should take an interest in Miss Woodrowe’s situation, wasn’t it?

‘Little bit of a thing to be setting up for herself,’ said Fletcher. ‘Still, it’s a good thing for the youngsters.’ He scratched the collie’s ears. ‘Reckon we’ll all keep a bit of an eye on her, eh, Rector?’

* * *

The scholars stood behind their desks, faces scrubbed and shining, gazing solemnly at Lord Alderley as he introduced Polly the next morning.

‘Miss Woodrowe has agreed to teach you and I know you’ll all do your best for her.’ He gestured Polly forwards. ‘In a way, she is like a Christmas present—one that you’ll have all year. We want all of you to learn to read and write, and do your sums so that you can get good jobs and do them well. And now I think if Mr Martindale will finish with a prayer, we’ll get out of Miss Woodrowe’s way and let her start.’

Alex stepped forwards and everyone bowed their heads as he spoke directly to God, thanking him for the gift of the children and—Polly blushed scarlet—for the gift of Miss Woodrowe, come at exactly the right time in answer to prayer for a teacher. She doubted that she was entirely what Alex Martindale, Lord Alderley, or even the Almighty for that matter, had had in mind. But here she was and here were the children, and she was going to do her very best for them. No matter that Aunt Eliot and her cousin Susan were standing stiffly at the back of the room with Lord and Lady Alderley. Polly had no illusions that her aunt approved of the situation—Lady Eliot was here because Lady Alderley had an interest in the school and would be present.

Alex finished with the Lord’s Prayer and stepped back, gesturing Polly forwards.

‘Sit down, children,’ she said quietly.

They all sat with a great scraping of chairs.

‘Can anyone read or write already?’

Surreptitious glances all round, but one small girl raised her hand.

‘Yes?’ Polly smiled encouragingly.

‘I can write my name.’

At the back of the room Susan Eliot tittered.

Polly didn’t bother to look at her, but focused on the child. ‘Excellent. It’s Maryann Perkins, isn’t it?’

The child beamed. ‘Yes, miss.’ And she spelt her name out painstakingly.

Susan tittered again. This time Polly did look at her. Susan looked back insolently and Polly’s baser nature got the better of her.

‘Very good. Once I knew a little girl called Susan who took simply ages to learn to write her own name. You’ll probably be quicker with your sums, too.’ Susan had been the bane of successive governesses.

Susan flushed as Lady Eliot turned an outraged stare on Polly.

Alex Martindale sprang for the door. ‘We’ll leave you to it, Miss Woodrowe.’ He sounded as though he were trying not to laugh.

Lady Eliot stepped forwards. ‘One word, Hippolyta—’

Alex forestalled her. ‘No, Lady Eliot. Miss Woodrowe is busy now. I’m sure she will be delighted if you call on her after school.’ He smiled at Polly, a warm smile that had her heart doing things it had absolutely no right to be doing. ‘Good day to you, Miss Woodrowe. After you, ma’am.’ And he ushered Susan and Lady Eliot from the room. Lord and Lady Alderley followed them.

Polly breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief, and, pushing all thought of her relatives from her mind, settled to her task.

* * *

By the time half past two came she was exhausted, three more children could write and spell their own names, they could all recite the alphabet, knew their scripture lesson for the day and had started on simple sums and counting. They had finished with a Christmas carol that most of the children knew already, but were more than happy to sing.

In brief moments throughout the day Lord Alderley’s words had come back to her: that she was a gift to these children. Certainly her previous pupils had not considered her a gift. Quite the opposite. And perhaps the converse was true; these children were a gift to her. Without them, she would still be in her uncle’s house, a resented burden. Now, looking at the children lined up at the door awaiting dismissal, she realised that she had something to give. Knowledge, perhaps an altered future for these children.

‘I’ll see you all in the morning, children,’ she said gently. ‘Class dismissed. Off you go.’ She swung the door wide, expecting them to make a bolt for it. Instead they trooped out one by one, all of them stopping to say goodbye and thank her.

Maryann Perkins, at the end of the line, explained, ‘Rector came to see all our families and said as how one of the best things we could do was to thank you each day because we’re real lucky to have you.’

Heat pricked at the back of her eyes. Gifts, it seemed, came in all sorts of unexpected guises.