A Sprinkling of Christmas Magic: Christmas Cinderella

‘You’re not children any more, Catherine. It’s not seemly to use his first name. He’s the heir.’

‘He’s always been the heir,’ Catherine said testily simply for the sake of argument. What did that have to do with anything anyway?

Her mother gave her a reproving look. ‘You’re grown up, it’s different now.’

Catherine smiled an apology. She was just being peevish and it wasn’t fair to take it out on her mother. ‘I’m tired from the long day outdoors. I think I’ll go up to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’ She kissed her mother on the cheek.

‘Sleep well, darling. I hear there’s shopping in the village tomorrow for last-minute Christmas presents and the ball tomorrow will make a late night.’

‘I will.’ And she would sleep just as soon as she paid one last visit to the library.

* * *

Finn stared into the fire, a book open on his lap. He hadn’t read a page of it. In fact, he hadn’t done much of anything since he’d come in here. He simply couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Channing, watching him woo Catherine. More than that, he couldn’t stand to watch Catherine smile back at his brother as if she welcomed those attentions.

There was no ‘as if’ about it. Finn had seen the way she’d looked at Channing that first night. He’d seen the way they’d laughed together today on the lake, spinning in those ridiculous circles. And he’d seen the way they’d looked together when Channing had kissed her under the mistletoe ball.

Finn rather wished he hadn’t seen that. But he had and they had looked beautiful together. Then Channing had led her aside and they had talked and Channing had kissed her hand. Finn hated that move of Channing’s, who had been perfecting the art of hand kissing for years. His brother once told him he had a way of doing it where his eyes lingered just over the tops of the knuckles because women thought it was irresistible. Had Catherine thought that? Had she liked Channing’s mistletoe kiss? More importantly, had she liked it better than his?

That last thought was not well done of him. It reeked of jealousy and for no reason. He’d kissed women before and there’d been no need for validation. The door to the library opened a crack and a form slid inside in a susurration of gold-tissue skirts and matching slippers. This was the second visitor today. His private lair was becoming deuced popular.

‘There you are!’ Catherine’s voice was a loud whisper. ‘I wondered where you went when you didn’t stay for tea.’ Her voice was full of false cheer. She was nervous. There was some consolation in that unless she was nervous because she’d come to tell him bad news. In this case, bad news was defined as anything he didn’t want to hear. Finn managed a smile and manners. He gestured to the empty chair beside his. He set aside his book and gave Catherine all his attention, which wasn’t hard to do. She’d had it before she’d entered the room.

‘Channing’s asked me to save him a waltz,’ Catherine began, taking extra time to settle her skirts. She didn’t meet his eyes and that ‘bad news’ scenario was definitely spot on. He no more wanted to hear about waltzing with Channing than he wanted to hear about the plague.

‘Your mother has requested three waltzes for the ball.’ She did look at him then, a little sideways glance and a quick half-smile on her lips, lips he’d kissed. He was afraid he would spend the rest of his life looking at those lips and thinking of that kiss. That one moment had now succeeded in dividing a lifetime into before and after.

‘I’m sure yours will fill.’ Why was she telling him this?

Her gaze was more direct now. She turned to face him in her chair, the firelight catching her hair and turning it the most wondrous shades of flame. ‘I’m sure they will too. I am certain Lord Richard will want one and that leaves just the other left.’ She paused and drew a deep breath. His usually confident Catherine was flustered, at least slightly. The next words came out in a rush. ‘I’m wondering if I should save it for you?’

He should hit himself in the head with the book he’d been pretending to read. He’d been obtuse. The man who’d sailed to the far side of the world and sought out indigenous plants never before seen to the English eye had missed this simple inquest. She wanted to dance with him. She’d sought him out. She’d only told him about Channing in order to propel him into action. When he hadn’t taken the hint, she’d been forced to be more direct. If she hadn’t been sitting right there watching, he’d have given his forehead a good smack. Now all he could do was reply in a fashion that wouldn’t embarrass them both.