A Christmas Bride by Viveka Portman

Author:Viveka Portman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Escape Publishing

Chapter 7

That evening, after Robert had returned Miss Smith and her packages to the school with a new, unbroken bundle of chalk, and decorated the house with an enthusiastic Penelope, he sat back in his library, swilling a glass of wine. Was Miss Ellen Smith his lover? Her comment of the angel suggested she knew something of the evening, but was it more likely she’d taken the notion in the literal sense.

Still, as he had leant down to speak with her outside the stationer’s he’d tried to capture her scent, a hint of lavender perhaps? It was familiar. But then, how many young ladies used lavender? Many, he must admit.

Robert only half listened to Penelope as she chattered, pinning cloves into the oranges to make her pomanders. The scent was sweet, spicy and heady. He tried to imagine Miss Smith in Miss Pickering’s beautiful dress, dancing and making merry. Though he had certainly seen evidence of spirit and definite intellect, he couldn’t quite match the passionate woman with Miss Smith’s upfront, and alarmingly moralistic banter, about church and God.

In fact, on their return walk to the school, Miss Smith had drawn him into an in-depth conversation on the Christian dogma and angelic visitation. She went so far as to enquire if his visitation hailed from the seraphim or cherubim. A question to which he could not possibly wittily respond.

No, though there were similarities, it was entirely unlikely Miss Smith of Miss Brampton’s School for Ladies was his mystery lover. Perhaps it was time he investigated Miss Pickering’s dress more thoroughly.

‘Papa, what was it that you said to Miss Smith outside the stationer’s shop today?’ Penelope asked.

Drawn from his reverie, Robert’s attention shifted to his daughter and her pomanders.

‘I was speaking of ... angels,’ he said after a moment.

‘Oh, how dull. We hear enough of angels and saints at school. You’re not going to start preaching to me, are you?’ She gave him a worried glance.

‘No, fear not Penelope, I shall not preach.’

‘Good,’ she sighed, placed down her pomander and yawned. ‘Though I must say, you stared a lot at Miss Smith today, did you know? I think you made her nervous.’

Heat gathered on his cheeks. ‘Did I?’ he tried to be dismissive. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

‘You were. She is rather pretty, I suppose. I am so very surprised no one has married her.’ She paused thoughtfully, ‘Don’t you think it a bit sad? A bit dull? Oh! Just imagine being a schoolteacher forever! I should rather die.’

***

Ellen was still giggling with mirth after she had her supper and retired for the night. Lying abed, she remembered the look on Carring’s face when she’d asked him if his angelic visitation had been from the seraphim or cherubim. Usually so very refined, his jaw had dropped and he’d stared at her with such a look of perplexity that she’d nearly lost her composure and laughed out loud.

After all, what kind of angel was she, certainly no six-winged Angel from God’s throne room. Actually,

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