The Wallflower's Mistletoe Wedding by Amanda McCabe

Author:Amanda McCabe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-10-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

‘What is this, then?’ Mrs Pemberton cried as her long-suffering maid, Miss Powell, put her breakfast tray carefully across her velvet and lace-covered knees.

‘Tea, madam. And toast with marmalade. As usual.’ Powell had been with Mrs Pemberton for years and knew how every morning proceeded. She calmly crossed the floor to open the window curtains and let in the pale grey winter light.

‘But what is this?’ Mrs Pemberton picked up a small pile of letters and waved them around. The lace cap perched on her white curls trembled.

‘The morning post, madam.’ Powell stirred at the fire the housemaid had laid in the pre-dawn gloom.

‘Why does anyone persist in writing to me?’ Sylvia grumbled. ‘It’s probably just the usual begging letters from my useless relatives. Vultures and bores, the lot of them.’ She took a sip of her tea and thought of her relatives. She had married well when she was quite young and he quite old, and as they had no children and his estate was not entailed and very extensive, she had lived a most comfortable life, one she looked back on now with much satisfaction.

But now that she was old, cousins and step-cousins and grand-cousins she never even knew she possessed seemed to come out of the woodwork.

Sylvia sighed and leaned back on her piles of lace-trimmed pillows. Growing old was no game for the weak, she saw that every day now in hearing that was fading, energy flagging. She had to take her enjoyment where she could. It was amusing in its own way to dangle those relatives along a bit.

But sometimes it was merely wearying. The grand house was so quiet now, so unlike the days when she was young and the corridors were filled with parties, with friends and lovers and fun. She had seized it all with both hands and made the most of being pretty and rich. She regretted not a moment of it.

But what to do now? How to leave her mark on the world?

She took another sip of tea and frowned to find it had gone cold. Rose would never have allowed such a thing. Rose had a quick, quiet efficiency about her that made Sylvia’s life so comfortable, so easy. So much less lonely.

Sylvia had to admit it, even if it was only to herself—she missed Rose. The girl rather reminded her of herself when she was very young, straightforward and practical and unapologetic in a way young ladies did not seem to be in the modern world. Sylvia had been willing to do whatever she could to help her family, her mother and sisters, and so was Rose. Sylvia had married well; Rose looked after Sylvia. And Sylvia knew herself quite well enough to see Rose had a harder bargain to keep than she herself ever had.

Rose worked so her pretty, silly sister could marry her handsome, poor curate. If only there was a curate out there for Rose. Or better, a rich husband like the one Sylvia herself once snagged.

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