Free Christmas Carol by Flora Speer Page A

I?” Carol did not think the staff who
maintained Marlowe House in the twentieth century would say the
same about her.
    “Oh, yes,” said the maid, “and we’re all so
pleased to know you will be marrying such a great nobleman. He’s a
lovely man, Lord Montfort.” Her sigh made it plain that she fully
appreciated Montfort’s manly attributes.
    When the maid was gone, Carol stayed in bed
for a while, sipping her tea and thinking over the remarkable
events of the previous day. Apparently there were still more to
come; otherwise she would have been returned to the twentieth
century.
    Nicholas . The thought of him propelled
Carol out of bed and across the room to the wardrobe to pull out a
dress she hoped would be suitable for daytime wear. The maid had
brought a pitcher of hot water as well the breakfast tray. Carol
was washing her face when the chambermaid returned.
    “Oh, my lady, I didn’t know you were getting
up so early. No, don’t try to dress yourself. That’s what I’m here
for. Don’t you remember when you first came to London and thought
you ought to take care of your own clothes and brush your own hair,
and how we agreed that you would let me take care of you as the
maid of a great lady ought to do?”
    “You do have a point. I can’t seem to twist
my arms around enough to button up the back of this dress. Is it
the thing for morning?”
    “Exactly right, my lady. Now you just stand
still and let Ella take care of those buttons.”
    The dress was yellow and white striped
muslin, scarcely warm enough to afford protection from the winter
cold, but Ella did not appear to think her mistress ought to be
wearing a more substantial garment. She did drape a
flower-patterned yellow and green shawl around Carol’s shoulders.
From its warmth and softness, Carol decided the shawl must be woven
of cashmere.
    “Now, my lady,” Ella said when Carol was
clothed to her satisfaction, “I know Lady Penelope is waiting for
you in her own room. I finished helping her to dress just before I
came in to you.”
    Penelope’s bedchamber was much like Carol’s,
except that it was decorated in pink and white. When Carol entered,
Penelope was sitting at a dainty lady’s desk, using a quill pen.
Catching sight of Carol, she threw down the pen and rose, hurrying
forward.
    “Oh, Caroline, I gave my solemn word I would
tell no one but you, so you must promise to keep my secret,” she
exclaimed.
    “What secret?” But Carol thought she could
guess. She was immediately proven correct.
    “Alwyn—that is, Lord Simmons—has declared
himself,” Penelope announced. “He says he loves me.”
    “Has he asked you to marry him?”
    “Of course not, dunce!” Penelope began to
laugh. “You know he cannot in honor ask for my hand until he has
his father’s permission. Alwyn is always perfectly correct where
his father is concerned.”
    “Then I am surprised hear he was incorrect
enough to speak to you before discussing the matter with his
father,” Carol said.
    “Alwyn told me that Montfort did advise him
to wait, but he was afraid someone else would ask for me in the
meantime, so he revealed his feelings to me while we were waltzing
last night. You do recall that he came to the ball specifically to
waltz with me?”
    “I remember Montfort saying that Lord Simmons
would be there.” Carol began to wonder what part Nicholas was
playing in this particular romance.
    “Well,” Penelope went on, “Alwyn wanted to be
certain that my affections were as firmly engaged as are his.”
    “And you assured him they were?”
    “Oh, yes.” Penelope’s face was aglow with
excitement. “I know we cannot make a public declaration of our
betrothal until Alwyn’s father has agreed, and Aunt Augusta, too,
but at least we can each be certain of the other’s love. Alwyn says
Nicholas is strongly in favor of the match, and has promised to go
with Alwyn when he speaks to his father about me. With someone like
Lord Montfort supporting his