Free That Would Be a Fairy Tale by Amanda Grange

most wickedly attractive eyes, she thought, but did not say so - ‘but he is still out of place in Little Oakleigh.’
    ‘Well, his brashness is not to be wondered at,’ said Alice thoughtfully. ‘Mrs Sealyham has a cousin who has a friend who knows all about Mr Evington. He has only recently made his money by clever dealings in the city, but before that he was working as a stoker on board ships.’
    ‘A stoker?’ Cicely sat up and pushed a tendril of glossy hair away from her face.
    ‘So Mrs Sealyham’s cousin’s friend says,’ said Alice .
    ‘And if Mrs Sealyham’s cousin’s friend says it, it must be true,’ Cicely joked. ‘Still,’ she went on thoughtfully. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. When we first met he said something rather odd. On offering to help me retrieve my bike from the duck pond I told him it would make him dirty, and he said, "I’ve been dirtier".’
    Cicely recalled his face as he had said it, and the trace of bitterness in his voice. If he had indeed worked as a stoker she could at last understand it. Was that why he resented the landed classes? Because he had had to work so hard for everything he had? That was a part of it, perhaps. And yet, somehow, Cicely felt there was more to it. His dislike of the landed classes seemed more personal.
    ‘There you are then,’ said Alice . She paused, and then a minute later said, ‘So you haven’t changed your mind about Mr Evington at all? You still don’t like him?’
    ‘No, I don’t.’
    Alice sighed. ‘It’s a pity.’ Then said with a far-away look in her eyes, ‘I think he’s dreamy.’
    ‘Dreamy?’ Cicely sounded surprised.
    ‘Come on, Cicely, you can’t pretend he isn’t handsome. And his eyes have the most attractive way of flashing when he smiles . . . or hadn’t you noticed?’
    ‘No,’ said Cicely, digging in the flower bed with extra vigour. ‘I hadn’t.’
    And then she wondered why she had lied.

Chapter Five
     
    ‘The Harvest Supper?’ asked Alex Evington, looking at the letter in his hand.
    ‘Yes,’ said Cicely, taking it as he passed it to her. ‘It’s usually held here.’
    It was Monday morning, and they were sitting in Mr Evington’s study, going through the mail. The summer sun was shining through the window, lighting up the piles of paper on his desk.
    ‘Gibson can give you some help with arranging it if you like,’ she continued. ‘He was the butler at the Manor for twenty years. He knows how these things are done.’
    ‘That would be very helpful,’ said Alex.
    ‘I will pencil it in the diary,’ said Cicely. ‘Then you can check the date with the rector before making the final arrangements.’
    Alex nodded, before taking up the next letter.
    ‘Christmas carolling,’ he said.
    ‘Goodness, they’re getting in early,’ said Cicely, taking the letter from him. ‘The carolling isn’t usually arranged until much later in the year, but it’s true the carol singers usually meet up at the Manor after they have been round the village. After singing a rousing selection of carols they are invited in for punch.’
    ‘We had better write back, then, and say it can go ahead,’ he said.
    ‘Miss Fotherington’s wedding breakfast,’ he said, picking up the next letter.
    ‘Miss Fotherington’s wedding breakfast?’ echoed Cicely in surprise.
    ‘Yes. Dear Mr Evington ,’ said Alex, reading aloud, ‘ As I’m sure you’re aware it has always been the custom for the owner of the Manor to provide the wedding breakfast for any young lady who marries within the parish. The Haringays have always upheld this tradition, and I am sure -’
    ‘Of all the cheek!’ exclaimed Cicely, taking the letter out of his hand. ‘ The custom for the owner of the Manor to provide the wedding breakfast indeed!’
    ‘Does that mean it isn’t?’ he asked with a wry smile.
    ‘It most certainly is not! Mrs Fotherington is the most penny-pinching woman you could ever hope to meet - or perhaps I should say, the most