Free Fenella J. Miller by Christmas At Hartford Hall

with her.
    He was an attractive man and that was all there was to it. She would not let herself feel anything stronger. In a few days she would be leaving to become a governess; no man of his standing would consider her a suitable wife then. But just for tonight she would imagine she was the girl from the fairytale and that her story would have a happy ending like Cinderella’s.
    By mid-afternoon her hair was dry and she decided to creep into the attics to search for something suitable to wear on her feet. She was almost certain there had been several trunks of garments left behind when her mother had married her dashing young captain. She had no memory of either of her parents. Her papa had died before she was born and her mother had eventually returned to live at Hartford Hall. Mama had succumbed to the sweating sickness soon after they had arrived, but Grandfather had more than made up for her lack of parents. Her eyes filled, she wished he was here to see her dance at her first ball.
    Good grief! Tonight would also be the first time the ballroom had been used in living memory. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even been in there. From what she could recall it ran the full width of the house, which made it more than sixty feet long. There were several French doors that opened onto a terrace overlooking the ornamental lake. Would any of the couples go outside to spend a few stolen moments together?
    There had been no further fall of snow but what had fallen remained on the ground. Not only would it be cold, it might also be treacherous underfoot. Taking a candlestick she slipped out through the dressing room door, normally used by the servants, and fingered her way along the narrow passageway until she found the stairs that led to the attics.
    Some watery sunlight filtered in through the dirty windowpanes and this, with her candle, should be sufficient to find what she was searching for. She paused to view the heavy oak furniture which had once graced Grandfather’s apartment. This had been banished to the attics within weeks of his demise. She’d not had the heart to come up and look at it. When she’d discovered a pair of suitable evening slippers, perhaps she would spend an hour two examining the contents of his discarded bureau and drawers.
    She threaded her way around the miscellany of broken furniture, unwanted toys and other bric-a-brac to arrive considerably more dishevelled than she had been when she set out. Thank goodness she’d had the forethought to push her clean hair into one of her hideous caps. It would be the very last time she would wear one of these.
    The trunks were where she’d expected. She placed her candle stick on a convenient shelf and dropped to her knees to open the first of them. This was full of bales of beautiful material, a kaleidoscope of colours that even the gloom of the attics could not smother. There were Indian muslins, Chinese silks and the finest Egyptian cottons — so this was where the gorgeous stuff for her ball gown had been discovered.
    Hastily she refastened the box. She didn’t want the Hartfords to find it. The contents belonged to her, morally if not legally. She moved on to the second trunk and in here were beautiful, but outmoded, gowns. They were in bright colours, had daringly low-cut necklines and were drawn in tightly at the waist.
    Seeing these garments made her understand a little more about her long dead mother. She held one up in front of her delighted to see that this would fit her perfectly. Why hadn’t Grandfather told her she was the same build as her mama? She rummaged through but found no footwear; these must be in the last trunk. She flung the lid back and was delighted to see it full of cloth bags. These would contain shoes as they were always stored like this.
    A short while later she had what she wanted, a pair of the most enchanting high-heeled, evening slippers. They were studded with small golden stones and glittered when she held