Page 9 of A Cinderella Christmas

“Then that would be kind of you, sir,” Maman said. “But now it is I who must ask forgiveness. I am on my way to deliver a gown to a customer and must not linger. Perhaps you could stay a bit so that Eve may work on her design outside? When I am gone, which isn’t often, she usually sits inside and locks the door. It is not safe for a woman alone, no? But if you are outside with her, she will be fine.”

Oh, Lord, now Maman was trying her hand at matchmaking. “Surely there’s no need for Mr…. for Lord Cokesbury to stay around, Maman,” Eve said hastily. “Jimmy and I will walk with you and then go to Lincoln’s Inn Fields to pick holly.”

“I require Jimmy to go all the way with me to help carry my case, I’m afraid,” her stepmother said blandly. “But you should not walk alone.”

“I’ll walk with Miss Archer,” Lord Cokesbury put in. “Or stay here if that is her preference.”

“Thank you, sir,” Maman said, beaming at him. “That would be most helpful.” She turned to Jimmy. “Come along, my little scamp.”

“Do I get pastries, too?” Jimmy asked as he took the other end of the case.

“If Mrs. Beckford wishes to give them to you.” Maman turned to Lord Cokesbury. “It was lovely to meet you, my lord.”

He bowed. “I can see that Miss Archer is in good hands with you, madam. I will send a carriage for you and your family tomorrow night at six.”

With another smile, Maman hurried out to the road with Jimmy.

An uncomfortable silence fell after the two of them were left alone.

Eve ventured a glance at him to find him watching her with an odd concentration. “You don’t have to stay with me, my lord. I’m fine.”

When she followed that statement with a couple of deep coughs, he frowned. “Clearly, you’re not fine. You’re coughing again.”

“You can’t help me with that.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “And you seem inordinately interested in my cough.”

Alarm lit his face. “Not interested. Worried. That is—”

“I have asthma. The fumes from the dyeworks aggravate it.”

“Asthma!” Relief filled his voice. “Of course. Thank God.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Not thank God that you have it,” he said hastily. “I mean, thank God that you … I thought it was … feared it was … well …” He looked rather adorably flustered. “Natalie died of consumption.”

“Oh! I-I’m so sorry to hear that. Fortunately, I don’t have consumption. The doctor assured Maman of that.”

“Good, because it’s a dreadful way to die.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said softly.

He must have detected the pity in her voice, because he drew himself up and swiftly changed the subject. “This design of yours is astonishing.” He gestured to her pattern on the wall. “That’s Father Christmas, is it not, in the circle of holly?”

“I’m surprised you can tell it’s holly,” she said ruefully, coughing a little. “I can’t seem to get the shape right. I’m doing it from memory, and it’s been so long since I saw any that I can’t remember how it actually grows. But, yes, that is Father Christmas.”

“You ought to surround him with chubby-cheeked little urchins. Your brother would be the perfect model.”

“Only if the urchins are picking Father Christmas’s pockets,” she said dryly. “And I mustn’t encourage such behavior during the holiday. Especially in my brother.”

“Duly noted,” he said, though his eyes twinkled.

She’d never seen his eyes twinkle. It stirred something warm in her blood.

“What colors do you mean to use?” he asked, looking genuinely interested.

“Father Christmas will be in green and brown, but I can’t decide whether to use white thread to indicate snow on the ground or just leave the background all white from the fabric.”

“I vote for snow,” he said. “Nothing demonstrates Christmas like fluffy-looking snow. And holly, of course.”