Page 2 of Camellia and the Christmas Curse
“If you don’t wish to hear me or see me, you ought to send me away. I told you that my cousin Hortense Fitzgerald invited us to Christmas at Wyemont Castle. I can go there!”
“Not alone!” her mother gasped. “It would be scandalous.”
“Then pay a companion!”
“Out of the question,” Bloxham said. “At this late date, we’d be at the mercy of whoever the employment agency sends.”
“You had three weeks to hire a suitable woman, sir,” Camellia noted coldly. “You ignored my request. How I wish I didn’t have to live here anymore!”
Bloxham’s eyes narrowed, and he inhaled, preparing to deliver a blistering screed that would probably end with Camellia being thrown out of the house and onto the icy streets of London.
“Oh, dear,” a new, confident voice interrupted from the parlor doorway. “I do hope this isn’t a bad time.”
Chapter 2
Camellia whirled around and stared in wonder at the figure in the doorway. The older lady still wore a heavy, fur-trimmed pelisse over her gown, but the hood was pulled back, revealing wheat-blond hair that was only just beginning to show hints of white. Sky-blue eyes caught Camellia’s own, and the lady smiled impishly.
“Mrs Bloomfield!” Lia said at last, hardly believing her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I happened to be in London and I wanted to call on you and see how you were getting on, dear. Did my letter not reach you? The mail is so unreliable in winter.” Mrs Bloomfield stood there in the parlor looking as comfortable as if she visited every day.
“This is the Mrs Bloomfield who runs the school?” Edward Bloxham asked, also clearly astonished to find the lady here in London.
“I am indeed, sir,” she replied easily. “Florence Bloomfield, owner, proprietress, and headmistress of the Bloomfield Academy for Young Ladies of Quality, at Wildwood Hall. How do you do?”
He stuttered a response, but Mrs Bloomfield had already passed by him to greet Camellia’s mother. “Mrs Swift…excuse me, it’s Mrs Bloxham now, isn’t it. How are you, madame? It’s been such a long time.”
“Far too long,” Camellia’s mother replied, with a weak voice but a warm manner. “You must stay to dinner.”
Camellia shook her head no, but her teacher blithely ignored her warning and said, “How kind of you. I’d be delighted.”
She moved toward the fire, anticipating the warmth. She stretched out her arms toward the flames, careful to keep her face well away. Though twenty-five years older than Camellia, Mrs Bloomfield could pass for a much younger woman. She had always been so careful of her skin, as a lady should be.
“What simple creatures we are,” Mrs Bloomfield mused aloud. “A sturdy home and warm fire are all we need to be grateful. Though I think I would also like to freshen up. Camellia, won’t you show me to a room where I may make myself presentable?” (Mrs Bloomfield was always entirely presentable and quite aware of that fact.)
However, Lia understood that this was the opportunity to speak to her friend alone, so she led her upstairs. The room was dull from the Grey weather, but bright yellow striped wallpaper warmed it, and the walls were covered in framed maps and scenes of exotic places, making the rain seem not quite so oppressive here. Once the door closed behind them, Lia said, “I don’t know what made you call upon me today, but I beg you to take me with you when you leave! I hate it here!”
“That was the impression I got from what little I overheard,” Mrs Bloomfield murmured. “Why don’t you tell me the rest?”
Her face hot, Camellia said, “It’s my stepfather. I’ve told you about him before. He is insufferable! I swear I shall never sleep here again.”
“Oh, Camellia. Are you sure you would not like to discuss things before making a rash decision?” she asked.
Camellia gave a full accounting of her troubles. As she did so, her dark eyes flickered around the room, and when they caught the reflection of the fire, it was easy to think that she was a spitfire herself. She finished with, “Who does he think he is?”
The other woman said, in a considerably calmer voice, “Your stepfather, I’d imagine. And he would be correct.” She looked at her charge with resigned affection.
“Mrs Bloomfield, whose side are you on? He can’t order me to marry!”
“He can, unfortunately. The law gives him just as much right to do so as if he were your blood relative. And why should he not be annoyed? You refused all four offers you got, despite the fact all four men were completely respectable.”
“Respectable, yes. Interesting? Not a one of them.”
“Darling, it’s high time you did marry. You’ve been avoiding the issue, but honestly, you’re not getting any younger, and on its own, your income will not prove sufficient to support you.”
As Camellia’s former schoolmistress and revered teacher at Wildwood Hall, Mrs Florence Bloomfield did have the background to offer such a judgment. She added, “Your stepfather and your mother recognize that you must embark on your own life.”
Camellia accepted that Mrs Bloomfield had her best interests at heart. Nevertheless, she rebelled at the notion. “I won’t shop for a husband the way I shop for a hat! It’s abominable.”
