Read Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas for Free Online Page A

all our money being tied up in stock,’ she said, after she’d waved off a customer who’d tried on an armful of dresses and bought nothing. ‘But that’s about as likely as Coco Chanel wearing pink.’
    â€˜Hmm,’ I said noncommittally, thinking that what she really needed were more customers like Lady Fortescue whose wardrobe capacity knew no bounds.
    â€˜Oh! Now this is a dress.’ I sighed with longing as I spied a pale gold empire-line tunic with a scoop neck and sleeves that flared out from the elbow to the wrist. ‘Esme, I think I’m in love.’
    She quirked an eyebrow. ‘Fab choice. But it’s not a dress; it’s supposed to be worn over trousers.’
    She inspected the label before foisting it on me. ‘Jersey silk – very slinky. Try it on.’
    I squinted at the price tag with one eye – ouch – and handed it back to her firmly. ‘I’d better not. I might love it, but I don’t need it and I haven’t budgeted for anything like this so . . .’
    Esme looked at me like I was insane. ‘So? Live dangerously for once in your life, Holster, be frivolous. Didn’t you just declare a new spontaneous you?’
    I pursed my lips. She was right. I grabbed it from her and dived into the fitting room. ‘Absolutely.’
    I scrambled out of my jeans and top and concentrated on taking the thing of beauty off the hanger without snagging the delicate material.
    I popped it over my head and when I straightened up, the cool silk fabric slithered down me and I held my breath. It might have been a tunic for some people (tall ones, mainly) but on me, with my short legs, it was the perfect length. The scoop neck hinted at a bit of cleavage whilst still being classy and the dress had a subtle sheen to it, making it perfect for the Christmas season. I didn’t have anywhere to wear it and I almost certainly couldn’t afford it but all the same, it was definitely coming home with me.
    I took a step closer to the mirror. The colour seemed to make my brown eyes shine and my blonde hair glow.
    â€˜I look all . . . glowy.’ I giggled, turning this way and that.
    â€˜You look beautiful,’ said Esme, joining me in the fitting room. ‘And it’s got a touch of the Elizabeth Bennet about it. Well, the top half has anyway.’
    She was right.
    â€˜How apt for Wickham Hall.’ I bowed to my reflection and performed a graceful curtsey. ‘Thank you for a delicious luncheon, Mr Darcy,’ I enunciated, holding up the sides of the dress.
    Esme snorted. ‘Mr Fortescue, more like. Any news?’
    â€˜Which leads me nicely into part two of my news,’ I said, pressing my lips together in a prim smile. ‘Or is it part three? I’ve lost track.’
    â€˜I don’t care,’ she laughed, ‘just tell me!’
    â€˜I heard from him last night!’
    I was still floating on high since getting Ben’s message and was only too happy to fill Esme in on its contents. There was a seven-hour time difference between here and Cambodia: he had sent it in the early hours of his Saturday morning when I received it on Friday evening.
    Lord Fortescue had been right: there was no internet or even phone service in Mae Chang village where he was based, and it wasn’t until he made his fortnightly trip to the nearest city for supplies that he’d been able to go online and so had only just picked up my message.
    â€˜Well, we’re now friends on Facebook, so that’s a good start,’ I said, ushering her out of the fitting room so I could close the door and get dressed again without passers-by on Hoxley High Street getting an eyeful.
    â€˜And he sent me a message. The school repairs are almost finished and he has been working with the officials to organize careers advice for the students so that their education really helps them to help their own communities.’
    â€˜Aww,