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Cora’s promptness dropped at once. The plain question made her flinch; she turned away, until Mrs. Gracedew’s encouraging hand drew the whole story out in a soft, clear torrent. She’d parted from Mrs. Gracedew at the station, and the man she loved had turned up by chance on his way back from three days away. They’d taken a quiet walk, buying Cora time to get home before her father, who still had no idea she loved Hall Pegg, the son of the richest cotton mill owner in Bellborough, Granny’s godson, who’d inherit his father’s immense business and was as good a match as her father could ever want. “I really don’t know what I want,” she confessed. “I think I just want kindness.”
“What do you mean by kindness?”
“Help.” Cora’s answer was simple, until she added, softer: “I mean that I love him.”
Mrs. Gracedew’s eyebrows shot up. “And does he love you?”
“Ask him.” Cora’s gaze drifted past her, toward the park gate, where Hall Pegg waited in the old grotto halfway down the path, patient as a stone. “He’s waiting for me now.”
Mrs. Gracedew’s answer was firm, no room for argument. “No. I won’t see him. If you want help, I’ll see your father first.”
Cora nearly sobbed with relief, hugging her tight. “You dear, delicious lady! He’s intensely sympathetic, nothing like Captain Yule, who doesn’t believe in me at all. Papa has seen him, but we’ve been so scared papa would hate it we’ve had to be careful. I wouldn’t love him if he wasn’t nice.”
“A man’s always nice if you will love him!” Mrs. Gracedew laughed.
“He’s nicer still if he will love you!” Cora shot back.
Mrs. Gracedew’s smile faded. “Are you sure this gentleman does love you?”
“As sure as that the other one doesn’t.”
“Ah, but the other one doesn’t know you.”
“Yes, thank goodness—and never shall!”
“What’s the matter, then? Your father’s objection to the gentleman in the grotto?”
Cora faltered. “His name. Hall Pegg. It sounds like a hat-rack!”
Mrs. Gracedew winced, then recovered. “Only his name?”
“Not enough—that’s the trouble! Papa has five names, he thinks that’s fine. Captain Yule has six, all fancy sounding. ‘Marmaduke Clement’ and the rest.”
Mrs. Gracedew waved a hand, already solving the problem in her head. “That’ll do for yours, too. Mrs. Hall Pegg?” She tried the name aloud, and it fell a little flat in the grand, echoing hall, but she waved the awkwardness away with a smile. “It won’t make you a bit less charming.”
“Only for papa,” Cora sighed.
“Never for me!” Mrs. Gracedew soothed. She promised, with quiet certainty, to talk to Cora’s father that very day, to make him accept the match, make him say he approved out loud. Cora’s eyes squeezed shut at the dream of it, before Mrs. Gracedew held up a finger, her tone turning playful. “But before I do that, I want something from you. If Captain Yule proposes to you, you will unconditionally refuse him. Promise me.”
“With my dying breath!”
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