Page 2 of A Wallflower's Christmas Wreath
"Matthew? Oh, my dear, you must not be so familiar. It is Lord Levinstone to you. His is your better, not your equal."
Heidi did not look at Lady Emma. She deserved no such respect, not after her cruel and hurtful words. She stared at Levinstone, and only after what felt like several minutes did he meet her gaze.
"Is that what you wish, my lord?" she asked again, watching him as he debated her question.
At length, he nodded. "I think you should return home before the day grows colder. Please thank your mama for the bread. I shall be sure to enjoy it."
Lady Emma scoffed but did not say anything further, and with nothing more to be said between them, Heidi turned on her heel and strode from the hall, the shocked, disappointed visage of Smithers the last thing that swam in her vision.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she returned to the village, for what had been a day of celebration, expectation, and joyful tidings was no more.
Her dearest friend was betrothed to the devil herself, and there would be no friendship from this day forward. He had allowed his fiancée to belittle and demean her, and to her face no less.
That, in Heidi's estimation, was no friend at all.
Only an enemy.
One
Christmas Eve, four years later
Heidi placed her hands on her hips and glared at the local butcher Mr. Jones. The elderly man's mouth was moving, but she did not appreciate the words coming out of his lying lips.
"You promised you would save me two pigs for my Christmas supper and town ball. You know we hold one each year at the hall, and now you're telling me there will be nothing for the guests? I cannot merely serve them seafood and turkey, not everyone enjoys such fare, and it will mean people like you and me, Mr. Jones, people who work hard and labor for their funds, will go hungry."
The older man rolled his hands together, a deep shade of pink kissing his already mottled cheeks. Heidi continued to glare at him, wanting him to feel embarrassed and lowly. How could he do this to her?
"Apologies again, Miss Lewis, but I did not think to keep the pork. As much as I do not wish to remind you, it took you several weeks to pay for last year's Christmas fare, and I cannot survive trading with such charity. Another local ordered and paid for the pigs in full, and I had to think of my family and business. I'm sorry, miss. I have not done this to be unkind."
She scoffed, turning away not only out of anger, but because his words made her eyes fill with tears, and she would not let the local butcher or her cook, her only live-in staff, know how much such truths hurt. "Need I remind you that I saw you making merry with the food I purchased for the ball last year? Perhaps you should not attend the village ball this year since we're not worthy of the food you sell. You are only interested in selling to those with titles and influence."
These past two years since her parents died of a respiratory disease had not been easy, and she had done all she could to reverse the damage her parents had bestowed upon the family purse. But there was only so much she could do, and only so long she could pretend to be something she was not.
Mr. Jones's reminder that she was poor and growing poorer every passing year was a reality she had not wanted to face.
Her annual Christmas party had been a yearly tradition that her grandparents had started in the village, and she had wanted to continue it. But this year, the first time she would not serve pork seemed like the first death knell to her Christmas cheer and her status in the community.
"Come, Miss Lewis. I meant no harm," he argued with her.
She shook her head, disappointed in the man more than she thought she ever would be. "I thank you for your honesty, Mr. Jones. Good day to you," she said, leaving the small shop and starting up the village's main thoroughfare to her home.
The seaside village was picturesque and overlooked the sea and the many ships that passed on their way to London.
She glanced up to the sandy shoreline that the town sat against, the ragged cliffs some miles away, and the great estate that loomed over all of them.
Viscount Levinstone's grand Tudor estate was one she had once loved to visit and had spent many a happy day on the extensive grounds. The then viscount's son, Matthew, was her closest friend, but even he, too, had turned on her because of her dwindling financial means. Not to mention the horrible woman he betrothed himself to.
A shiver stole through her at the memory of the woman and her harsh words that had cut her to shreds. Well, that was not entirely true. Matthew's inaction against his future wife had cut deeper still.
How was it that when one needed most friendships and support, people turned their backs, looked the other way, and no longer cared?
Not that she believed Lord Levinstone cared now, for he did not. In fact, she knew who it was that had ordered all the pigs, and the bastard had done so merely to beat her, to ruin what could potentially be her last Christmas party in the town hall. As host in any case.
She ought to travel up to the grand estate and have her opinion shared on what she thought of the obnoxious bachelor and his uppity Christmas ball that he also held on the same day as hers.
Over the years, her attendees had forgone her forever dwindling fare and entertainment to that of the viscount's abundant party. Those members of the village who had money in any case. People like her remained at the village hall, happy not to step into that glittering world of the nobility up on the hill.
Heidi returned to her cottage and, with heavy feet, made her way upstairs. She entered her room and slumped on her bed facedown, only then allowing the tears she had held so stoically to run free.
