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Nevertheless, Kacie got on with enjoying the holidays. And a totally steal-worthy Christmas proposal! The perfect proposal for a glamorous, cosmopolitan bride and groom. Either way, a winter picnic makes a very special story to tell forever. Effortless, but so effective! We all know the best gifts come in small packages! Claire is the former Editor of Bridal Musings.

Proposing on Christmas is a manipulative act of pure evil

She loves an excuse to try on a veil, has a minor obsession with flower crowns, and enjoys nothing more than curating a killer party playlist. December 17, Comments. Chic Weddings. Looking For More Wedding Ideas? Sign up today for free and get the best of Bridal Musings in your inbox every Friday! We respect your privacy. Your information is safe and will never be shared.

That was Georgian too, she was sure. She gave a little sigh of pleasure.

A Christmas Proposal (TV Movie ) - Full Cast & Crew - IMDb

Do sit down. He sat everything out on a low table between them and slid away, but not before he had taken a good look at Bertha—nicely contrived from under lowered lids. His first impressions had been good ones, he decided. Sitting there in the quiet, restful room with the doctor, whom she trusted and thought of as a friend, she was content and happy, and if their conversation dealt entirely with the visits she was to make to the nursery school she had no quarrel with that.

She had been reminded so often by her stepmother and Clare that she was a dull companion and quite lacking in charm that she would have been surprised if the doctor had been anything else but briskly businesslike. It might be a bit awkward sometimes, if she was needed to take the dog out or to go to the shops on some errand for her stepmother, but she would worry about that if and when it happened; there was no need to tell him.

You do understand that you need only read to them?

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There are plenty of helpers to do the necessary chores. Beyond telling Bertha how fortunate she was that Dr Hay-Smythe had found her something to do, her stepmother asked no questions. It was inconvenient that Bertha had to go each morning, of course, but since he was almost a friend of the family—indeed, almost more than that—she complied. Mrs Taylor was at the rooms and greeted her with a friendly smile.

Halfway down he mounted the steps to a front door, rang the bell and then walked in. The hall was rather bare, but the walls were a cheerful yellow and there was matting on the floor and a bowl of flowers on a table against the wall. The woman who came to meet them was small and stout with a jolly face and small bright eyes. She greeted the doctor like an old friend and looked at Bertha. Come and see some of the children.

A Christmas Proposal

It showed surprise, compassion and a serene acceptance. Perhaps it had been unkind of him not to have told her, but he had wanted to see how she would react and she had reacted just as he had felt sure she would—with kindness, concern and not a trace of repugnance. She looked at him and smiled. I come quite often to see the children.

It was an out-of-date book —an old fairy tale collection—and she started with the first story. Within a few days Bertha had found her feet. It was a challenging job but she found it rewarding; the children were surprisingly happy, though sometimes difficult and frequently frustrated. They were lovable, though, and Bertha, lacking love in her own home, had plenty of that to offer. At the end of two weeks she realised that she was happy, despite the dull life she led at home. Her stepmother still expected her to run errands, walk the dog and fetch and carry for her, so that she had little time to call her own.

She was glad of that, really, as it gave her less time to think about Dr Hay- Smythe, for she had quickly discovered that she missed him. She supposed that if Clare were to marry him—and, from what her stepsister said occasionally, Bertha thought that it was very likely—she would see him from time to time. He had been to the house once or twice, and Clare would recount their evenings together at great length, making no attempt to hide the fact that she had made up her mind to marry him.

When Bertha had asked her if she loved him, Clare had laughed.


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Plenty of money, a handsome husband, and a chance to get away from home. It was towards the middle of the third week of her visits to the nursery school that Clare unexpectedly asked her to go shopping with her in the afternoon. Clare was in good spirits and disposed to be friendly. Thank you all the same. She wondered silently if there would ever be a chance for her to earn some money. She was a voluntary worker, but if she worked longer hours perhaps she could ask to be paid?

The idea cheered her up, so that she was able to stand about patiently while Clare tried on dresses and then finally bought a pair of Italian shoes—white kid with high heels and very intricate straps. The shoes were on the wrong feet, she reflected in a rare fit of ill-humour. The afternoon had cleared. Clare gave Bertha the shoes to carry and said airily that they would walk home.

At least, it was until they were halfway down it. The elderly lady on the opposite pavement was walking slowly, carrying a plastic bag and an umbrella, with her handbag dangling from one arm, so she had no hands free to defend herself when, apparently from nowhere, two youths leapt at her from a narrow alleyway. They pushed her to the ground and one of them hit her as she tried to keep a hand on her bag. Clare stopped suddenly.

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It caught him on the shins and he staggered and fell. She swung the bag again, intent on hitting the other youth. The bag split this time and the shoes flew into the gutter. Short of breath and shaking with fright, Bertha knelt down by the old lady. It was bruised, too. But, first of all, are you hurt?

She was back presently, and there were people with her. I simply rushed across the street and hit them with a shopping bag—one of them fell over and they ran away then. It was a brave thing to do. Here is your handbag, and the purse is still inside. She wondered what Clare would do next—beg a lift from someone, most likely. There was no need for that, however. By good fortune—or was it bad fortune?

He stopped, reversed neatly and got out of his car. Clare, with a wistful little cry, exactly right for the occasion, ran to meet him. He was watching the stretcher being lifted into the ambulance. The old lady was saying something to Bertha, who had whipped a bit of paper and pencil from her bag and was writing something down. He spoke to the ambulance driver and then bent over the old lady, giving Bertha a quick smile as he did so. Not a word of truth in it. Seen it with my own eyes—tried to run away, she did. It was this child who tackled those thugs—twice her size too.

Do we have your name? Is there anyone who should be told? Gets things done while others talk. I dare say you may like to go straight to bed, Clare.


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I dare say Bertha would like to lie down for a bit, though—she was so frightened. It gave her a warm glow. Never mind that there would be some hard words when she got home; she had long since learned to ignore them. Somewhere quiet where we can talk? I shall be seeing her later this evening. I must say you looked the part.

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She was most ungrateful, careless and unnaturally mean towards her stepsister, who had behaved with the courage only to be expected of her. Bertha should be bitterly ashamed of herself. What would be the use? There had to be a way, he reflected, sitting in his sitting room with Freddie at his feet, in which he could give Bertha a treat.