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    A Christmas Proposal (Betty Neels Collection novella)
    A Christmas Proposal (Betty Neels Collection novella)
    A Christmas Proposal (Betty Neels Collection novella)
    Ebook96 pages1 hour

    A Christmas Proposal (Betty Neels Collection novella)

    By Betty Neels

    4/5

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    About this ebook


    Mills & Boon presents the Betty Neels collection. Timeless tales of heart–warming romance by one of the world's best–loved romance authors.

    Dr. Oliver Hay–Smythe seemed to have met a modern–day Cinderella! Ever since Bertha's father had remarried, the kindhearted woman had been put upon by her family. She appeared to live in her stepsister's shadow, stuck doing the housework and wearing hand–me–downs!

    The doctor was about to change all that. In fact, he was about to change Bertha's entire world.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins Publishers Australia
    Release dateAug 1, 2013
    ISBN9781460892381
    A Christmas Proposal (Betty Neels Collection novella)
    Author

    Betty Neels

    Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001.Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year.To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer.Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam,was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books.Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality.Her spirit and genuine talent live on in all her stories.

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    Reviews for A Christmas Proposal (Betty Neels Collection novella)

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    • 2/5
      lite romances, including a Christmas Proposal and Winter Wedding
    • 5/5
      There's nothing better than a soft romance, to bring a smile to one's face, on a dreary day. A lovely read.

    Book preview

    A Christmas Proposal (Betty Neels Collection novella) - Betty Neels

    CHAPTER ONE

    THE girl standing in a corner of the crowded room hardly merited a second glance; she was small, with light brown hair strained back into an unfashionable bun, a face whose snub nose and wide mouth did nothing to redeem its insignificance, and she was wearing an elaborate shrimp-pink dress. But after his first glance the man standing across the room from her looked again. Presently he strolled over to stand beside her. His ‘Hello’ was pleasant and she turned her head to look at him.

    She answered him politely, studying him from large brown eyes fringed by curling lashes. Looking at her eyes, he reflected that one soon forgot the nose and mouth and dragged-back hair. He smiled down at her. ‘Do you know anyone here? I came with friends—I’m staying with them and was asked to come along with them. A birthday party, isn’t it?’

    ‘Yes.’ She looked past him to the crowded room, the groups of laughing, gossiping people waving to each other with drinks in their hands, the few couples dancing in the centre. ‘Would you like me to introduce you to someone?’

    He said in his friendly way, ‘You know everyone here? Is it your birthday?’

    ‘Yes.’ She gave him a quick surprised look and bent her head to examine the beaded bodice of her dress.

    ‘Then shouldn’t you be the belle of the ball?’

    ‘Oh, it’s not my party. It’s my stepsister’s—that pretty girl over by the buffet. Would you like to meet Clare?’

    ‘The competition appears too keen at the moment,’ he said easily. ‘Shouldn’t you be sharing the party, since it’s your birthday too?’

    ‘Well, no.’ She had a pretty voice and she spoke matter-of-factly. ‘I’m sure you’d like to meet some of the guests. I don’t know your name…’

    ‘Forgive me. Hay-Smythe—Oliver.’

    ‘Bertha Soames.’ She put out a small hand and he shook it gently.

    ‘I really don’t want to meet anyone. I think that perhaps I’m a little on the old side for them.’

    She scrutinised him gravely—a very tall, strongly built man, with fair hair thickly sprinkled with grey. His eyes were grey too, and he had the kind of good looks which matched his assured air.

    ‘I don’t think you’re in the least elderly,’ she told him.

    He thanked her gravely and added, ‘Do you not dance?’

    ‘Oh, I love to dance.’ She smiled widely at him, but as quickly the smile faded. ‘I—that is, my stepmother asked me to see that everyone was enjoying themselves. That’s why I’m standing here—if I see anyone on their own I make sure that they’ve got a drink and meet someone. I really think that you should…’

    ‘Definitely not, Miss Soames.’ He glanced down at her and thought how out of place she looked in the noisy room. And why, if it was her birthday, was she not wearing a pretty dress and not that ill-fitting, over-elaborate garment? ‘Are you hungry?’

    ‘Me? Hungry?’ She nodded her head. ‘Yes, I missed lunch.’ Her eyes strayed to the buffet, where a number of people were helping themselves lavishly to the dainties upon it. ‘Why don’t you…?’

    Dr Hay-Smythe, hard-working in his profession and already respected by older colleagues, a man who would never pass a stray kitten or a lost dog and who went out of his way to make life easy for anyone in trouble, said now, ‘I’m hungry too. Supposing we were to slip away and have a meal somewhere? I don’t imagine we should be missed, and we could be back long before this finishes.’

    She stared at him. ‘You mean go somewhere outside? But there isn’t a café anywhere near here—besides…’

    ‘Even Belgravia must have its pubs. Anyway, I’ve my car outside—we can look around.’

    Her eyes shone. ‘I’d like that. Must I tell my stepmother?’

    ‘Certainly not. This door behind you—where does it lead? A passage to the hall? Let us go now.’

    ‘I’ll have to get my coat,’ said Bertha when they were in the hall. ‘I won’t be long, but it’s at the top of the house.’

    ‘Haven’t you a mac somewhere down here?’

    ‘Yes, but it’s very old…’

    His smile reassured her. ‘No one will notice in the pub.’ He reflected that at least it would conceal that dreadful dress.

    So, suitably shrouded, she went out of the house with him, through the important front door, down the imposing steps and onto the pavement.

    ‘Just along here,’ said the doctor, gesturing to where a dark grey Rolls-Royce was parked. He unlocked the door, popped her inside and got in beside her. As he drove off he asked casually, ‘You live here with your parents?’

    ‘Yes. Father is a lawyer—he does a lot of work for international companies. My stepmother prefers to live here in London.’

    ‘You have a job?’

    ‘No.’ She turned her head to look out of the window, and he didn’t pursue the subject but talked idly about this and that as he left the quiet streets with their stately houses and presently, in a narrow street bustling with people, stopped the car by an empty meter. ‘Shall we try that pub on the corner?’ he suggested, and helped her out.

    Heads turned as they went in; they made an odd couple—he in black tie and she in a shabby raincoat—but the landlord waved them to a table in one corner of the saloon bar and then came over to speak to the doctor.

    ‘Ain’t seen yer for a while, Doc. Everything OK?’

    ‘Splendid, thank you, Joe. How is your wife?’

    ‘Fighting fit, thanks to you. What’ll it be?’ He glanced at Bertha. ‘And the little lady here? A nice drop of wine for her?’

    ‘We’re hungry, Joe…’

    ‘The wife’s just this minute dished up bangers and mash. How about that, with a drop of old and mild?’

    Dr Hay-Smythe raised an eyebrow at Bertha, and when she nodded Joe hurried away, to return presently with the beer and the wine and, five minutes later, a laden tray.

    The homely fare was well cooked, hot and generous. The pair of them ate and drank in a friendly silence until the doctor said quietly, ‘Will you tell me something about yourself?’

    ‘There’s nothing to tell. Besides, we’re strangers; we’re not likely to meet again.’ She added soberly, ‘I think I must be a little mad to be doing this.’

    ‘Well, now, I can’t agree with that. Madness, if at all, lies with people who go to parties and eat too much and drink too much and don’t enjoy themselves. Whereas you and I have eaten food we enjoy and are content with each other’s company.’ He waited while Joe brought the coffee he had ordered. ‘Being strangers, we can safely talk knowing that whatever we say will certainly be forgotten.’

    ‘I’ve never met anyone like you before,’ said Bertha.

    ‘I’m perfectly normal; there must be thousands exactly like me.’ He smiled a little. ‘I think that perhaps you haven’t met many people. Do you go out much? The theatre? Concerts? Sports club? Dancing?’

    Bertha shook her head. ‘Well, no. I do go shopping, and I take my stepmother’s dog out and help when people come for tea or dinner. That kind of thing.’

    ‘And your sister?’ He saw her quick look. ‘Stepsister Clare—has she a job?’

    ‘No—she’s very popular, you see, and she goes out a great deal and has lots of friends.

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