Page 4 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

He trailed off uncomfortably and Clementine shook her head.

“It’s of no matter,” she said, managing a grim smile. “I’ll take a paddle in the sea. That should rid me of the worst of it.”

“I’m so sorry,” the major said, looking dreadfully put out.

Touched by his concern, Clementine smiled a little more warmly. “It was not at all your fault. Indeed, you saved me from a nasty tumble, and I thank you for your gallantry, sir.”

The major coloured a little at her praise. “Think nothing of it, a pleasure. At your service,” he said, gratification at her thanks gleaming in his eyes.

Clementine did not linger, too eager to wash the disgusting mess from her boots. Keeping the hem of her gown high, she hurried down to the beach and walked for several yards through the frothing waves until she was certain her boots were vomit-free. Feeling queasy and annoyed, Clementine reflected that, if not for an invasion of mice in the vicarage kitchen, such an objectionable scene might have been avoided, and her best boots not entirely ruined. Such were the vagaries of fate. Then, with her feet squishing unpleasantly, she squelched the rest of the way home.

Chapter 2

A Godforsaken backwater full to the hilt with bumpkins.

The Mermaid’s Tale, Little Valentine, South-East Coast of England, 1st June 1815.

“Go to the devil, you two-faced sly boots!”

Kirby did not bother to duck as his master took hold of a once immaculate Hessian boot and attempted to fling it at him. His strength was all gone, and the boot slipped from his grasp, landing with a dull thud beside the bed.

“There’s no need to sweet-talk me, my lord,” Kirby replied amiably. “I know you feel indebted to me for saving your sorry arse, but I don’t need your thanks.”

“I don’t thank you, damn your eyes,” the sweating heap that had been an elegant nobleman not so many hours earlier cried in despairing tones. “Where the hell are we? I thought you were taking me to Bath?”

“Little Valentine, my lord.”

Sylvester Cavendish, the Earl of Beaumarsh, known to the fashionable upper ten thousand as Beau, gazed at his valet in horrified disbelief.

“Little what now?”

“Valentine,” Kirby replied. “Like the saint.”

“I’ve never heard of Little Valentine,” Beau replied, the dread in his voice deepening. “What am I doing in a place I’ve never even heard of?”

“Well, so far as I can see, you’re still breathing and squawking, so that’s something,” Kirby replied, unperturbed.

“Where am I?” Beau repeated, looking increasingly agitated. “And don’t talk in riddles.” Kirby sighed, noting the flush of colour on his lordship’s alabaster skin and deciding it was not prudent to tease him. For a little while there, Kirby had truly believed the man was going to die, and he’d never been so damned scared in all his life. As it was, whatever poison his lordship had unwittingly ingested had, as far as Kirby was concerned, left him horribly weak and a long way from making sensible decisions.

“Little Valentine. It’s a lot closer than Bath and I figured the journey was less likely to kill you. It’s a small spa town in East Sussex on the south-east coast. Close to Rye.”

Beau frowned, as if he was struggling to focus on Kirby. “Good God,” he said, and passed out.

Kirby was uncertain whether it was the lingering effect of the poison or the idea of the exquisitely fashionable Lord Beaumont being caught in such a backwater that had caused him to lose consciousness again. It could be either. At least he wasn’t being caught dead, Kirby thought sardonically, and set about unpacking his master’s impressive wardrobe.

“He vomited… on your boots?” Izzy repeated, eyes wider than usual behind her spectacles as she digested this appalling information.

Clementine noted wryly that the information had shocked her sister so much she’d even put down the book she was reading.

“On my best half boots,” Clementine corrected, determined this fact not be overlooked.

“Oh, dear.” Izzy bit her lip as Clementine glared at her.

“It’s not the least bit funny.”

“Well, it is a little bit funny,” Izzy said apologetically, getting to her feet to follow Clementine out into the garden.

“Not if you were wearing the boots,” Clementine insisted, which Izzy conceded was true enough.