Page 54 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

Clementine felt her throat grow tight as her sisters wept, hugging each other as her father blew her kisses and Caspar ran beside the carriage until Mrs Mabbs caught him. Polly held little Daisy, the two of them smiling and waving, and Clementine felt a tear slide down her cheek as she left Little Valentine and everything she had known behind.

“Here.”

She looked up as Beaumarsh handed her a handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick. “I promise you have not married a watering pot, only—”

“Only you have married a man who is little more than a stranger and put yourself entirely in his hands, and now he is taking you away from your friends and family. Indeed, you are quite an extraordinary creature to feel even a little perturbed by such an everyday occurrence,” he said, deadpan.

Clementine gave a choked laugh and returned a watery smile. “Well, who would have thought it? Lord Beaumarsh knowing exactly the right thing to say.”

“Oh, don’t get used to it. It’s a rare occurrence,” he said with a crooked smile.

Clementine sighed. She turned away from the sight of the town that had been her entire life, and regarded the man who would occupy her future. “I’m not sure I believe that. But I admit, I suddenly feel rather… rather shy.”

“We have seen little of each other the past few weeks,” he agreed, a rather sheepish look in his eyes that confirmed her suspicions.

“Oh, you were avoiding me!” she exclaimed crossly.

He shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “I thought it might be prudent, in case I put my foot in it and you decided you’d made a horrible mistake. I didn’t want to risk your calling off the wedding.”

She ought to have been appalled, but instead Clementine laughed. She laughed long and hard until she had to clutch at her stomach and finally subsided.

“Better?” he asked, regarding her with satisfaction.

“I think so,” she agreed.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, gesturing to a basket on the seat opposite. “I thought you might be too nervous to eat, and so I asked Mrs Adie to prepare a picnic for us.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” Clementine said. “I am hungry, yes.”

He looked surprisingly pleased by her words and opened the hamper. “There are slices of pie, chicken and ham, and game, I think. Also, chicken drumsticks, several cheeses, some apples, oh, and wedding cake.”

“Cake!” Clementine said at once. “I didn’t get to have any, and it looked delicious.”

“Cake it is,” he said with a grin. “Oh, there’s wine too. What an excellent woman Mrs Adie is. She’s even uncorked it ready for us,” he said, raising the bottle enquiringly towards her.

Clementine shook her head, watching as he poured a glass for himself. “She is a treasure,” she agreed, breaking off a piece of the rich fruitcake and putting it in her mouth. She gave a little sigh of pleasure at the sweetness of the cake and chewed happily. “Oh, that is divine,” she said, breaking off another bit. Try some,” she added, turning to offer some to Beaumarsh, only to discover him watching her. He had an intent expression, like a cat waiting for its prey, and Clementine swallowed awkwardly, belatedly aware of their proximity, of the confines of the carriage, and the fact they were married, and alone. She watched as he raised the wineglass to his lips and drank, noticing the strong column of his throat working as he swallowed. He licked his lips and Clementine’s breath caught and she wondered with growing agitation how those lips would feel against hers.

Still, she forced herself to be brave and lifted the morsel of cake to his lips. He held her gaze as he opened his mouth and she had the sudden, strange and forceful image of feeding an enormous cat with smiling jaws and strong teeth, teeth that might devour her if she wasn’t careful. Shaking off the sensation, she popped the piece of cake into his mouth, her fingers unwittingly brushing his lips as she did so. A shiver ran down her arm at the contact, fizzing in her belly and lower still, a confusion of sensations she did not know what to do with.

So, instead, she turned her attention to practical matters.

“H-How far is it to Cavendish House? I am certain I have asked that several times before, but suddenly I cannot remember.”

“Around four hours, I’m afraid,” he said, his gaze still lingering on her face. “We’ll stop for an early supper at The Bell in Ticehurst, and then make the rest of the journey, if that suits you?”

“Perfectly,” Clementine agreed. Her nerves, which he had calmed so nicely, were jittering all over again.

His expression changed to one of concern, his brows drawing together.

“Clementine, don’t be afraid of me,” he said, watching her still. “I know this isn’t a love match, but I hope we are friends, are we not? I want you to be happy, and I would do nothing to make you unhappy. Certainly not on purpose, but if I do so accidentally, I would have your promise that you will tell me.”

“Of course we are friends,” Clementine agreed briskly, though for reasons she did not understand, her heart sank at his words. Well, of course it wasn’t a love match. She knew that perfectly well and there was no reason to feel despondent about it. “Though we don’t yet know each other well. As for telling you, of course I shall. I’m afraid that was never in doubt,” she said apologetically.

He smiled at that. “Good. Have you finished your cake?”

Clementine picked up the last piece and ate it, handing him the plate, which he put back in the hamper alongside his empty wineglass.