Page 18 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

It had not taken her long last night to remember exactly how foolhardy and reckless she was being herself, though. Once she had said goodnight to Betty, she had spent a long time staring up at the ceiling, wondering just how long it would be before disaster struck her again. Surely this was only a respite, not a rescuing. Her future was balanced on a house of cards and if it lasted for the entire three weeks it would be more than she dared hope for.

But that being the case, what was there to do but make the best of things? She had always considered herself a realist, but reality had been rather unkind to her of late. Why not be an optimist like Mr Ashford, and just enjoy the moment? The future would come, like it or not, and she could do nothing to prevent it. So, for now, she would take everything life handed her with a hopeful smile and see what she could make of it. After all, Pericles had said, small opportunities are often the beginning of great enterprises. Mr Ashford had given her this opportunity, and who was to say she could not turn it to account and make a success of herself? Surely, it was possible?

By half-past one they were all thoroughly chilled and Mr Ashford suggested they retire to The George to warm up and have something to eat whilst they awaited his grandmother’s carriage.

Betty looked wistfully at The Old Bell Inn, which they stood outside of, but upon being informed it was a favourite haunt for the infamous smugglers, she hurried after Mr Ashford and the more respectable environs of The George.

Mr Ashford was obviously well known in the town and was made most welcome upon entering the inn. There was much greeting and backslapping from the innkeeper and several of the men drinking in the taproom who emerged upon hearing his name. Meg thought they looked like farmers and local gentry, but Mr Ashford was clearly well-liked, and they greeted him like an old friend.

She watched him with interest, realising she could well see him living the life of a gentleman farmer, despite his sophisticated ways. There was something rather rugged beneath that handsome face, a powerful solidity under the elegantly cut clothes, and she could well imagine him on horseback, inspecting the land, those powerful thighs guiding his horse with ease.

Meg flushed and turned away, appalled by the turn of her thoughts. Powerful thighs indeed! Whatever had she been thinking?

Eventually, they were settled at a table close to the fire, a tankard of ale set before Mr Ashford and a tea tray provided for the ladies.

“I told my grandmother to expect me around three o'clock, so we’ve time enough to eat,” he said, taking a sip of his ale. “They do a very fine steak pie here, which I shall certainly have, but you may look at the bill of fare if you would prefer.”

“Steak pie sounds perfect,” Meg said, busying herself by pouring out the tea, and determined to stick to her new philosophy and enjoy every good thing that happened to her during the next three weeks. Betty also agreed to the pie with enthusiasm, before whispering to Meg that she was taking herself off to use the necessary.

“Excellent. Three steak pies then, if you would, Fred,” Mr Ashford told the landlord, who had come over to ensure everything was just as they liked it.

Fred beamed at him, clearly delighted. He was a jovial-looking man in his early fifties, with a ruddy face and a balding pate, and seemed to vibrate with the desire to please.

“With pleasure, Mr Ashford, and how is the dowager duchess? In good health, I hope, God bless her,” he added with what appeared to be genuine fondness. “Everyone’s that tickled to know she’s back at the hall.”

“Certainly in good health,” Mr Ashford replied with a grin. “And causing mischief the last I heard.”

“Ah, we’ve heard about the ladies’ club to no end,” Fred said with a chuckle. “It’s got some folk all riled up, I know. My Rachel went to the musical recital in October, said it were wonderful. Lady Della played for them, you know.”

“I did not know,” Mr Ashford replied, looking interested.

“I’ll go fetch your meals then, sir,” Fred said, hurrying off to do so.

“Well, well, I bet Hawkney had something to say about that,” Mr Ashford said under his breath.

Meg looked at him with interest. “He would not approve?”

“Of his sister playing in public? Good Lord, no. He’ll have been incandescent if I know anything about it. Lord, I wish I’d been there,” he said, shaking his head in wonder.

“Well, that might have been difficult, seeing as it’s a club for ladies,” Meg pointed out.

His lips twitched. “True, but I should still have given anything to see Hawkney’s face when he discovered what they’d done.”

“Does he not get along with your grandmother, then?” she asked, thinking it would be as well to understand as much about the family as possible.

Mr Ashford seemed to consider this. “Yes, and no. He adores her, and she him, and they used to be very close, but he’s terribly stuffy and she’s wonderfully gumptious and delights in scandalising everyone. Which is well enough for her, she’s the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney. Lady Della thinks her grandmama is the most magnificent creature, but her situation is very different, being unmarried. For all Hawkney’s faults, I understand why he seeks to protect his sister. There are a good many fortune hunters in the world and people ready to cause trouble when money is involved, and people are so ready to criticise a young lady who appears to have everything—beauty, elegance and wealth. The slightest misstep and they’d crow with delight to see her fall from grace, I don’t doubt.”

“Is that likely?” Meg asked. It sounded like walking a tightrope.

“With Hawkney around? Lord, no, I should think not. I certainly hope not. Della is the kindest creature in the world.”

Meg smiled. “You like her very much, I think?”

He laughed at that and nodded. “You can’t help but like Della. She’s got that way about her, an easy warmth that makes everyone feel better. A good job too, if Hawkney and I must be in the same room too often for the next few weeks.”

“Is it really so bad between you?” she asked, feeling increasingly daunted at having to meet this austere and harsh duke who might throw her to the wolves if he discovered their charade.

Mr Ashford shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. He just puts my back up, that’s all. Probably my fault. I’m too easily offended, but he’s jolly hard work, if you ask me.”