Page 22 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

Nat placed Meg’s hand firmly upon her arm, and they followed Howard inside. He heard Meg’s soft gasp and was glad he was only submitting her to staying at Hatherley Hall, for Hawkney’s seat would have sent her screaming for the hills.

As it was, generations of the De Vere family from whence his grandmother had sprung, as well as the Seymours, including his own mother, glowered down at them as they walked the echoing entrance hall, their footsteps overly loud upon the polished wood floor. Meg’s eyes were almost out upon stalks as she gazed around her, and he was certain he heard a little squeal as she glimpsed the library through a half-open door.

“Yes, Miss Bancroft, a library, filled to the rafters with ancient books. Don’t say I never did anything for you,” he said, sotto voce.

He dared a glance at her to see her expression alive with anticipation, and despite everything, he laughed, his nerves suddenly dissipating in the light of her excitement at the prospect of discovering a hoard of new information about the world and everything in it.

Too soon, they reached the family parlour, however. It was the room the dowager had claimed as her own, an informal room reserved only for family and close friends, where they might relax and be themselves and leave the dukedom and all that went with it behind. Not that it worked, if Nat was any judge, but it was a comfortable room all the same and held fond memories of his childhood.

Nat entered with mixed feelings, half afraid that his grandmother’s renovations would have destroyed the charm of the place, but he had underestimated her. Though the curtains had been changed and the paint refreshed, nothing much else had changed here, at least, and he grinned as he saw her sitting in her favourite armchair by the fire.

Still rigidly upright, and lavishly dressed, she dripped with diamonds and pearls. Her white hair gleamed beneath a fanciful deep blue turban. With amusement, Nat noted it too was emblazoned with diamonds and sapphires, as an ornate brooch fastened a white ostrich feather in place. She looked every inch the dowager duchess.

“Grandmama!” he said, leaving Meg for a moment to cross the room and kneel before her. “Why, you beautiful creature. How marvellous you look. You’ve not aged a day since I was eight years old, I do declare.”

“Stuff!” she replied, rapping his knuckles with the ebony fan she held. “Don’t give me any of your flummery, my boy. I ain’t one of your ladybirds.”

“How could you be? You’re far prettier,” he said, placing his hand upon his heart.

“Oh, get up! Get up!” she said crossly, though her eyes sparkled with delight. “If you’ve quite finished acting the fool, you might like to introduce me,” she said, having at once noticed he was not alone. She regarded Meg with interest.

Nat kissed her gnarled fingers, giving them a gentle squeeze before he got to his feet and returned to Meg, who was looking rather startled at his unconventional way of greeting his aged relation.

“Dearest Grandmother, please allow me to introduce Miss Margaret Bancroft, my fiancée. Meg, this is my grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney.”

Nat’s heart thudded as Meg dipped an elegant curtsey.

“I am pleased to meet you, your grace,” she said politely, as Nat felt a swift and unexpected surge of pride. How elegant she was, so poised and graceful. He really could not have asked for more from her.

“Well, don’t stand about gawking at me. Come closer so I can see you,” his grandmother said, gesturing for them to approach.

Meg did so, not batting an eyelid, though she must have felt rather daunted by such uncompromising speech.

“Engaged since when?” his grandmother demanded, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh, not long at all,” Nat said easily, though his guts seemed to have tied themselves into a knot. “A few short weeks. I knew I would be here for Christmas, so I wanted to give you the joyful tidings myself.”

“Hmph,” she said, giving him a squinting look that made the knot pull tighter. “What was your name? Bamford?”

“Bancroft, ma’am,” Meg said, not flinching under the dowager’s critical gaze, though her cheeks grew rather pink. This was not a bad thing, however, as she’d been rather pale on arrival and this showed her to advantage.

“Who are your people?”

“I have no people, I’m afraid,” Meg replied apologetically. “For my father was the last of his line. He was a scholar, and we lived a very secluded life.”

“A scholar? Lived secluded? How in the blazes did you meet this rascal, then? It weren’t in no library and no power on earth will make me believe it.”

Nat winced inwardly but held his tongue; they had discussed this, after all. Meg was clever enough to make it believable, of that he felt certain.

“No, indeed,” she said, with a rueful smile and a fond glance at Nat that even he half believed. “But Nat came to stay with a local family during the summer on several occasions. Our cottage was on their estate, and we used to encounter each other from time to time, for I was given leave to walk in the grounds.”

Whilst their meeting was obviously a complete fabrication, Nat’s knowledge of the Haines family and their son, Edgar, could not hurt. He had not seen the fellow since his schooldays and had certainly never visited, but it gave the story a sense of truth it might have otherwise lacked.

“Sadly, Meg’s father passed away and, the next time I visited, I found her in rather difficult circumstances,” Nat said, reaching for Meg’s hand and returning her fond smile, which was easier to do than he might have imagined. “I decided I ought to play knight in shining armour for once in my life, and help her sort out his affairs, but whilst I performed my good deed, I discovered something far more precious and lovely than I could have ever expected.”

Meg blushed and looked away, unable to hold his gaze, which was perfect as it was quite right that a modest young woman should look so awkward, but Nat knew she was struggling to endure his rather mawkish sentiments. For his part, he was beginning to enjoy himself, despite his eagle-eyed grandmother’s scrutiny.

“Very pretty, I’m sure,” the dowager replied, looking from him to Meg and back again. “So, you’ve reformed, have you? Mended your wicked ways, hmmm?”