Page 23 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

Her eyes glittered with intelligence and Nat’s heart kicked in his chest, but he gave a nonchalant shrug.

“As much as a wicked fellow ever can, Grandmother,” he said, trying for sincerity, but his lips kept quirking up at the corners.

The old lady snorted. “Well, I shall look forward to your explaining all that to Hawkney. Better than a play, I reckon,” she said sagely. “But you’ve tonight to gird your loins, for he’s not here yet.”

“He’s not?” Nat said, unable to hide his relief at the unexpected reprieve. “What a pity,” he added, his lack of sincerity just as visible.

“Wretched boy,” the dowager said, shaking her head. “Well, run along and freshen up, I’ve no doubt you’re longing to have a rest and to tidy yourself after your journey. You have your old room, Nathaniel, and Miss Bancroft may have the yellow room, as it was prepared in case of any unexpected arrivals. Your mama is here, but she had a fit of the vapours or some nonsense and is lying down with her sal volatile. Honestly, she is a foolish creature. I sometimes forget just how foolish. How did I ever produce such a child?” she added, apparently quite perplexed by this.

“Well, she produced me,” Nat pointed out helpfully.

His grandmother looked back at him in consternation. “Well, what the devil does that prove?”

“I—” Nat began, and then shook his head. “Actually, I don’t have the faintest idea. Forget I said it. Good day, Gee-Gee. I shall see you later.”

“Such nonsense, foolish boy,” the old lady grumbled, but Nat knew she was delighted he had remembered his pet name for her as he guided Meg out of the room.

“Oh, my. Oh, my.”

At first, he did not hear exactly what Meg was saying as he led her out of the room and towards the stairs, she seemed to mumble something under her breath, over and over, and then he caught it.

“Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my—”

“You were brilliant,” he said with enthusiasm. “Absolutely perfect. I knew you would be.”

She shot him a look that could have frozen even the devil’s tender parts and Nat winced.

“I must have been out of my mind!” she said urgently. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I simply can’t. It was a terrible mistake. I must leave at once.”

“Don’t be daft,” he said, which on reflection was a mistake.

The frigid look became several degrees chillier, which was impressive if nothing else. “Daft?” she repeated stonily. “You think it is daft to believe that I cannot stay in this house for the next three weeks and pretend to be your fiancée? I tell you what was daft, me thinking I could ever get away with it. Did you see the way she looked at me when I said I had no people? Oh, I feel sick,” she said, clutching at her stomach.

Nat looked at her in alarm, noting how very pale she was.

“This way,” he said, taking her arm and marching her down the hallway.

Thankfully, his grandmother’s restorations had not altered the structure of the house significantly and he discovered his favourite part of it still intact and in the same place as always.

Warm, damp air hit them as he pushed open the doors to the small but elegant orangery and guided Meg inside. She had said nothing as he propelled her along, but her mouth fell open in a little ‘o’ of astonishment.

“Sit down there,” he instructed, giving her a gentle push until she planted her behind upon one of a pretty arrangement of white painted wrought-iron chairs set about a round table.

Though it was December, the trees were flowering, some covered in fruit, and the humid air was perfumed with a sweet, citrusy scent that enveloped them in its gentle embrace.

Meg took a breath and let it out again, gazing around in wonder. “How beautiful it is,” she said, shaking her head. “I never thought to see such a thing.”

She lifted her hand, reaching out to touch a lemon, laughing a little as her fingers brushed the waxy skin.

“This is my favourite place at Hatherley Hall,” Nat admitted, taking the seat beside her. “Perhaps in the world, actually.”

Meg glanced at him, clearly surprised by his admission. “Really? I assumed that would be the theatre, or a gambling hell, if I’m entirely honest.”

“Ah, I see I have made an excellent impression,” he replied dryly.

Well, it was hardly to be wondered at. He appeared to be a fashionable fribble and lived the life expected of one. “I beg your pardon, I did not mean that to sound so insultproprieting,” she said, looking appalled.

Nat waved away her apology. “Don’t trouble yourself. My family would say it too, and I’ve given no one any reason to suppose otherwise. It’s true, all the same.”