Page 27 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

“Perfectly, sir,” Jenkins replied, showing no outward signs of finding this a strange state of affairs. Still, he had been with Nat for years now, long enough to be used to his occasional odd starts and spur-of-the-moment decisions.

“I might have known you’d hear it before I had the chance to tell you,” Nat added, reclining in the chair Jenkins had put out for him.

He sighed as a hot towel was placed over his face, listened to Jenkins mixing the shaving soap, and wondered what the man would think of Meg. Jenkins did not approve of most people Nat knew and had been in alt at the prospect of coming to Hatherley House with the duke and the dowager duchess. He was a dreadful snob.

“Does the young lady know who her antecedents were, at least, sir? For it is one thing to have none living, and there’s nothing to be done about that, but do you know if they were respectable?”

“Not a clue, and I don’t care either,” Nat replied, his voice somewhat muffled beneath the towel.

Jenkins removed the towel and began lathering Nat’s chin. “I think perhaps you ought to care, sir. His grace will certainly care. What if they turn out to be convicted felons?”

“Well, he won’t find that out quickly, not over Christmas, and if he makes a scene we shall leave, though not before I’ve given him the benefit of a few choice words,” Nat added grimly.

Jenkins sighed.

“Yes, yes, I know you’d far rather be working for his grace,” Nat said crossly. “Perhaps he’ll offer you the job while you’re here, if you play your cards right.”

“I have no desire to work for the duke, sir, of that I may assure you,” Jenkins said, with pleasing sincerity.

“Oh?” Nat replied, brightening at this rare show of fondness.

“No, indeed, sir. His grace would be an exacting employer and far harder to please. I should have to work a good deal harder than I do. I shall remain in your service, if it is all the same to you.”

Nat looked at Jenkins, certain that was laughter glinting in the devil’s eyes. “Droll, Jenkins, very droll,” he grumbled, but sat back and allowed his valet to shave him.

Chapter 6

The perils of polite chitchat.

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, 6th December 1815

Meg regarded her reflection in the full-length looking glass, hardly able to comprehend what she was seeing. In the first place, she had only ever seen her full reflection in a window, having never owned more than a hand mirror. In the second, she had never seen anything so beautiful as the gown she wore now. A pale blue crepe petticoat over white satin was prettily ornamented about her feet with a deep border of tulle and trimmed with blonde lace and blue-coloured ribbon, festooned and decorated with tiny silk roses.

Betty knelt at her feet, quickly making an adjustment to the hem, for as with many of the gowns Nat had bought for her, they were not quite perfect having been made for another client. Betty had clucked and shaken her head over the errors, which Meg had brushed off by saying she had demanded the work be completed at short notice for her unexpected betrothal, which was close enough to the truth to be believable and mollify Betty.

Getting to her feet, Betty stood back and admired her handiwork.

“Well, miss, you do look lovely, and I’ve done you proud with your hair, if I say so myself,” she added with obvious pride.

Meg smiled. “I hardly recognise myself, Betty. You are a marvel.”

“Well, perhaps you’ll think about keeping me on, then?” Betty asked eagerly. “I know I’m a bold chit for asking, but them what don’t ask, don’t get, my ma says. I would very much like to be a lady’s maid, if you think you’d like to employ me once you’re married?”

Meg’s face fell, her stomach knotting as she realised their ruse was not only affecting the lives of Nat’s family. Oh, Lord, however was she to keep this up? Now even Betty was relying on her for her future.

Betty’s cheerful expression grew anxious as she noted Meg’s lack of enthusiasm, and she hurried to explain her reluctance.

“You are quite marvellous, Betty, but we aren’t married yet. I should have no hesitation in taking you on, though,” she added, as she saw the girl frowning. “At the very least I shall ensure to write you a splendid letter of recommendation.”

“Don’t you think you’ll marry Mr Ashford, then?” Betty asked in confusion. “He seems such a nice fellow, and he dotes on you, I reckon. The way he looks after you and sees to your comfort, well, it’s touching, ain’t it?”

Meg blushed, wishing she could explain that he was doing it for show, and because he was terrified she’d bolt if anything upset her. “Oh, I don’t know, Betty. I’m just feeling nervous and out of sorts at having to dine with the dowager duchess and his mama, and Lady Della. I’ve never been in such illustrious company before. I have never socialised or attended grand dinners. What if I do or say something dreadful?”

This, at least, was entirely true, and Betty hurried forward, taking her hands, which were cold and clammy with anxiety. She smiled encouragingly at Meg. “Oh, now, Miss Bancroft… I didn’t know that, but I tell you this, you look like a duchess yourself, so you don’t need do nothing but smile and nod and agree with the conversation. Everyone will be too busy admiring you to worry about anything else, and it’s normal that you’d be quiet on your first night. No one will remark it, I promise.”

Meg let out a shaky breath and laughed. “I think you are very wise, Betty, if rather too easily impressed by me. I am no beauty to be admired by all, but you are quite right. All I need do is smile and be agreeable. I ought to manage that much.”

“That’s the spirit, miss. But you’ll knock their eyes out all the same,” she replied stoutly, handing Meg her gloves.