Page 32 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

Meg felt her colour rise. She had known that this would come up and had stiffened her resolve not to feel foolish when she made her confession, but she had not expected to do so in front of the entire family. “I learned a few country dances when I was a little girl. I might be able to remember those, but not much else,” she admitted.

The dowager nodded. “Thought as much. Well, don’t look so mortified, it ain’t your fault your papa was too selfish to see you properly prepared for the world. That’s what comes of having no wife. Men can become egoistic creatures if they don’t have someone to keep ’em in line. Mind, I suppose females are no better at times,” she added, sending her daughter a frustrated glance. “Nat. You’ll have to see to it. Della can play for you. Best teach her to waltz and whatever else you think she’ll need to learn. Can’t have everyone gawping at her during the Christmas ball.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Nat said, giving Meg such a look of amused delight she could not hold his gaze.

The dowager nodded, satisfied, and returned her attention to her meal.

Somehow, Meg got through the rest of the evening without incident and was blessedly relieved to excuse herself for an early night on account of being fatigued by their journey.

Before she left, Nat arranged to take her for a ride after a late breakfast and bade her goodnight with a surreptitious wink and a whispered, “Well done.”

As she made her way back up the stairs to her room, she reflected that, despite a few moments of panic, she had rather enjoyed herself and had liked Nat’s relations very much indeed. With a heavy heart, Meg made herself remember this was temporary and she ought not get too comfortable. Enjoying a brief spell of luxury and excitement was one thing but giving it up again would make her feel even more wretched if she grew too used to it.

This was not her life and never would be. She was merely borrowing it for a little while, and she forgot that fact at her peril.

Chapter 7

Promises, promises.

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, 7th December 1815

As predicted, the next morning, Meg sat up in bed, propped up by an extraordinary number of thick down pillows, sipping a cup of hot chocolate and munching her way through a plate of sweet pastries while she gazed upon the sea. Admittedly, she had to sit up very straight and could only just glimpse it, but it was there, and that was enough.

She had leapt from bed upon waking and run to tug back curtains and push open a window, breathing in the fresh salty tang of sea air, too impatient to wait for Betty to come, and hugged her arms about herself as she looked out at the glorious view.

The higgledy-piggledy rooftops of the town were visible also, though not so visible as the church tower. Running back to the warmth of the bed, she had huddled back under the covers, relishing the fresh air after what had felt like an eternity in the city.

“Lord above, you’ll freeze to death,” Betty chided, coming back in and realising the window was still open a crack. She hurried to close it, giving a dramatic shiver as she did so.

“Oh, but the fresh air smelled so divine,” Meg complained, though her arms prickled with gooseflesh and she was not terribly disappointed when Betty stirred up the fire and added more coals.

“Well, say that again when you’re laid up with a red nose and a sore throat and wishing you’d listened to sense, that’s all I’ll say,” Betty remarked, returning to her bustling about and preparing everything for Meg’s toilette.

“Did you find the riding habit?” Meg asked, dipping the sweet pastry in her chocolate and thinking she had never felt more decadent in her entire life.

“Oh! Yes, it’s gorgeous, miss!” Betty exclaimed. “I can’t wait to see you in it. Mr Ashford won’t be able to look at aught else, you mark my words.”

“May I see it?” Meg asked eagerly, realising too late that she ought to at least know what it looked like.

“Bless me, don’t tell me you’ve forgot what it looks like already?” Betty exclaimed, clearly wondering at the excesses of the rich if they could forget such a splendid garment.

“No, obviously not. It’s only that I long to see it again, to… see if it matches my memory of it,” she said awkwardly.

Accepting this, Betty went and fetched the habit as Meg finished her breakfast. She returned a few moments later, presenting it to Meg, who could only stare.

“Oh, my,” she said faintly, taking in the fine blue Merino cloth with anticipation. “Get me ready, Betty!” she exclaimed, and leaped from the bed.

A short time later, Meg stood before the full-length mirror once more, feeling even more as if she were living in some strange and marvellous dream as she regarded this new version of herself who looked so like and yet so unlike who she had always been.

The riding dress fitted like a glove, needing no tweaks or adjustments, as if it really had been made for her. Ornamented around the bust and cuffs with intricate little knots of blue ribbon, a Chinese handkerchief of blue and white separated the shirt from a full double ruff of Vandyke lace. The lace framed her face in the most charming manner and Betty had artfully placed a small round hat of moss-silk at a rakish angle upon her neatly arranged blonde curls. Blue kid half boots and Limerick gloves seamed with blue thread completed her elegant ensemble.

“You’d best marry that man, Miss Bancroft,” Betty said wistfully as she regarded her creation with satisfaction. “’Cause the poor devil will be head over ears the moment he sees you in this rig, if he weren’t before, and that’s a fact.”

Nat strode up and down outside the house, whilst the groom waited patiently with the two horses Nat had selected for their ride. He was surprisingly eager to see Meg, which was hardly to be wondered at, he reassured himself. Last night had been a lot for her to cope with, what with meeting most of the family and enduring such a lavish dinner. Not that one would have known she did not sit down to such meals every evening, for she had comported herself perfectly, and the swell of pride that had risen in his chest each time she navigated her way past any difficulty had taken him aback.

She had looked beautiful too, her lovely skin glowing in the candlelight that had gleamed upon her fair hair too, burnishing it to gold. If he had been in any doubt of her enchanting features, the way Aubrey had gazed at her all night, like some love-struck mooncalf, had been enough to make him want to kick the fellow and remind him of his manners. Sadly, he had been just too far away for Nat to make the attempt, but if he did it again this evening, he might have to give him a word of warning. A fellow did not mind other fellows admiring his lady, but there was a point where admiration became ogling, and Aubrey had come perilously close. Not that she was his lady, of course, but that was beside the point. Aubrey did not know it was all a hum and so had no excuse.

Nat was about to run inside the house and send up a note to ask how long she would be, when the lady herself appeared.