Page 4 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

“I see,” he said, grateful for the arrival of the apple pie as it gave him a moment to reassemble his thoughts. Steeling himself, he waited for the waiter to leave them alone again. “I suppose I must ask.”

“If I’m a thief?” she asked, a mocking glint in her eyes that ill-suited her face, which was open and lovely. “That depends on whether you believe it is possible to steal something that belongs to you.”

Nat frowned at her. “I do not, obviously. You mean to say they took something of yours, and when you attempted to take it back—?”

“They accused me of being a thief, threatened to have me prosecuted, and told me to get out and never come back or they would ruin me entirely,” she said, holding his gaze. “Moreover, they told me to leave London, for if they ever discovered I worked for people they knew, they would have me dismissed at once, yet I have no money to leave London, or even to feed myself, as they well know.”

“Good Lord,” he said, horrified by such cruelty. “What scoundrels!”

She made a mirthless sound and shook her head. “Indeed. Yet they are respectable members of society, and I am no one, with no family to protect me, no finances to preserve me. In short, I am too insignificant to worry about.”

“Damned if you are!” he retorted, recollecting himself as he registered the shock in her eyes. “I beg your pardon.”

“Not at all,” she said, her voice faint as she gazed at him. “Do… Do you mean to say you believe me?”

“I do,” he said, wondering if perhaps he was being a fool, but dismissing the notion at once. Young ladies like Miss Bancroft did not shelter in shop doorways on such a night unless something had gone dreadfully wrong. “What was it, this precious thing that they took from you?”

Miss Bancroft stared at him for a long moment before she answered. “The first illustrated edition of Ptolemy's Cosmographia, translated by Giacomo D'Angelo da Scarperia. It dates from the fifteenth century and is extremely rare and beautiful. My father treasured it, which is all that matters to me else I would have sold it, for it is rather valuable. Not enough to live on, but it would have given me a little nest egg.”

“And these… these devils took it from you?” Nat asked, hardly able to believe his ears.

“Yes,” she said with a humourless laugh. “Yes, they did, and I shall never be able to prove otherwise.”

Nat decided he did not agree with this sentiment, for the story had roused all his most chivalrous instincts, not to mention his notions of honour and decency. That whoever these people were might get away with such a nefarious crime made him sick to his stomach.

Still, that was for the future. For now, he had a Miss Bancroft on his hands and not the slightest idea what to do with her. A single gentleman could hardly ask about for a respectable position for a young lady without causing a scandal. Yet surely there was something, some way he could…. Oh!

“Mr Ashford?”

“Hmmm?” Nat replied vaguely, savouring the brilliant scheme that had just hurtled into his brain.

“Are you quite all right? You look a little—”

“Clever,” he said smugly.

“I was going to say bilious,” she remarked, sounding doubtful.

“No, clever. Quite fantastically cunning, actually,” he added, beaming at her.

Miss Bancroft paused, a spoonful of apple pie suspended before her. “I have the most dreadful premonition my disastrous circumstances are about to descend into farce,” she said, with more resignation than horror.

“Well, don’t be like that,” Nat retorted, stung by her lack of enthusiasm. “This is a marvellous idea. It gives you a wonderful place to stay for the next three or four weeks and gets me out of a sticky situation, too.”

The lady sighed and set down her spoon. “Go on, then. I’m too desperate not to listen at least.”

Nat scowled, but as she had obviously had a very difficult day, found that he could not hold her scepticism against her. “Well, the thing is, as you said yourself, I’m something of a catch.”

Miss Bancroft snorted and then tried rather desperately to pretend she was coughing. “S-Sorry,” she managed, gesturing to the apple pie. “The pastry is very good, but a piece got caught in my throat.”

“Hmph.” Nat ignored the slight, relieved to discover she could still find humour in the situation. “Very amusing, I’m sure. But the thing is, my family have been on at me for an age now, nagging me I ought to get married.”

“Quite right too,” the lady said with a nod of approval. “You’re hardly a boy, are you?”

“Do you always say exactly what you are thinking?” he demanded irritably.

Her lovely brows drew together as she gazed down at the bowl of apple pie before her. “No, I never have done, but in the circumstances I don’t have a thing to lose and… and it’s rather liberating if nothing else,” she said, lifting her gaze to his and giving him a rueful smile.

As she did so, one dimple peeked unexpectedly out at him and, for a moment, Nat lost the thread of the conversation.