Page 41 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

“Likewise, my lady,” Marwick said politely.

There was silence for a moment, and Nat noticed Della had turned a little pink.

“H-Have you lived in the town for very long?” she asked somewhat diffidently, which was unusual for Della, who had never been shy.

“Not long, no. A few years. I travel a good deal, and I wanted somewhere my sister could feel safe, but with enough society where she could find friends and things to occupy her. A friend of mine recommended Little Valentine, and here we are.”

“I am discovering it for myself too,” Della said, appearing to clutch the books tighter still. “I have not been here since I was a little girl and don’t remember the town at all, but now Grandmama has decided to settle here, I hope to be a frequent visitor.”

“Then we shall all count ourselves fortunate,” Mr Marwick said with a smile, but looked past Della to see that, as Vinnie had drifted off elsewhere, the novel section was now unattended. “If you would excuse me, I promised my sister I would treat her to a book. She’s wanted to read the latest Maria Edgeworth for an age now.”

“Oh, The Absentee, I’ve read that. I wish I’d brought it with me, I could have lent it to her,” Della exclaimed.

“Did you enjoy it?” Marwick asked.

Della hesitated. “I did, but… well, I don’t wish to spoil the plot.”

“You won’t,” Marwick said cheerfully. “If there’s something you didn’t like, you can bet Alice won’t either, so I’ll choose her something else.”

“Well, it’s just the hero discovers the heroine—who is a lovely and virtuous girl—is illegitimate and decides he can never marry her because of it, and it isn’t until he discovers she isn’t illegitimate after all, and just happens to be an heiress, that it all ends happily ever after. I’m afraid I thought that made him a shabby sort of hero, for if he really loved her, he should marry her no matter her circumstances,” Della said hotly, and then blushed a deeper shade of pink.

“Well said,” Marwick said, clearly approving this sentiment. “Dash it. I shall have to choose another, then. Any suggestions?”

“I heard Waverly was very good,” Nat suggested.

“Yes, it was, I liked that too, and perhaps The Wanderer by Fanny Burney. I think she would enjoy that one very much,” Della said enthusiastically, and then fell silent, gazing at Mr Marwick.

Marwick smiled good-naturedly. “Well, I think she may have read Waverly, so The Wanderer it is, providing Mr Brooks has it.”

“He does, I saw it. On the second shelf from the top,” Della said hurriedly. “I could show you if—”

“There’s no need. I don’t wish to trouble you, and browsing in a bookshop is no hardship, is it? Good day to you, Lady Della, Mr Ashford.”

Giving a polite bow, he took himself off. Nat watched, amused and rather touched as Della watched him go.

“It’s no good, love,” Nat said gently. “Hawkney would lock you up in a convent first. He’d never allow it.”

Della’s complexion blazed scarlet, and she glared at him. “Oh, go to the devil, Nat,” she said impatiently, and stalked off.

Nat chuckled, unperturbed, for Della’s tempers never lasted long. He regretted spoiling her meeting with the young man, but it was kinder to do it now than allow her to go down a path that would lead to disaster. Hawkney might overlook Nat making what he considered a mesalliance, though Nat remained unconvinced, but his sister would not have that luxury.

Deciding it was time to find Meg and see if there were any books she was dying to have, he went in search of her. He rounded a bookshelf and stopped in his tracks as he found her sitting in a quiet corner. She had completely forgotten her surroundings, if Nat was any judge, for she had tucked her feet up on the armchair and was leaning on one arm to capture the light from the window. Her free hand toyed with a loose coil of hair that had fallen from her coiffure, and she absently twirled it as she read. An expression of absolute concentration illuminated her face, and Nat suspected an invading army marching through the shop would not have caused her to bat an eyelid.

Lord, but she was lovely with the light shining on her blonde hair and that little frown between her delicate eyebrows. Nat had the sudden urge to move closer and put his finger to the tiny furrow and smooth it away. He didn’t, though he could not help wondering what might happen if he did.

Nat could just imagine her expression of surprise as she looked up at him in his mind’s eye and saw himself bending down to press a kiss to her lips. A sudden shock of desire hit him square in the solar plexus and then travelled directly south. For a moment he felt quite winded and then gave himself a stern talking to.

Well, it was hardly to be wondered at, was it? She was lovely and interesting, clever and witty, and very kind too. He was used to being around women who were rather more liberal with their affections, and so he was out of practice at being in company with innocent young ladies. It behoved him to remember exactly who she was, and that she had placed herself in his care. If he took advantage of the trust she had placed in him, by word or deed, he would be the very worst sort of rogue and deserve to be horsewhipped. He had best be on his guard.

Nat felt this scolding ought to do the trick but was still uncomfortably aware that whilst his mind was in complete agreement, other parts of him were feeling rebellious. Still, he moved a step closer and took note of the titles she had selected. A New System of Chemical Philosophy by John Dalton, Lectures on Natural Philosophy by Margaret Bryan, and Academica by Marcus Tullius Cicero. Crouching down before her, Nat pushed the book she was holding up so he could read the title.

“Traité sur la Tolérance. Ah, Voltaire’s Treatise on Tolerance, and in the original French, too. A little light reading before nuncheon, Meg?”

To his delight, she poked her tongue out at him. “It’s fascinating,” she said defiantly.

“I don’t doubt it, pet, but Della and Vinnie are making their purchases, and I rather think that there is a young gentleman who will be stuck in the novel section until we leave, and he is safe to make his escape.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Meg asked, setting the book aside, though not before Nat had remarked the wistful glance she sent it.