Page 44 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

Hawkney did not look up from his soup, but replied, “You may read what dreadful nonsense you like, as you well know. Not that my opinion would change a thing. I only asked you do not leave such titles lying about in full view of the servants, and more to the point, Della.”

“Oh, Alex, honestly. I’m not a child,” Della protested, glaring at her brother.

“No, but you are not a married lady either, and until such a time, I am responsible for you,” Hawkney replied calmly.

Della rolled her eyes but said no more.

“Are you related to the Derbyshire Bancrofts?” Hawkney asked, startling Meg so much she almost dropped her spoon.

“I… do not know,” she replied, for that was certainly true. “My father was my only family, and he mentioned no other of his kin still living. Certainly, I know any grandparents are long dead. I believe he had an older brother, but he died when my father was still a child. But he never mentioned aunts or uncles. He used to say it was just ‘thee and me.’ I had no reason to doubt that.”

“And your mother’s family?”

“Hawk,” Nat said sharply. “Don’t interrogate her.”

“It’s all right,” Meg intervened hastily, not wanting to provoke an argument. “I’m afraid the same applies. My mother died when I was young. I believe she was estranged from her family, for they did not approve the match and so she had no further contact with them.”

“And you never thought of renewing the association when your father died?” the duke asked, regarding her thoughtfully.

Meg bristled. “Certainly not. Any family who could turn their back on their own child simply because she fell in love with the wrong man are not people I have any wish to apply to for charity.”

“That’s a little short-sighted, surely?” he replied mildly. “Perhaps the head of the family disapproved, but it was your mother who cut all ties. Or perhaps there are members of the family who were in sympathy with her who would be glad to come to your aid? In any event, the sins of the mother ought not to be visited upon the daughter.”

“I do not believe falling in love is ever a sin,” Meg said frostily, holding the duke’s gaze, too annoyed to feel intimidated by him any longer.

“Not a sin, certainly. But it can be devastating to families if the people involved are too selfish to act rationally.”

“Love is not rational, and it need not have been devastating to anyone if they had simply accepted the position. She was not marrying a wicked libertine, or a felon, or a man worthy of pity or disgust. My father may not have been wealthy or powerful, but he was a good man, an honourable one, and he loved my mother. Her death destroyed him.”

Meg took a breath and placed her hands in her lap. She realised she was shaking and looked up to see Nat watching her. There was admiration shining in his eyes, and concern too.

She forced a rueful smile to her lips to reassure him.

“Well, that told you, Hawkney. Keep your nose out of it,” the dowager said with a cackle of laughter.

“Quite so,” the duke replied placidly, and gestured for a footman to refill his glass. Meg picked up her spoon and returned to her soup before glancing up the table, relieved to discover his grace was talking to Uncle Charles.

“Don’t let Hawkney ruffle your feathers.”

Meg looked at the dowager, who was regarding her with interest.

“No, indeed, I shall not,” Meg replied.

“Ain’t afraid of him, are you.” It wasn’t a question. The old lady looked pleased by her statement.

Meg returned a rueful smile. “I’m uncertain that’s entirely true,” she admitted, for her heart was still beating too hard. “But I do not respond well if I feel I am being cornered or interrogated. My wilful tongue is my besetting sin, I’m afraid.”

“Nothing wrong with standing up for yourself, or what you believe. I can’t be doing with these namby-pamby modern notions of what a girl ought to be. The men have taken the upper hand, telling us all we ought to be weak and submissive and do as we’re told. Bah! Let them get away with it and there’s no telling where it stops.”

“Quite right, Granny,” Della said, still smarting from her brother’s earlier words. “Why should we pretend to be hen-witted and biddable? I’m neither, and if I pretended to be such and then married a man who expected a docile wife, why, how wretched I should make him! Not to mention myself. No indeed, I shall be just who I am and say exactly what I think and to the devil with any fellow who does not like it.”

“There speaks a De Vere!” the dowager said with pride. “Vero nil Verius!”

“Nothing truer than truth,” Meg translated. “Your family motto, ma’am?”

“Aye, on my mother’s side. This house belongs to the De Vere line, left to the eldest daughter in the family. It will be Della’s one day,” she said with satisfaction.

“It will be mine before Della,” Lady Louisa remarked tartly, giving her mother a sharp look.