Page 49 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

It was the most appalling situation, and she had no one to blame for it but herself. For now, she could add a broken heart to her wretched situation when he went off on his adventures and left her behind. Stop enacting a Cheltenham tragedy when it’s nothing of the kind, she scolded inwardly. She was not in love with him. After all, they hardly knew each other, though they had spent nearly every moment together since they had left London, and, other than her father, she had never spent such an amount of time with anyone.

She was fond of him, yes, desperately fond, and she liked him very much, and when they parted ways, as they must do, she would miss him dreadfully and would feel bereft, but not forever. She would likely cry for a few weeks, or months even, and feel very sorry for herself, but she would mend and find pleasure in the new situation he had promised to find her. Nothing was broken, only a little bruised. In a little while, she would forget all about her silly infatuation and be able to look back on these few weeks with pleasure.

“Meg? Is everything all right?”

Meg blushed, appalled that he had caught her thinking such things about him, as if he could discern the turn her mind had taken. Foolishness, of course. “Yes, quite all right. I’m looking forward to seeing the reverend again. He was such a jolly soul, and we are to meet his daughter, I think?”

“Apparently so,” he said, smiling at her. “By the way, Grandmama set the date of the ball, did you know? The invitations are going out today. It will be on the twenty-third of December. So, we must get cracking with those dance lessons.”

Meg almost groaned out loud. The idea of learning to waltz with him made her feel hot all over. Though she had never seen it performed, she knew many considered the dance scandalous for the way the man held his partner so close, practically in his arms. However would she survive?

“Is it really necessary?” she asked, aware she sounded rather desperate. “Couldn’t I pretend I’d hurt my ankle?”

He sent her an odd look. “Whyever would you do that?”

“Well, it’s a lot of bother, isn’t it? Learning to dance when I shall likely never have another chance to do so.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, appearing disturbed by the notion. “You do not know what the future holds. There might be many such balls in your future, and besides, you love learning new things.”

Meg snorted. “When was the last time you saw a governess at a ball?” she demanded tartly, and with rather more irritation than she’d intended, but she felt prickly and unhappy suddenly.

“You don’t know that you’ll be a governess all your life. They do get married, you know,” he shot back.

“Perhaps sometimes,” she allowed, if grudgingly. “The lucky ones. Others are governesses until they are too old to work, and if they are lucky, they’re pensioned off to a cottage on the estate if it’s a grand family. Others are not so fortunate.”

Why in the name of heaven had she said that? Meg clamped her mouth shut. Was she trying to make him feel sorry for her? No, she was just feeling miserable and viewing the future in the worst possible light. Not that she’d said anything that wasn’t entirely true.

She glanced up at him, noting his rigid jaw with dismay.

“Nat, I’m sorry. Please forget I said that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said, taking his arm.

“I do,” he said gruffly. “You’re afraid of what will happen to you once this is over, and rightly so.”

“No,” she said, trying to soothe him even though his words were entirely accurate. “No, you’ve reassured me that all will be well, and I believe you. I’m just a bad-tempered wretch. So you see, you are terribly lucky this is not a proper engagement, or you would be sorry,” she said, trying for levity when all she wanted to do was weep.

Nat looked back at her but said nothing and she could not read his expression. But the vicarage was before them now, and there was no more time for conversation. So Meg plastered a smile to her face and promised herself she would shake off her bad mood and be a wonderful guest.

Meg putting a brave face on was just about the most heartbreaking thing Nat had ever seen. Dash it all, why was everything getting so complicated? He didn’t want her to be a governess, to have to work for her living, and in such a way. Certainly it was a respectable position, but a governess belonged nowhere. She was too well bred to belong with the servants but could never be included among the intimates of a family, invited to balls and dinner parties. She would forever have one foot in each camp and be welcomed in neither, an endless balancing act, but he did not know what else he could do for her.

He could buy her a neat little property and give her money enough to live on, and do so willingly, but if he suggested such a scandalous arrangement, she would slap his face and never wish to see him again. She would assume, as the world would assume, that he meant to keep her as his mistress. Even if his motives were entirely unselfish, if anyone discovered the truth, she would be ruined. And, if he were entirely honest, he could not pretend his motives were entirely unselfish.

He wanted to keep Meg in his life. Whilst he might not be ready for marriage yet, he liked her and could not bear the thought of never seeing her again. She was becoming his friend, the kind one could confide one's hopes and dreams to without fearing they would laugh themselves sick.

Nat had not had a friend like that since… well, he was uncertain he had ever had a friend like that. He had cronies, fellows he drank and gambled with, but not the kind he considered intimates. With a start, he realised Hawkney had probably been his closest friend, once upon a time, and half the time they couldn’t stand each other. Well, wasn’t that pitiful?

But there was no time for introspection now, as the vicarage door opened and they were swept up by the force of nature that was Reverend Honeywell.

“Come in! Come in!” he exclaimed, beaming with pleasure as he hustled them out of the chilly weather. “So delighted you could make it. Mrs Adie has made the most splendid selection of cakes and biscuits, and I must beg you to eat as many as you can, or else I will eat the lot myself and then Izzy will scold me.”

Nat laughed, for it was impossible to be downcast when such good-natured happiness shone all around one.

“Izzy! Izzy, my dear, our guests—”

“Yes, Papa, I’m coming,” called a disembodied voice from upstairs, as a young maid bustled about collecting their coats and hats.

They were shown into a wonderfully snug parlour, with overstuffed furniture, much of which was a little worn but still looked just the place to curl up in on such a wintry day. The walls appeared to have been freshly papered, a cheerful chintz pattern of pink roses giving the feel of a sunny cottage garden even on such a dreary afternoon.

“Oh, forgive me,” said a pretty young woman with spectacles, who hurried into the room. “Little Daisy is teething, and she insisted I read her a story before her nap.”