Page 52 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

Nat sighed. “Very well. I do. I want you to find out about Meg’s mother’s family for her.”

“Already done,” she said smugly, with such a cat-in-the-cream-pot smile he did not know whether to laugh or scold her.

“You are an interfering old busybody,” he said, shaking his head.

“I know it. Never said otherwise,” she replied, unrepentant. “But that girl might have a family. If she does, she’ll be glad of them, supposing they're not a pack of idiots. And, if they don’t want her… well, she’ll never know.”

Nat sighed. “I ought to wring your neck, but I shall thank you. It was good of you, even if it was none of your business. When do you expect to hear something?”

“I’ve no idea. Not before Christmas, I expect.”

He nodded. It was possible if her family were keen to make amends, but more likely they’d hear nothing for weeks. Months, even.

“Make yourself useful and ring for tea, will you? I’m parched.”

Nat obeyed, amused by how quickly the summons was answered. Gee-Gee had everyone dancing to her tune as usual.

Once they were alone again, she narrowed her eyes. “Now, then. Tell me why you’re here, teaching your old granny to suck eggs, when you might be dancing with your lovely fiancée? Don’t tell me you’ve made a mull of things already?”

Nat laughed, though it was not a happy sound. “Not precisely.”

“Well, what is it? There’s something afoot; I can smell it. I always knew when you boys were up to no good. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something. For one thing, you didn’t meet that girl how you said you did—No!” she said, holding up a hand when Nat opened his mouth to protest. “Don’t go trying to persuade me otherwise. You don’t have to tell me anything more and I won’t tattle to Hawkney, so don’t go looking all offended.”

Nat stared at her, wondering what he ought to say, if anything.

“Gee-Gee—”

“Hush,” she commanded, pointing a gnarly, arthritic finger at him. “Here’s what I know. You’ve found a young woman who suits you, a prospect that likely scares you to death, which is no doubt why you’ve been playing least in sight these past few days if I know anything. I do know this, though, Nathaniel. That kind of thing don’t happen every day. Some of us don’t get a choice in who we marry and when. I didn’t, and my husband would have made me miserable if I’d let him, which I did not, but that’s by the by. I don’t intend to see you mess things up for yourself. Hawkney is doing his utmost, but you’ve never been half so pigheaded as he is so I’ve a hope you’ll listen to me and take good advice. For all his cleverness, Hawkney is a fool in ways you are not. So buck up. Go and teach that girl to dance, and whilst you are about it, make sure she falls madly in love with you, and don’t pretend you can’t do it, for I know otherwise.”

Nat stared at his grandmother for a moment and then laughed. He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

“You are an old witch,” he grumbled fondly.

She snorted. “Throughout history, that’s the kind of accusation always levelled at women who have a deal more cleverness than the men about them.”

“I’m not about to deny it,” he said with a smile, which faded as he remembered Meg had been avoiding him as much as he had her. “What if it’s too late? What if I’ve already made a mess of things?”

“I don’t know what kind of silly games the two of you have been playing, but I know that girl is besotted with you. It won’t take much to tip her over the edge. Lord, you should have heard her trying to get me to stop everyone teasing you for being a jolterhead. She admires you, Nat, and you ought to marry her for that reason alone,” she said with a bark of laughter.

Nat felt his heart give a swift kick behind his ribs at her words. Could it be true? Could Meg really feel that way? Well, if nothing else, he owed it to himself to find out the truth. He got to his feet, going first to his grandmother and bending to press a kiss to her cheek.

“You are a wicked old harridan, and I adore you. Thank you, Gee-Gee.”

She looked up at him, her eyes growing misty as she reached up and patted his face. “You’re a good boy, Nat. You always were, and I’d like to see you happy. Run along now and find that girl. Don’t go crashing about like a bull in a china shop but show her you mean business.”

Nat laughed and straightened up. “I will,” he promised, and hurried from the room.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Meg exclaimed as she trod on Aubrey’s toes for the third time that morning. “I’m getting worse, not better.”

“Not to worry,” Aubrey said manfully, though that time she had definitely heard him smother a yelp. “You’re just thinking too hard. You had it perfectly yesterday, but today your head is somewhere else entirely. Why don’t we take a break for a moment?”

Meg nodded, feeling wretched as she watched him hobble across the ballroom to where Della sat at the piano. She turned away, walking instead to one of the many French doors that looked out upon the gardens. How lovely it must be in the summer. On a cold, wet December day, however, it seemed as if the clouds had fallen and surrounded the hall, for all she could see was a cold, wet fog coiled about the house.

The same sensation seemed to have surrounded her heart, a quiet despair that grew day by day as her own foolishness became increasingly apparent. She took a step back, suddenly noticing her own faint reflection, the shadowy picture of a girl in a blue dress, a fraud wearing borrowed clothes, living a borrowed life. The image was frail, insubstantial, just like her hold on Nat and this place, these people.

She missed Nat. Not being in his company every hour of the day was an ache in her heart, a sickening sense of lack that seemed to gnaw at her bones, growing daily. How had she let this happen? How had this foolish adventure succeeded and yet failed so dreadfully? For it had been supposed to give her a holiday, to make her safe. Yet no matter how pleasant her new position as governess might be, she would never be content again, and that was entirely her own fault for allowing her feelings to spiral out of control.

Her already low spirits tumbled into an abyss of self-pity, which made her despise herself for her own folly.