Page 59 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

“Miss Bancroft, Mr Ashford. I hope you had an enjoyable morning?” he enquired politely, as a footman relieved them of their coats and hats. “I am to inform you that his grace requests your presence in his study.”

“What? Right now?” Nat objected, scowling. “Devil take him, what does he want?”

“I could not say, sir, but I believe the dowager duchess is with him,” Howard replied apologetically. “Shall I announce you?”

“No, don’t bother with that,” Nat grumbled, taking Meg’s hand.

“What do you think he wants?” Meg asked, a leaden sense of foreboding settling in her stomach.

“I don’t know, and if my grandmother wasn’t with him, I’d make him wait. As it is, we’d better see at once.”

Meg nodded, following as he led her along the corridor. She glanced up at the illustrious portraits gazing down from the walls, generations of Seymours and De Veres looking at her with what felt in that moment like contempt.

“Nat.” She tugged at his hand.

He turned. “What, love?”

“Don’t get cross,” she said suddenly. “For your grandmother’s sake, if nothing else. I know you and Hawkney don’t get along, but he is trying to protect his family. Remember that if… if it turns out to be something unpleasant.”

Nat stopped outside the door to Hawkney’s study and took her hands in his. “You’re frightened.”

“I am rather,” Meg admitted. “It’s just… it’s all too much like a dream, Nat. This place, the reverend and the snow and, most of all, you. The dowager was right, there is magic here, but… but what if it isn’t for me? What if I’m an imposter or—”

Her words were cut off as Nat pressed his mouth to hers.

“Have you quite finished talking absolute twaddle An imposter, indeed! I never heard such rot. It is like a dream, but not the kind where you wake up with a start and realise you’ve been sleeping. The kind that a person gets to live, because it’s real and true and he’ll do just about anything to make certain of it. Now, come along, let’s get this over with, whatever it is,” he grumbled, towing her towards the door.

“Yes, Nat,” she said, smiling as relief coursed through her.

It didn’t last long, as the moment she entered the study and saw Hawkney’s stern countenance and the dowager’s worried frown, she knew it would be awful. Meg attempted a small smile for the dowager, who nodded in response but did not return the expression. She sat beside the fire, as upright as ever, both hands grasping the silver-topped walking stick she sometimes used.

Hawkney got to his feet. “Nat. Miss Bancroft,” he added, his tone chilly.

“What’s this about, Hawk?” Nat demanded.

The duke hesitated, something that looked very much like regret in his eyes as he turned to his cousin. “I know you won’t believe this, Nat, but I am sorry. Truly sorry.”

Nat guided Meg to a chair and stood close beside her, folding his arms. “Oh?”

Hawkney sighed. “Nat, Miss Bancroft is not what she purports to be. In short, I believe her to be a fortune hunter. At the very least, she is a thief. After some investigation, I discovered from a friend that she was recently in service to a cousin of theirs as a governess. She stole a valuable book and—”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Meg exclaimed, too relieved to stay silent.

“I beg your pardon?” Hawkney said, his tone glacial as he stared at her. “You expect me to believe you are pleased to have your despicable character revealed to my cousin and my grandmother after the great kindness they have shown you and—”

“Shut your mouth, Hawk, before I put my fist in it,” Nat growled, clenching his hands as if to illustrate his intention.

“Nat! You promised,” Meg reminded him, reaching out to grasp his sleeve.

Nat glanced down at her and made a frustrated rumbling sound. “Devil take it! Very well. In that case, Hawk, shut your mouth before I make you look like an idiot. I know all about the book and that Meg was a governess. It’s how we met and, yes, I lied to you. Aren’t you shocked? Are you going to call me out for my despicable character now?” he asked, lips curling in a sneer.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop all this nonsense,” the dowager said, banging her cane on the floor. “Didn’t I say you had it all wrong, Hawkney?”

“I have as yet heard nothing that disproves any of what I’ve been told about Miss Bancroft. Nat has only confirmed she was a governess in the employ of a family who accuse her of theft.”

“They are the thieves,” Meg said, meeting the duke’s gaze. It was difficult, for the blue of his eyes was not like Nat’s. There was no laughter there, only ice, and she felt it so keenly she shivered. But she would not be intimidated by him. Not with Nat beside her, not with the truth on her side.

“Explain yourself, Miss Bancroft,” the duke demanded.