Page 66 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

“It seems my grandson brings out her better nature,” the dowager said, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“As everyone seems intent on mocking me and taking her part, I shall leave you to your merrymaking,” his grace said stiffly, and stalked off.

“Oh, dear,” Miss Honeywell said in agitation. “You know, I don’t think Clara had the slightest idea of who he is. Did she, Miss Marwick?”

“What? Oh. Oh, no. Indeed, she did not,” Miss Marwick said hurriedly, tearing her fascinated gaze from the dowager’s rubies to rejoin the conversation.

“I’m quite certain she didn’t,” the dowager said with a chuckle. “And it does Hawkney good to be taken down a peg or two now and then.”

“We’d best find her,” Miss Honeywell said to her companion, already looking around the ballroom. “She’s probably hiding behind a potted palm by now.”

“Being sick in one more like,” Miss Marwick muttered, but the two ladies curtseyed and left them.

Meg noticed Aubrey gazing after the two women with a concerned frown marring his brow.

“What up, Aubrey?” Nat asked, having noticed his expression too.

“I don’t know. It’s the strangest thing, but did you see that brooch Miss Marwick was wearing? I’d swear it was just like one my Aunt Pauline had.”

“Well, jewellers often sell the same design if it’s popular,” Meg said, wondering why he looked so troubled.

Aubrey nodded, but his expression did not change. “Excuse me,” he said, and hurried off in the direction the young women had taken. At that moment, the band struck up for the first dance.

“A waltz!” Nat exclaimed, his eyes shining with delight. “Come, my dear. You are all mine for this one.”

“So I am.” Meg laughed, and allowed him to guide her onto the floor.

The dance did not break up until close to four in the morning, by which time even the hardiest of revellers were dead on their feet. The dowager had endured until two a.m., when she had announced she had seen everyone she wished to see and everyone else could go to the devil, for she wanted her bed.

Meg made her weary way up the stairs, hardly able to keep her eyes open and leaning heavily on Nat.

“Have you had a good evening, love?” he asked her, sliding his arm a little more snugly about her waist.

“I cannot describe it,” Meg replied, feeling rather dazed, which was not entirely because of the amount of champagne she’d drunk. “It was so much better than anything I could have dreamed of. So beautiful, and everyone was so very kind, and the dancing… oh, the dancing,” she said as they got to the top of the stairs, drifting out of Nat’s embrace and dancing herself along the corridor, twirling and twirling until she felt quite— “Oh,” she said, swaying as Nat caught her and pulled her close.

“I think you’ve had rather a lot of champagne,” he said, smiling down at her.

Meg blinked, trying to focus. “Your eyes are laughing again,” she said, gazing into the depths of dark blue with a happy sigh.

“Eyes don’t do that,” Nat assured her.

“Yours do,” Meg mumbled and leant her head on his shoulder.

“Meg?”

“Mm-hmm?” she said sleepily.

“It’s tomorrow, which means it’s the twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve. Then tomorrow is Christmas Day, and the day after…”

“Boxing Day,” she replied, snuggling closer to him as Nat’s hold tightened around her.

“And what happens on Boxing Day?”

Meg gave a little snort and shook her head. “Can’t say,” she whispered, pulling out of his embrace and pressing her finger to her lips. “Shhhhh. Secret!”

Nat reached for her as she swayed again. “All right, love. You keep your secret, but might I kiss you good—”

Meg flung herself at him, pressing her lips to his and melting as the soft warmth of his mouth had the familiar effect of turning her bones to honey, though in truth they did not seem to have far to go. She sighed, feeling she could not quite get close enough no matter how she tried, but then her knees gave way and Nat caught hold of her.