Page 68 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

Once the hampers were all packed and done up, Meg made her way back up to the entrance hall, delighted to discover Nat just coming down the stairs.

“You’ve not just got up!” she exclaimed, hurrying up to him.

“No, brat, I was out riding before you had even stirred,” he told her, giving her a narrow-eyed once over. “How’s your head?”

Meg looked sheepish. “Oh, it was awful when I woke up, but I feel better now.”

“That’s the spirit. Now, you’d best come along, for Gee-Gee has summoned us both.”

“Oh? Very well,” she said hesitantly.

At frowned at her. “What is it?”

Meg twisted her fingers together. “It’s just that it’s Christmas tomorrow, and… I’ve no presents for anyone, Nat. I shall feel so awkward.”

“Ah,” he said, understanding at once. “Well, as my wife, you are entitled to your own money. If your father were alive, he would deal with the marriage settlements, but as it is, you’ll have to trust me. I’ll see you well provided for, I promise.”

Meg blushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You didn’t!” Nat took her hands. “You came to me with nothing but yourself, love, but that is so much more than I ever expected to have. Let me do this small thing for you, please? It would make me happy to do so.”

“It would?”

Nat looked around to see if anyone was watching before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips. A strange fizzing sensation shivered beneath Meg’s skin, everything inside her quivering as she remembered they were to be married the day after tomorrow. “It would,” Nat said quietly, pulling back to look into her eyes.

He looked pleased by what he saw and put her hand on his arm again.

“Come on then, love. Let us see what my dreadful relation has been up to this time.”

“Why do you think she’s been up to something?” Meg asked cautiously.

“Because she looked far too pleased with herself,” he said with a laugh, and escorted her into the parlour.

As they entered, they saw the dowager was not alone. Hawkney was with her, as was the man the dowager had insisted on introducing them to last night. The one Meg had danced with.

“Mr Bartlett,” Meg said, smiling warmly at him, for he had been a kind man, and she had enjoyed speaking with him as they danced. “I did not realise you were staying at the hall. How lovely to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, taking her proffered hand and bowing over it. “I am staying at The Swan, actually, but the dowager was good enough to invite me to stay on for your wedding. I hope you do not mind it.”

Meg was a little surprised but had no objection, so she shook her head. “Of course not. We should be delighted for you to join us. Wouldn’t we, Nat?”

Nat nodded his agreement, but was staring so hard at the fellow Meg elbowed him, afraid he was being rather rude.

“I am afraid we—I—have not been entirely honest with you,” the fellow went on, his expression becoming serious. “So I if you wish to withdraw the invitation once you have heard my explanation, I would not be entirely surprised.”

Meg looked from him to the dowager in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I am not Mr Bartlett,” he said gently. “I am George Fairchild, your cousin.”

Meg gasped, relieved when Nat grasped her hand, steadying her.

The fellow smiled ruefully. “I can only imagine your shock at hearing that, for I felt it myself when I received the letter informing me of your existence. The dowager was so very kind as to get in touch with me, and I confess I was uncertain of what I would find. The story of your mother’s disappearance has never been fully explained to our generation, and now that I am head of the family, I did not wish to commit us to acknowledging the relationship if… if….”

“If I was dreadful?” Meg suggested.

He returned a wry smile. “I hope you can forgive me and accept that I knew I had nothing to worry about from the moment we met. I regret my deception but hope you can comprehend it.”

“Of course I can,” Meg replied, still reeling. “But you mean to say you don’t know what happened to my mother?”