Page 70 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

Midnight mass was something Nat knew he would never forget as they joined the rest of his family. Meg looked glorious in the scarlet redingote he had bought her, turning many heads as he walked her down the aisle to the family pew, all the time aware that the next time they did this they would say their vows.

The church was packed with neighbours and friends greeting each other, and so many smiling faces it was clear this was an event much looked forward to by the town. Nat could hardly doubt it, nor the affection in which everyone held Reverend Honeywell as he appeared and led them all to begin the service by singing the first hymn, Hark the Herald Angels Sing.

As the town’s voices mingled and rose, Nat experienced a surge of joy, a sense of what Christmas really meant, and that he realised he had long ago forgotten. His recent Christmases had often been spent in some dreadful gambling den, or revelling with the demi-monde, drinking too much and assuring himself he was having fun.

This though, being here, with his family, surrounded by people he cared about, in a place that had always been special to him, even after so many years, this was the magic his grandmother had spoken of. There was magic here, or something special at least, that he could not put his finger on. He only knew that he wanted to make his life here, with Meg, and close to the people he cared about, even if they did occasionally make him want to tear his hair out.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he whispered, taking advantage of the bustle as people took their seats again.

“Merry Christmas, Nat,” she replied, her grey eyes shining in the candlelight, before they turned and gave their attention to Reverend Honeywell’s Christmas sermon.

Chapter 15

Have yourself a merry little Christmas.

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, 25th December 1815

As the events of the previous day had been so overwhelming, Meg never got the opportunity to do any Christmas shopping. This being the case, she had to endure being spoiled shamelessly by the rest of the family, without being able to do a thing to reciprocate.

“Oh, just you wait until next Christmas,” she said, torn between laughter and tears as she unwrapped a sumptuous blue cashmere shawl from Della. “I shall make you all positively sick with my generosity, and then you shall see!”

“I can’t wait,” Della replied, quite unrepentant.

“Don’t be so foolish, child,” the dowager said impatiently. “Nat tells us you hardly celebrated Christmas before now, whereas we spoil ourselves and each other every year. It pleases us to see you happy, so you must indulge us and take it with good grace.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Meg said, and then hurriedly corrected herself upon seeing the old lady scowl. “I mean, yes, Gee-Gee.”

“That’s better,” she said comfortably. “Now, then. Come here and show me those gewgaws my grandson gave you.”

Meg did as she was asked, obediently getting to her feet and crouching before her so the dowager could inspect the delicate diamond and pearl necklace and earrings Nat had given her.

“Lovely, just the thing for a young bride,” she said approvingly. “It’s not until you’re old that you can pour the entire contents of your jewellery box over yourself, but I enjoy a bit of glitter,” she added defiantly, showing off an array of sparkling rings.

“You’re not old, Gee-Gee, so stop giving yourself airs,” Nat said with a laugh.

She snorted, then narrowed her eyes. “Not that I mean to pry, but just where did you get such a lovely piece as that in these parts, Nathaniel?”

Nat gave her a stern look and avoided Hawkney’s eye. “Oh, something the reverend said to me. Friend of a friend. A bit of good fortune is all,” he said evasively.

Gee-Gee gave a bark of delighted laughter but said nothing more.

Dinner was a lavish affair, which might have been expected, and Meg enjoyed speaking to her cousin, learning more about the family and hardly noticing as Nat plied her with food and wine.

By late afternoon, she was sleepy and content and ready to put her feet up by the fire, but the dowager would have none of it, insisting everyone must play charades, even the duke. Meg thought watching the superior Duke of Hawkney trying to express The Heroine, or Adventures of a Fair Romance Reader, might have been the funniest thing she had ever seen. Nat certainly thought so and nearly laughed himself sick.

Thankfully, Hawkney took it in good spirits and looked almost relaxed as he came and sat down beside them.

“Well done, Hawk. I shall never forget that performance as long as I live,” Nat said, slapping his cousin on the back.

Hawkney winced, but did not protest. “Thank you,” he said coolly.

“By the by, I forgot to give you this,” Nat added nonchalantly, handing the duke a badly wrapped parcel. It was small and lumpy, and the duke regarded it with misgiving.

“Is this one of your jokes, Nat?” he asked warily.

“No, I swear. More for old times' sake,” Nat replied with a smile.

Hawkney frowned and tugged at the ribbon, falling silent as he regarded the crudely worked wooden dog. “It’s Cato,” he said, a smile tugging at his usually severe features.