Page 8 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

“Then we shall call the whole thing off. Truly, I must have been mad last night, it is the only explanation,” Meg said, putting her head in her hands.

“No. Last night you were finally rational,” Ashford said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Mr Ashford!” Meg said in alarm.

“Oh, never mind, I’m not going to seduce you. I only want to talk some sense into you. How on earth do you think you will convince my relatives I’ve not just hired you to play the part if you turn up looking… well, not to put too fine a point of it, like that,” he said, gesturing to her outfit with distaste.

“It is a perfectly respectable gown,” Meg replied indignantly, hot with embarrassment as she tried to hide the worn cuffs and tuck the bit of her skirts where a cinder had burned a hole out of the way. It was hypocritical, she knew, for she had made the same point herself last night about her shabby appearance, but she had never considered that he might go out and shop for her!

“It makes you look like a governess.”

“I am a governess!”

“Not any longer,” he told her firmly. “Now you are my fiancée. You must remember that we first met years ago when your father was still alive. How surprised I was to discover you still at the old cottage when I came to call, and to discover you in such desperate circumstances. Desperate, but respectable,” he added, glaring at her.

“Being a governess is respectable,” she replied, folding her arms.

“Not if you are marrying Nathaniel Ashford,” he said with dignity. “My family can only endure so many shocks, and that is the straw that would break the camel, Miss Bancroft. It might kill my grandmother.”

“Oh, Lord,” Meg said in despair. “Whatever am I to do? Can you not see how dreadful this all looks? You are buying my clothes, paying for me in every way. I may as well be a kept woman!”

“Steady on,” Mr Ashford said, looking a little alarmed. “I mean, you are a lovely creature, very tempting indeed, but I’m not in the market for a—”

“I was not offering!” she shrieked, surging to her feet, heat burning her cheeks.

“I knew that,” he replied crossly, looking so indignant and put out she felt very certain he had known nothing of the sort. “I only meant that… well, I should never ask you.”

Meg almost laughed, and any delusions that Betty might have fostered about her being beautiful were cast to the four winds, where they belonged. “Of course not,” she said wearily. All at once, her principles seemed foolish, for how high-minded would she feel when she was deathly cold and starving too? She no longer had the luxury of respectability, but she might just get that back if this ludicrous plan was a success. If she must dress the part in order to make that happen, so be it. “Well, I suppose if I am going to the devil, I might as well do it style.”

“That’s the spirit,” he said, apparently with no trace of sarcasm. “Look, once this is over and you have a respectable position where you are safe, you can throw every item back in my face and tell me I’m a rotten scoundrel. Will that make you feel better?”

Meg considered this. “Much,” she admitted, brightening at the prospect.

Mr Ashford looked less impressed by her sudden lift in spirits. “Well, then. If you’re ready, we’ll collect Betty and be on our way.”

“There is one thing, Mr Ashford.”

“Yes?” he said, turning back to her, his hand on the doorknob.

Her grey eyes were steady and grave as she spoke.

“Supposing we get away with it and convince everyone of our betrothal. What’s stopping me from suing you for breach of promise the moment this farce is over? Your family, the servants, everyone in the local area will know I am your fiancée. You won’t have a leg to stand on.”

“Well, then I suppose I shall have a very ruthless and pretty wife,” he said with a shrug, turning away before she could see he was struggling not to laugh.

Nat settled the ladies in the diligence before taking his own place, keeping Miss Bancroft between him and Betty. As a rule he hated public transport, but there was no point in keeping a carriage and cattle enough in town when he hardly ever used it. He kept his own horse, but stabled it at the duke’s townhouse, taking care to avoid his grace whenever possible. In fact, though they were often in town at the same time, it was remarkable how seldom they ran into one another.

Hawkney had offered his own carriage to Nat, to be fair to him, but Nat could not abide feeling as if he hung upon the duke’s coattails and would rather endure hours in a public carriage than feel beholden to his cousin.

“I ain’t never been out of London,” Betty whispered to her mistress, her eyes wide with excitement.

Well, at least someone was getting some enjoyment out of this, Nat thought wryly, noting Miss Bancroft’s pallor with disquiet. The poor thing had undergone so many shocks to her nerves in the past four and twenty hours it was a wonder she wasn’t a gibbering wreck.

He had known she would kick up merry hell over the wardrobe he had provided her and had decided the best approach was to appear entirely baffled by her objection. The way she had looked when he had pretended to assume she was offering to be his mistress still made him want to smile like an idiot. Then, when she had suggested she hold him to account and force the marriage or sue him, no doubt expecting him to rear back in alarm and beg that he be allowed to leave her at the inn with a small amount of cash and no questions asked, well he’d had to escape before he gave into laughter. Nat was not such a fool that he had not considered the possibility himself. That she had posed the question to him only reinforced his estimation of her character. Miss Margaret Bancroft would rather walk barefoot over hot coals than do anything so dishonourable. The dear little fool. Lord, but she was proud. Fiery, too. He admired her more with every passing moment.

Steady on, Nat, old fellow, he told himself resolutely. Remember, the object of this exercise is not to get leg shackled.

Still, he could not quite smother the anticipation he felt at the prospect of seeing her in any of the new gowns he had provided for her. Madame Moreau truly was a wonder, for he had given her a description of the lady, and estimated her figure very nicely he suspected, and she had known exactly what was required. Well, once she had understood that the lady was respectable, despite the rather peculiar circumstances, and not an opera dancer as in his usual line. Having inspected the trunks on their arrival, he knew they contained everything the young woman could need, and a good deal besides.