Page 9 of Christmas Comes to Little Valentine

He had taken the precaution of unpacking a lovely warm cloak for her before they set off too, upon realising the dull black shawl she wore over a worn spencer was the warmest item of clothing she possessed. Nat had watched her face as he had fastened the cloak around her, but she had revealed nothing. It had not been until later, when she had believed herself unobserved, that he had noticed her remove one glove and smooth her hand over the thick wool and then its blue silk lining, with such reverence his heart hurt.

In Nat’s opinion, one could tell a good deal about one’s companions on a long journey. Not that the first leg of their journey to Tunbridge Wells ought to be so very arduous, but the day was bitterly cold and the roads muddy, making the going somewhat tortuous. Yet no matter how cold it grew or how badly they were jolted about, Miss Bancroft uttered not a word of reproach or discomfort. Indeed, now that they were underway, she seemed to have had resigned herself to going to the devil, as she had so eloquently put it, and looked about the countryside with interest.

Their travelling companions were a mixed bag, as always. An elderly lady who travelled with her pet pug was deemed quite charming by Betty, though Nat was not fooled. The pug would be a nightmare, he felt certain, his worst fears confirmed a short time later when the wretched animal filled the already stuffy carriage with a most disagreeable smell. This was too much for the young curate beside her, who made a great show of opening the window. So much for love thy neighbour, Nat thought with a smirk. A rather large fellow who looked like a country squire took up much of the rest of the seat and spent rather too long surveying Miss Bancroft for Nat’s liking, an occupation the fellow quickly gave up, upon meeting Nat’s stony gaze.

“Those poor people sitting up top,” Miss Bancroft lamented as Nat remarked it was snowing.

It was only a flurry and did not look ready to settle, thank heavens, but it must be miserable indeed outside.

“I saw a fellow passing a silver flask around so that will keep their spirits up,” Nat said, hoping this would put her mind at rest, though he pitied the poor blighters too.

Nat did his best to see to her comfort, and Betty’s too, for if Meg had a hot brick, she insisted Betty share it with her, but there was no denying it was cold and uncomfortable.

“Have you travelled much, Miss Bancroft?” he asked, pitching his voice low enough that the other passengers could not listen in with too much ease, but loud enough to be heard over the rumble and clatter of the carriage and horses.

“Not at all,” she replied, glancing up at him. “My father only travelled in books, you see. I had never left Hereford until he died, and I went to London.”

“A country girl,” he said, earning himself a smile.

“Yes, I suppose so. I grew up in a remote cottage in Llanveynoe, near the Welsh border and the Brecon Beacons. We rented the house from quite a grand family, but they were hardly ever there, and we had nothing to do with them, so from our point of view we lived miles from any society, which was just how Papa liked it. He used to say I was all the society he needed,” she said with a nostalgic smile.

Nat did not smile, rather incensed by the selfish old devil who had never given his daughter’s needs a thought from the sound of it. “Llanveynoe,” he mused, wondering why the name sounded familiar. “What were the family called who owned the estate?”

“Haines.”

“Edgar Haines?” he asked, realising why he knew it.

“Their son was called Edgar,” she said in surprise. “Do you know him?”

“From school, though not since,” he replied thoughtfully, filing the information away. He would tell her to add that to the story of how they met the next time they could speak in private, for it made it more believable. “Well, I’m afraid you are hardly seeing the best of Kent at this time of year, or of Sussex when we reach it, but I hope it pleases you?”

For all her qualms and objections, now that she had committed herself, she was remarkably self-possessed.

“I think it’s lovely,” she said, giving him the benefit of the first proper smile he had seen from her. “Even on such a dismal day, I can appreciate its beauty, so I can only imagine how pretty it is at other times.”

Rather to his surprise, her smile quite knocked the wind from his sails. Miss Bancroft, distressed and careworn, had been lovely, but Miss Bancroft smiling up at him with undisguised pleasure, oh, she was a different creature entirely. What was more… dimples. There they were, clear as day, enhancing the already delightful picture by adding a whimsical quality to her beauty that was quite irresistible.

His gaze drifted inevitably to her mouth. Such a lush, full, kissable mouth… Nat shook himself, giving himself a stern reminder that she was a respectable young woman in distress, and he was playing knight errant. If he didn’t want to go ruining everything by frightening her off, or by getting himself well and truly leg shackled, he’d best have a care.

“Then you will adore Little Valentine,” he said in a rush, determined to keep his mind in its proper place. “It’s rather a well-kept secret, or at least it always has been. I’ve heard lately that it’s becoming all the rage. Apparently, Lord Beaumarsh found himself a wife there and can’t help singing the praises of the place and the people.”

“Lord Beaumarsh?” she repeated and Nat checked himself as he realised she hadn’t the foggiest notion whom he was speaking about.

“Oh, he’s the dandy fellow, the fashionable one all the young bucks try to imitate,” Betty piped up from beside Meg.

Nat grinned. “Well, someone reads the scandal sheets.”

Betty blushed. “Only once you’ve thrown them away. That’s all right, ain’t it?”

“Quite all right,” Nat said, not realising that was how she’d come to read such things. “You have never done so, Miss Bancroft?”

The lady shook her head. “No, indeed. My father had not the slightest interest in society, and the family I recently stayed with would certainly not have approved of such scandalous literature. The bible and some very stern religious sermons were the only books I was permitted to teach from,” she said, and with such emphasis Nat was given the impression of a rather pious and self-righteous family, who had then stolen from a poor young woman in their employ, which would be about right in his view.

“Well, suffice to say that the place is becoming all the rage,” he said with a smile.

Miss Bancroft looked rather uneasy at this prospect and Nat hurried to reassure her. “Oh, not at this time of the year, I assure you. The roads are even worse in Sussex, and no one goes there unless they have a good reason for doing so. Next summer, though, there won’t be a noblewoman in the country who will not want to boast of sea bathing in Little Valentine.”

“Well, I shall be long gone by then,” she said with obvious relief.