A Valentine For Christmas - A Regency Novella (6 page)

Charlie appeared shocked. ‘Oh no! My parents would never countenance such a thing, I can assure you. They have been most particular in my upbringing.’

‘Yes, I can tell,’ he said wryly, ‘but I stand by my observation. You are undoubtedly a minx. London should be warned to welcome you at its peril.’

She watched as his eyes drifted towards the window again, at the white, inhospitable landscape and knew that knew that mention of London had set him once more to thinking about leaving. Or, more to the point, how he could
not
leave and a swell of sympathy towards him settled over her. Whatever troubled him, he did not want to be here. Not because he had any objections to the Weatherings; she understood that his uneasiness was not that personal.

I think it is that he dreads the holiday tomorrow and the necessity of spending it in a manner that makes him uncomfortable. Lord Valentine does not like Christmas. And he’s stuck with us, who make merry with ridiculous enthusiasm…

I’m trapped here…

How perfectly distasteful his situation was. He had hoped that the night would see the previous evening’s storm abate but instead, it had grown worse and he knew that he wasn’t going anywhere. He shot a quick glance at Charlotte Weathering and for a moment they locked eyes. Oddly, he thought he detected sympathy in their dark blue depths. Did she guess at his dismay at the situation he found himself in? There was no reason why she should. She knew absolutely nothing about him.

Despite the tension that he felt tightening inside him, he could not help but find Miss Weathering an appealing breakfast companion. She was enchantingly pretty and absurdly disingenuous, a combination, which must make her appeal to anyone. No matter that he had told her she should watch what she said when she came out into Society, there was no doubt in his mind that the girl would be a hit. It wasn’t as if she gave herself airs. Far from it. Part of her charm lay in the fact that she did not. She would find that she had a respectable collection of beaus within the first week of her presentation.

His comment had been inspired by the fact that she had called him stuffy.
Him
, stuffy. Why, all the world knew that he was anything but. All of his friends. Anybody that knew Lord August Valentine knew he was all the crack, an out and outer, a bang up cove who knew how to have a good time. Except at this time of year when all of his friends and acquaintances bade him
adieu
until mid January. Would a stuffy man have brought his mistress to his country retreat? He elected to ignore the fact that he had invited Madeleine when he was well and truly in his cups and had regretted it almost immediately. God alone knows why she had agreed to come with him because putting Madeleine in the country was like putting a bird of paradise in a chicken coop. He had to admit her presence was an unpleasant complication of an already absurd situation. Still, who could have predicted such an eventuality? Stranded at a country house in the middle of a snowstorm.

If only it wasn’t Christmas tomorrow!

He felt the minxes’ eyes resting on him thoughtfully. For all that she seemed to have a passion for ill-advised literature; he rather suspected she was nobody’s fool. Still, surely he was not alone in his aversion to this particular holiday? Damn it, joining in the festive spirit wasn’t compulsory! If he really wanted to he could feign a fever and remain in his room.

Perhaps that was what he would do. Feign illness and retreat. Although he knew he needed to supervise Madeleine, who could not be relied on to say the right thing.
She
would not remain in her room. Despite the fact that their relationship only numbered six weeks it had been an instructive time and he knew perfectly well that she would grow bored with her own company within an hour and would emerge, eager to be entertained. By him, if he knew anything about it.

‘Is something troubling you? I know it is unfortunate not to reach your destination. You probably had plans. But I feel that there is something else.’

Well this would never do.
He saw immediately he should not have unbent to her. It would be all too easy to fall into a comfortable conversation with Charlotte Weathering. By God, there was something about the girl that encouraged confidences. But he was not the kind of man who enjoyed sharing, especially not with young ladies just out of the schoolroom no matter how delightful their smile. He had happened to notice that she had a dimple in either cheek, quite a delightful pair of them. He had always had a weakness for dimples.

‘There is nothing else,’ he said with as much firmness as he could muster. ‘I am just… disappointed that my plans have gone awry.’

From the look on her face it was clear she did not believe him but good manners would save him from a further inquisition, surely. Apparently not.

‘Indeed? But you seem so very wound
up
, if I may say so. So tense. As if there is a darkness within you that is growing darker with every passing moment.’

His lordship stared at her, flummoxed. ‘Good God girl, is that the kind of thing you read in these novels? No wonder your mother doesn’t care for them.’

Miss Weathering blushed. Like everything else he’d observed so far, blushing became her. ‘I told you, Mama does care for them, she just pretends she doesn’t. And you can say what you like, but you are a very unhappy man, Lord Valentine. Something is oppressing you no matter how much you may like to pretend otherwise and I think you would be a better man for telling me what that something is.’

Valentine curled his lip and pushed back his chair. ‘You may think what you like, but you are allowing your foolish imagination to run away with you. There is nothing wrong with me and I would appreciate it if we did not have a repeat of this conversation.’ Rising to his feet, he made her a bow. Miss Weathering did not look nearly as chastened as she should, inclining her head in acknowledgement although words still seemed to hover on the tip of her tongue. As Valentine left the room he had a sinking sensation that he had not heard the last on the subject of the darkness that was apparently within him. And as he headed upstairs to see if Madeleine was awake yet, it occurred to him that Charlotte Weathering might have come uncomfortably close to the mark. He had never before considered that the weight he carried around within him at this time of year might be called a ‘darkness’ but it seemed to describe the tension that built within him on the first of December, every year, escalating until he had taken himself off to hide away until the ridiculous season was over. It did not take a scholar to deduce that his feelings related back to his own childhood, to one particular Christmas in his own household at Colchester.

But he was no longer a child, he was a man. His parents were gone and with them the past. There was nothing that needed answering, nothing that could not be addressed by simply moving on with life.

And if Charlotte Weathering had the nerve to suggest otherwise again, he would give her a set down that would silence her foolish notions once and for all.

For if there was one thing Lord August Valentine was
not
, it was a slave to the past.

He was not a ten year old child any more and every year that passed, he took pains to prove that very thing, over and over again.

Chapter Four

Charlie did not count her meeting with Lord Valentine a success. Having had the glorious insight (the evening before) that he was a man who was Deeply Troubled, she had suddenly understood that that it was her duty to help him. Unfortunately, her first tentative foray had not gone terribly well. Not that she should really have expected it to. Clearly Lord Valentine was cast in the mold of a hero and a hero, literature had taught her, was not an easy man to assist. Besides, she was a novice at this kind of thing. Undoubtedly, she would improve with practice.

After breakfast she had retired to the library for the solace of a few of her favorite chapters from
The Mysteries of Udolpho
but for once she found it hard to concentrate on Emily’s trials and tribulations. Her mind kept wandering back to Lord Valentine.

He certainly was a fine looking man. A little brooding but that was to be expected. Charlie frowned and chewed her lip. If his lordship was a hero in need of her assistance, that must necessarily make her the heroine. Unless it was Miss du Pont who was the heroine? She was certainly very beautiful, far more so than Charlie herself. Perhaps Madeleine du Pont had come from France to help Lord Valentine resolve the inner turmoil that clearly plagued him and help him move towards the happiness he undoubtedly deserved.

‘But how can I find out what my role is? Is it me or Miss du Point?’ Charlie murmured, frowning at the wall.

The simplest solution seemed to be to ask her. At the first opportunity, she would discover from the French girl herself if she were indeed intent on helping his lordship with whatever it was that was that plagued him.

The sound of voices in the hallway broke her reverie and she rose to her feet. Her family was up and about, which meant that the day could commence in full. Yesterday she and her siblings had gone out searching for red berries, greenery and various other items that could be used to decorate the house. Clavers, the gardener, had cut down a young pine which was even now waiting to be decorated in the front parlor and they must finish the rows of paper chain and lanterns that would be used to decorate it. All in all, there was a great deal to do. Putting aside her book, she hurried towards the door and was absorbed in the natural
hum
that seemed to characterize day-to-day life of those who resided at Brindabella Hall.

Madeleine du Pont did not put in an appearance at breakfast, preferring a tray in her room so any questions had to wait until Charlie had an opportunity to ask them. It came after luncheon when Miss du Pont wandered into the yellow parlor, obviously wondering where the occupants of the house had gone. She came across a hive of industry. The boys, along with Clavers, had erected the tree to everybody’s satisfaction before the large bow window. Red berries were being strung by Bardwell and Merry, whilst Harry, Felix and Anne were finishing off the paper chains. Richard and Mr. Weathering were playing a sedate game of chess of to one side but the rest of the family was fully occupied. Cooks baking filled the house with the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg and the tang of citrus and already several trays of shortbread and mince pies had made an appearance, to help sustain the workers.

Miss du Pont paused in the doorway and regarded the Weatherings in astonishment. She had little experience with the English gentry in their own homes (for, as a highly paid courtesan the gentry came to her in the form of eager gentlemen) but this was not what she had expected. The mother was in amongst her children, perched on a stool by a low table cutting up paper. What an odd people were the English! And Valentine, she was quickly discovering was even more peculiar, sulking upstairs in a truly
révoltant
mood. He would not talk to her except to say that
she
should say nothing to these people. It was most unreasonable for him to expect her to stay in her room. There was nothing to do. There was nobody to talk to. She had comforted herself by changing into one of the new dresses that she had ordered several weeks ago but what good was a new dress if there was no man around to admire it? By rights, Valentine should be her appreciative audience but he was anything but.

No, Madeleine was thoroughly dissatisfied. It was time to venture forth and receive her due.

Having found the Weatherings in the front parlor, it was not one of the gentlemen but the eldest daughter who noticed her first. She was painting pine cones but laid her brush aside to jump up and come forward.

‘Miss du Pont. How lovely. I hope that you slept well?’

‘
Très bien, merci
.’

‘Your cousin is not here but I daresay he will be down for luncheon shortly.’

Madeleine had seen Lord Valentine only a few minutes before and, such was the nature of their exchange that she did not particularly care if he came down to luncheon or not. He seemed to be unreasonably surly about the events that had overtaken them and entirely unreasonable in his expectations of her. Not that Madeleine herself wished to be here. She was regretting her decision to accompany Valentine to his hunting lodge. It was only that it had sounded so very aristocratic – a hunting lodge in Norfolk – that she had decided she must go and experience a true English Christmas. She had not realized that he had such an aversion to the mere mention of the holiday, nor that the guest list would be so short and by the time she had, it had been too late to change her mind. Still, the fact that she, little Maddie, should be going to such a place at Christmas… She had come a long way since the back streets of the Sorbonne.

Now, of course, she was regretting it. She was not a country girl and had found the stretches of fields and forest she had glimpsed before the snow had blanketed all disquieting. What she really wanted was to return to her comfortable rooms on Drury Lane where life was filled with the civilized amusements of town. Even Valentine himself, a most excellent (and generous) lover, was proving to be a disappointment. He was far too moody for her tastes. She preferred devotion from her
protecteurs
, not impatience.