A Valentine For Christmas - A Regency Novella (10 page)

She was not a fool. She stared at him narrowly, no doubt accessing what it would take to bring him back to her. Whatever she saw on his face must have convinced her that, whatever had happened, he was entirely serious.

‘It is that
fille stupide
, is it not?’ she said, after a moment. ‘I saw how you look at her. You want her,
oui
? It is not a problem. She looks at you in the same way. If you want her, she is yours.’

Despite himself, the idea of Charlotte wanting him came as a jolt. The girl had returned his kiss, yes, but she was so young. Madeleine was a woman who understood desire better than anyone. Why not? It was her profession, after all. ‘I do not wish to discuss this with you.’

‘Bah! You want the girl? Have her. Marry her, if that is what must be done. It changes nothing between
us
.’

Once again, she was right. Many men kept both a mistress and a wife. It was considered the normal course of events by most of the
ton
. Never the less, he still found himself oddly reluctant to talk about Charlotte Weathering with Madeleine. He had no intention of getting married and, as happy as the minx had been to be kissed by him, he did not make the mistake of thinking that he could have Miss Weathering any other way. Deflowering young virgins was not nearly as well regarded as the sexual proclivities of the married man.

He wondered, briefly, what his reaction would have been if it had been Charlotte who had been pressing up against him but banished the thought immediately. He knew perfectly well what his reaction would have been and it would not have involved turning her out of his room.

‘Go back to bed,’ he repeated wearily, ‘I do not want to discuss this further. With any luck we can be gone on Boxing Day if it does not snow again.’

‘
Naturellement
.’

He watched as she left the room, hips swinging seductively and reflected that he was a fool. He had just let a woman go that most men would have fought to hold on to. And why? Up until he had come to this accursed place he had been perfectly happy with their arrangement. Valentine looked down at the clothing he had slept in and grimaced with distaste.

‘Oh Bishop,’ he murmured, stripping the waistcoat and shirt off, ‘if there is one person I yearn to see more than anyone, it is you.’

Which was a lie, of course. There was one person whose presence transcended even that of his valet.

Charlotte Weathering.

A witch of a female that he would give a great deal to banish from his head. Meddling, do-gooding, ridiculous girl that she was. Give her an inch and she would strip him down, insisting he revisit places he had no desire to think of again. A few days in his past that had changed him in ways he did not dwell on. Who was Charlotte Weathering, to dabble in things she had no understanding of? She had done more than enough already, ruining his relationship with his mistress and making him feel as if he were in constant danger of having his past disinterred.

I should kiss the girl
, he though, climbing beneath the covers.
I should kiss her until she is incapable of thinking of anything but me.

But therein lay his peril. For once he had started to kiss her, there was no guarantee he would stop. And that would be the end of them both.

Charlie had woken, as she occasionally did, feeling thirsty. Their shared ladies maid Meg usually left a jug of water in her room but the poor girl had been run off her feet and so she had neglected to fill it.

No matter. Charlotte climbed out of bed, pushing her feet into slippers and wrapping a robe around her firmly. Jug in hand, she headed into the hallway and started for the kitchen. The soft sound of a door closing saw her look up quickly. In front of her, emerging from Lord Valentine’s room, was Madeleine du Pont. Charlie’s feet faltered as she caught sight of the girl.
What was she wearing?
The filmy, clingy material seemed to reveal more than it concealed, each voluptuous curve clearly outlined. It appeared to be
all
she was wearing. Her golden hair was loose and hung down her back. Like her outfit, it looked improper in the extreme, designed for… well, Charlie did not like to think
what
it looked like.

Miss du Pont, emerging from his lordship’s room looking like that. It could only mean one thing and Charlie felt herself flush. She must have been wrong about the man all along. A hero did not have illicit relationships with his cousin. If she even was his cousin. Charlie did a swift recap of her conversations with Madeleine du Pont and suddenly understood why the girl had been so vague about family matters.

He had brought his mistress with him.

Turning slowly, Charlie made her way back to her room, trivial things such as water forgotten. She was trying to decide how she felt but for once, her emotions were to complex to make sense of. It wasn’t that she was disappointed in Lord Valentine. Undoubtedly he had seen that presenting such a female in a gentleman’s residence would be unacceptable. He could not be blamed for that. And it certainly explained his watchful attitude towards the girl.

No, all in all, Charlie could not fault him for disguising his relationship with Miss du Pont. But what she did feel was unacceptable was that he had chosen to continue their relationship beneath her father’s roof. What kind of man did
that
?

Setting the empty jug down, she tossed off her robe and climbed beneath the covers once more, inexplicably angry at his lordship. She felt he had let her down in any number of ways.

He was not the hero she had thought he was.

He had kissed her, despite the fact that he had his paramour with him.

And he had had relations with said paramour after he had kissed her!

Deep down, Charlie knew that the last was the real reason she was so furious. It trivialized her first, perfect kiss and she wanted to slap him for it.

Her intentions to help him now seemed remarkably foolish. Charlie punched the pillow and wished that she had never set eyes on Lord August Valentine.

Chapter Six

Lord Valentine sensed a change in the wind when he came down to breakfast the next morning. He had not been going to come down at all, knowing Charlie’s proclivity for early rising but hunger, and a perverse desire to see her had seen him heading downstairs at eight, despite his best intentions.

Miss Weathering, along with her faithful hound Vivaldi, were already in the dining room. The boxy terrier was staring at his mistress with a mixture of devotion and hunger. His lordship knew exactly how the dog felt. He was not surprised to find her sitting alone, a book on the table beside her plate.

‘Good morning,’ he said bracingly, fully expecting her to close the volume in preparation to launching a conversational assault.

Charlie glanced up at him briefly, dark blue eyes cool. ‘Good morning.’ She returned to the book immediately.

Valentine arched an eyebrow. This was not what he was expecting. He served himself and came to sit at the table with her. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, when the roads are passable. It may take several days.’ For some reason, he felt at a loss. This was the ideal situation, one that he had been longing for; a silent, polite Miss Weathering who was not badgering him about things that did not concern her. But he found that he did not like it nearly as much as he had assumed he would. ‘I suppose I should wish you a merry Christmas.’

‘But you do not celebrate the season,’ she returned, without raising her eyes this time, ‘so there is no need.’

Well there was a set down! He regarded her frowningly, wondering what the devil could have happened to have turned the little chatterbox into this cool, considered young lady. It did not feel like Charlotte Weathering at all. Before he could inquire, however, Mr. Weathering came in. His arrival transformed Charlotte completely for she jumped up and hurried to embrace him.

Mr. Weathering collected coffee and toast and settled into a chair. ‘I am not much of a one for food this early in the morning,’ he confessed. ‘Generally I eat a little later in the morning. But I felt quite dreadful about leaving you to your own devices yesterday morning. You must think me a paltry host.’

‘Not at all. I had the company of your charming daughter.’

The charming daughter gave him a bleak look, which both irritated and perturbed him. What had gotten into the girl?

‘Yes,’ Mr. Weathering eyed his daughter fondly, ‘she is always up with the sparrows.’ He took a mouthful of coffee and gave a contented sigh. Apparently it must have jogged a memory, for he sat up a little straighter in his chair and eyed Lord Valentine. ‘My dear sir, did I not see your cousin coming out of your room last night? It must have been rather late. I am almost sure it was.’

The question hung in the air. Lord Valentine stared at his host, fork halfway to his lips and felt an unaccustomed sense of helplessness. Mr. Weathering had seen Madeleine coming out of his room, dressed in a nightgown that had been, to all intents and purposes, transparent. That his cousin had been seen coming out of his room at some unseemly hour of night was bad enough, but dressed as she was, there could really only be one interpretation to be placed on it.

He laid his fork down carefully and wondered what the hell he could do to save this situation. Lie? But what lie would suffice under the circumstances? His best option, he decided grimly, was to simply tell the man the truth. It was a pity for he liked Thaddeus Weathering and did not want the man to think less of him. Which was interesting in itself as he usually did not give a fig for others opinion of him. Far from it, he frequently mocked their bad opinion and shrugged it off with indifference.

There was no help for it, however. He would tell his host the truth. But not here. A private audience was required for such a delicate conversation. ‘I think that we should -’

‘You are mistaken, Papa,’ Charlie said, spreading marmalade on a piece of toast. ‘You did not see Miss du Pont leave his lordship’s room.’

‘Oh, no,’ Charlie said serenely, ‘I thought I heard a noise, that’s all and I paused to listen. It came from his lordship’s room. A crash. I wondered if something had fallen over and stopped. I may even have opened the door a little, to hear better. But it did not come again.’

Lord Valentine was unsure if it was because she spoke with such assurance or if Mr. Weathering was the most trusting man on God’s green earth but he seemed to accept this without question, turning to his lordship solicitously. ‘I trust nothing woke you?’

‘No,’ he said slowly, glancing at Charlie who did not look his way. ‘I slept very well.’

‘You did not have your glasses on, did you Papa? You really should have them strung around your neck for your eyesight is particularly bad without them.’

Mr. Weathering chuckled. ‘So your mother keeps telling me.’

She had saved him. Lord Valentine stared at Miss Weathering and tried to understand how she had come to say what she did. Why had she delivered him from an awkward situation, especially when it seemed that he had somehow fallen into her bad graces? It hit him after a moment, as it must.

Her father cannot have been the only one who had seen Madeleine exit his bedroom at some unseasonable hour. And there was nothing wrong with Charlotte Weathering’s eyesight…

He tried to be philosophical about the turn of events. After all, circumstance had performed what he had been unable to do, convincing Charlie that he was not worthy of her concern. Instead of being relieved, however, he found that he was dismayed by this turn of events. He did not want the girl to think badly of him. As exasperating as he found her, there was another part of him that enjoyed her unfettered enthusiasm, the way she looked at him so resolutely, determined to save him from himself. When he left Brindabella Hall, he wished her to think well of him.

Not that there could be any future in it. He knew what she could not; that he was far too broken to be put together by good intentions, no matter how determined somebody was.

No, he decided regretfully. As awkward as the situation was, it was better this way. He had lost her good opinion but he had saved them both a great deal of unnecessary conflict.

It was better this way.

Soon after that, more Weatherings arrived, the children and their mother trailing down the stairs one by one, yawning and – in the case of Felix and Bardwell – knuckling the sleep out of their eyes. If his lordship was surprised by the appearance of so many of the family at so early an hour, his host explained jovially that it was the custom to exchange small gifts in the morning. He led the way into the drawing room where a fire burned cheerfully. The curtains had been opened and already the house was full of the most delicious scents.