A Valentine For Christmas - A Regency Novella (7 page)

Charlie led the girl forward and settled her before the fire amidst the greetings of her family. Both James and Harry looked around, distracted by the vision of beauty in the peacock blue silk dress. Both boys gave the new arrival shy smiles and she smiled back at them. Her dress was, perhaps, a little overdone for a country drawing room but all of the Weatherings were vastly uncritical and Miss du Pont was
French
, after all.

‘What is it that you are doing?’ Madeleine asked, watching as Bardwell expertly threaded another berry onto the string he was holding.

‘Decorations for the tree. Fortunately Clavers cut it down yesterday for it is unlikely he would have been able to do so today. The weather is atrocious.’

‘Yes, I have seen. It means that we shall be stuck here for another day.
Il est regrettable.
’

This might have sounded ungracious. It did, in fact, sound very ungracious but Charlie ignored both the remark and the tone it was uttered in. Excuses must be made and she particularly wanted to question Miss du Pont on the state of Lord Valentine’s soul. She had been considering the best way to broach it but really, it seemed that only honesty would suffice.

‘Miss du Pont,’ she began, brushing back a dark curl, ‘it strikes me that your cousin is not a happy man.’

‘Oh, well,’ Madeleine waved a soft white hand, ‘men, especially English men, can be so
misérable
, yes? It must be the weather.’

Charlie blinked. She had obviously not made herself clear. ‘No, no. I meant, that Lord Valentine in particular seems to be a troubled soul. He certainly has a particular aversion to Christmas, wouldn’t you say?’

‘He hates it. I do not know why.’

Ah-ha! Now they were getting somewhere… ‘Perhaps something in his youth?’

Madeleine stared at Charlie, the expression in her angelic blue eyes completely blank. ‘His youth? I do not know what you mean. Valentine, he is not an old man.’

‘No, no, I am aware of that. I am trying to say that he must have undergone something quite trying when he was younger to have such a dislike of the season now. Perhaps with his parents or something?’

‘I do not know,’ Madeleine said, clearly both bored and bewildered by the conversation, ‘I do not know his parents.’

‘But… you are cousins?’

The blue eyes blinked slowly. ‘Oh yes,’ she said slowly. ‘But I did not know that side of the family well. They were in England most of the time, you understand?’

‘Oh. So you do not know Lord Valentine very well?’

The girl smiled. It was a peculiar smile, which Charlie found very hard to interpret, the curve of those full lips accompanied by a sudden glint in the eye that made Charlie feel a little uncomfortable, although she could not tell why. ‘We know each other well enough.’

‘Oh.’ There didn’t seem to be that much to say after that. Mrs. Weathering, no doubt reminded of her duties as hostess, rose to her feet and came over to ask her guest how she had spent the night. After that both James and Harry found reason to engage the enchanting Miss du Pont in conversation although Anne, Merry and Bardwell remained aloof. They did not care for the exotic stranger that had landed among them, electing instead to pretend she was not there.

When Charlie left Madeleine to rejoin the Christmas preparations, Anne wrinkled her nose. ‘And how is her majesty today?’

‘Now Anne,’ Charlie murmured, still puzzling over the odd conversation she had just had, ‘let’s not be rude. She is foreign.’

‘She is certainly rude enough for all of us,’ Anne said. Having suffered several snubs the night before, the girl was inclined to be petulant. Charlie couldn’t blame her. Anne was going to be quite lovely in a year or so when she had lost what little was left of her puppy fat but she was at a sensitive age. As for Merry… well, the youngest Miss Weathering took likes and dislikes as she saw fit and clearly, she had taken one against the glorious Madeleine.

‘I think she’s got mean eyes,’ Merry said now.

‘Don’t be silly. She has beautiful eyes.’

‘They can be beautiful and mean at the same time. You have nice eyes. Smiley ones.
She
doesn’t even see anybody when she looks at them. She looks right though you.’

Charlie would have protested but she thought she knew what Merry meant. Truthfully, Madeleine did not seem interested in anyone but herself. But perhaps she was an only child? Although that couldn’t be right for Charlie was sure that the girl had said she had a large family the evening before. One thing seemed certain; she did not seem to know a great deal about her cousin, despite her declaration to the contrary. More than that, she was not at all interested in elucidating the unhappiness that lay within the man. Which meant that it was up to Charlie to do so.

Her role now seemed clear. She was to be the Heroine.

She elected to ignore the small, prosaic part of her that suggested her motives less virtuous than she wished them to be. Yes, she wanted to help his lordship; it was dreadful to see any soul in pain. But Lord Valentine looked far too much like a brooding hero to resist and, thanks to Mrs. Radcliffe, Charlie had yearned for a hero to redeem, or at the very least to assist in some way, for some time. And what better thing to do was to reintroduce the joy of Christmas to a man who clearly thought the whole thing was so much nonsense? If Madeleine du Pont was not here to help him then she, Charlie would be more than happy to oblige.

Lord Valentine was late in coming down to luncheon, so much so that Charlie wondered if he were going to put in an appearance at all. Madeleine had spent the intervening time preening in the glow of James and Harry’s unstinting admiration. They might be young but they were male and Madeleine was clearly enjoying being the focus of their attention, particularly James who, at nearly twenty, must be more or less of the same age.

They were all seated and the first course set before them when the missing guest strode in. His steps faltered at the sight of the family sitting around the table but Mr. Weathering waved an amiable spoon in his direction.

‘My dear fellow, just in time.’

Lord Valentine hesitated a moment longer, but he came forward and took his seat. Dorrie had disappeared back into the kitchen but Anne immediately rose to her feet and moved around to ladle soup into his lordship’s bowl. He gave her a tight smile and she dropped him a curtsey before returning to her own seat.

‘Are you feeling better,
ma cherie
?’ Madeleine inquired, voice honey-sweet.

‘Yes, thank-you.’

‘Oh, were you feeling poorly?’ Mrs. Weathering asked, suddenly all concern. ‘I had not realized. We would have sent a tray up to your room.’

‘There is no need for special consideration, I assure you. I did not sleep well and I thought to lay down for a time. I am sorry to be late. Unpardonable manners, I’m afraid.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Mrs. Weathering dismissed the apology with a smile. ‘With the wind blowing like a banshee all night it is no wonder you could not sleep.’

‘I did not hear a thing,’ Madeleine said, ‘but then, I always sleep well.’

‘How jolly clever of you.’ Harry said warmly.

Merry rolled her eyes. ‘
I
don’t think it clever that she can sleep. If cleverness had anything to do with being able to sleep, well then James would be a positive genius, the way he snores.’

James sat up a little straighter at this slur. ‘I say… I do
not
snore!’

‘You most certainly do,’ his youngest sister grinned, ‘like a… like a banshee.’

‘Not a banshee!’ Felix said, bouncing up and down in his seat, ‘more like a moorhen with that peculiar piping noise that he makes.’

‘You’re both wrong,’ having finished his soup, Bardie was helping himself to a liberal portion of chicken and greens. ‘He sounds more like the whistle on a river barge. A banshee comes from Irish mythology and warns people that their death is impending. I believe they emit an unearthly wailing sound. And a moorhen isn’t nearly loud enough. I’ve heard James snore and he sounds exactly like one of those barges we saw making their way up the Thames the last time we were in London.’

‘Well I like that,’ James gave his mother a look of appeal. ‘Do you hear what my horrible siblings are saying?’

Mrs. Weathering nodded sympathetically. ‘Yes, dear. I’m afraid you take after your father in that respect. He sounds exactly like a barge whistle as well.’

This was the usual kind of conversation that took place around the Weathering table. Charlie glanced at his lordship, wondering what he would make of the exchange. He did not appear to be heeding it, however, but was looking at his cousin with frowning dark eyes. If his expression were anything to go by, he did not much care for what he saw. Had they had a disagreement of some kind? Certainly, Madeleine was studiously ignoring his lordship, intent on playing up to James and, to a lesser extent, Harry.

‘Would you care to help with decorating our tree this afternoon?’ she inquired, breaking into Lord Valentine’s preoccupation.

‘No I would not!’ he replied immediately and with so much vehemence that conversation stopped and all eyes turned to him in surprise. He flushed and Charlie could almost
see
him collect himself. ‘I am sorry. As I have already mentioned, I do not care overmuch for the trappings of this particular holiday.’

‘I am sure that you do not have to do anything that you do not care for.’ Mrs. Weathering said soothingly. If she thought his attitude was peculiar, she was far too good-natured to question him about it.

‘You are very kind,’ his lordship said and lapsed once more into silence.

It was a troubled silence as far as Charlie was concerned. Clearly, he was suffering and suffering should not be left untended. With this in mind, after luncheon she sought him out while the others were recovering from their meal (her mother called this ‘quiet time’. The girls had to embroider or read and the boys were expected not to indulge in fisticuffs, inappropriate verbal badinage or other occupations that inhibited digestion, which rather limited their natural repertoire). She found her quarry had retreated to the library where he was moodily perusing the shelves, expression morose. He looked around, sensing that he was no longer alone and arched an eyebrow at the sight of her.

‘Miss Weathering,’ Charlie tried not to be daunted by the weary note in his voice, ‘not occupied with your tree?’

‘In a little while. Mama likes us to enjoy a period of reflection after luncheon.’ How delightfully menacing he looked, she thought almost happily. Honestly, who would have thought that circumstance and the weather would have thrown a man who clearly needed help into her path? ‘May I ask you a question, my lord?’

‘This sounds horribly like the conversation we had over breakfast, Miss Weathering.’

‘Not quite like that one,’ Charlie temporized, ‘but perhaps a little.’ She took a seat and smiled up at him encouragingly. ‘Please. Sit for a while with me, won’t you?’

He gave her another wary look but took the opposite seat, which rather surprised her. He had the look of a man about to bolt. ‘You are going to ask questions I really would prefer not to answer, aren’t you?’ he predicted grimly.

Charlie gave him her best look of wide-eyed innocence. It was a particularly good look that she practiced regularly. In a household such as this, expressing innocence was entirely necessary. ‘Lord Valentine, I only have your best interests at heart.’

‘People who open with those words
never
have my best interests at heart. The only interest they actually have is to interfere in something that is none of their business,’ he said bluntly.

‘I admit that your business is no concern of mine -’

‘Ah-ha!’

‘But that does not mean that I do not want to help you. You see, I honestly believe that your aversion to Christmas relates to some trauma you must have experienced in the past and that, with a little effort, you can move past it.’

Lord Valentine leaned back in his chair and surveyed her through half closed eyes. ‘Is that what you believe?’ he drawled, ‘how very perceptive of you. And you think that, if I reveal the nature of my aversion, that I might be cured? That I might be a changed man?’

Charlie nodded eagerly. ‘Exactly!’

‘But I do not want to change. I am perfectly happy avoiding this ghastly season and only ask that others would let me get on with it. I do not interfere in
your
life. Why the devil should you interfere in mine?’

She ignored the curse, surely the sign of a man who is fighting against Change. Lord Valentine was a fine looking man, a noble looking man. Surely such a visage could not belong to a base nature? He might not want to admit it, but part of him must yearn for deliverance from this unfortunate state of affairs.

‘Of course you are. What female is not? But as I have no intention of discussing my past with you, your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied.’ He rose to his feet with an air of finality. ‘I appreciate your concern for me, but believe me when I say that it is unfounded.’

‘Please wait,’ Charlie, seeing her chance of furthering discovery on the brink of disappearing, rose quickly to her feet as well and laid a hand on his arm. ‘I know you think I am quite shockingly interfering but I only want to help.’

Lord Valentine paused, looking down at her. In a moment his expression changed, moving from irritation to something far more incomprehensible. She did not understand that look, not consciously, but something inside her shifted, sensing the change in him. Her breath came more quickly and a queer, flip-flopping sensation could be felt in the pit of her stomach. When he reached out a hand, fingers catching hold of her chin to tilt her face up, she did not protest. She
could
not, surprise mixing with a strange, new feeling that kept her still, gazing up into those fathomless dark eyes. For a long moment they merely looked at each other while the whole world stood still. Then, almost inevitably, he dropped his head and Charlie’s eyes closed as his lips found her own.