Christmas Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #4)

Chapter 1

A snowy day in London Town…

The Honourable Nathaniel Ashford glowered down at a selection of jauntily arranged colourful silk scarves.

Usually, Christmas was a time of year he relished, being a man inclined to enjoy life and make the most of any opportunity for fun—a predilection his family were less enthusiastic about.

This year, however, was different, and Christmas presented itself like a dreary ordeal, something to be endured stoically and with faint hopes of emerging into the bright light of the New Year in one piece.

“The green is very pretty, sir?” suggested the young woman overseeing the stall.

Nathaniel nodded unenthusiastically. “It is, I suppose,” he replied, increasingly glum. “The old lady’s eyes are blue, though.”

“Oh, well, I have just the thing,” the enterprising creature said with a cheerful smile, deftly plucking a blue silk scarf from the variety of rainbow colours on show. Nathaniel took it, sliding it between his gloved hands. It was good quality, and elegant too.

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“An excellent choice, sir,” the girl said brightly, taking it off to wrap it in tissue paper.

Nathaniel shook his head. She was a pretty thing, with thick dark hair and flashing blue eyes, and he couldn’t even raise the enthusiasm to flirt with her. Things were dire indeed.

Still, at least he had completed his Christmas shopping. His valet, Jenkins, had left yesterday with the bulk of his luggage. So, now all he had to do was return to his lodgings and complete the last of his packing, ready to leave early the next morning to catch the diligence.

His cousin, Hawk, would have a fit at the idea of Nat on public transport, but that only made the prospect more appealing.

Then, a stopover at Turnbridge, beginning again the next day.

Nathaniel had written to inform his grandmother that he should arrive in Rye in the afternoon, and to send the carriage for him.

At the idea of spending Christmas at Hatherley Hall, gloom descended over him like a suffocating wet wool blanket, smothering any spark of seasonal joy.

Once upon a time, Christmas at the Hall would have been his idea of heaven, but he’d been a child then and those days were long gone.

Though he adored his grandmother, who was a delightful tyrant, his cousin Hawkney had grown up to be a top-lofty devil who never resisted an opportunity to look at Nat with disapproval.

His carefree lifestyle of carousing and gambling, and his less-than-respectable friends were all too dreadfully shocking. In short, he was an embarrassment.

At the ripe old age of two and thirty, the entire family had decided it was high time Nat stopped frittering away his life and get married.

His mother, widowed for over eight years, was eager for her only son to provide his heir and spare.

Being a doting, if selfish, creature who had her own best interests at heart as well as his, she had duly set about finding him a wife and, according to his grandmother’s last letter, had come up with the perfect young woman: Miss Helen Percy.

Hawkney approved the match, which told Nat all he needed to know.

Therefore, he would spend the next three weeks dodging Miss Percy, who was also invited for the Christmas period, and do everything in his power not to become engaged to her.

Of course, his mother would cry bravely and tell him she quite understood, and that he was not to worry in the least about her nerves, or her failing health and the fact she would die never having seen her grandchildren.

It was not a thrilling prospect.

Nat emerged from the bustle and jollity of the bazaar and onto the street.

The light had almost gone and, overhead, the gloomy skies became vaguely threatening as darkness started to slide over the city.

Something that was not quite rain and not quite sleet fell sullenly, making the filthy streets more slippery than usual as the crowds hurried to get home or into shops to get warm.

Slogging on, Nat turned his collar up, shivering when an icy droplet snaked down the back of his neck.

Lord, what a foul night it was, and what a wretched journey he would likely have to get to Hatherley Hall over the next two days. Perhaps he wouldn’t make it at all. This happy thought cheered him immensely, and he picked up his pace, eager to be inside and out of the freezing weather.

As he hurried home, he thought about the trip to Europe he’d been considering now the war was over, and a surge of longing to stand in the sunshine upon some foreign shore with the sun on his face made him increasingly eager to get Christmas over and done with.

He would go, by God. If nothing else he needed a change of scene, for life had seemed remarkably dull of late and his enthusiasm for everything seemed to have disappeared.

Nat turned the corner towards the elegant set of rooms he rented, remembering with increasing good humour that he had a lovely bottle of Burgundy that was bound to make him feel better.

He almost did not notice the young woman huddled in the doorway, but having always had an appreciation for beauty, one look at her eyes caught his attention.

Lord, but he had never seen a sight so solemn and yet so lovely.

Wide and grey, they seemed to survey London with such hopelessness that his heart went out to her.

She was clearly not the kind of woman who usually plied their trade alone on the street. Whilst her clothes were well worn, they had been quality once and were so very dull and respectable she had the look of a governess.

Without quite meaning to do so, he stopped. He knew that many men considered a woman out alone fair game, and that she would think that he was about to offer her an insult, and so spoke with grave respect, keeping his distance.

“Forgive me for my audacity in speaking to you, but… are you well? It is a dreadful night for standing around in the cold.”

“Quite well, sir,” she said, shrinking back into the shadows.

Her voice was that of a lady, pleasant and softly spoken, though there seemed to Nat to be something close to despair behind her response, no matter her words.

Yet he could not force his help upon her and his appearance unnerved her as he knew it would, so he simply doffed his hat and bade her a good evening.

She was probably waiting for someone, perhaps a beau, to take her away. Perhaps she was running away to be married, he thought, reassuring himself that she was not as alone as she appeared to be.

Several hours later, having packed his bags and enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine, Nat set out once more to have a bite of supper at the nearest chophouse.

The not-quite-sleet had made up its mind to be snow and there was a delicate white dusting on his doorstep, though the road had already turned into a slushy muck it was better not to dwell upon.

Setting off on foot, he passed the doorway once more and glanced in, alarmed and dismayed to discover the young woman still there.

His naturally chivalrous nature warred with the desire not to interfere in things that were none of his affair, and Nat hesitated for a moment before addressing her again.

“Forgive me the intrusion, but if you spend much longer in this doorway, you will freeze to death,” he observed, doing his best to keep his voice gentle and to look as unalarming as possible.

There was a mirthless laugh from the shadowy corner. “That might be for the best,” she said, sounding so utterly defeated Nat’s heart ached for her.

“Come, now. What’s this? Surely things are not so bad?”

“Things are as bad as they could possibly be, sir,” she replied tartly. “But it is none of your affair and I shall presume no longer upon your time. Good evening to you.”

Nat’s eyebrows went up. It was a statement that ought to be followed by a slamming door, but as the poor creature was huddled in a shop doorway belonging to someone else, she could not complete the act as it ought to be done.

“You are not presuming,” he pointed out. “I’m the one with all the presumption, and as it is the season of goodwill to all men, and one presumes that includes women too, I should like to help you, if I can.”

“Why?” she demanded, her voice sharp and cynical.

Nat was about to return a glib answer but thought better of it. A beautiful young woman alone and without protection was fair game for every vile creature in the city. Of course, she was on her guard, and rightly so. What woman in her right mind would not suspect him of trickery or deception?

“Well, let’s see,” he began. “I am fortunate enough to be independently wealthy. I have a large, loving, and interfering family who drive me to distraction, and a place to go where I shall be welcomed and be warm and dry and well fed. This is not the case for you, I think, and not being a heartless cad, I will be unable to enjoy a moment’s peace over the next weeks if I do not know that you are safe and warm and well fed yourself. ”

Nat waited, wondering what she might say next.

“I was a respectable woman until twelve hours ago,” she said, speaking without inflection, as if there was simply no energy left in her for anger or despair or sorrow.

“And then I lost my position. I was thrown out of the house without a moment’s notice, and without the wages owing me.

I have spent the entire day visiting every agency in London, trying to find another post to no avail.

I have no references, no money, no relations, and nowhere to go.

I am cut adrift,” she said, and fainted.

“There, there. Easy now. You’re quite safe.”