A Valentine For Christmas - A Regency Novella (11 page)

Christmas
, Lord Valentine thought. Oddly enough, it did not seem to hurt so much amidst this cheerful, uncomplicated family. Sitting back a little, watching them as they laughingly opened small, cloth wrapped presents, he could see how some traditions could still hold value. The Weatherings did not have much, in a worldly sense for their gifts were small and, in most cases, handmade, but they seemed to be rich in other areas. He waited for the inevitable pain to wash over him but instead there was only a sense of sadness. He felt… sad. The sensation was more of a shock than when Charlie had accused him of being stuffy for Valentine had not thought himself capable of
that
emotion.

He was frowning over it, lost in introspection when he felt a sharp pinch on his wrist. Startled, he looked up to find Merry grinning at him, holding out a box tied with a crocheted ribbon.

His lordship stared at the box for a long moment until the girl thrust it under his nose impatiently. ‘But I have no gifts to give.’

‘We know that. You don’t have to give us anything. Mama said that it isn’t about that, although,’ the girl’s voice dropped conspiratorially, ‘I like this bit best.’

He took the box and opened it, feeling… well, the odd thing was that he was no longer sure how he felt. Disconcerted. Touched. Awkward. Almost instinctively, he looked past Merry for Charlotte and found her watching him. Valentine swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. He was so distracted by those blue eyes – unusually solemn – that Merry, impatient with the delay, gave him another pinch.

This made him smile. He undid the crocheted ribbon and opened the box. Inside was a folded piece of ivory silk, a handkerchief with worked lace around the edge. On the corner, somebody had embroidered a V with fine, delicate stitches.

‘Charlie did the embroidery,’ Merry told him. ‘She’s better at it than Anne or even Mama.’

Valentine stared down at the folded silk square. For some reason, he found it hard to breathe. ‘It seems that I have reason to be grateful to your sister,’ he murmured. And he looked towards Miss Weathering again but she was no longer watching, leaving him bereft.

It came as no surprise that the Weatherings knew how to make merry on Christmas day. After the gift giving there came breakfast, a second breakfast of hot baps steaming from the oven, eggnog spiced with nutmeg and heavy fruitcake toasted and slathered with butter. Games followed; catch the donkey (those ears again!), spillikins and a peculiar game that took place in the hallway where the contestants engaged in a race, sitting on cushions and propelling themselves along the bare wooden boards using their hands and feet. All of the Weathering children excelled at this, attempting to unseat each other by crashing heavily into their opponents amid squeals of laughter. His lordship had never seen anything like it and he doubted he would see anything like it again but he could not help but be impressed by the sheer exuberance of the race. Mama and Papa Weathering sat on the stairs, cheering their children and shouting encouragement. He grinned, watching Felix plough with reckless abandon into Harry who turned and grabbed an ankle, unseating the boy, who whooped with laughter.

I wonder if my life would have been different if there had been siblings
, he mused. Although, considering the father he had been blessed with perhaps it was as well that there had only been one of him. The thirteenth Lord Valentine had been a cold, unforgiving man who could never have conceived of a situation such as this. Once again, his eyes drifted towards Charlie who was trying to maneuver her way around Bardwell, a look of determination on her face. Bardwell, whose pallid appearance turned out to be a poor disguise for a cunning nature and a will of iron. He upended her with a swift, sideways movement, sending her tumbling across the floor with a shriek of fury.

If it had been a little more like the Christmases of his youth, perhaps Valentine would not have relaxed quite so much. But never had he experienced such controlled madness as the Weatherings on Christmas day. It did not make him think that he would celebrate the holiday differently when it came around again – he was probably too far gone in his painful past to do anything such thing – but it did make him realized that sometimes, life was not quite so barren as he believed. If nothing else, his accidental encounter with this peculiar, eccentric family had shown him that.

Madeleine came down for luncheon and was greeted warmly. She ignored his lordship, something he was inclined to be grateful for. The meal was excellent by any standards; roasted goose and venison, crackling pork and herbed potatoes, steamed squash, carrots and sprouts. Candied ginger, mince pies, syllabub and trifle followed on. The table was laden to groaning and, at the end of the meal, so were most of its occupants.

‘Quiet time,’ Mrs. Weathering announced with a contented sigh, and for once there were no protests. The digestion required time to reflect and the family to regroup.

Lord Valentine watched as Charlie rose and left the table. She had not looked at him since that one glance beside the tree, had not spoken to him although, with everything that was going on it was doubtful anybody had noticed. But he had noticed. And he had been waiting for the Weatherings ‘quiet time’ to speak to her, in private if possible.

He just wanted to speak to her and… Well, he was unclear what he wanted to say. But something must be said, if only his thanks. For the gift, for her rescue on the matter of Madeleine, for her overall kindness.

He really needed to speak to Charlie.

Charlie was out of sorts, almost unheard of on Christmas day, her favorite of the year. She had always considered it better than birthdays as it was a time when everybody got to share the pleasures of the day.

But this year it had all gone wrong. Thanks to Lord Valentine.

After luncheon (which she had not fully enjoyed due to a somewhat diminished appetite) she had not made her way to the library, where it was likely she would not find solitude, but to the small parlor at the rear of the house that was rarely used this time of year due to the poor lighting. It was dim now, the windows overhung with greenery which was pleasant in summer but dreadfully dull in the middle of winter. It was cold, as well, as a fire did not burn in the grate but she did not mind. She had snared a woolen shawl on her way through the hall and wrapped it around her. Nobody was likely to come here and this small room offered a calm port for her inner emotional storm. She went across to sit on the small window seat, peering out through the mullioned windows at the heavy layer of white that covered all. The world was still now that the wind was gone.

Soon he would be gone as well.

Charlie was unsure how she felt about the impending departure of Lord Valentine. It seemed that in the space of forty-eight hours he had shaken up her life, rearranging the pieces so that they didn’t quite fit together any more. She had thought he was a hero and it was not as if the man had
done
anything to prove he wasn’t. He still had a story behind him, a puzzle to solve. But for some reason, the idea that he had been with his mistress in the early hours of the morning had upset her enormously. She had thought… Well, she was not sure what she had thought but she knew that she was thoroughly annoyed, although whether that annoyance was directed at herself or Lord Valentine was unclear.

She had not been there for more than five minutes when she heard the door open softly behind her. She turned her head, expecting to see one of her siblings or perhaps her mother, but it was his lordship that stood in the doorway, eyeing her cautiously.

‘About…’ he paused frowning. Closing the door quietly, he came forward and took a chair facing her. ‘Miss Weathering, would you very much mind looking out the window again?’

Charlie stared at him blankly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Please… return to looking out the window. I would find it easier to talk if you did.’

Charlie studied him for a long moment and then slowly turned her head to look out at the white world beyond once more. After awhile, he began to speak, his deep voice falling rhythmically into the silence.

‘I grew up in Colchester Abbey with my father and my mother, the son of a wealthy title. I was an only child and admit that I was often lonely.’ He paused, as if collecting his thoughts. ‘My father was not an easy man. He was cold and distant and I did not like him in the least. But my mother… well, she was a different matter. She was warm and vibrant and could make any occasion shine, my father’s opposite in every way. I adored her and I believe that we were very close. On Christmas day – or it could have been Christmas Eve, nobody could ever really tell me – when I was ten years old, she disappeared. It was a very perplexing time for me.’

Charlie wriggled around to face him, expression surprised. ‘Where did she go?’

‘An excellent question and one I asked frequently.’ He gave her a wry look. ‘You are not very good at listening without interrupting, are you Miss Weathering?’

He sighed. ‘Please, let me tell you my story and get it over with. None of this is easy for me but if you will just listen. I know that you enjoy tragedies and this one is full of pathos. If you will just allow me to get through it without interruption?’

‘I will try. Must I look away again?’

‘Perhaps silence would serve us better. At the age of ten I awoke on Christmas morning, fully expecting a day of unalloyed pleasures. My father was not much given to
giving
, so to speak but my mother usually turned on something special for me. As was traditional since their marriage, my parents were hosting a large house party so there were plenty of people about but I was filled with anticipation. My mother usually started the day by visiting me in my bedroom but, by breakfast she had not put in an appearance and I began to grow concerned. I went in search of her and found her maid in tears, weeping in my mother’s bedchamber. She told me that my mother had disappeared during the night.’

‘Oh… my.’ Charlie breathed.

‘Indeed. Her disappearance had thrown the household into a quiet uproar. Nothing obvious, you understand for my father was conscious of his guests and the scandal that would ultimately ensue. All to no avail, I am sure for it seemed that my mother was nowhere to be found and that even her maid did not know what had happened to her.’

Charlie opened, then closed her mouth. Here was a story indeed, the reason why Lord Valentine disliked Christmas. He looked at her for a long moment, no doubt waiting for some comment but she forbore. After a moment, he continued on.

‘My father sent for me before the evening meal. It took that long for him to think of me, I suppose. He called me into his study and demanded to know what I knew of my mother’s disappearance. Not without reason, I suppose as we had been close. Naturally, I knew nothing. I was distraught and we had words. Nothing pleasant was said. I was upset, almost hysterical and I genuinely believed that, wherever my mother was, it was my father who was responsible for her disappearance. I honestly believed he had hidden her away, full of the black jealousy that had characterized their entire relationship, causing endless fights. After that night, my father and I did not hold a conversation that was not full of poisonous acrimony on both of our parts.’

‘But did he have something to do with her disappearance?’

‘Not directly. Logically, I suppose I must have known that. Later I realized how foolish any such idea was, for my father would never have created a scandal and my mother’s disappearance certainly created one.’

Charlie shook her head. She had a dozen questions she wanted to ask but she knew that if she continued to remain silent she would probably illicit more answers. This was clearly difficult for him, probing into the past. She could see it in his face and hear it in the halting, rusty words that fell from his lips. She wondered if he had ever spoken of this particular time in his life before.

‘I have no idea what he told his guests. I spent much of my time in the schoolroom or wandering the rooms, of which there were many. I searched the cellars, the attics, the summerhouses and the gardens, every inch of them. I could not believe that she was not there. After a week, my things were packed and I was sent away to school. And I heard nothing more of my mother. Four years later, I returned home for the first time. My father was as distant and cold as ever and Colchester… well, it was never the same for me again. I suppose it still isn’t.’

He fell silent, staring into the past. When it did not seem that he would speak again, she could wait no longer. ‘But what of your mother? Did you discover what had happened to her? Where did she go?’

He sighed, running a hand over his face. ‘My father died when I was nineteen. After the funeral, I was going through his personal items when I came across a letter. It was from my mother. A farewell note. Apparently she had run away with her lover. They had left England on Christmas Eve and were planning on starting a new life in Italy.’