Read Online A Valentine For Christmas - A Regency Novella by Kate Harper - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kate Harper
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‘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.’
‘A tin whistle!’
‘A tin bugle!’
‘A whirligig!’
‘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
‘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.’
‘A tin whistle!’
‘A tin bugle!’
‘A whirligig!’
‘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
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