Page 3 of The Dare Before Christmas

“If you would excuse me, I see someone I must speak to. Please enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Robinson, Mr Godwin. I’ll see you later, Torie,” he added, a look passing between him and his sister before he walked away.

Barnaby glanced at Miss Robinson, noting the bitter frustration in her eyes with regret, but no surprise. Another young lady hunting a title. Ah well. Better to figure it out now.

“Mr Hardy is next,” Miss Robinson said with a dejected sigh. “Oh, and here he is. Excuse me, Mr Godwin,” she added, before hurrying away to her new partner.

It left Barnaby standing beside the one woman in the ballroom he did not want to spend time with. He could feel her gaze upon him and racked his brain for a polite way of extricating himself from the situation.

“I expect your dance partner will be here soon,” he said, giving the lady a polite smile.

“No, actually,” Lady Victoria said, a hopeful glint in her eyes he could not mistake. “I… I kept the waltz free, in case….”

She blushed and looked at her feet.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Barnaby said desperately, knowing he could not possibly dance with her. Far, far too dangerous. Regret struck at his heart as he saw the flash of hurt in her beautiful eyes, but he ploughed on regardless. “There’s my aunt. She’ll have been looking for me this age. I’ll be in the suds if I don’t show my face. Must dash. Apologies. Have a lovely evening.”

Feeling like an utter blackguard, Barnaby hurried away towards the corner of the room where his aunt was speaking with the other Viragoes she was friends with. Not that he had the least intention of spending time with them. He’d pay his respects, and then he was getting out of here and going home. Though naturally buoyant of spirit, he felt utterly deflated, tired and dispirited, and he needed to get away from everyone else who seemed to be having so much fun. At least for a while. Perhaps with a few days’ peace he’d feel more the thing. He’d best hope so, for Louis and Evie had invited him for Christmas, and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin it for them by being a wet blanket. Well, he’d best buck himself up and stop being such a misery then, but not tonight. Tonight, he was heading home to a decent bottle of cognac, and he intended to make enough inroads into it that he could consign Miss Robinson and Lady Millicent firmly in the past and keep them there. And as for Lady Victoria… well, he’d best not think of her at all.

Chapter 1

Dearest Evie,

We are so excited to be with you at Heart’s Folly for Christmas. Only three more days and we shall be together again. Mama and Papa are looking forward to it immensely, and even Felix has been busy Christmas shopping and you know how hard he tries to be indifferent to everything these days. I think he believes he looks like an overgrown schoolboy if he seems too enthusiastic, the daft creature. Though he’s been so morose these past weeks, I’m certain he’s in love again. No idea who it is this time, but there is a lot of gazing into space and sighing. It’s most provoking.

I had a wonderful time with Phoebe and Max and their brood. Rose is turning out to be quite a beauty, very much like her beautiful mama. Montagu visited whilst we were there, and he and Matilda sent their love to you and hope you and Louis will visit them at Dern soon. It’s close to Heart’s Folly, I think?

Well, I had better get back to wrapping presents. Have you finished all your shopping yet? I must still find something for Felix, for he is so troublesome to buy for. I don’t have the least clue what will please him these days.

Much love and see you very soon!

―Excerpt of a letter to Evie de Montluc, Comtesse de Villen (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) from her younger sister, Miss Emmeline Knight.

15th December 1844, en route to Heart’s Folly, East Sussex.

Torie stared out of the carriage window. It was a rather dismal day, which suited her mood. It had rained on and off for much of the journey and she rubbed her gloved hand against the glass to remove the fog. It made little difference, for a frail mist clung to the countryside, draining the colour from everything until it was damp and wreathed in grey. She sighed, and the glass fogged up again. Closing her eyes, Torie tried to summon some enthusiasm for the coming days, but it was hard. Mr Godwin would be here and, though there must be at least twenty guests, including the children, she would be in his company every day. Not so long ago, that had been something to look forward to. Torie had hoped it would be a chance to let him see she was not a stuck-up creature, nor unkind or frivolous, or whatever it was he believed her to be that made him rush to be out of her company. Also, she adored Evie and had so been looking forward to getting to know her new husband better and exploring their wonderful home, but now she could only remember the way Mr Godwin had snubbed her, leaving her standing on the dance floor all alone, when he must have realised that she wished to dance with him.

Perhaps she had acted badly and given him a disgust of her, for usually he was so unfailingly polite and kind. Perhaps she had been as crass and obvious as Miss Robinson, who had gazed up at Jules with such blatant interest and prattled on about how much she loved the waltz. Torie had cringed for her, knowing just how Jules would react to such an obvious manoeuvre. He’d fled, just as she’d known he would—far too used to being hunted by ladies with marriage on their minds—and just as Barnaby had done moments later.

“Why’s it called Heart’s Folly?”

Torie opened her eyes, jolted from her thoughts by her brother, Fred. At seventeen, he was nearly two years younger than her, but in the past months he had grown terrifically and was now a full head taller. He was almost as tall as Jules, who was five and twenty, though not yet nearly as broad. Indeed, he seemed all arms and legs these days.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Jules muttered, yawning and not bothering to open his eyes.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Fred said irritably. “You’re not interested in anything unless it's got petticoats.”

“Fred!” Torie exclaimed, glaring at him and jerking her head towards Harry, who, at eleven years old, was their youngest brother. Their youngest sibling, little Octavia, was riding in the carriage ahead of theirs with their parents, thank heavens. At five years old, the little minx was a terrible fidget.

“Oh, don’t fuss, Torie,” Harry complained, folding his arms. “I know all about Jules. Everyone knows all about Jules. He’s a rake and a libertine.”

“Harry!”

“What?” Harry demanded indignantly. “He is too.”

“You see the trouble you cause?” Torie demanded of Jules, who just cracked open a bleary eye and closed it again without bothering to answer. She huffed and tried to remember what the question had been.

“Evie told me a Mr Heorot Payne named Heart’s Folly,” she said, remembering the letter Evie had written her. “He built the house for his wife, whom he adored, but it was so expensive that he almost bankrupted himself. I believe there’s some story to do with Mrs Payne and Oliver Cromwell, too, for Mr and Mrs Payne were staunch royalists.”

“Well, that’s all very interesting,” Harry said, “But I still don’t see why it’s called Heart’s Folly.”