Page 31 of The Dare Before Christmas

“My friends call me Torie,” she added shyly, wondering if he would relax enough to allow such familiarity.

“Well, shall we go on to the next part of our adventure, Torie?” he asked, his eyes alight with amusement.

“Yes, please!”

Barnaby laughed and pushed the lamp farther into the hole before crawling in after it.

“What can you see?” she demanded, beside herself with excitement.

“Er… saucepans,” he replied, which was rather deflating.

“Saucepans? Oh, bother! What is wrong with these people? Why are they hoarding saucepans and jam like it’s treasure? Whoever heard of such a thing?”

Barnaby pushed farther into the hole, and she heard the metallic crash of pots and pans before his feet disappeared entirely.

“Barnaby?”

She peered through the hole to see his face appear on the other side. “Come through. It’s quite safe,” he said, gesturing for her to follow.

Fascinated, despite her dreams of treasure chests and long buried jewels turning into centuries-old jam and frying pans, Victoria lay down on her belly and wriggled into the hole. Her skirts and corset made movement nigh on impossible, but after a lot of squirming and cursing, she finally got her head out the other side.

“Here, let me help,” Barnaby said, reaching into the hole and grasping her under the arms. He pulled, his grip firm but….

“Oh, it’s no use!” she cried in annoyance, when several minutes of twisting and tugging left her hot and annoyed, but no further through the hole. “I’m stuck.”

“Your skirts,” Barnaby guessed.

She nodded, rather mortified. “Gothic adventures were easier in my mother’s days without all these dratted skirts and petticoats,” she said crossly.

Barnaby rubbed a hand over his face, and she rather suspected he was trying not to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” she retorted, irritated.

“N-No,” he said, a little unsteadily, struggling to keep a straight face if she was any judge. “Barnaby. Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m n-not laughing,” he said, trying so hard not to that he ended up scowling at her.

“Well, see if you find this funny,” she said tartly, and crawled back into the room in which they’d been trapped.

“What are you doing?” Barnaby called through the hole. “Victoria? Don’t go back in there. We can’t be certain it’s safe. Victoria, come back here.”

But Victoria didn’t answer. She folded up Barnaby’s coat before stripping off her wool cloak and dress, and then undoing her petticoats. Shivering, she stared down at the pile of clothing once she was done. How strange to be so cold when her cheeks were burning, but she wore only her stockings and shift, and she was about to give the man on the other side of that wall quite an eyeful. Well, there was no other way out and no way of getting through that gap with all her clothes on. Barnaby would just have to deal with it.

“Here,” she called through to him, before bundling all her clothes and Barnaby's coat into the cloak and stuffing them into the hole.

“What’s this… oh.”

Barnaby’s voice sounded faint and a little strained from the other side of the wall, but Victoria did not hang around to hear if he had anything else to say. It was far too cold to stand about barely dressed, so she got back to her knees and crawled through the hole.

Chapter 9

Dear Thorn,

I am well, thank you brother for your concern, and little Tilly is growing fast, sometimes I think before my very eyes. She’s as imperious as a duchess and has more of our father about her than I like to admit. ‘No,’ is her favourite word, I’m certain, and she has us all dancing to her tune. The devil of it is that we don’t care. She’s a delight and a joy to me.

Yes, I shall be at Dern for Christmas, though only for a few days, as it pains me to leave Tilly behind. I comfort myself with the idea that she does not yet know what Christmas is, but it breaks my heart all the same. I swear it will be the last we spend apart. Yet she is beloved by all. For, once fortune has smiled on me, for the nurse who has taken my daughter in her care is as affectionate as any mother, and fiercely protective. The woman holds me in utter contempt, I might add, but I can hardly blame her for that as I do too, but Tilly adores her, and that is all that matters.

Some days I believe I am being punished for my years of indulgence and then I look at Tilly’s sweet face and wonder how I can think so. She is a gift I am not—can never be — worthy of. But I shall try.