Page 41 of The Dare Before Christmas

Chapter 12

Dear Reverend Martin,

I am well, as is St Clair, I thank you and hope this letter finds you likewise.

How tactful you are. I knew the moment St Clair gave you the living that we had made an excellent choice and you have done nothing but confirm that with each year that passes, but really, if you are to survive Holbrook and its environs, you must learn to be more forthcoming. I am not the least bit sensitive, and lack imagination, so unless you hit me over the head – metaphorically speaking – I can be quite obtuse.

In this instance, I understand perfectly, lucky for you. We shall, of course, pay for the repairs to the roof. I pray you will not be so fearful to ask such questions in the future. One thing I can promise you is that if I do not wish to do something, I shall tell you. I am never subtle. Best remember that. I do hope you are more ruthless with your parishioners, for I can well imagine all the old ladies bully you into tea and biscuits quite mercilessly, and I fear what the unwed ones may be driven to, having such a handsome young vicar on their doorstep, if you are too polite to say what you mean. I know certain young ladies have been causing you some difficulties. If I might suggest you nip that in the bud in no uncertain terms, before you get yourself caught in a tangle there’s no getting out of. Speak up, Reverend, and not just to God.

If you wish to practise your skills, you might demand that I help you with whatever charitable fund raising you are organising in the New Year.

I am so pleased to hear the boys are well. I have purchased some books whilst in town, which I think they will enjoy and shall deliver them on my return. I am eager to see how they go on. How is Jeb? I hope he is not still gloating over that toad he put in my basket when I visited last? I assure you, I am not squeamish in usual circumstances, and I never scream. Only, reaching for my gloves and finding that poor creature instead was disconcerting to us both.

I could never despise you for third declension nouns and adjectives in Latin, but then most people consider me an odd duck.

Dearest Mrs Simmons, she does adore St Clair so. I shall send him to her the moment we return with marzipan in hand and a penitent expression. Thank you for both the warning and the suggestion.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Reverend Harry Martin from The Right Hon’ble Harriet Cadogan, Comtesse St Clair.

18th December 1844, Heart’s Folly, East Sussex.

“Here,” Axton said, handing Barnaby a generous measure of brandy. “Reckon you need it. Look like you’ve been hit in the head with a blunt object.”

Barnaby silently took the glass and drank, too stunned to reply.

“I’ll take one of those, Alfie, dear,” Aunt Hester said, settling herself beside the fire in the parlour. Now really, that was too much.

“Alfie, dear?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when has he been Alfie, dear?”

“You’re the one in the dock, Barnaby,” his aunt replied coolly, though there was a tinge of colour on her high cheekbones that was interesting.

A chink in the armour. Well, he’d never seen that before.

“Perhaps, but I don’t reckon I’m the only one with some explaining to do.” Barnaby studied her face, alarmed when she dropped his gaze and turned to look at the fire. His aunt could etch glass with some of her sharper expressions. This was very odd. “I saw you both holding hands. What the devil is going on? If that man has been taking advantage of you—”

“Oh, hush,” Aunt Hester said with a huff. “Taking advantage indeed. As if anyone could.”

“He could,” Barnaby said darkly, glaring at the duke.

He might be an old man, but he was powerful, and he’d a reputation for being a devil with the ladies. Aunt Hester might be ancient too, but she was still a glamorous old stick, for all that, and the duke had broken her heart once before. Nothing saying he couldn’t do it again if she still had a soft spot for him.

“Yes, well, that’s as maybe,” she replied with a smile. “But that’s my affair and none of yours.”

“It is too my affair. Whose else is it, I’d like to know?” Barnaby objected fiercely. “Uncle is no longer with us; you’ve no brothers nor sons. If the duke’s intentions are honourable, he can dashed well say so to me.”

He turned to glare at Axton, whose eyebrows rose.

“Well, you’re full of surprises tonight, young man, and I must admit, I never liked you more,” Axton remarked approvingly.

“That’s hardly a recommendation in the circumstances,” Barnaby shot back, glowering.

Axton merely returned a very toothy grin.

“Oh, Barnaby, really,” Hester said, impatient now. “We’re grownups and can manage our own affairs.”

Barnaby snorted and his aunt threw up her hands. “Very well. If you must have it, Axton proposed, and I accepted.”

Barnaby gaped in astonishment.