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much he abhorred the day itself and he certainly was not about to explain his aversion to them.
    Without thinking, he ran a hand through his carefully ordered locks, disordering them. If Bishop, his valet, had witnessed such a shocking lapse he would have been horrified. But Bishop was not there. Instead, he had Madeleine and all the headaches her presence entailed. God only knew what would fall from those ripe red lips. Perhaps he could persuade her to stay in her room with a sick headache?
    Doubtful.
    Tomorrow was the twenty-forth of December. Christmas Eve. With luck, the snow would have stopped overnight and he could take a horse and ride into the nearest town. And there, one way or another, he would secure another carriage and ride back for Madeleine. The sooner he removed her, the happier he would be.
    It was unlikely that they would be able to travel on to Norfolk yet, but he could secure lodgings for the twenty-fifth. Far better to spend the day quietly ensconced in some indifferent inn than deal with the noisome merriment of his fellow man. Madeleine was sure to be noisome enough. But at least they could keep each other distracted until the worst of the weather had passed.
    He gave one last glance out the window before turning away. He just knew that the Weatherings would be the type of family to enjoy the day in full.
    Pray God that the snow stopped and he could travel on the morrow.
    It was his sole Christmas wish.
     

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
     
    The snow did not stop.
    The next day dawned blinding white as frozen piles continued to accumulate, drifts chest high by morning. And it wasn’t just the snow. The wind cut like a blade, slicing through layers of clothing with vicious deliberation and making spending any time out of doors an unpleasant proposition.
    Or so Charlie found when she let her Staffordshire terrier Vivaldi out to do its business the next morning. Both dog and girl retreated rapidly back inside, Charlie stamping her feet to shake off the snow, Vivaldi shaking his entire body for much the same reason. They hurried into the front parlor where a good fire was burning briskly. Vivaldi immediately lay on the rug, as close as he could get without actually laying on the hearth itself while his mistress maneuvered in beside him, eager for some warmth.
    ‘I’m not at all surprised at you hogging the best spot,’ she told him affectionately. ‘What a very unpleasant day!’
    Holding her hands out to the flames, she wondered if their unexpected guests were up yet. Not Miss du Pont, she decided. She did not look like the type given to rising early. The girl had clearly found dinner to be a little overwhelming and had not endeared herself to either Anne or Merry. She had told Anne that her dress (a relatively new one that Anne was particularly fond of) would never do in Paris as it was not in the least bit a la mode and that Merry should speak when she was spoken to and to stop rolling her peas across the table. She had a point about the peas, Charlie conceded, but such comments were hardly likely to endear Miss du Pont to either of her younger sisters.
    ‘She is like Madam Cheron – so full of herself!’ Anne had hissed, incensed.
    ‘She’s nothing at all like her,’ Charlie had returned. ‘She certainly does not look like a middle aged widow.’
    ‘ You know what I mean. Utterly vain puffed up with her own consequence.’
    Charlie hadn’t known about that, although Miss du Pont did seem inordinately fond of preening. Mama always said, however, that one should not judge others too quickly. Perhaps Madeleine du Pont was a Heroine. She certainly had the looks for one.
    As for Lord Valentine… she hadn’t know what to make of the man. His attention seemed to be divided as he kept a watchful eye on his cousin, while leaving half an ear on the conversational gambits directed towards him. It was skillfully done. No one would have noticed his distraction, if they weren’t particularly