Page 2 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

Honeysuckle Cottage made an adorable picture on a sunny summer morning, the thick thatched roof overhanging a sturdy little building of timber frame with whitewashed plaster infill.

The front garden rioted in a mad display of flowers and herbs, the lazy drone of insects loud as Clementine made her way up the brick pathway.

Butterflies rose around her, disturbed by her passage as her dress brushed against a lavender bush, and Clementine stopped as a sweet ginger face with beady yellow eyes peered at her, before darting out of sight again.

Stooping on the path, Clementine called softly, enchanted as the little ball of fluff peeked out once more.

Breaking off a lavender flower, she wriggled it back and forth on the brick path.

A moment later, the kitten pounced, catching the flower between soft pink paws.

“Oh, you will be a fine mouser,” she exclaimed, scooping up the kitten.

“Who’s there?”

Clementine looked up and then straightened, carrying the kitten to the front door. “Good morning, Miss Dotty,” she called cheerfully. “It’s Miss Honeywell.”

“Oh, good morning, my dear. Come in, come in. I’ve just made tea. Oh, and I see you have found a friend,” she chuckled, bustling Clementine inside.

A few moments later and Miss Dotty had hustled Clementine into their bright breakfast parlour and supplied her with a cup of tea and a currant scone, while the kitten attacked the hem of her dress.

“Of course you can take Little Ginger, not that it’s the poor dear’s name. I haven’t named this litter yet. It’s so difficult to decide what suits them best,” Dotty said thoughtfully.

“It’s really not,” her sister remarked, striding into the room. “Morning, Clementine. How do?”

“Very well, Miss Edith, thank you,” Clementine remarked, smiling at Miss Edith, who was as tall and slender as her sister was short and plump.

They were nothing alike, for Edith was a no-nonsense, practical woman with sharp features and a restless air about her.

Dotty, by contrast, was all softness, a sweetly faded rose of a woman.

Clementine thought she must have been a considerable beauty in her time.

Now she was comfortably plump, with pink cheeks and pale blue eyes that sparkled with mischief.

“You’re going to take one?” Edith asked, nodding at the ginger kitten that had since been joined by several siblings.

“Oh, but you can’t take one,” Dotty cried, looking appalled. “The poor darling will be lonely. No, no. You must take two.”

Clementine frowned, wondering how Mrs Adie would react to two cats in her kitchen, but Edith, sensing weakness, went in for the kill.

“Two or none,” she said briskly. “Dotty will plague me to death, making me check on the wretched thing every day if you don’t take two.”

Clementine laughed. “You drive a hard bargain. Very well, I shall take the ginger one and… and that black one, with the white spot on his cheek. Is it a he?” she asked.

Edith, who had just sat down, got up again, and lifted both kittens, peering at their bottoms.

“Edith!” Dotty cried, mortified, as she buried her face in her hands. “Don’t shame the poor little creatures, oh, and at the breakfast table too!” she moaned, shaking her head in despair.

Clementine bit her lip to stifle a laugh as Edith rolled her eyes. “The ginger one is a boy; the black one is a girl. So, you’ll certainly have more soon enough.”

Clementine considered this. Though she was a very practical young woman and never let her heart rule her head, as she looked down at the little balls of fluff, she could not help herself.

It was probably a terrible idea, but… oh, they were adorable, and Caspar and Daisy would love having kittens about the place.

“I’ll take them,” she said with a smile. “Only, I was expecting to carry one kitten home, not two.”

“No trouble. I’ll bring them in our picnic basket later today,” Edith said with ease, lavishly buttering half of a scone.

“Perfect, then I shall give you some jars of our honey, a nice ham, some of our goat cheese, and a large jar of Mrs Adie’s pickled onions in payment. They’re eye-watering, but delicious.”

“Splendid,” Dotty said, clapping her hands with delight, having recovered from her sister's appalling lack of conduct. “That’s very generous, dear.”

“It is, but I actually want something else, too,” Edith replied, and Clementine smiled. Edith was definitely the more practical of the two women and would never let the opportunity to negotiate a bargain slip past her.

“Go on,” Clementine said, interested to hear what came next.

“You know we rent out the little house on the seafront during the summer months?”

“Oh, Edith, I really don’t think—” Dotty began, only to be silenced by the impatient look Edith cast her. She sighed.

“Well, we have rented it out to a brother and sister, a Mr and Miss Marwick, for an entire year. They paid handsomely and they seem very respectable.”

“Oh, but they were charming,” Dotty protested.

Edith rolled her eyes. “I’m sure they are, dear, only—”

“Only?” Clementine asked, now thoroughly intrigued.

Edith threw up her hands. “Oh, Dotty is right, I’m certain. They were perfectly charming. Only—” She laughed and shook her head.

“Do you think they are not really brother and sister?” Clementine asked cautiously.

“Oh, no. I have no doubt of that. The resemblance is striking and, really, people are entitled to their secrets. I wouldn’t care a fig if they were unmarried and calling themselves Mr and Mrs, so long as it did not reflect badly on us.

Dotty would be devastated, you see, and—” Edith looked increasingly agitated, for she was not at all the kind to judge others, and this suspicion of hers, whatever it was, appeared to be upsetting her deeply.

“I quite understand,” Clementine said soothingly. In a small-town, gossip flew from door to door at astonishing speed and could cause a good deal of damage whether or not it was true.

“It’s just that we do not want any scandal attached to us. You do see?” Edith pressed.

“Of course I do,” Clementine replied. “So, you would like me to make myself known to Mr and Miss Marwick and see what I make of them?” she asked, unsurprised by the demand.

She often found herself poking her nose into other people’s affairs, having discovered the hard way that it was better she find out the truth than let the neighbourhood speculate and think up their own unfavourable answers.

Somehow, she had become the person people turned to for advice, especially on how to deal with their neighbours if there was a dispute, or how to resolve a family squabble.

She supposed it had come about because she so often helped her father, and people had become as used to speaking freely before her as they did the reverend.

Clementine Honeywell was sensible and level-headed and could be relied upon not to make an inflammatory situation worse.

Of course, her sister Beatrice was known for being sweet-natured and beautiful, Clementine thought ruefully, but at least she was useful.

“Oh, would you?” Edith gave a heartfelt sigh.

“I believe they will not arrive until the end of July, but it would put my mind at rest. You are such an excellent judge of character. Why, when everyone was accusing Steven Brown of having stolen money from old Mother Sendal, you were the only one who stood up for him. Well, he’s such a moody and unsociable fellow, it was easy enough to believe.

I’m afraid I myself was quite convinced he’d done it, but you proved otherwise,” Edith said admiringly.

“Oh, yes, such a clever girl you are. I mean, who else would have thought to look down the back of the dresser? Mother Sendal is getting forgetful in her old age, sadly. I doubt she even noticed when it fell, so I suppose we cannot blame her for pointing the finger,” Dotty said doubtfully.

Clementine smiled. “Well, you just let me know when they arrive and I shall welcome them to the village and invite them to tea. How’s that? It’s no more than I ought to do, and then Papa can meet them too.”

“Oh, splendid,” Edith said, looking relieved. “That’s just the thing.”

Clementine nodded, pleased to have put the woman’s mind at rest, and finished her scone. Then she bade the two ladies a good day and walked back towards the village. As it was such a glorious morning, she detoured, taking a circular route so she could walk along the beach before heading home.

It was early yet, and few of the shops lining the main street that looked out to sea were open, but Clementine waved at Mrs Peacock, who ran the grocer’s shop with her husband, and determinedly kept her gaze directed away from Madame Auguste’s.

They were fortunate indeed to have such a stylish and clever dressmaker as the elegant Frenchwoman in a small backwater town like Little Valentine, but no matter how much Clementine coveted the glorious cobalt blue silk that had been cleverly draped over a dressmaker’s dummy, she could not afford it.

Any extra coins she might wrangle from the housekeeping, or from the sales of honey or goat cheese, she squirreled away for safekeeping, determined to hoard enough to give Beatrice a London season.

Clementine had never possessed the necessary qualities nor desire for such an extravagance, but Beatrice, with her beauty and her sweetness, was a diamond who deserved to be seen and admired.

She would make a splendid match, Clementine was certain, and she had determined her sister must have the opportunity.

Yet as Bea was already twenty, she despaired of ever having funds enough to cover the costs.

Clementine took the stairs, making her way up from the beach to the road, and walked towards a series of smart seaside villas, the largest of which was an elegant hotel named The Mermaid’s Tale.

From there she intended to follow the path that wended through Winsham Woods, not yet ready to return to the bustle and chaos of the vicarage.

Lost in thoughts of selling embroidered handkerchiefs via Madame Auguste’s and wondering who in their right mind would hand over hard-earned money for such ham-fisted efforts as she might produce, Clementine did not see the carriage until it was almost upon her.

The elegant equipage swept around the corner, the four matched bays gleaming in the sunlight, and she barely had time to give a little shriek of exclamation before throwing herself out of the way.

“Steady there, gel!” exclaimed a man’s voice, as hands steadied her.

Turning, Clementine stared at the man who had saved her.

“Major Hancock!” she said, breathless with relief as she stared up at him. He was an old soldier, perhaps sixty years of age, but still hale and hearty, as attested by the ease with which he had caught her.

“Should watch where you are going,” he told her sternly, but there was more concern than condemnation in his eyes. “And you, sir!” he shouted, turning his glare upon the driver of the splendid carriage, which Clementine could now see was embellished with a brightly painted coat of arms.

The coachman leapt down from his perch as the postillion took hold of the horses and a groom ran from the hotel to see to the magnificent beasts.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, madam. Only his lordship was took ill, and I was told to get him here quick sharp like,” he said apologetically, swiping the hat from his head as he addressed Clementine.

Before either she or the major could respond, the carriage door was flung open.

“Don’t do that, ye daft bugger!” shouted an angry voice from the dark confines of the carriage, but whoever it was giving instructions was ignored, and a shock of blond hair emerged first before the rest of the man fell out.

He landed awkwardly on his hands and knees, gave a heartfelt groan, and vomited over Clementine’s boots.

Clementine gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth in disgust as the major bellowed in horror.

“Good God! Show a little respect, you blackguard. How dare you arrive here in such a vile state of inebriation?”

As he spoke, a bull of a man climbed out the carriage. Hulking across the shoulders, he had a thick neck and a nose that had surely been broken on multiple occasions.

“S’cuse me,” he said, his expression forbidding as he hauled the groaning heap from the ground and dragged him bodily into the hotel.

It was no mean feat either, for though the bull-headed fellow was undoubtedly the largest man Clementine had ever seen, his golden-haired companion was no lightweight either.

She watched, appalled and astonished, as the two men disappeared without so much as a murmur of apology.

“My dear Miss Honeywell,” the major said, looking much discomforted by the situation. “I would invite you into my home and have Drummond clean your boots, but without a maid or one of your sisters—”

He trailed off uncomfortably and Clementine shook her head.

“It’s of no matter,” she said, managing a grim smile. “I’ll take a paddle in the sea. That should rid me of the worst of it.”

“I’m so sorry,” the major said, looking dreadfully put out.

Touched by his concern, Clementine smiled a little more warmly. “It was not at all your fault. Indeed, you saved me from a nasty tumble, and I thank you for your gallantry, sir.”

The major coloured a little at her praise. “Think nothing of it, a pleasure. At your service,” he said, gratification at her thanks gleaming in his eyes.

Clementine did not linger, too eager to wash the disgusting mess from her boots.

Keeping the hem of her gown high, she hurried down to the beach and walked for several yards through the frothing waves until she was certain her boots were vomit-free.

Feeling queasy and annoyed, Clementine reflected that, if not for an invasion of mice in the vicarage kitchen, such an objectionable scene might have been avoided, and her best boots not entirely ruined.

Such were the vagaries of fate. Then, with her feet squishing unpleasantly, she squelched the rest of the way home.