Page 3 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

A Godforsaken backwater full to the hilt with bumpkins.

“Go to the devil, you two-faced sly boots!”

Kirby did not bother to duck as his master took hold of a once immaculate Hessian boot and attempted to fling it at him. His strength was all gone, and the boot slipped from his grasp, landing with a dull thud beside the bed.

“There’s no need to sweet-talk me, my lord,” Kirby replied amiably. “I know you feel indebted to me for saving your sorry arse, but I don’t need your thanks.”

“I don’t thank you, damn your eyes,” the sweating heap that had been an elegant nobleman not so many hours earlier cried in despairing tones. “Where the hell are we? I thought you were taking me to Bath?”

“Little Valentine, my lord.”

Sylvester Cavendish, the Earl of Beaumarsh, known to the fashionable upper ten thousand as Beau, gazed at his valet in horrified disbelief.

“Little what now?”

“Valentine,” Kirby replied. “Like the saint.”

“I’ve never heard of Little Valentine,” Beau replied, the dread in his voice deepening. “What am I doing in a place I’ve never even heard of?”

“Well, so far as I can see, you’re still breathing and squawking, so that’s something,” Kirby replied, unperturbed.

“Where am I?” Beau repeated, looking increasingly agitated.

“And don’t talk in riddles.” Kirby sighed, noting the flush of colour on his lordship’s alabaster skin and deciding it was not prudent to tease him.

For a little while there, Kirby had truly believed the man was going to die, and he’d never been so damned scared in all his life.

As it was, whatever poison his lordship had unwittingly ingested had, as far as Kirby was concerned, left him horribly weak and a long way from making sensible decisions.

“Little Valentine. It’s a lot closer than Bath and I figured the journey was less likely to kill you. It’s a small spa town in East Sussex on the south-east coast. Close to Rye.”

Beau frowned, as if he was struggling to focus on Kirby. “Good God,” he said, and passed out.

Kirby was uncertain whether it was the lingering effect of the poison or the idea of the exquisitely fashionable Lord Beaumont being caught in such a backwater that had caused him to lose consciousness again.

It could be either. At least he wasn’t being caught dead , Kirby thought sardonically, and set about unpacking his master’s impressive wardrobe.

“He vomited… on your boots?” Izzy repeated, eyes wider than usual behind her spectacles as she digested this appalling information.

Clementine noted wryly that the information had shocked her sister so much she’d even put down the book she was reading.

“On my best half boots,” Clementine corrected, determined this fact not be overlooked.

“Oh, dear.” Izzy bit her lip as Clementine glared at her.

“It’s not the least bit funny.”

“Well, it is a little bit funny,” Izzy said apologetically, getting to her feet to follow Clementine out into the garden.

“Not if you were wearing the boots,” Clementine insisted, which Izzy conceded was true enough.

“But who is he?” she asked, as Clementine gathered her basket and a pair of pruning shears and headed towards the rose garden.

“I don’t know. A nobleman, judging by the gaudy paintwork on the carriage and those flashy horses. We must hope he doesn’t stay long, though what on earth the man is doing coming here in the first place, I cannot think,” Clementine added with a shake of her head.

“Perhaps he was lost?” Izzy suggested.

It was the most likely explanation. Little Valentine was an elegant and prosperous place, but its visitors were middle class and elderly.

Their town, charming as it was, had never been fashionable, unlike Bath or Harrogate.

The county of Sussex, the last Anglo-Saxon kingdom to be Christianised, still felt somewhat removed from the rest of England, despite its proximity to London.

Its geography kept it isolated, with the sea on its south side, marshes to the east and west, and terrible roads that made the journey ill-advised in bad weather.

Yet in the summer months it became quietly busy, with the comfortably wealthy coming to spend a few days or a week by the sea and to take the famed waters.

Though Little Valentine had noble inhabitants, being inordinately proud of Hatherley Hall on its doorstep, a fine Elizabethan manor house that belonged to the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney, it could hardly boast of the connection.

The family had not set foot in the place in close to thirty years, and Clementine could not conceive of what else would bring a fashionable nobleman to the place.

He must have been lost. She reached over with the pruning knife and cut a dead head off a pale pink rosebush with a little too much satisfaction.

“Well, I imagine we shall find out soon enough,” Izzy said with a shrug. “No one can sneeze around here without the entire town knowing about it. Nothing half so exciting has ever happened here that I can remember, so we are bound to hear the man’s life story before the afternoon is out.”

“I imagine we shall,” Clementine said, glancing at her sister. “And if we do not, I shall discover the rest when I visit his lordship later today and demand he pay to replace my boots.”

Izzy goggled at her sister, her mouth falling open. Clementine snorted at the sight, never having caused anyone to look so shocked in all her life. It was rather gratifying.

“You never would,” Izzy said, just enough doubt in the words to suggest she wasn’t entirely certain.

Whilst Clementine was just as well-behaved as her sisters, she had a stubborn streak and a sharp tongue that she sometimes struggled to rein in.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Clementine repeated, snipping several dead roses with quiet savagery.

“Oh, but Clem, surely not? It’s not done ,” Izzy said, aghast.

“What and vomiting on a lady’s boots on a public street is?

” she retorted crossly. “Those boots were a present from Aunt Susan. She gave them to me the Christmas before she died. Besides the sentimental value they held, I could never afford to buy anything half so stylish, and I have no means of replacing them. They’re utterly ruined now, and I do not see why he ought not pay for the damage. Do you?”

Clementine gave her sister a challenging look, and Izzy considered her words.

“Well, when you put it like that, no, I do not. Yet it’s bound to make people talk, and you know how much you hate being gossiped about.”

“I doubt anyone enjoys it,” Clementine remarked with a shrug. “But needs must.”

“Oh, you’re wrong, I think. The scandal sheets are full of people doing daft things that were bound to get them noticed and so, surely, they must have acted knowing that and inviting the scrutiny.”

“Papa told you not to read those.”

“Only because he thinks he ought to tell me not to,” Izzy said, smiling fondly. “He doesn’t really mind, or he would burn them after he’s done, not leave them about his study.”

“I suppose so,” Clementine agreed, frowning at a rosebud with a nasty infestation of aphids. “I shall have to get George to look at this. He’s bound to have some remedy.”

“Yes, perhaps, but will you really demand this man pay for your boots, Clem? You can’t go alone to call on him at the hotel, that’s for certain.”

“No, I shan’t. You shall come with me,” Clementine said, smiling at her sister.

Izzy’s eyes widened at the prospect. “Me?” she squeaked in alarm.

“Yes. Well, I can’t very well take Bea, can I?”

Izzy sighed, understanding at once why she could not. “No, I suppose not. The fellow would fall madly in love with her and make a nuisance of himself.”

“Well, I doubt love would have anything to do with it, but he would certainly make a nuisance of himself,” Clementine said dryly.

“Clem!” Izzy exclaimed. “The things you say.”

Clementine laughed. “Oh, run along back to your book now. Only listen out for Miss Edith and the kittens and make sure Mrs Adie has prepared the things I promised them. We shall call on our mystery nobleman this afternoon. That should give him time to recover from his overindulgence.”

“Yes, Clem,” Izzy said with a sigh, and made her way back indoors.

“Oh, must we go?” Izzy said tragically, gazing at the kittens with longing as they played on the rug beside her several hours later.

“Yes. You can play with them when you get home,” Clementine said, trying to chivvy her sister up by making shooing motions.

“Where are you going?” Bea asked, lifting the little ginger cat up and kissing its nose.

Izzy and Clementine exchanged a quick glance.

“Oh, just an errand to run. I’ll explain later,” Clementine said with a smile.

Bea would be horrified both by the fate of Clementine’s best boots and her intention to demand money to replace them.

“You had better stay and keep an eye on these little mischief-makers. Caspar and Daisy will wake from their naps shortly and you’ll need to supervise them. ”

“Yes, all right,” Beatrice said easily, for Beatrice was the most compliant of the three sisters and rarely objected to being told what to do.

Hurrying Izzy out of the room before Bea could become curious about their errand, Clementine put on her bonnet and spencer and picked up a parcel wrapped in sacking.

“You’re bringing the boots?” Izzy asked, looking at the parcel with misgiving.

“Certainly,” Clementine said as she waited for Izzy to finish tying her bonnet. “Otherwise, he only has my word for the damage he did.”

“To be fair, Clem, walking in the sea probably did just as much damage,” Izzy said reasonably.

Clementine, who did not feel like being reasonable, sent her a dark look and Izzy subsided.

“Well, I suppose you would not have paddled with them on unless the situation were dire,” Izzy said, her tone conciliatory.

“Quite.” Clementine nodded and strode briskly down the hill towards the seafront.