One Snowy Regency Christmas. Sarah Mallory

is why I carry this,’ he said, patting the bulge in his pocket and reaching in to draw out the handle of a pistol.

      ‘Are you really going to use it?’

      ‘Do you doubt my bravery?’

      ‘I do not doubt your foolhardiness,’ she said. ‘It has but one bullet in it. If there is trouble, there will likely be a gang behind it.’

      ‘Then I will be forced to appeal to the garrison for aid, and it will not go well with them,’ he said, as though that settled the matter. ‘I do not seek violence, Miss Lampett. But if I feel myself threatened I will resort to it. You need have no doubt of that.’

      She imagined the possible consequences with a sinking heart. ‘Since the violence you describe is likely to be turned against my father, I believe we have nothing more to say to each other. It is fortunate that we have arrived at my home.’

      Stratford glanced out of the window. ‘So we have.’ He turned and tapped on the door to signal the driver. ‘Another turn around the high street, Benjamin. The lady and I are not finished with our discussion.’

      ‘And I have just said we are.’ She reached for the door handle, only to fall back into her seat as she felt the carriage turning. ‘This is most high-handed of you, Mr Stratford.’

      ‘But, knowing me as you do, you must expect nothing less of me, Miss Lampett.’ He smiled again, as though they were doing nothing more serious than dancing around a ballroom. ‘The subject we discuss is a serious one. I think I may have found an agreeable solution to several dilemmas at once. But it requires your cooperation, and the chance for us to speak privately for a little while longer—as we are doing now.’

      Which explained the ride, she supposed. She should be relieved that he had not sought her out of any deeper desire for her company. But, strangely, she was not. ‘Very well, then. Speak.’

      ‘As you say, in a small village news travels fast. You say that you know of my plans for the Christmas holidays?’

      ‘You are entertaining guests from London. The only people of the village who will be in attendance are the Clairemonts. If it is not an engagement, then I suspect the gathering has something to do with the opening of the mill.’

      ‘Why would you think that?’ he asked, surprised.

      ‘Because you are the host of it. Having met you, Mr Stratford, it seems unlikely that the people coming are old friends.’

      ‘Ha!’ Rather than being angered by her insult, he seemed amused by it.

      She continued. ‘Everything you do has to do with your business in some way or other. This Christmas party is like to be the same.’ Then she allowed her true feeling of distaste to show. ‘It is vulgar in the extreme to use the Lord’s birth as a time for doing business, if that is what you mean to do.’

      ‘Whether you have reached your conclusion from local gossip or shrewd deduction, you are correct, Miss Lampett. I am entertaining investors from London.’ He gave a slight frown. ‘Because, apparently, I think of nothing but business.’ He paused for a moment, as though he had forgotten what it was he meant to say. ‘I do not have quite so many guests as I had hoped. There were more negative replies in today’s post.’

      ‘Probably from gentlemen who understand the impropriety of it,’ she said.

      He shrugged. ‘Or perhaps they do not wish to associate with one who is in trade, even though he offers them the opportunity to do it far from the prying eyes of the ton. It does not matter, really. As you have pointed out, they are not my friends. But I need only one—perhaps two—to come, agree and invest. Then, for me, this Christmas will be a happy one.’

      It appeared that her father was right about the man, if that was how he measured his happiness. ‘There would be far more joy for all should you choose to spend that time in meeting your neighbours, sir. If you could not manage that, then perhaps you could release the Clairemonts from their obligation to attend? For I suspect it will pain them greatly to see their home treated as the London Exchange.’

      ‘It is no longer their home, Miss Lampett. It is mine to do with as I please.’

      ‘But I do not see why you wish to tell me of it. It is no business of mine,’ she said, almost leaning out of the window in an effort to put space between them.

      ‘On the contrary. I mean to make it your business. I understand that there has traditionally been a gathering of villagers at the house for Christmas. You have been in attendance at it, with Miss Anne Clairemont and her sister.’

      ‘But that was years ago,’ she admitted. ‘Not since …’ Not since Mary died and the Clairemonts shut up the house at Christmas. But the circumstances were no business of Stratford’s.

      ‘You and your family will honour me with your attendance this year as well,’ he said. ‘I am short of ladies, and there are likely to be several young bucks who would prefer an eligible young partner to dancing with their sisters.’

      ‘On our limited acquaintance, you expect me to sit in attendance on your guests? That is rude beyond measure, sir.’

      ‘Nothing of the kind. I invite you to be one of my guests. There would be no obligation to dance if you did not wish to do so. Though should you meet someone and form an attachment to him it would solve the question of your unmarried state quite nicely. Between your father’s trouble, and the problem you have hinted at with local society, it must be difficult for you to be so removed from the company of equals.’

      It was. Though she tried to control it, a wistful longing arose in her at the prospect of a chance to put on her nicest gown and dance. ‘I do not need your help in that situation,’ she said primly. ‘I am quite fine on my own.’

      ‘So you keep telling me. But I need your help, Miss Lampett,’ he said, his hands open before him. ‘My business negotiations, whether they are improper or no, are at a delicate juncture. I dare not risk your father giving another angry speech while the investors are here to see it. Nor do I wish to call the law down on him with Christmas dinner.’

      ‘Then I think you would want us quiet at home for the holiday, and not dancing at the manor.’

      ‘On the contrary. I have seen your father’s interactions with you. When he is concerned about your welfare, all thoughts of violence go quite out of his head. If you told him that you wished to come to my party he would not disrupt it for fear of spoiling your enjoyment.’

      ‘Even so, I would not trust him for any length of time in the company of strangers.’

      ‘Then I shall send him a selection of books from the library. Old favourites of mine that are sure to occupy his mind for the duration of the week.’

      ‘Old favourites of yours?’ she said in surprise. ‘You gave me to understand that you had no time for books.’

      ‘Not now, perhaps. But I’d read most of the volumes in the Clairemont library long before my arrival here. In the coming year, when the mill is employed, I hope to have some evenings to myself and might read them again.’

      ‘You said you were a weaver’s son,’ she said, thinking of her father’s recalcitrant students and wondering if she had misunderstood him.

      ‘I did not say I was clever at the trade. I was a horrible weaver, and no amount of teaching could make me better. I was more interested in books than the loom. When Father did allow me to go to school I taught myself, in whatever way I could manage.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘I fear I was a grave disappointment to him.’

      ‘But why did you remain involved in the trade? Surely there might have been another occupation more suited to your tastes?’

      ‘The life I wanted was forever closed to me, for I was not born a gentleman, Miss Lampett. It appeared that, no matter my lack of skill, I was destined to weave. So I redesigned the loom to make it easier for my clumsy fingers to manage. The machines to be used at the factory