Rake in the Regency Ballroom: The Viscount Claims His Bride / The Earl's Forbidden Ward

‘Who knows what other pleasant surprises might crop up if you stay long enough?’ Lucien put in, playing the expansive host to the hilt. ‘With luck, you could be one of the first to congratulate me on my good fortune. I have proposed to our dear Duchess this very morning. I thought it was best to start the year off on the right footing, beginning as I mean to go on and all that.’

Philippa felt the colour go out of her cheeks. How dare Lucien call his angry, jealous retort a proposal. She was keenly aware of Valerian’s probing stare.

‘Has our “dear Duchess” accepted?’ Valerian asked of Lucien, although his eyes didn’t leave her.

‘She has—’ Lucien began glibly.

‘She has not accepted the proposal,’ Philippa broke in angrily. Who knew what kind of fiction Lucien would fabricate? If he was willing to risk portraying their quarrel as a proposal, he might be willing to go so far as to say her storming out of the library was akin to ‘thinking it over’.

Philippa stared hard at each of them. ‘I will not stand here and be talked about as if I am invisible. That goes for both of you. However, since my presence is not intrinsic to this conversation, please feel free to stay out here and continue. I’m going in.’

She must have been momentarily mad to think she wasn’t ready for Valerian to leave. Valerian. That was another thing. Some time between his arrival two nights ago and this afternoon, she’d started thinking of him as Valerian again instead of St Just. Out in the garden, he’d been her friend, so reminiscent of the old days, and then he’d become St Just. On an instant’s notice, the mask had slid into place as assuredly as the one he’d worn to the ball last night.

Was that what it was? A mask? Why she was so certain the mask of cold, sharp wit was the facade? It could just as well be that the friend was the front instead.

Up in her room, Philippa threw her cloak onto the bed and paced in front of the window, her thoughts in turmoil. For a woman who’d thought herself well armed against the dubious charms of Viscount St Just, her defences had proven to be woefully inadequate. Already, she was willing to cast off what she empirically knew to be the truth for the old fantasy he’d spun once before in her girlhood.

Why was it so easy to fall back into believing those old myths? Especially when she knew they were myths. Inspiration struck. She would prove to herself that Valerian Inglemoore was not to be trusted with her affections. Yes, if she could visually see the proof with her own eyes, it would be harder to stray from the truth the next time he held her hand or led her in a waltz.

Philippa drew out a sheet of her personal stationery from the escritoire and sat down. Purposefully, she drew a line down the centre of the paper, dividing it into two columns: one for myths, the other for realities.

When she was done filling in the columns, she had three myths and five truths. Myth number one: he had loved her in their youth. Myth number two: he’d meant to marry her. Myth number three: he’d returned and hoped to woo her, to atone for bad behaviour in the past. Yes, those were the things she wanted most to believe about Valerian.

Then there were the dismal truths. Truth number one: he’d blatantly acknowledged their little affaire was nothing but a young man’s fleeting fancy.

Truth number two: he’d never meant to marry her. He’d known that very night he was leaving for his uncle’s diplomatic residence. What else could explain such a rapid departure? He must have been planning it for months, perhaps for even longer than their short-lived infatuation.

Truth number three: he’d never asked her father for permission to court her and certainly not permission to ask for her hand. If he had, her father would have told her, she was sure of it.

Truth number four: he had made no effort to contact her or Beldon in his absence.

Truth number five: he’d come home with a reputation to match the behaviour he’d shown her that long ago night in the Rutherfords’ garden.

The bottom line of her analysis convicted him. With the exception of a few fleeting moments, nothing corroborated the behaviour she wanted to see in him. Nothing supported the items listed in the myth column. Everything supported the facts both past and present. The stark truth was that Valerian Inglemoore was a seducer of women—a very good one at that. So why was it so hard to resist him, even with the truth staring her in the face? And why was it so hard to accept that truth?

Was it possible there was another side to Valerian that he deliberately kept hidden? Perhaps there was a side that he couldn’t afford to expose. There might be reasons for his tightly tied mask, reasons that had to do with his work for his uncle. Philippa drew out another sheet of paper. She had friends in political circles who could find out. All wishful thinking aside, it suddenly seemed of paramount importance she knew the truth about Valerian Inglemoore.

Philippa sanded the letter and set it aside, nagged by a growing sense of guilt. She didn’t feel right about the inquiry. It felt too much like spying, going behind Valerian’s back. No, she wouldn’t send it, at least not right away. Now that her initial anger was waning, she was beginning to recognize she had done little to get to know the man Valerian had become.

Before she sent off a letter of inquiry prying into the man’s background, she should try to exhaust more direct routes available to her. After all, she sat at the same dinner table with him and there was the outing to Vicar Trist’s in Veryan tomorrow if Lucien’s request was accepted. Those were prime opportunities to reacquaint herself with Valerian and determine the truth on her own.

The evening was a relaxed contrast compared to the prior two nights. Many of the guests who had stayed over after the New Year’s ball had departed late in the afternoon for short journeys home. In addition to Beldon and Valerian, only two couples remained, a Lord Trewithen and his wife, and the ageing Baron Pentlow and his wife from the Penwith area, who were friends of Lucien’s father and had come to the ball en route from London on their way home.

With the exception of the queer Mr Danforth, Philippa knew the other guests as regular acquaintances from the Cornwall community during her marriage. It was a simple task to make conversation over dinner and have a congenial time with the two ladies after the meal in the music room while the men took their port.

Afterwards, the men joined them for a short night of cards. She and Beldon offered to play whist with the Trewithens. At the far end of the music room, Lucien already sat at the cluster of chairs and sofa, talking avidly with Danforth and Pentlow, to the exclusion of all else, leaving Philippa to consider what to do with the elderly Lady Pentlow.

Unlooked for, Valerian rescued her admirably. ‘Duchess, would you mind if I played the pianoforte this evening? I haven’t a desire for cards at the moment or for business.’Valerian gave a quick nod to Lucien’s group deep in discussion, his tone indicating how inappropriate he felt such a topic of discussion was in this setting.

‘It would be delightful to hear you play again, my lord,’ Philippa said, inwardly laughing at the formality of their exchange, so bland and perfect compared to the heated, more imperfect exchanges they’d exchanged in private.

Valerian inclined his dark head in a gracious nod. ‘Lady Pentlow, if I might impose on you to turn the pages for me? I recall at dinner you said you enjoyed the country pieces. Canton has a decent collection of music, perhaps you could sort through it and select a few.’ Valerian offered Lady Pentlow his arm and escorted her to the pianoforte, bending his head low to catch the woman’s excited chatter.

Philippa watched them go with gratitude. How deftly Valerian had managed the situation. Lady Pentlow was a dear, sweet lady and Philippa hadn’t wanted her to feel left out or in the way. Valerian had sensed the need and adroitly stepped in. Unlike Lucien. For a man she’d considered eminently eligible marriage material, she’d certainly had a lot of uncharitable thoughts about him recently.

Philippa shot a glance at Lucien’s coterie, wondering what they could be talking about that would raise such an interest that Lucien would forgo his guests? Typically, Lucien was an excellent host with an eye for details, showing every guest the utmost courtesy due them in polite society. Tonight, he’d left that task entirely to her. She didn’t mind. She was there to play hostess, after all. Still, such behaviour wasn’t like him and it seemed odd that he would commit such a faux pas in order to talk to Mr Danforth, a man whom Lucien had claimed not to know two days past.

‘Are you coming? We’re ready to play,’ Beldon called from the card table.

Philippa smiled and took her seat. ‘I hope my brother has warned you how competitive he is.’

Their game was lively and they rotated partners at the end of each rubber. The Trewithens proved to be capable players, demanding all of Philippa’s attention. Usually she was quite good at cards, whist and piquet being two of her favourite games. But tonight, too many distractions competed for her attention, not the least being Valerian’s quiet ballads coming from the pianoforte. On occasion, she caught snatches of Lady Pentlow’s trebly voice singing a few lines.

At last the tea cart arrived, signalling the end of the evening. Philippa poured out and then went to stand with Beldon as the group congenially sipped their tea. ‘What do you suppose has Lucien so interested?’ she asked quietly.

Beldon gave a soft laugh, part-teasing, partcynicism. ‘I see the privileges of being a male prevails here. If you’d been allowed to stay at the table, you would have been treated to Mr Danforth’s announcement that he was opening a bank here in Truro, the Provincial Bank of Truro or some such nonsense.’

‘Nonsense?’ Philippa queried. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘You know what these country banks are really like, Phil. They’re investment firms.’

Philippa nodded in agreement. Cambourne had done business with Praed and Co., a bank in Truro that invested in high-risk ventures such as inventions and new technologies. If one was clever, these investments paid off. Cambourne had had good luck with them, but it was no surprise that these country banks went bankrupt far more often than the style of bank one would do with business with in London.

She better understood Lucien’s potential interest now. Lucien was always interested in money. ‘Does Lucien think he’ll invest?’

‘More than that. Mr Danforth has offered Lucien a place on the bank’s board of directors.’

‘For a sum, I’m sure.’ Philippa offered thoughtfully.

‘Definitely for a sum. But Lucien would be in charge of directing the investments. He seems quite taken with the idea.’

‘He’d be good at it. Lucien is no fool when it comes to money.’

‘But not women, at least not you.’ Beldon eyed her over his teacup.

‘Valerian told you?’

‘Hmm. Rather cowhanded of Lucien to think you could be politely coerced, if not into an actual betrothal, then at least as far as a publicly announced engagement. Are you thinking of accepting?’

‘I haven’t given it much thought,’ Philippa murmured vaguely. Marriage to Lucien Canton had been a foregone conclusion until the very unsuitable Valerian had arrived. Now, she believed she’d been rather naïve not to have thought about it more deeply, to look beyond the simplicity of an arrangement between two friends who enjoyed each other’s company. What other reasons could there be for a man with Lucien’s looks and prospects to choose to marry a childless widow when there were so many eligible débutantes available to him?

Beldon looked as if he would press her for more details. She stalled him with a shake of her head. ‘This is not the place for such a discussion.’ Lady Pentlow was starting to nod off in the middle of her conversation with Lady Trewithen. The evening was coming to a close. Her guests would want a good night’s sleep before beginning their respective journeys in the morning. They would look to her for the sign to retire.

Beldon assented. ‘Promise me we will have that discussion soon.’

Philippa smiled at her brother’s protectiveness. Even with childhood long behind them, he had not forsaken his role as a doting brother. ‘I promise. There is something I want to ask you, too, something about Valerian.’

Chapter Six

Beldon returned his empty cup to the tea trolley and said his goodnights to the group as they began to depart upstairs. He wasn’t as ready for sleep as the rest of them. His agile mind was alert, pondering the little dramas of the holiday, and Canton had excellent brandy in the library.

In general, he found people to be an interesting area of study. Younger men of his acquaintance dreaded the routine of a house party unless hunting was involved, but he found them to be intriguing affairs. The gatherings were a constant source of amazement to him, full of the dramas of intersecting lives.

Even in a group as small as the one here tonight, the web was tightly woven—Lucien and that merchant-cum-banker Danforth establishing a business tie together; he and Lucien, friends established through their common tie in Philippa; Lucien and Philippa and the budding drama of Lucien’s proposal; Lucien and Valerian, enemies on first sight. Why? The two men did not know each other. They had only Philippa in common between them.

Philippa was the only possibility. Did Valerian have a liking for Philippa? It was fantastical to think Valerian had fallen in love with his sister at first sight, and yet Val’s animosity towards Lucien had seemed palpable the moment he’d walked into the manor. A hypothesis began to take embryonic shape, events of the past starting to form connections to one another instead of existing as isolated occurrences. But Beldon was interrupted before he could decipher what the link was that bound them all together.

‘A farthing for your thoughts.’ Valerian strode into the library as if conjured from Beldon’s own mind. He’d removed his jacket and waistcoat, shirt sleeves rolled up.

Beldon shifted in the comfortable chair he’d taken up residence in. ‘My thoughts are worth far more than a farthing, old chap. Pull up a chair. Canton has a superb brandy collection.’

Valerian gave a short chuckle at that. ‘Is that his chief requirement in being your friend? Since I’ve met him, his cellar seems to be his primary recommendation.’

Beldon waved his snifter. ‘Well, you have to admit the Veuve Cliquot was superior at New Year.’ He paused, stopping to consider the play of firelight on the amber liquid swirling in the snifter’s bowl. ‘In truth, I’d thought Canton was quite an amicable fellow, a bit aloof at times, but otherwise acceptable, until you showed up. Why do you think that is, Val?’ Beldon studied his friend closely, watching him adopt a comfortable slouch in the opposite chair, his feet resting negligently on the fireplace fender as he pondered the question.

‘Do you want me to answer that question or is it rhetorical? I seem to recall you made a habit of telling us what to think in school.’ A teasing smile hovered at Valerian’s lips before he sipped from his glass.

‘Touché, I am wounded,’ Beldon said. ‘The accusation is true. However, in all fairness, you must admit most of our friends didn’t think. I did them a grand favour by doing it for them.’

‘Then carry on. Clearly, you have ideas.’

Beldon set his drink on a small side table next to his chair. He leaned forwards in earnest, elbows resting on thighs. ‘Tell me the truth, Val. I don’t have all the angles worked out yet, but I think you have a penchant for Philippa.’

It was telling that Valerian didn’t meet his eyes, but chose to look straight ahead into the waning fire. ‘Philippa is an attractive young woman who is intelligent and confident. I am certain many men desire her. She would be an asset to any peer’s household—’

‘More to the point,’ Beldon broke in, not swayed by the general terms of Valerian’s response, ‘you desire her and you have for some time. This is no incident of love at first sight. You’re both past the first blush of such fantasy. How long have you carried feelings for her, Val?’ How had such a thing as his best friend’s affections escaped his notice? Beldon felt a twinge of betrayal. He and Val had been closer than brothers and yet Val had not confided in him. Still, such an omission from Valerian was apparently not amiss. He’d not shared his plans to join his uncle until the night of his departure.

Valerian straightened and turned to face him, this time not avoiding his gaze. ‘I’ve loved her since we were young together. I was head over heels for her by the time she made her début.’

‘You didn’t tell me,’ Beldon said slowly, his mind whirring to adjust the pieces of this puzzle, how it fit against the backdrop of what had transpired. ‘Did she return your affections?’ There was a pit growing in his stomach. It was a horrible feeling to know that the two people he was closest to had fallen in love and he hadn’t known or been told.

Valerian must have sensed the direction of his thoughts. His answer was simple. ‘Yes.’

There it was. Valerian had not kept the secret alone. They had conspired together to keep the secret from him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Valerian shrugged. ‘How could I? Cambourne had offered for her.’

‘And you stepped aside?’ Beldon asked sharply. ‘That doesn’t sound like your typical behaviour at all.’ The Valerian he knew had championed the underdog at school, standing up for the principle of right, even when the odds were against him. He’d earned more than a few bloody noses for not knowing when to back down. In fact, the Valerian he knew didn’t believe one ever backed down. What had changed that when it came to Philippa?

Valerian tossed him a warning glance. ‘Beldon, I must ask you to stop your inquisition right now. The hour is late. In my experience, late hours are good for confessions between friends, but not necessarily for understanding them. Be satisfied to know that I have loved Philippa for years from afar. Be satisfied also to know that I would still claim her if she would have me.’ Valerian rose, putting an end to the conversation.

Beldon put out an arm in a restraining motion. ‘You can’t leave me on tenterhooks, Valerian.’ He gave a snort. ‘No wonder you were such a fine diplomat.’

‘Go easy on me, Beldon,’ Valerian said wistfully. ‘I have the utmost confidence in your mind’s ability to solve the rest of the riddle in short order and I will be waiting to confirm your conclusions.You know I value our friendship too much to ever cheat you out of the truth.’

Beldon nodded. ‘I know. Sleep well, Val,’ he said in all sincerity.

‘Aren’t you coming up?’

‘No, I want to sit a while longer.’ Beldon held up his half finished snifter. ‘Wasting fine brandy is a sin of the highest order.’

‘Enjoy,’ Valerian said from the door. ‘Remember, I did answer your question.’

‘And gave me a hundred more to think about in return.’ Beldon offered him a sardonic toast. He would sleep shortly. Valerian was right in one respect. Part of the riddle in terms of Valerian’s dislike of Canton was appeased. They both wanted Philippa.

Beldon would wager it was for vastly different reasons. Valerian loved her. And, well, love was not a commodity Lucien Canton was known to trade in. Canton wanted her for something else.

For a long while, Beldon had entertained the idea that Canton appreciated the intelligent companionship Philippa offered. She understood the man’s talk of finances and business since she’d been well groomed by Cambourne for appreciating that aspect of the Cam-bourne holdings. The duke had believed a woman should understand her worth and seen to it that Philippa had.

After watching Canton and Danforth tonight talking over the new bank, Beldon had to wonder if Canton’s interest in Philippa was and had been financial. He’d not thought of it before, since Canton was not without his own wealth or the ability to increase it on his own. Canton had no obvious need to find a wealthy bride.

Valerian’s sudden reappearance had certainly acted much like a clarifying solution, throwing the muddied depths of their lives into sharp relief. If it was up to him, Beldon much preferred that Philippa married Valerian.

Valerian was a man of honour, a man who could be trusted to do right even in the most dire circumstances, which brought his thoughts for the evening full circle.

Why had Valerian stepped aside when Cambourne offered for Philippa? What would Valerian have seen as a more honourable pathway than the chivalry of fighting for his heart’s desire? Who or what had Valerian been protecting that would have compelled him to set aside Philippa and leave his own country? They had not spoken of his abrupt departure, but Beldon felt certain the two were connected.

Beldon smiled to himself in the near-darkness. The fire had died down to mere embers. He loved a good mystery and this was proving to be an excellent one. He’d need his sleep in order to be fresh for the trip. He could hardly wait. Who would have thought such a seemingly innocuous jaunt to view plants at a vicarage could provide so much drama? Oh, yes, the morning promised to be very interesting indeed.

Cornwall could always be counted on for oddities when it came to weather. When the rest of Britain’s estuaries froze, the streams near Truro and Falmouth were full of migrating eider and goldeneye ducks. When many parts of Britain thought the dark winter would go on endlessly, the sheltered south of Cornwall celebrated an early arrival of spring. So it was that the weather for the trip into Veryan was mild for January, even though the day before had been plagued with bitingly cold winds.

The last of the guests were gone by eleven o’clock after a late breakfast that would preclude the need for lunch, and the group of four was seated comfortably in Lucien’s shiny black coach with large glass window panes by half-past the hour for the short trip. Philippa would have preferred to ride, since the distance between Veryan and Truro was negligible and the weather promised to remain true. But Lucien insisted on the coach.

‘What’s the point of having such a splendid vehicle at one’s disposal if one does not make use of it?’Lucien said.

Philippa secretly thought it more likely Lucien preferred the attention the elegant equipage drew as the coachman tooled through Truro. ‘Still, there aren’t many days in the winter when the weather holds for a long ride. It seems a shame to waste one of them,’Philippa replied.

‘Ah, but that’s just it, my dear. I doubt this weather will hold.’ There was a slightly condescending tone to his voice. ‘Certainly, the skies appear safe at midday. But I predict clouds and rain before tea this afternoon.’

Valerian stirred in his seat across from them, a glint in his eye that made Philippa uneasy. ‘You sound quite sure of your prediction, Canton.’

‘I am, St Just. I’ve spent the better part of the year these last few years living here,’ Lucien boasted.

Valerian nodded, gesturing to Beldon and Philippa, ‘I’ve spent, as the rest of us present have, the better part of our lives living here, and I say the weather will hold.’ Valerian glanced out of the window and tilted his head to catch a view of the sky. ‘In fact, I would go so far as to say the sun will show itself by two o’clock.’

‘Care to wager on that?’ Lucien responded.

Philippa stifled a groan. The weather was supposed to be the one safe topic of English conversation. Wasn’t that the rule one learned growing up? Somehow, Valerian and Lucien had turned the weather into a competition as if either of them could control it. Although, if she had to place her bets, she’d bet on Valerian. Lucien knew mining, but Valerian knew the climate. His estate on the Roseland Peninsula contained some of the rarest plants and flowers known to grown in Britain.