Page 12 of Twelfth Night Sorcery (The Cambion Club #2)

With Peregrine deep in conversation with Miss Grantly, Valance was left to talk with poor Mr. Stephens, who spent much of the meal looking confused by all the magical theory.

And who could blame him? Peregrine wanted to capture a meteorite so he could investigate a theory that shooting stars contained magical elements not normally found on earth.

But as no one had ever provided convincing evidence of that theory (meteorites being rather rare), Carrington’s current obsession seemed quixotic, to say the least.

After the dessert course, Miss Grantly turned away from the conversation about astronomical magic and caught Valance’s gaze from across the table. “Ought I retire to the drawing room?” There was no hostess to lead the way for her, nor any other women to keep her company.

“I think we ought to skip the after-dinner drinks tonight,” Valance suggested, “and get this wedding business squared away.” He and Miss Grantly both turned towards Stephens.

“Oh, is it my turn in the limelight?” Stephens smiled benevolently. “Let me fetch my prayer book. And we will need another witness, you know. I suppose one of the servants would do?”

Valance nodded. “Peregrine, can you ring for Babbage and Mrs. Dewes?” If anyone raised questions about the legitimacy of the marriage, the butler and the housekeeper would be the most respectable witnesses.

So, Valance and Miss Grantly stood in front of a pleasant coal fire and said their vows. The only hitch came when Stephens turned to Valance and prompted him: “You’ll need the ring now.”

“Damn!” Valance had completely forgotten that he needed a ring.

“I beg your pardon?” Stephens glowered at him, no doubt appalled at hearing such language in the middle of a religious service.

“Wait right here.” Feeling like the greatest blockhead in the history of matrimony, Valance bolted to his bedchamber to dig around in one of the drawers in his dresser. Ah, there it was—a wooden box, the size of a cigar box, locked tight. But where the devil was the key?

No time to find the key. Valance pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket, scribbled a Latin phrase on it, and placed it on top of the box.

He tapped the paper and the lock clicked open obediently.

Inside were several mementos left to Valance by his paternal grandmother: brooches, a mourning ring, a miniature portrait of her husband.

Where was it? Ah, there—a golden fede ring, with two hands clasping, that Valance’s grandfather had given her when they were courting.

Valance took the ring and jogged downstairs. Everyone else still stood in the dining room, chatting awkwardly about the weather.

“Sorry,” Valance said, still feeling like a fool. “I have the ring.” To his great relief, it fit on Miss Grantly’s hand. He did not know what he would have done if it had been too small.

Stephens continued with the ceremony. He read the entire service, though Valance thought it was strange to preach a sermon on matrimony when there was no congregation to be edified. Then it ended, and Valance was married to a woman he had met less than twenty-four hours ago.

Oddly, the first thing that came into his mind was: I’ll never have to go to Almack’s to dance with debutantes again. Trousers were not allowed at Almack’s, and Valance had never cared for breeches or tight pantaloons. That was one small blessing.

“I wish you both very well.” Stephens shook Valance’s hand, bowed to Miss Grantly—no, to Lady Valance—and headed home. The night was young, but Stephens did not keep fashionable hours. He worked as chaplain at St. Simon Magus Hospital, and his day began long before noon.

“I expect I’m de trop,” Peregrine said cheerfully. He disappeared into the library, leaving Valance alone with his wife.

“I suppose that’s that.” Valance knew the words were inane, but he was not sure what words actually were appropriate for this situation.

After all, he had never been married before.

“I had better write out the notice for the newspapers before I forget.” Publishing an announcement of their wedding could not possibly stop all the gossip their elopement would create, but it might add a touch of respectability to the marriage.

His new wife frowned. “Hadn’t we better talk?”

“Talk about what?”

She lifted her brow. “About our life together?”

He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache beginning to build. Couldn’t they talk about this tomorrow? Or next week? They would have their entire lives to talk, after all. Unless they ended up separating, which seemed rather likely, all things considered.

“Is there something specific you wish to know?” he asked.

Once again, a worried line formed between her perfectly arched eyebrows. “I don’t know what you expect of me.”

“I don’t expect anything of you,” he said. “Other than treating me with civility and behaving rationally. I will endeavor to do the same.”

She continued to frown. What exactly did she want to hear?

It was not as if he could make any kind of declaration of love.

He did not know her at all. Or was she worried about how he would treat her?

That would make sense, given her reasons for fleeing Belmont.

He could understand her wanting reassurance on that point.

“I assure you, my lady, I have no intention of being a tyrannical or controlling husband. You are free to spend your days as you like. But if you have any preference as to where you wish to reside, you should let me know.” Valance supposed that was something they had better discuss sooner rather than later.

He meant to begin searching for new lodgings right away.

“I assumed I would reside with you, since I am your wife.” The furrows on her brow deepened.

“Naturally, but I do not own a townhouse. We will have to rent a residence of our own. It may take time to find one, though.” Townhouses in Mayfair did not open up every day.

“I thought we were going to live here.” She gestured vaguely at the room.

Valance turned his head as he scanned the dining room, which still bore the marks of that fireball spell.

She really thought he would expect her to live here?

With the Carringtons? Leaving aside the fact that the house would be too crowded, living here might further harm her already damaged reputation.

Half of London assumed Abigail Carrington was Valance’s mistress.

(Both Abigail and Valance found that idea laughable, but how was the world to know?) It was best not to speculate about what the other half of London thought.

Valance could not say all of that, so he told her only part of the truth.

“This is not a suitable house. There would not be enough room for you. You ought to have a sitting room or morning room of your own, as well as a bedchamber.” In marrying him, she had become a viscountess. She ought to be treated like one.

“Oh. I assumed I would sleep in your room.” She clasped her hands together, looking surprisingly nervous.

“Of course, you will, for now.” He struggled to keep his voice light and pleasant despite his growing frustration.

Did she not see how awkward it would be if he had to enter her chamber to dress multiple times a day?

He could sleep in the nursery, but he still needed access to his toiletries and clothing.

She would have no privacy. And where would she even put her things?

That bedroom was adequate for one person, but it would hardly do for two.

“I think we will both be happier if we have our own space,” he explained. Much happier.

She nodded, though she still looked thoughtful. “I suppose you are right. But I do not particularly care where we live, so long as the house is comfortable. It is not as if I care about fashionable addresses.”

“That will make finding a house easier.” He smiled, relieved to have that so easily settled.

“I will get working on that tomorrow. And you had better write to your family, so they know you have not been murdered.” He meant it as a joke, but too late, he remembered the rumors about Belmont’s first wife.

He ought not joke about murder to Miss Grantly. Or rather, Lady Valance.

Her face relaxed. “Oh, yes, I had better do that now. My mother will be very worried! I suppose there is writing paper in the breakfast room?”

Valance repressed a shudder. The breakfast room was his room!

He did not like other people using his workspace, but what could he do?

His wife had no sitting room of her own.

All the more reason why they needed to find a house of their own sooner rather than later.

When Lady Valance had her own chambers, she would no longer need to intrude on his space.

“Yes, you will find notepaper there. And I can frank your letters for you, if you remind me in the morning.” He turned away, relieved that the conversation was over.

“I will see you later, then,” she called after him.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes, later. Good night!”

It did not occur to Valance until he was halfway up the stairs that his wife might have meant she expected to see him later that night. Surely, she didn’t expect them to consummate the marriage tonight? Given the circumstances, that seemed inadvisable, to say the least.

Perhaps if the new Lady Valance had been an experienced woman—a widow, for example—his decision might have been different. She had, after all, abundant natural charms, and he was as randy as any other newlywed. Or rather, he would have been, if not for that growing headache.

But he had absolutely no desire to bed a frightened virgin whom he had met yesterday.

It would take time to build up enough trust between them for that step.

She would surely be relieved not to have to fulfill her marital duties yet.

Ought he go back downstairs and clear that up?

He hesitated at the top of the stairs, considering.

No, his head had begun to pound in earnest now, probably because he had not yet caught up on last night’s lost sleep.

Though he’d had every intention of writing up the wedding announcement tonight, he changed his mind.

He would do best to go straight to bed and sleep off this headache.

There would be time enough to discuss bedroom matters later.