Page 13 of Twelfth Night Sorcery (The Cambion Club #2)

It took Honora a couple of hours to realize Lord Valance was not going to sleep in her room—or rather, his room, since she was the interloper—that night.

While she waited for him, she sat in bed reading Glenarvon.

Her mother thought this novel was too scandalous for an unmarried girl to read.

Honora had been delighted to find it on the shelf nearest the bed.

Reading without her spectacles strained her eyes, but the novel was gripping enough to keep her turning the pages until her candle began to flicker.

That surprised her. She had thought it had a couple of hours left in it.

She got up to check the clock on the mantel and discovered it was past midnight.

Oh. It seemed her husband would not be joining her tonight after all. She must have misunderstood him. Where on earth was he sleeping, then? The sofa in the drawing room? But why? The bed in his room was certainly big enough for two people.

Was he perhaps very shy? If that were the case, though, why would he have left the ballroom with her last night?

Lord Valance had seemed perfectly willing to bed her yesterday, when they were not married—when, in fact, he had thought her to be married to someone else.

She’d assumed he would be just as eager now that she was his wife.

More eager, if anything, since he needed an heir.

To some extent, it was a relief that he had not visited her room tonight.

Her mother had always said she would explain the marriage bed to Honora when she became engaged, but of course there had been no chance for such a talk before her hasty wedding.

Thus, Honora had only a vague concept of what was involved, based on constricted reading and scraps of gossip picked up here and there.

She felt certain, though, that consummating the marriage would at the best be awkward, and at the worst might be awful.

On the other hand, precisely because she knew so little about the subject, she felt deeply curious about it.

She had as many questions about conjugal relations as she had on any other subject, and she had assumed some of her questions would be answered tonight.

She could not help feeling a little disappointed that the answers to her questions were to be deferred until some unspecified later date.

On top of that, her husband’s absence deprived her of a chance to talk to him.

She knew very little about him, so she had many questions about his history, goals, and preferences.

They were married now, after all. They had vowed to mutually help and comfort one another.

Having put Lord Valance in a position in which he felt obligated to marry her, Honora intended to be as good a wife as she could be.

But how could she do that without learning more about her husband?

Had he meant something different than she had when he said his vows? That was an unsettling thought.

She would very likely have stayed up until dawn wrestling with these concerns, except that she had been up until nearly dawn yesterday and had not yet recovered. Once she gave up on Lord Valance, she blew out the candle and enjoyed her first good night’s sleep in days.

*

Honora slept until after noon. She woke up in good spirits, but that changed when a maid informed her that Lord Valance, who’d woken up hours ago, had already left the house on some unspecified errand, leaving no indication of when he meant to return.

She could not help feeling ill-used. Would it have been so very hard for Lord Valance to leave a note for her?

Or a message with a servant? She had to remind herself that Lord Valance had only married her because he had compromised her.

He had done her an overwhelmingly generous favor in helping her escape Belmont and taking her under his protection. She had no right to complain.

In the meantime, Honora had no idea what to do with herself.

She had written a letter to her mother last night.

She supposed she ought to write to Uncle Robert as well.

But that did not take very long. Just when she wondered what she ought to do next, the butler entered the morning room, leading a tiny dog on a leash.

“If you please, Lady Valance,” he said respectfully, “This arrived for his lordship.”

“From whom?”

“The messenger did not say. But there is a note.” He handed her a piece of perfumed notepaper and retreated, leaving Honora very confused.

There was no name or direction on the outside of the letter, so, after thinking it over for a moment, Honora broke the seal to see what it said. The message was written in a scrawling hand and it included a good deal of seemingly arbitrary underlining.

To the Right Honorable, The Viscount Valance, the note began,

Hoping that your lordship is in good health and not, as I am, suffering from an attack of the nerves after yesterday’s Catastrophe. I would send for a physician, but as your lordship knows, I must hoard my limited resources, not knowing whence I will earn more.

(Did the author mean “from whence,” Honora wondered, or “when”? It was not clear from the context.)

I will therefore do my best to suffer bravely. Having been bereft of your favor, I have only my maid to listen to my lamentations. Which, as I am sure you realize, are many.

I am afraid that I must return this gift which you once, in happier times, graciously bestowed on me.

I cannot look upon poor Bishop Barkley without bursting into tears at the memory of your perfidy.

As he deserves to be cared for properly, I hereby return him to you.

Perhaps you can give him to your wife as a wedding present, along with whatever fragments of your cold heart may yet remain beating.

Yours Dolefully,

[Illegible Scribble]

“Bishop Barkley?” Honora glanced down at the dog, who was happily gnawing on the carved wooden leg of the sofa. “Stop that at once!”

Honora used the firm-but-loving voice she would have used with one of her younger siblings. But the tiny dog ignored her entirely. She had to forcibly drag him away from the sofa. He retaliated by wriggling out of her arms and running around the room, barking excitedly.

She knew very little about dogs. Her mother did not allow pets in the house, and her father, being more interested in sorcery than sport, had never kept hunting dogs.

She could not tell whether Bishop Barkley was playing a game or trying to threaten her.

If it was the latter, his threats seemed ineffective.

He could not reach much higher than her ankles.

Yap! Yap! Yap! How could such a small animal produce such a loud noise?

“What is that awful racket?” To Honora’s relief, Lord Valance himself opened up the morning room door. “Dear God,” he said, in the voice of a man who has seen something too terrible for words, “Why is that vermin in my house?”

“It is not vermin,” Honora argued. “It is a dog.”

“I know it is a dog. It is, in fact, the worst dog in the world. Why is it here?” He directed a fierce scowl at the poor little thing.

“Someone sent it to you, along with this note.” Honora handed him the perfumed bit of notepaper.

“You opened my mail?” He glared at Honora. “You cannot read letters from my—I mean, you cannot open mail addressed to me.” Once again, he resembled nothing so much as a grumpy bulldog.

“It was not specifically addressed to you,” Honora pointed out. “There was no name on the back of the letter.”

He turned the paper over in his hands. “I see. She probably meant for you to see it.” His mouth settled into an unhappy line as he read the note. Then he crumpled it up and tossed it into the fire.

“You have good aim,” Honora observed. If she’d tried that, the note would have fallen short, and possibly a few feet to the left.

“Yes, I used to bowl for my house cricket team at school. And don’t tell me that I don’t look athletic,” he added, “because—”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Honora interjected. “Athletes come in all different shapes.” The blacksmith who bowled for the village team back home was built on heavier lines than Lord Valance. His stocky frame had never prevented the team from winning, so far as she could tell.

Lord Valance blinked, as if he had not expected that response. “Quite so.” Then he cursed. The dog had lifted its leg and was relieving itself on the foot of the sofa.

“Maybe he will grow out of that habit.” Honora hoped to console her husband, who looked nearly apoplectic. “Don’t all puppies have accidents?”

“He’s no puppy! He’s a full-grown Yorkshire terrier.”

“Are you sure?” Honora knew nothing about Yorkshire terriers, but she had never in her life seen a dog that small. She had simply assumed it was a puppy.

“Very sure. I bought him on St. Valentine’s Day in 1815, when he was already two months old.” He scowled at the dog again. “You would not believe the number of rugs that animal has ruined in his short life.”

“Oh.” There seemed to be nothing more to say. Even Honora knew a two-year-old dog ought to have been housebroken long ago. “Is there room in the garden for a kennel for him? Maybe he should do better outside.” It would not be fair to the Carringtons to let a dog ruin their furnishings.

“He is not going to live with us,” Lord Valance asserted. “I will send him to Surrey. My mother can deal with him.” He turned on his heel and started to walk out of the room.

“Wait!” She could not let him go now, when she had so many questions. Who knew when she would have a chance to speak with him again?

To her relief, he turned back “Yes? Was there something you needed?” He addressed her politely enough, but he eyed her warily.

“Aren’t you going to explain anything?”

He drew his eyebrows together. “What is there to explain?”

Everything! Honora thought. Best to start with something simple, though. “For example, why you were sent that dog?”