Page 16 of Twelfth Night Sorcery (The Cambion Club #2)

On Monday, a little over a week after they first met, Lord and Lady Valance moved into the little house on Curzon Street.

The house came with a core staff of servants, and Mr. Watson moved heaven and earth to quickly hire other servants for them, including a lady’s maid for Honora.

She had never had a lady’s maid of her own before.

At home, her mother’s maid or one of her sisters helped if she needed assistance.

It was, she admitted, nice to have Clack’s help unpacking her few possessions.

Honora’s wardrobe had increased, thanks to her recent purchases, but she still anxiously wondered when her things from home would arrive.

She particularly missed her spectacles, since she got a headache if she read without them for too long.

Given that she normally read for at least a few hours a day, that constituted a significant problem.

She had not yet received a reply from her mother, though Honora had written twice: first to inform her mother of the unexpected marriage, then to share her new address.

But that changed the Friday after they moved into their new home.

The footman brought her a letter while she was still breakfasting with Lord Valance.

She had no need to read the direction; she recognized the handwriting at once.

“It is from my mother.” She set it aside to read after they finished eating.

Lord Valance lifted his eyes from his plate. “You need not stand on formality. I do not mind if you wish to read it now.”

“I would not be so rude.” She smiled cheerfully at him.

She normally disliked mornings, but today she felt disposed to be pleasant to all the world, including her husband.

Really, he was quite charming. He had let her bring Bishop Barkley to the new house, despite his objections to the dog.

Ever since that first day of marriage, he took the time to tell her where he was going and when he would return, or at least left a message for her.

Everything would have been fine, except that his lordship treated Honora with the same detached civility with which he would have treated a stranger.

With the sole exception of that brief kiss on the cheek the day they toured the house, he never touched her at all; never uttered any endearments; never showed more interest in her thoughts or actions than was demanded by common courtesy; never, in short, treated her like his wife.

She must have misunderstood his intentions. She had thought he meant this to be real marriage, even if it were to end in separation once he had an heir. Their first week of matrimony made it abundantly clear that he meant to be a husband to her in name only.

But that was no reason to treat him with disrespect.

On the contrary, Honora felt all the more guilty about how her poorly-planned scheme for escaping Belmont had embroiled Lord Valance in her affairs.

He did not deserve to have his life disrupted, and she thought it very kind of him to avoid any allusions to the damage she must have done to all his goals and plans.

So, she courteously waited until after breakfast to open her mother’s letter.

But before she could read it, she was waylaid by the housekeeper, who had questions about tonight’s menu and concerns about the quality of chicken the poulterer had delivered.

Then her maid wanted to discuss the state of Honora’s wardrobe.

Clack had been disturbed by how few gowns hung in Honora’s wardrobe, and she wanted to know when the rest of Honora’s clothes would arrive. Honora wondered that, too.

After that conversation, the butler wished to talk to her about hiring a second footman, though Honora had doubts about whether so small a household needed more than one. She was happy enough to pass that question on to Lord Valance to decide.

Consequently, it took a couple of hours before Honora found time to sit down to read Lady Grantly’s letter. But reading the contents was like having a bucket of cold water poured over all her hopes and dreams.

My Dear Lady Valance,

I will no longer call you “Honora,” for it seems your late father chose poorly when he selected your name.

I am glad he did not live to see the day you brought such dishonor into the family.

Have you no respect for the reputation of your brother and your sisters?

Your shameless behavior reflects poorly on all of us.

Daughter, what were you thinking? Even now I cannot believe you eloped with a man—a stranger to the family—in the middle of the night!

When you disappeared from the masquerade, I feared you had been abducted or murdered, but the reality was far worse.

I nearly had an apoplexy when I received your letter.

For years, I labored to bring you into society and help you form eligible connections.

Just when I had arranged a most advantageous match for you, you chose to spoil all my plans by running away!

I do not know how I can ever hold my head up in society again.

We are lucky His Grace the Duke of Belmont has not brought legal action against us for misleading him as to your intentions.

Under the circumstances, I do not feel I can in good conscience visit you, nor welcome you under our roof.

We cannot give even the appearance of condoning your scandalous behavior.

Doing so would materially damage the prospects of your sisters—all your sisters.

What damages your good name soils theirs as well.

Similarly, I shall not be able to return your possessions to you.

To do so would look too much like a mark of approbation.

I have requested that Mrs. Potter donate your clothing to charity.

Your books have already been taken to the nearest bookseller.

As for your saddle horse, Squire Browning wishes to purchase her for his daughter, and I hope she may have good use of her.

I pray you do not repent of your hasty wedding. From all I have been able to learn, Lord Valance is a known libertine who keeps the most disreputable company. Should you discover that he makes a poor husband, you have only yourself to blame.

I must ask that you not write to any of your siblings again. Their future must be protected at all costs.

Sincerely,

Prudence Grantly

Honora did not know how long she sat there, staring at the letter. The strain of reading her mother’s fine handwriting without her glasses might have given her a headache under any circumstances, but she thought the pain she felt now came as much from the pressure of unshed tears as from eyestrain.

Honora had known her mother would be scandalized by her original plan to ruin herself.

As she told Lord Valance, her family would want nothing to do with her if she were caught in amorous congress at Belmont’s masquerade.

She had been willing to accept that as the price of escaping Belmont.

But she had thought—she had let herself believe—that her immediate marriage to Lord Valance would prevent her mother from disowning her.

She thought she had salvaged some remnant of respectability.

And she thought Dora would be safe from any repercussions.

She had been so very wrong about everything.

The paper in her hand shook as Honora’s body was wracked with tears. It was the first time she had cried since the night of her elopement. Until now, there had not seemed to be any reason to weep.

“My lady, I am going to the club, but I will back—my lady?” Lord Valance stood in the doorway, clad in style from his carefully-arranged curls to his brightly-polished Hessian boots. “Is something wrong?’

Honora sat up straight and tried to stop shaking.

But she could not. Nor could she answer Lord Valance.

He walked into the room and sat down beside her on the sofa, looking concerned.

She handed him the letter, thinking it would explain the situation better than she could.

He read it twice, then wadded it up and tossed it in the fire, as he had done with the note from Illegible Scribble.

“If that is how your mother treats you, I should think your life would be better without her in it.” He pitched his voice low, but spoke with assurance.

Honora wished she had some of Lord Valance’s confidence.

She could only shake her head. “If it were only her, maybe. But I am cut off from the whole family. My sisters. My brother. Our home.” Her horse, Ladybird.

Her books. Probably all of the correspondence she had saved from years of writing to her school friends would be tossed out or destroyed, along with her diaries. She could never have any of it again.

She sniffled and blinked her burning eyes. “I don’t even get to keep my spectacles.”

Lord Valance cursed softly. “Don’t be daft. I will buy you a new set of spectacles. If you want to ride in Hyde Park, I will get you a saddlehorse. All of those things can be replaced.”

Once again, Honora shook her head. According to her mother, Grantly Manor would be forever closed to her. Nothing could replace her childhood home. She reached up to scrub her tear-damp face, and her husband handed her a clean handkerchief.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

Very much to her surprise, Lord Valance wrapped one arm around her and pulled her closer to him. “What your mother says does not matter. You are my wife now.”

She leaned against him, desperate for reassurance. He smelled of soap and citrus, and his embrace felt both soft and solid.

“And we will make a new home for ourselves.” His arm around her tightened.

“Will we?” Honora asked doubtfully. Certain things about their marriage would have to change for this house to feel like a home.

“It might take some time,” Lord Valance admitted. “We hardly know each other, do we? But yes, I hope we can eventually become comfortable together.”

Honora smiled. “I would like that.”

It was one thing to enter into a marriage of convenience; that was not so very uncommon.

Many couples married without loving each other.

Sometimes they managed to form quite comfortable households.

But it was quite another thing to live one’s life in a fake marriage, without even a semblance of affection or an attempt to know one’s spouse.

Honora would have minded that. She had vowed to be Lord Valance’s wife, not merely his housemate.

She still did not understand why a man who had been willing to tumble into bed with her at a Twelfth Night party without even knowing her name should drag his feet about consummating their marriage.

But she supposed he had his reasons. Perhaps, after all, he had been attached to Illegible Scribble.

He might need time to grieve the end of that affaire.

But—she wrinkled her brow—if that were the case, why would he have been willing to be unfaithful to his mistress at the masquerade?

Strangely, she had never wondered about that before.

On Twelfth Night, she had been so intent on her plan of ruination that she had not spared much thought to the motives of her accomplice.

Was Lord Valance simply a philanderer by nature? Her frown deepened as she speculated.

“Is something wrong?” Lord Valance asked.

Honora peered up at him, intending to ask him about his past behavior. She found him studying her, his forehead creased with concern. Something about the directness of his gaze made her feel unexpectedly shy.

“Nothing is wrong. I was just wondering why . . .” Her voice trailed off because she did not know how to word her question so it wouldn’t sound like a condemnation.

On Twelfth Night, Lord Valance’s decision to leave the ballroom for a tryst with a stranger had certainly served Honora’s purpose.

If the rumors of Belmont’s cruelty were true, it might even have saved her life.

But once she had married Lord Valance, Honora couldn’t help thinking that his lack of fidelity to his mistress might indicate a significant character flaw.

“Why what?” His dark brown eyes looked soft and kind.

Honora took a deep breath. “Why did you leave the ballroom with me on Twelfth Night?” At the last minute, she decided not to add “when you already had a mistress.” For all she knew, courtesans might not expect fidelity from their protectors.

Perhaps he had committed no wrong against Illegible Scribble.

Lord Valance drew back from her, removing his arm from around her shoulders. “Why do you want to know that?”

“I am trying to better understand your character,” she explained. For some reason, her answer seemed to bother him even more than the original question.

“I assure you that my behavior on Twelfth Night was not at all in character! I can only assume I had too much to drink.”

“Really? You didn’t seem tipsy to me.” There had certainly been a great deal of inebriation at that party, but Lord Valance had neither spoken nor moved like a man under the influence of too much wine or punch.

“Really.” He truculently lifted his chin. “But since you are asking personal questions about our first encounter, Lady Valance, let me return the favor. I wish you would explain why you chose me for your ridiculous scheme.”

Honora drew in a sharp breath. She could not explain that.

She quite clearly remembered the way “Bacchus” kept drawing her attention, but she had never understood why.

She intended to answer “I don’t know,” that being the most honest answer, but she never got the chance.

Their butler opened the door before she could respond.

“Mrs. Valance,” Weller announced.

“Damnation!” Lord Valance hissed the word so softly, Honora was not entirely sure she heard him correctly.

Honora stared at him, then examined the middle-aged lady who had entered the room in the wake of the announcement.

Mrs. Valance was tall—taller than Honora, at least—and dressed in black silk.

Her eyes and hair were nearly the same in color as Lord Valance’s, although her hair had begun to gray at the temples.

Mrs. Valance’s aura looked very different from her son’s, though.

When Honora focused on the radiance surrounding her mother-in-law, she saw a rainbow of spangles similar to most people.

Mrs. Valance’s aura showed none of the silver, bronze, or gold lights that would have indicated magical talent.

Somehow, her aura looked less inviting than her son’s, though Honora could not have said why.

Lord Valance slowly rose to his feet. “Mother! What a pleasant surprise!”