Page 36 of Twelfth Night Sorcery (The Cambion Club #2)

Honora lingered in the front hall, half expecting the visitor to return with more damning last words. When it became clear she was really gone, Honora dragged herself up the stairs to her bedroom. She let herself into the room, locked the door behind her, and collapsed on the bed.

Barkley was gone. She would never take him for another walk in the park.

Nor would she spend another morning training him.

He had learned to sit and lie down on command, and they were working on “stay.” But he would never learn that.

Illegible Scribble—or rather, Miss Barbauld—had obviously made no effort to train the dog during the two years she’d owned him.

She would probably not start training him now.

That must be why she felt like crying, Honora told herself.

There could be no other reason for tears.

It was not as if she’d learned anything about her husband she had not already known.

She had known he kept a mistress since the day she met him.

Goodness, she had even told him he need not dismiss Miss Barbauld!

She tried to smile at the irony, but her lips would not cooperate.

In any case, she could have no reason for being angry with Valance. In seducing, deflowering, and then dismissing an innocent girl from the lower orders, he had done no more than other young aristocrats. It ought not have surprised her.

Perhaps Honora had built up a false image of Valance.

He had rescued her from an unhappy marriage to the Duke of Belmont, so she’d come to view him as some sort of hero.

As if he were better than other men. How very childish of her!

Knights in shining armor no longer rode about rescuing fair maidens.

Honora was a woman grown, so she forced herself to face the facts.

Valance was no hero. It had been very good of him to marry her, but after all, he had gained things from their marriage, too.

She knew he hated the marriage mart and the elaborate system of courtship through which men of his class were supposed to find their brides.

In marrying her, he had happily circumvented all of that.

Perhaps he had seen her in the light of a fortunate windfall.

Fate had dumped an eligible bride right onto his lap; all he had to do was reach out and take her.

Moreover, he needed an heir. With no younger brothers who could inherit after him, Valance must feel that need rather urgently.

But once Honora provided the heir he wanted, he would have no more use for her.

He’d made it very clear when he proposed that their marriage would be a temporary arrangement.

When there was no longer a reason to share bed and board, they would go their separate ways.

So even if Miss Barbauld was right about Valance soon moving on to his next lover, that did not matter one bit. He had promised Honora she could have as many lovers as she wanted once they’d produced a son. No doubt he would do the same.

Having known all that since the beginning of their marriage, Honora had been a fool to grow attached to her husband. But she had. She’d realized it yesterday, when the evening stretched before her with nothing to do but chat with her mother-in-law or read a book.

Once, she would have been happy enough to read a book beside a comfortable fire all evening.

But without Valance sitting by her side, with a book of his own in hand and a brandy glass on the side table, the night seemed long, empty, and boring.

Honora was so deeply smitten with her husband that she missed not only his conversation, but also his silence. Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Last night, her bed had felt colder without him lying next to her, just as it seemed cold and comfortless now.

He would come home soon, of course. Maybe even tomorrow.

She would have his conversation, his companionable silences, and his presence in bed again, at least for a little while longer.

She had no right to ask for more than that.

She had no right to ask for anything at all from him, given the great favor he had done in marrying her.

None of this, Honora reminded herself, was new information.

There could be no reason for her to cry over today’s conversation.

Therefore, the tears trickling down her cheeks must all be due to losing Bishop Barkley.

And how foolish that was, too! Imagine growing fond of a spoiled lapdog that had belonged to her husband’s mistress!

She really ought to have had more pride.

Obviously, the dog preferred his previous owner to Honora.

She ought to say good riddance. Apparently, she was too sentimental to do so.

Strangely, what kept echoing in her mind was Miss Barbauld saying, “But as for Oliver? You may keep him.” Why, Honora wondered, had Lord Valance asked his wife to address him as “Valance,” when he had allowed his mistress to call him “Oliver?”

That was probably the sort of question that should never be asked. Inquisitive though Honora might be, even she knew such questions existed. Even so, she cried a little harder. Though, of course, every tear was for Barkley. She had nothing else to cry about.