Page 39 of Twelfth Night Sorcery (The Cambion Club #2)

Honora felt relieved when the conversation shifted away from Bishop Barkley’s absence, and even more relieved when it was time to dress for dinner.

Valance came in to speak to her, but because Clack was arranging her hair, he could say nothing personal, for which she was grateful.

She had no idea what to say to him about Miss Barbauld’s visit.

On the whole, she had rather not speak of it at all.

Better to let the nastiness she’d heard stay buried at the bottom of her mind.

After dinner, Valance settled into the leather armchair by the fire, stretched his legs out, and ostentatiously yawned.

“Oliver, you must be fatigued from travel,” his mother said. “Perhaps you should retire early.”

“Perhaps I should. I believe I am rather tired.” When he caught Honora’s eye, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

Honora could not mistake his meaning. He wanted her to follow him upstairs so they could go to bed together.

She nodded her agreement. Even Valance’s return had not entirely lifted her low spirits.

But she had certainly missed him over the last week, and it would be good to spend time with him alone.

When she turned in for the night, she found Valance waiting in her room, a book in his hand.

“Finally,” he said, as if he had waited long and hopeless centuries for her.

He caught her in his arms and kissed her. She kissed him back, wondering why her heart still ached even when she was in his arms.

“Oh, I have missed you so much, Nora.” His husky voice sent a pleasant shiver down her spine—and, for some reason, brought a lump to her throat.

“I missed you too.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, hoping to find consolation.

He felt like a living wall: strong enough to support her, warm enough to comfort her, and solid enough to last forever.

But even walls could crumble and fall. She was not the first woman who had leaned on Valance for protection, and she would probably not be the last. She closed her eyes, praying she did not break into tears.

Valance had begun pulling out her hairpins, but he paused halfway through. “Darling, are you all right? I am so very sorry about Bishop Barkley.”

“It makes no difference.” It did make a difference, but what could she say about it? “He belonged to Miss Barbauld in the first place, and if she wanted him back, there was nothing else to do but return him.” She shrugged, hoping she sounded nonchalant rather than heartbroken.

Valance hugged her to his chest again. “I am sorry, too, that she had the effrontery to come here and confront you. You do not deserve such an insult.”

“She felt she had been wronged.” Honora had rather not talk about Miss Barbauld at all. But she did not particularly feel inclined for bedsport, either. Perhaps she ought simply to turn in for the night. She might wake up feeling more herself in the morning.

“Wronged?!” Valance stared at her in surprise. “How did I wrong her? I treated her most generously while she was in my protection, and I left her with adequate support when we parted. She will not go hungry.” He shook his head. “I am shocked by her audacity.”

Was that all that mattered? Was it adequate to merely ensure a former dependent did not starve? Even if the dependent in question had also been one’s lover? Honora fidgeted with her wedding ring. A ring Miss Barbauld never had the chance to wear.

Suddenly, she needed to know something. “Valance,” she said hesitantly, “Was it true Miss Barbauld was a respectable woman before she met you?”

“Respectable woman?” he repeated, still sounding appalled. “Of course not! She was an actress. Her whole family were on the stage, and she had been brought up to that life.”

Honora cleared her throat and spoke more plainly. “But is it true you took her virtue?”

Valance refused to meet her gaze, which was answer enough. “I was her first lover, if that’s what you mean. What of it? I know perfectly well that I will not be her last. She has probably already chosen a new protector by now.”

His indignation sounded like sulkiness now. Honora swallowed heavily and clasped her hands together, not sure how to explain her reaction.

“I am very sorry if her words hurt you, but darling, Cherie has nothing to do with you.” Valance caught her hand and rubbing his thumb soothingly across hers.

“She was once my mistress, but you are my wife. I have nothing more to do with her. And there will be no other mistresses. So long as we live under one roof, I will keep faith with you.”

So long as we live under one roof. But how long would that be? Honora closed her eyes, wishing she could shut her mind to the impermanent nature of their arrangement. But that was not the only thing bothering her, and maybe not the most important thing.

“If I had come from a family like hers,” she whispered, “would I still be your wife? Or merely your next mistress?”

“What are you talking about? Your father was a baronet!” Valance dropped her hand and lifted her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eye. “How could you be on the stage?” His face wrinkled in concern. “I don’t understand what you are getting at, Honora.”

“I suppose what I mean,” Honora explained, “is that you married me only because I am a gentleman’s daughter.

If I had been a girl of the lower orders, or even the middle classes, you would not have married me to protect my good name.

You would at most have taken me as a lover.

Wouldn’t you?” She began fidgeting with her ring again.

His scowl made him resemble a grumpy bulldog more than ever. “Are you asking if I would have married an uneducated girl with neither manners nor connections to recommend her? Then you are right. I would not have done so. But what of that?”

Though this was what Honora expected, she felt sick at heart.

“It seems to me you are worse than Belmont. He at least wanted to marry me, despite being so far above my station.” Dukes generally married the daughters of other upper aristocrats, creating new alliances.

They rarely married the daughters of mere baronets.

That was why Honora’s mother had been so thrilled when Belmont asked for permission to pay his addresses.

“Worse than Belmont?” Valance backed away from her, moving one step at a time toward the connecting door. “You think I am worse than a murderer and a rapist?” He shook his head in disbelief.

“No.” Honora struggled to clear her tightening throat. “Of course not. I ought not have said that.” She had no idea how to explain her disillusionment. “You are just, perhaps, a little too aware of your superiority. Or a little too snobbish in your treatment of those beneath you.”

Her words did not have the desired effect.

“So, you think what, exactly?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at her. “Are you suggesting I did wrong to keep a mistress? That I am a scoundrel because I bedded an actress? Are you angry with me for doing as other men do?”

She cringed at the scorn in his voice. The lump in her throat made it hard to force her words out. “Not angry. Disappointed.”

He had taken advantage of a woman far beneath him in fortune and station, only to cast her aside when he no longer wanted her. He had treated Miss Barbauld differently from Honora merely because she was not a lady. Because he thought she was beneath him. Honora could not approve of that.

“I am sorry to have disappointed you, my lady.” He bit off each word.

Honora shivered at the coldness in her husband’s voice. He had never spoken to her this way before. She wrapped her arms about herself.

He stared at the wall rather than looking her in the face. “I think I had better take myself out of your presence, lest I disappoint you further.”

“I am sorry,” Honora whispered, though she did not know what she was apologizing for. Valance stood still for a moment, so he must have heard her, but instead of responding, he walked into his room and shut the door.

Honora waited a few minutes to see if he changed his mind.

When it became clear that he was not coming back, she got ready for bed.

She did not ring for Clack, but undressed herself, brushed her teeth, and brushed her hair.

She avoided looking at her face in the mirror.

She suspected she would see red, puffy eyes and a shiny nose.

She snuffed out her candle and crawled into bed. Some tiny part of her still hoped Valance would come to her room and accept her apology. But he did not, and she slept alone.

*

In the morning, Valance spoke to her politely at breakfast. Naturally, they could not continue last night’s conversation while his mother sat at the table.

When Mrs. Valance left the room, Honora hoped to have a chance to smooth things over with Valance.

She could see she had hurt him deeply. She ought not have said anything about Miss Barbauld.

It was not Valance’s fault Honora’s illusions about his character had been shattered.

After all, he had never pretended to be perfect.

But Valance did not give her a chance to apologize. Before his mother had finished her morning coffee, Valanced announced he had to meet a friend at the club. “I will be back by dinner time,” he promised, steadily looking away from Honora.

When errands took Mrs. Valance out of the house, too, Honora was left alone in the morning room. She listlessly turned the pages of a book, wondering what to do with herself.

She stared unseeingly at the print for what might have been only a few minutes or an entire hour. Then Weller entered the room, bearing a calling card.

“A Lady Grantly to see you, my lady. Will you receive her, or shall I say that you are not at home?”

“Lady Grantly?” Honora took the card, though she did not need to read it. Her mother’s cards had not changed in years. She cleared her voice, feeling suddenly nervous. “Ah, yes. You had better show her in.”

If Honora’s mother was here, the day was about to get worse.