Valerian Inglemoore. Bronwyn Scott
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wound through knot gardens and small privet hedges.
Under normal circumstances, the garden would have been quite enticing. But tonight, his secret was nearly too much to bear. He was twenty-one and he was in love with Philippa Stratten, Baron Pendennys’s daughter, and she was in love with him. She was to meet him here tonight.
But nothing would ever come of it.
That was the secret.
Tonight, he was breaking it off with her, at her father’s request. Tonight, he had to convince her after two months of stolen kisses and clandestine meetings that his affections were nothing more than a young man’s fleeting fancy. He didn’t know how he’d manage. He loved her so much.
After tonight, he’d never take her in his arms, never feel her run her fingers through his hair, as if it were the rarest silk. The last two months had been heaven. He’d danced with her at her début in April and every night since. They’d made a habit of heated kisses in curtained alcoves, and taking long walks in gardens during Venetian breakfasts and afternoon teas. It had been simple enough to manipulate time alone with her. He was an avid botanist as well as a horseman. It was plausible enough to say they were going off to look at a certain variety of flower or to see a new colt in the stables.
Oh, yes, they’d fallen madly in love with each other. One could almost say it was love at first sight except that he had known Philippa for years. She was his best friend Beldon’s sister. The threesome had spent school holidays roaming the Cornish coast together. He’d known since his first visit home with Beldon that his heart could belong to no other.
Behind him, the Rutherfords’ ballroom played host to three hundred of London’s finest dancing away the night in their silks and satins, champagne never more than a footman’s tray away. But he cared not a whit. His heart was breaking.
‘Valerian.’ A familiar, dear voice spoke his name in the darkness. He drew a final breath, praying for the strength to give her up. It would be for her own good, although she’d never believe it.
He turned towards the sound of her voice, letting her beauty overwhelm him as it always did. The effect was no less devastating tonight. This evening, her beauty was at its zenith, shown to perfection in the pale blue fabric of her gown. In the moonlight, the fabric appeared to shimmer when she moved. A soft summer breeze drew the thin fabric of her gown against her body, reminding Valerian of the fine figure beneath the filmy layers of summer chiffon.
‘Val.’ She whispered his name in response, moving towards him, her hands outstretched. ‘I could hardly wait.’ She wore a gentle smile on her lips, a soft look for him alone in the blue depths of her eyes. It was intoxicating to think the excitement that simmered beneath the surface of that gentle smile and soft look were all for him.
He savoured it. After tonight, he would not feel such joy again.
She slipped her gloved hands into his, expecting him to take her in his arms as he usually did. He swallowed hard against the temptation. He’d come out here to do his duty to her family, a family which had loved and harboured him since his adolescence. They’d asked him to give her up for sake of their finances and her future. It was a difficult task at best. Her merest touch, her slightest affection, made it Herculean.
The embrace did not come. He could not give it to her as much as he desired to take her in his arms and feel her against him. To do so would be to fail the family in the only thing they’d ever asked of him. As a man of honour, he owed them more.
She looked up into his face, reading him aright, unconsciously warning him to better school his features if he was to carry off his task believably. ‘Aren’t you happy to see me?’ Philippa began.
‘Of course I am happy to see you. I am always happy to see a dear friend,’ Valerian said, hoping Philippa didn’t hear the unspoken lie. He’d always seen her as much more than a friend.
‘Then kiss me. I’ve waited all day for you, for this moment.’ She flirted, trying to press up against him, to make him take her in his arms.
He was too skilled for her untutored efforts. ‘Philippa, stop. We have to talk.’
‘Here?’ She glanced around curiously, disappointment evident on her features. Valerian wondered what she’d been expecting that this location was not suitable. Certainly, she wasn’t expecting what he had to tell her. Her father, Baron Pendennys, had indicated that Beldon and Philippa were completely in the dark about the family’s situation.
The balcony was mostly empty, but there were a few couples strolling about. It wasn’t nearly as private as he’d hoped. Valerian shook his head. ‘No, not here. Come walk in the garden with me.’
They found a bench settled among rhododendrons in full bloom and sat. Valerian kept her hand. He nodded towards a bower of roses across the pathway. ‘The roses are lovely. I hear Lady Rutherford has imported a special yellow rose from Turkey.’
He was stalling and he knew it, putting off the news as long as he could, storing up every memory of her—beautiful, innocent Philippa, believing in the purity of his love when he’d come to prove her beliefs ill founded and her heart played falsely. It would be years before she would understand this was a sham designed to protect her family.
‘What is it, Val? You didn’t come out here to show me roses,’ Philippa coaxed.
‘I spoke to your father earlier this evening.’
Her face lit with joy. A little cry of delight escaped her lips. She clapped a gloved hand over her mouth. He replayed the words in his head the way she would hear them. He knew he’d mis-stepped. She thought he had come to propose. He must be more careful, more convincing.
Valerian shook his head in warning. ‘No, Philippa, it is not what you think. Your father has told me of your betrothal to the Duke of Cambourne. He accepted an offer for your hand this afternoon.’
Philippa furrowed her brow, disbelief and confusion warring across her face. His words had achieved their goal. This pronouncement was so far from what she’d expected she couldn’t even be angry. She couldn’t get angry with him until she put the pieces together. The poor girl hadn’t even known Cambourne was interested, although the betting book at White’s had been full of wagers over when the widower Duke would make his move. The men about town had privately acknowledged Cambourne’s interest in the Season’s finest débutante weeks ago. Valerian had hoped to wait out the storm. He might have succeeded if the Baron’s need for funds hadn’t been so desperate.
‘Cambourne? You must be mistaken, Val.’ She was all naïve logic, standing up and shaking out her skirts, convinced she only had to march into the ballroom and explain the situation to her father. ‘He loves you. Nothing would please him more than to welcome you into our family. He would want this for me, for us.’
‘Wait, Philippa.’ Valerian kept his voice even and cold, not betraying the emotion threatening beneath his hardening veneer. ‘I came out here to encourage you to accept Cambourne’s offer.’
‘What do you mean? You want me to marry Cambourne?’ Philippa exclaimed, horrified. ‘He’s old enough to be my father! I don’t love him. Beyond a few dances, I hardly know the man at all.’ Her infamous temper started to show now that the initial shock had passed. Valerian did not relish being on the receiving end of her sharp tongue.
‘You have the rest of your life to get to know him, Philippa.’ Valerian dismissed her argument with callous disregard. ‘He’s an excellent catch for you, if you think about it.’ Valerian made a show of ticking the other man’s merits off on his gloved fingers. ‘He’s from our part of the world. You’ll still be close to home and your family. He’s wealthy. He loves horses as you do. He’s not a cruel or unattractive man. You could find happiness with him. He will offer you stability and security.’
‘But not love,’ Philippa fired back. ‘Here you are, laying out his assets like a business merger. But the only one I care about is love. He can’t possibly love me. He doesn’t know me. You know me, Val. If those criteria are so important to