Rake in the Regency Ballroom. Bronwyn Scott
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walked them through the garden, talking of plants and herbs. He stopped to check the tight, close-budded rhododendrons. ‘Will only be a month and these beauties will pop open.’ He stopped at the edge of the garden. ‘Now here is where I’ve planned a lane of trees.’ He gestured to lines of seedlings strategically placed. ‘There’s copper beeches and evergreen oaks.’ Something twinkled in his eye. ‘Look over there.’ Samuel Trist pointed. ‘That is my pride, a Chilean Pine.’
Valerian was immediately taken with the tree. ‘What a curious species. May I?’ He strode towards the tree, studying it intently with gentle hands. ‘Philippa, come see this!’All formality was forgotten in the wake of his excitement over the exotic tree.
The tree was indeed a curiosity. Dark green in colour and covered with stiff needles, the tree had arm-like branches that stuck out haphazardly, becoming a complex tangle of maze-like arms that took up vast amounts of space. ‘Why, I think it would puzzle even a monkey to climb it!’ Philippa exclaimed, laughing at the intriguing shape of the tree.
‘Perhaps that’s what I’ll call it,’ Samuel Trist said, joining in her merriment. ‘A monkey-puzzle tree. That certainly sounds more exotic than “Chilean Pine.”’
‘I’ve not seen anything like it,’ Valerian said, his tone nearly reverent.
‘I might boast enough to say that if I can get it to grow, it’ll be one of the first planted in Britain,’ Trist said.
‘I’d like to get a cutting of this and have a go at it myself,’ Valerian said. Philippa didn’t miss the excited sparkle in his eye as he contemplated a new plant.
Trist nodded, glad to have found a fellow enthusiast. ‘I need to get back to the vicarage, but feel free to walk farther. There’s a grotto I am currently filling in to make a folly and I’ve got stakes laid out where there will eventually be a man-made lake. The walk is a bit rough this time of year, your Grace. You’re welcome to come back with me,’ he added.
Philippa flashed a look at Valerian. She should go back. Returning to Beldon and Lucien was the safest path to travel. There was no temptation there, just polite conversation. Valerian had proved to be the opposite. In the short time since his return, he’d managed to tempt her passions and her temper, two irreconcilable forces.
It was something of a mystery to her how she could resent the passion he awoke so easily and yet she had continually courted opportunities for him to stoke those same flames.
Valerian’s sharp gaze seemed to sense her hesitation as she weighed her choices. ‘Come with me, Lady Duchess. The weather promises to remain fine and you remarked in the carriage how much you wished to be out of doors. If the path proves too hard, we can turn back.’ He held out his arm in a gesture that brooked no refusal. How could she gracefully decline a gentleman’s arm without turning it into an outright rejection?
Reverend Trist was staring at her, confirming her suspicions that she’d contemplated her situation too long.
She smiled and said with forced brightness, ‘Thank you, St Just. I think a walk is the perfect idea.’
She took Valerian’s arm, telling herself that the bachelor vicar couldn’t see her inner turmoil over the decision or even that he suspected anything amiss. Women took a man’s arm all the time. But it did not escape her notice that the vicar glanced from one to the other before he set off towards the house, trying to understand what had really transpired. Philippa wished him luck with the conundrum, although she doubted he’d succeed where she had failed.
‘Shall we?’ St Just turned them towards the stone-strewn path leading to the folly site, which Philippa thought was aptly named in light of the fact that she’d had very little luck with Valerian when it came to gardens. The last time she’d been alone in one with him, he’d left her with a broken heart that had taken years to patch. She wondered what he’d leave her with today. She could already feel the seams of that patch starting to unravel against all logic and her better judgement.
Chapter Seven
‘You hesitated, Philippa,’ Valerian said matter of factly, guiding her around a large stone in the centre of the path. ‘Did you fear being alone with me?’
‘Don’t overestimate yourself.’ Philippa fought the urge to give an unladylike laugh. ‘I recall the last time we were alone, you ended up with my hand across your face. If either of us should fear being alone with the other, it should be you.’
Valerian tossed her a sideways glance. ‘I must correct you. That wasn’t the last time we were alone. Yesterday, I thought we did very well together. I thought our conversation was quite civil. As for the other time you are referring to, I am still not sure if the slap was meant for me or if I was merely an available target for your own personal frustration.’
The man’s arrogance was phenomenal. But she was thankful for it. Fighting with him was better than wallowing in silence with her fantasies about the man she wished he was. ‘Enlighten me. What would I be frustrated about, if not your outlandish assumption that I was inviting your attentions out there on the balcony?’
They called an implicit truce while Valerian helped her over a small pile of scrim. The path smoothed out and argument resumed. In a detached part of her mind, Philippa thought the scene would be quite funny if played out on stage—their courteous behaviours being interspersed with the contradiction of the verbal spears they hurled.
‘Outlandish?’ Valerian repeated with calculated incredulity. ‘I believe “outlandish” refers to being odd or strange. My dear, I regret to inform you my “assumptions” were anything but “outlandish”. You did not find my “assumptions” strange or odd in the least. Perhaps you’re looking for a different word?’
‘I don’t know what that would be,’ Philippa snapped.
Valerian gave a shrug and a sigh. ‘I don’t know either. Perhaps a word denoting “liking” or “appreciation”? After all, you did like my kisses. Point of fact, you liked them so much, you managed to kiss me back quite thoroughly before you managed to slap me. By the way, I find that deuced unfair—slapping me for your kissing.’
‘No gentleman would ever speak to a lady in such a manner!’ Philippa fumed. The man was more than arrogant. He was a positive boor. ‘How dare you make such assumptions!’
‘Oh, that word again, “assumptions”,’ Valerian parried with feigned blitheness. ‘I think before we go any further we should define precisely what you mean when you say “assumptions”. I’m starting to believe you and I use the word differently.’
Philippa’s temper flared again. ‘If this is your idea of diplomacy, Britain is lucky not to be engaged in a conflict of major proportions.’ She regretted her words instantly. Valerian’s face went strangely blank for a moment, his eyes giving the impression that his thoughts were suddenly far away. The impression was so fleeting that the next moment Philippa wondered if she hadn’t imagined it.
‘But this is not a diplomatic mission, my dear, it is a walk to a folly with an old friend who, frankly, seems a bit confused about her feelings.’
‘You dare too much.’ Philippa stopped and withdrew her hand from his arm, her voice as stiff as her spine. The cad had gone too far. She would argue with him about stolen kisses or ‘assumptions’ or whatever he wanted to call them, but she would not countenance this effort to make their past history her fault. Neither would she let him portray her as a wanton widow eager to bed down with any handsome house guest.
‘You cannot come back into my life after what you did and expect to be forgiven on two days’notice. Neither can you expect me to engage in whatever kind of affaire de coeur you are used to carrying on with women of your acquaintance.’ She knew very well the kind of women who peopled Valerian’s diplomatic circles.
To her satisfaction, Valerian did have the decency to look penitent. ‘Are you finished?’ he said quietly, the toe