What she had most adored, though, was that Lord Tramondeley had rarely left her side.
He did not leave her side even now, insisting that he would walk her to her door. Her father had snorted over it, but he had not forbidden it.
They had left Lady Letitia waving from her carriage and the count looking very sullen on his horse. Lord Tramondeley gave her his arm while the duke and Mrs. Right followed behind.
As they made their way across the dark square, Lord Tramondeley said, “Will you attend the Carlton House fête on Wednesday?”
“My father says it is to be a terrible crush,” Valor said.
“It is,” the duke said behind them.
“But we must go,” Valor went on, “as we received an invitation for the conservatory where the prince will dine. It would be noticed if we did not attend.”
“The burden of being a duke,” the duke said.
“Ah, I did not get that special invitation, just a regular one. Lord Ledderbey and I will be under the tents with a thousand other people.”
“But I understand there is to be dancing, and then fireworks,” Valor said, “before everybody must retreat to their assigned places for dinner.”
“Yes, and you have taught me to dance.”
“You taught yourself, which you know very well.”
“Point is,” the duke said, “he can dance.”
Lord Tramondeley smiled over her father’s comment. “Perhaps we ought to go in one carriage,” he said. “It is bound to be a crush.”
“Come round for us then,” the duke said. “But don’t bring your carriage. There will be no point to it as the roads will be littered with carriages trying to get through. It’s not too far, we can easily walk.”
Lord Tramondeley nodded. “Excellent idea.”
They had come to the door and Valor almost invited Lord Tramondeley in, but Mrs. Right had her by the arm. “Goodnight to you, Lord Tramondeley,” the housekeeper said, marching her inside.
The duke laughed behind them. “See that, Tramondeley, you’ve been dismissed by my housekeeper. We will see you on Wednesday. Or sooner if you like, our door is always open to my heir.”
“Your Grace.”
The door shut behind them and Valor ran to the drawing room and peeked out. She saw Lord Tramondeley smile and turn on his heel. She watched him until he disappeared into the darkness, and then again as he emerged from it and went inside his house.
“Well now, my girl, has a sketch and a game of Lookabout solidified the thing?” the duke asked, coming in behind her.
“I’m sure I do not know what you are talking about, Papa,” Valor said, though of course she was sure.
“No matter,” the duke said, “I’m sure you’ll fill me in eventually.”
Valor supposed her father meant that he would be informed if Lord Tramondeley asked. Would he ask? If he would, when?
Gracious, when she looked back on all the things she’d done toavoid being in just this position. She’d even pretended to be consumptive!
And yet, here she was, waiting to be asked.
It did fill her with a sort of terror. But then, an equal terror came over her when she considered the possibility that he would not ask. It was all so scary. Wonderful, but scary.
“I suppose we might have a brandy, Mrs. Right?” the duke said. “I also suppose I’ll have to get it myself, as there is no sign of Mr. Huberville.”
“I’ll take Valor upstairs and then I’ll fetch it,” Mrs. Right said. “Mr. Huberville will be long abed. A day of nerves and breaking things wears him out, you see.”
“Good grief,” the duke said.
Valor kissed the top of his head and flitted up the stairs. In her bedchamber, she peeked out the window to Lord Tramondeley’s house. She was surprised to see the sketch artist who’d done the count’s portrait coming out of the house. Lord Tramondeley had told the count the fellow had come down with an illness and left.
Why would he have said so if it were not true? For that matter, why had the count seemed so aggravated that he could not get the sketch back to destroy it? She could understand one not caring for the likeness, but there was no reason to make such a fuss about it. It had bordered on rude.
And where was that sketch? The artist had nothing in his hands that Valor could see.
It was all very odd.
“Come love,” Mrs. Right said, “let us get you into your nightclothes and to bed with you. It’s not seemly to be peering out the windows.”
Valor laughed and dropped the curtains. No, it was not seemly at all, not that she cared. She was becoming rather daring, she thought. At least, more daring than she ever had been. It might not be another lady’s idea of daring, but it felt daring for her.
