Page 37 of The Viscount and the Vicar’s Daughter

“While your presence, I’m sure, would be sorely missed,” Valentine retorted.

“By one or two ladies at least,” he replied without batting an eye. “Regrettably, I’ll have to disappoint them. I intend to drink my dinner.”

Lord Lynden frowned his disapproval. “With that,” he said, moving to rise from his chair, “I will bid you both goodnight.”

“My lord,” she said. “If you could spare a moment longer. I’d hoped to discuss… That is…I came to tell you that I have come to a decision about my future.”

Tristan looked at her with sudden alertness.

“Have you now?” Lord Lynden asked.

“Yes, sir. It’s something Lord St. Ashton said that gave me the idea. Something about their being a great many Caddington relations who might wish to know me.”

“There might well be,” Lord Lynden said. “I’ve been thinking of one or two likely Caddington ladies myself. Not as high sticklers as the rest of the lot. A bit more open-minded.”

“Are there such ladies?” she asked.

“One in particular comes to mind. Lady Hermione Caddington. A distant spinster cousin of your mother.”

“Hermione Caddington?” Tristan sounded vaguely horrified. “The one who used to wear that outrageous Bloomer costume?”

“Reform dress,” Lord Lynden mused. “Yes, yes. She was a bit of an original in her day.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Tristan said dryly.

“And you think she might be willing to meet me?” Valentine couldn’t conceal the hope in her voice.

“We shall soon see. I sent her a wire this morning.”

“What?” Tristan’s face darkened with irritation “Without consulting me?”

Lord Lynden glared at his son. “And how was I to consult with you while you were gallivanting around York for the better part of the day?” he demanded. “No. I consulted my own judgment, sir. The more options Miss March has, the better.”

Valentine leaned forward in her chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “What do you suggest, my lord?”

“St. Ashton informs me that you’re opposed to staying with my son and daughter-in-law in Devonshire over the next year while he gets his property in order.”

“Not opposed, but…I confess, it’s not my first choice. I wouldn’t like to be among strangers for such an extended period of time. Not unless I’ve been employed by them for an honest wage.”

“You’d rather work?”

“I’d rather not be a burden. To stay with anyone on sufferance…” She shook her head. “No, my lord. I wouldn’t find it at all comfortable. And I can’t think your son and his wife would enjoy it very much either.”

Lord Lynden considered her from beneath furrowed brows. “Perhaps you might prefer travelling to London to see Lady Hermione? She’s not a stranger. She’s your family. And, unless I’ve greatly misjudged her character, it wouldn’t take much convincing to persuade her to stand chaperone for you.”

Tristan straightened from where he leaned on the mantelpiece. “What in blazes is this?” His deep voice was taut with sudden anger. “A bloody conspiracy? Am I to have no say at all in my own future?”

“It’s not your future we’re discussing,” Lord Lynden said. “It’s Miss March’s future.”

“The two are one in the same,” Tristan said. “Whether you like it or not, Miss March and I are going to be married.”

Valentine could feel the tension between Lord Lynden and his son vibrating in the smoky air of the billiards room. The atmosphere fairly crackled with it. She looked between the two men. She didn’t believe they hated each other. But there was a great deal of bitterness and disappointment on both sides. And she was certain it didn’t help that, at present, Lord Lynden held the purse strings.

“I think I should like to go to London,” she said.

Tristan looked at her. “Valentine—”

“I don’t want to stay here any longer,” she said. “After what happened last night…”