Page 50 of The Viscount and the Vicar’s Daughter

His Valentine.

“Then your memory of the events in September is as addled as all the rest of you,” she said. “We are not going to marry. We never were.”

“Come now, my dear,” he said. “Engagements are not so easily broken. One must honor one’s promises.”

Tristan’s body tensed with outrage. He stepped forward. “On that I quite agree.”

Valentine’s gaze jerked to his with a start. Her lips parted on an indrawn breath. “Tristan.”

“Miss March,” he said, bowing. “Do introduce me to your friend.”

Two spots of color appeared high on her cheeks, tinting her porcelain skin to rose. “My lord, may I present Mr. Phillip Edgecombe. Mr. Edgecombe, this is the Viscount St. Ashton.”

“Miss March’s fiancé,” Tristan added. “Or hasn’t she told you?”

Edgecombe descended the final step. Tristan was pleased to see that he was taller than the little parasite by over a head and outweighed him by at least two stone. “I fear that’s not possible, my lord. You see, Miss March is promised to me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, indeed. We grew up together in Hartwood Green. We have had an understanding of long duration.”

Tristan lifted his brows. “What do you say to this, Miss March?”

Valentine’s eyes went to the butler. He was standing near the door, looking damnably uncomfortable. She made a soft sound of exasperation. “If we must discuss this, let’s not do so in the hall, gentlemen. Come into the morning room, both of you.”

Tristan didn’t budge. “Ah, but Mr. Edgecombe was leaving, wasn’t he? I have no wish to detain him.”

“I’m happy to explain the circumstances of my engagement to Miss March,” Edgecombe said. “In the morning room or anywhere.”

Valentine’s expression tightened. “For the last time,” she said, “there is no engagement. There never was one. When I left Hartwood Green, you made it very plain—”

“A misunderstanding,” Edgecombe interrupted. “Which I’ve repeatedly explained.”

“There is no misunderstanding.” She looked at Tristan. “I wrote to Mrs. Pilcher to reassure her that I was all right. I told her I was staying with Lady Hermione. She relayed the information to Mr. Edgecombe and, believing me to be in line for some of the Caddington fortune, he’s travelled here today to insist that we marry!”

“Has he, indeed.”

“Yes,” Valentine said. “And he’s insinuated that, if I don’t marry him, he’ll sue me for breach of promise and have my name dragged through the courts! Have you ever heard of anything so dastardly?”

Edgecombe held up a hand in protest. “Now, Val. You know that’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant!”

“But you must consider my sacrifice. A trip to London is not inexpensive. I came here relying on our agreement. When you say that you won’t marry me, you’re in breach of that agreement. It’s a classic case, my dear. I consulted a solicitor on the subject and—”

Tristan drew himself up to his full height. “Did you, by God.”

“Well, I must say that I did. For I had an inkling that Val would be difficult on the subject now that she is more comfortably off. And had I known she was in danger of losing her head to a man who is known far and wide as a—”

“Oh, don’t say it, Phil,” Valentine warned under her breath.

“By all means do, Phil,” Tristan urged.

“I won’t disparage you, my lord. I didn’t come to town to make enemies. I came to settle things with Val and, once I have done, I shall return to Hartwood Green.”

“Are things settled, Miss March?” Tristan asked her.

“To my mind.”