Page 53 of The Viscount and the Vicar’s Daughter

“With a crown of roses in his beak.” She gave him a rueful smile. “My mother painted many variations of the design, but this was the most common. I always thought it a rather odd configuration.”

Tristan looked up from the book. His eyes found hers. “Was your mother very religious?” he asked abruptly.

“No more than reason.”

“Yet she named you after a saint.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Papa said she was trying to atone. To make things right with God before I was born. She can’t have felt easy about having a child out of wedlock. And certainly not so far from home.”

“Why did she choose Surrey, I wonder. What brought her there?”

“To our village?” Valentine frowned. She’d often wondered the same thing herself. “I suppose she must have simply run out of money. Before Papa found her weeping in the church at Hartford Green, she’d been staying for several days at an inn outside the village. She could no longer afford it.”

Tristan looked down again at the book of verses. “The famous Caddington pride,” he muttered.

“You think it was pride that brought her to Hartwood Green?”

“No,” he said. “But I think—indeed, I would wager my last groat—that it was pride that kept her from returning home to Caddington Park.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand—”

“St. Ashton.” Lady Hermione’s voice rang out from the doorway. “How good of you to call on us.”

Valentine turned from the desk with a start to see her distant cousin entering the drawing room. A rush of heat crept into her face at being caught alone with Tristan, and in such close proximity, too. She immediately moved away from him. “You’re back early, ma’am.”

“As you see.”

“Were Lady Penelope and Lady Euphemia not at home?”

“They were, but there was no need to dally.” Lady Hermione looked at Tristan. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit, my lord?”

Tristan greeted Lady Hermione with cool civility. “I’m in London on business. As I’ve been explaining to Miss March.”

“Lord St. Ashton is seeking investors for a business venture,” Valentine said. “A steam mill and a railway station in Northumberland.”

“How enterprising of him.”

“It’s bound to be a great success.”

“Indeed.”

“And it will make him quite independent of Lord Lynden.”

Lady Hermione’s gray gaze slid to Tristan’s face. “If that’s so, then there will be no more need to marry in order to secure your income.”

Tristan acknowledged this fact with a subtle inclination of his head. “No need at all, ma’am.”

“And this is what you have come to tell my young cousin, I presume.”

Valentine heartbeat quickened. She looked at Tristan, her eyes questioning. He wasn’t calling off their engagement, was he? He couldn’t be. Only a short time ago, he’d told Phil that the two of them were betrothed. If he didn’t wish to marry her, then why…?

“I’m afraid that’s a conversation for another day,” Tristan said. His expression was unreadable, his voice reverting to the same tones of aristocratic indifference she’d heard him use in North Yorkshire. “I’ve already stayed too long. I’ve other appointments this afternoon.”

“As do we,” Lady Hermione said. “Tomorrow we’ll be travelling to Caddington Park and we must make our arrangements.”

Tristan’s face betrayed the faintest flicker of surprise. “You’re going to see Stokedale?”

“We are.”