Page 55 of The Viscount and the Vicar’s Daughter

“I sent my footman round with a note.”

“Hardly an invitation, madam, but I’ll not argue with you.”

The train came to a halt in a grinding screech of metal. Valentine smoothed the folds of her cloak. Beneath it, she wore the same brown woolen travelling dress she’d worn on the journey to meet Lady Hermione. She’d paired it with tan gloves of buttery soft kid, half-boots of polished morocco, and a low-brimmed spoon bonnet with wide silk ribbons knotted beneath her chin. Even her hair had been given special attention. She’d brushed it to a high gloss and then rolled it back into an oversized chignon at the nape of her neck. The whole was secured with dozens of pins, many of which were poking and pulling at her scalp.

She wouldn’t be at all surprised if she ended this day with a blinding headache. And it would serve her right for trying to impress a man who had treated her so shabbily.

“Miss March,” Lady Hermione said abruptly. “You’re looking peaked. You’re not going to be ill, are you?”

“No, ma’am,” Valentine said.

Lord Lynden stood. “Come. We’ll all feel better in the fresh air.”

Valentine trailed behind Lord Lynden and Lady Hermione as they disembarked. The railway platform was deserted. They were obliged to wait a quarter of an hour for the stationmaster’s boy to fetch a carriage and driver to take them to Caddington Park.

True to his word, Lord Lynden arranged all—a fact which seemed to rankle Lady Hermione to no small degree.

“We could have managed just as easily on our own,” she grumbled as Lord Lynden handed her up into the carriage. “Women are not helpless, you know. Though I daresay St. Ashton must think so. It was he who insisted you accompany us.”

Lord Lynden assisted Valentine into the carriage and then climbed in himself, taking the seat across from her and Lady Hermione. “I’m aware,” he said. “He’s explained his reasoning to me and I can find no fault with it.”

“You spoke to him?” Valentine asked.

“I dined with him last night at my club,” Lord Lynden said.

And then he said no more. Valentine ached to question him, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. She’d ended her engagement to Tristan. She had no more rights over him. No more reason to enquire after his whereabouts and his welfare.

“He believes Stokedale will accord us more respect if we arrive with a man.” Lady Hermione wrapped her mantle more snugly around her shoulders. “Perhaps he’s right. Stokedale’s opinions on women’s issues are sorely outdated. I pity his wife and daughters.”

Valentine looked at Lady Hermione in alarm. “They won’t be in residence, will they?”

“No, no.” Lady Hermione waved the question away with a flick of her hand. “They’re on the continent. The family won’t come together until Christmas.”

The words family and Christmas triggered a pang of melancholy in Valentine’s already heavy heart. This would be her first Christmas without her father. She supposed she would spend it with Lady Hermione, but the future hadn’t been discussed as yet.

She’d only come there to stay for the period of her engagement. In a year’s time, she was to marry Tristan and go to Northumberland. But now that she was no longer engaged, there was really no need to remain with one of her relations. She would have to start planning for the rest of her life. Whether that life be in India, China, or back in Hartwood Green with Mrs. Pilcher.

Unfortunately, since Tristan’s departure yesterday, she found that the idea of missionary work in an exotic land—an idea which had once filled her with earnest enthusiasm—was no longer as exciting as in months gone by. She could summon no interest in travelling to a foreign country or learning a foreign language. She felt lost. Unmoored.

“Ah,” Lord Lynden said. “There is Caddington Park.”

Valentine leaned to look out the window. She could make out an enormous structure of cold, gray stone. It was built in the Palladian style, all graceful lines and muted dignity. She pressed a hand to her midsection. Her stomach was churning. She’d been too nervous to eat any breakfast. And she very much feared she’d laced her corset too tightly.

“A handsome prospect, isn’t it?” Lady Hermione said.

She nodded. “Very handsome.”

The carriage stopped at the wide stone steps that led to the front doors. As they disembarked, they were met by a silver-haired butler and two footmen in livery. The butler recognized Lady Hermione at once. He even appeared to know Lord Lynden.

“My lord, my lady,” he said. And then his eyes found Valentine. He visibly started.

“I know what you’re thinking, Frith,” Lady Hermione said briskly. “And you’re not wrong. It’s why we’ve come. Do inform Stokedale, won’t you? And set us in front of a fire. We are frozen through.”

“Yes, my lady,” the butler said.

He ushered them through a grand hall and into a small salon. It was simply furnished with sofas, chairs, and several inlaid tables. Heavy oil paintings decorated the brocade-covered walls, and the floor was covered with a thick Oriental carpet. A fire was blazing in the hearth. Lady Hermione went to stand in front of it, her hands extended toward the flames.

Valentine didn’t know what to do with herself. Upon entering, she’d given her cloak, bonnet, and gloves to a footman. Rather nonsensically, she wished she could have them back again. She felt vulnerable and exposed without them.