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She frowned. “Pardon?”
“George tells me he is bored and is waiting for his grandparents.” Valentine looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded.
“Jenny’s sister is sick and the children cannot be at home,” she explained.
He motioned vaguely with his hand, waving away her explanation. “Let us get you that paper,” he offered, picking up Julia and settling her on his hip.
George threaded his small hand into Valentine’s, and Chastity fought not to faint at the sweet gesture. There was something wildly appealing about this brooding man holding two young children so gently. She’d never seen him with children and had not considered how he might be with them really. She might have had imagined he would be completely befuddled by them somehow, but it seemed not.
He led the children into one of the drawing rooms, retrieved some paper and charcoal which George clutched as though it was some sort of treasure then, after George had promised most heartedly to do his very best work so Valentine could inspect it, they headed downstairs to return the children to the kitchen.
Jenny’s face paled when Valentine entered the kitchen and eased Julia to the floor, then distributed the paper and charcoal.
“My lord, I—”
He held up a palm. “I do not need to hear it. Just ensure they stay here. There are far too many places for them to get into trouble upstairs.”
“Of course, my lord.” Sarah nodded eagerly, her cheeks bright patches of red.
Valentine gave a curt nod and left just before Tom came in, waving a piece of paper Chastity recognized as the scandal sheets. Her stomach sank. What would they have to say about her sister today? Unfortunately, the servants all enjoyed the gossip and though they had never made any cruel comments, she loathed that her sister had become their entertainment.
“They’re talking about a Mrs. Whitaker today.” He set the paper down in front of Sarah, who peered over her bowl at it. “Did you know one of the Duke of Daventry’s daughters was married?” Tom said. “I certainly didn’t.”
Chastity’s heart came to a thudding standstill. She stepped closer and eyed the caricature.
“You used to work there, did you not, Chastity?” Sarah asked. “Was she really like that?”
Chastity saw herself depicted as a vapid, demanding woman surrounded by new gowns and shoes whilst waving a fan and demanding things of her beleaguered late husband. They’d drawn John with a halo whilst her hair had been styled so it mimicked horns. She pressed a hand to her whirling stomach. Keep your men safe! Do not let them near the D’s daughters! declared the caption.
Her breaths grew rapid, and she fought to suck down her next one whilst keeping her expression neutral. Of course they thought John to be an angel. Everyone did. They never knew what he was truly like behind his carefully constructed image.
“Was she that bad?” asked Tom eagerly.
“I do not…” She twisted away. “I do not know,” she managed to mutter and fumbled blindly upstairs until she could pause, lean against a wall and take a breath.
She could listen to them mock and deride her no longer. She’d only ever tried to be a good wife, but people never saw that, even now. All these years later, all this gained confidence and fighting to be her own woman and John’s behavior continued to haunt her. She slammed a fist against the wall.
“Whatever did that wall do to you?”
She jolted away from it and scowled in Valentine’s direction. “Do you just wait around in the hopes of scaring me?”
A dark brow rose. “Forgive me for existing in my own house.” He motioned to the open door of the drawing room. “I recalled I had some paints stored somewhere and I was going to give them to the children.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
His lips slanted into a dry smile. “Probably.” He nodded toward the wall. “Why exactly were you trying to beat my wall into submission?”
“It does not matter.”
He stepped closer until he was silhouetted against the bright light of the windows, tall and imposing but oddly comforting. She wanted to fling herself against him and draw comfort from the strength of him as though it could help her gain the power to defeat the hold John still had over her.
∞∞∞
Valentine saw the indecision, the fragility in her posture. She wanted to tell him more and he wanted to know it all. He shouldn’t but he could not bring himself to care at present. Whatever made the light drop from her eyes at times, he wanted to help her conquer it. Or at the very least, understand.
“I think it does matter,” he said softly.
“There was a drawing.” She gestured down the stairs.
