‘Say you believe me, that you find me to be a man of honour.’ Valerian answered quietly.
His hands held hers tightly. They had long since given up standing and had seated themselves on the floor of the ballroom. The shadows had lengthened into early evening, the bright room growing darker. The floor was a hard seat, but Philippa would not have moved from the dusty wood floor for anything. Valerian’s tale had riveted her from the beginning. It had made sense, why she’d found such incongruity in his statements that evening. All that nonsense about needing society’s approval had not sounded like the Valerian she’d known.
A voice from the doorway caused her to turn her head. ‘I’ll vouch for him, Phil. The Pendennys’s ledgers support all he says. We needed Cambourne and Father arranged for it to happen.’ Beldon pushed off from the door jamb and strode towards them.
‘Beldon, you know?’ Philippa stood up awkwardly, shaking out her wrinkled skirts.
‘I suspected as much.’ Beldon gave a short laugh. ‘I started thinking how serendipitous it was that Cambourne’s money came along just when we needed it. The pieces started to fall into place. I searched the family ledgers and I discovered there was nothing lucky about the appearance of Cambourne in our lives. He was Father’s last great campaign to save us.’
‘I wish you had told me.’ Philippa turned to Valerian, quiet censure in her voice.
‘How could I tell you? You were desperate enough that night. If you’d thought there was any chance of undoing your father’s plans, or if you thought I could be won over, you would never have agreed to marry Cambourne.’
‘So you decided for me?’ Philippa’s temper began to simmer. ‘You decided it would be better to let me believe the worst about you, about my own judgement, for nine years?’ She saw Beldon slip out the door, trying hard not to be noticed. Very well, this was between her and Valerian.
‘Your father asked it of me,’ Valerian answered with a rising anger of his own. ‘If you knew, we’d have ended up running off to who-knows-where with nothing but the clothes on our backs.’
‘It was my life.’ Philippa stomped her foot in irritation. She was tired of having men decide what was best for her. First her father, then Lucien and now Valerian’s disclosure. Did all men think women were such sapskulls? ‘I expected better from you, Valerian.’
Righteous indignation fired Valerian. ‘Better? In what sense?’ He should have known this would be Philippa’s response. For once, why couldn’t she be like other women? Other women would be won over by the romance of his sacrifice and the long constancy of his affections. But Philippa challenged the realities of the situation.
Her sharp eyes studied his face, testing his reactions for truth. ‘You should have trusted me instead of trying to bear that burden alone.’
Valerian pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. He’d bared his conscience, confessed the greatest sin Philippa knew him capable of. And, yes, he’d expected to be believed. More than that, he’d expected to be accepted. He’d rather thought—and foolishly so—that her heart would welcome him back on the spot. It seemed quite unfair to be treated to her scolding instead and he’d had enough of it.
‘Regardless, it was done with your best interest at heart. I regretted hurting you. I regretted denying myself happiness. But I won’t stand here and be tongue-lashed for upholding your father’s wishes and doing what was best for the family. There were no easy answers or choices, Philippa.’ He was aware he’d raised his a voice in his agitation. He controlled it, bringing it down a notch. ‘I feared if I told you, you would hate me and then your father would know that I had failed him.’
‘I ended up hating you anyway,’ Philippa said sharply. Her hands were knotted into fists at her sides, her voice full of impotent frustration. ‘Nine years is a long time to hate, Val.’
‘It’s also a long time to love,’ he said softly, walking towards her and taking her hands in his, uncurling them from their tight fists. But he knew what she meant. She could not be expected to change course suddenly. The news was too raw, too unfiltered. She had the permission she needed to trust in him again, to see him as the friend she’d once known, but it would take time. She had her permission. The rest was up to her.
Valerian relished the thought of that challenge. He would woo her gently. While she was at Roseland, he would court her as sincerely as he had once dreamed of doing. The idea of Philippa thrilled him enormously. This time there would be no sneaking off under the facade of excuses to steal hasty kisses, there would be no fear of being caught. He would court her openly, starting with this kiss.
Gently, he tipped her chin up and captured her face between his hands, taking a chance to drink of her countenance, the creamy skin, the brilliant blue of her eyes, the tremulous smile that played uncertainly at her lips while she waited, her own gaze searching his. Then he brushed her lips with his, softly, tenderly. This kiss lacked the roughness of their heated engagement at the folly, but was no less intense for that absence.
Slowly, he could feel her body soften, the rigid posture with which she’d held herself in her anger relaxing against him, arms finding their way around his neck as he took her weight. He’d waited his entire life for this. He’d come back for this. The darkness of his world receded in the wake of the peace that flooded through him from the simple act of holding her tight against him.
‘I will not be so foolish as to let you go again,’ he vowed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
‘You may have to for dinner,’ Philippa joked, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
‘Well, just for dinner, then.’
The next days were heady ones for Valerian. True to his word, he hardly let Philippa out of his sight. They rode in the early morning along the coastal bridle path between St Just-in-Roseland and St Mawes. They picnicked with Beldon in the hilly meadows above the St Justus churchyard, watching the small wildlife run through the fields. They took long walks beside the tidal creeks that bordered Valerian’s property. It seemed that he talked endlessly of his plans for the future in those days: plans for his gardens, his landscapes, his stables. He couldn’t help it. Life, full and pure, coursed through his veins again. There was purpose everywhere he looked. He was young and fit with the wealth he needed to bring his plans to fruition…and the woman.
Philippa was intoxicating. Her very presence in the same room could steal his attention for minutes at a time. The curve of her neck when she bent over a book during their quiet times after dinner drove him to distraction, making his hand itch to gently massage her exposed nape. The lilac scent of her light perfume lingered in the air long after she’d passed through a corridor. Her soft music at the pianoforte lent a cultivated feel to the house, filtering through the halls from the music room.
There were signs of her presence everywhere, from the cut-crystal bowls filled with colourful flowers placed on tables throughout the house to the very obvious redecorating efforts. Painters had come to paint and others had come to hang the drawing-room walls with a damask silk of deep crimson. It was more than simply noticing the difference a woman’s touch made in transforming a house into a home. Valerian was struck afresh daily that it was his home, his woman.
She smiled easily these days, she laughed, she stared at him with a dreamy look in her eyes when she thought she had him unawares. Most of all, she’d found her ease with him again. They roamed the hills, comfortable in their conversation and in their touch. She’d take his hand or reach out to brush a strand of hair back from his face without thinking.
If he were naïve, he’d say it was like the old days of their youth. But those days were gone. Only a fool would think they could be reclaimed in their entirety. These were new days, new times for them, and Valerian was not careless with that reality. He treasured each knowing look, each shared laugh as spring came to his beloved Cornwall. He’d lived too long in places where life changed at a moment’s notice to discard the simple pleasures he found in Philippa’s company. As
the days passed, he had reason to believe she felt that way also. Her own life had not been without the pain of loss that had come too early.
On St Piran’s Day, they rode down to St Justus to put flowers on the graves of miners and to join in the village celebrations. The weather was fair for March and everyone for miles around had turned out for the festivities honouring the legendary hero-saint who, legend held, had imparted the wisdom of tinning to early Cornish miners a thousand years earlier.
Valerian found himself to be something of a celebrity. Although several tradesmen and day workers had been tramping up the hill to Roseland since his return, he’d not spent much time in the village reestablishing ties yet. He was proud to make his entrance with Philippa at his side, looking splendid in a rich brown riding habit trimmed in black with a small hat to match, her russet hair twisted into an exquisite knot at the back of her neck. He wanted people to get used to seeing her with him. She would be his countess soon. Valerian thought of his quietly sworn New Year’s resolution and smiled. All he’d ever truly wanted was within his reach.
Philippa did not disappoint. At the village, she dismounted from her horse, immediately engulfed by a group of children with daisies in their hands. She took the little bouquets, some already wilting, exclaiming over each one in delight until she’d compiled one big one. The children were charmed. Two little girls seized her hands and led her to the village green where preparations for celebrations were just finishing. She tossed a smile back at him as the children merrily towed her away.
Valerian lifted his arm in a brief wave and followed at a slower pace behind the excited children, stopping to talk with a few men as he progressed. Booths were set up around the perimeter of the green and he caught up with Philippa and children at a booth selling Cornish pasties.
‘We were deciding if we were hungry or not,’ Philippa called out.
A little girl with dark curls piped up. ‘We’ve decided that we are.’ Excited cheers went up from the little coterie and Valerian found himself handing over coins for nine pasties filled with savoury beef. He was starting to think the children might be with them all day, when a handful of mothers bustled up to claim them.
‘We’re so sorry, your lordship, milady. I hope they didn’t bother you too much,’ one woman said in apology, casting a stern look at her three youngsters.
Valerian assured her it had been no trouble. But the children’s eyes began to fill with tears regardless of his reassurances. Philippa knelt down swiftly, taking their hands. ‘Come and see us this afternoon. I think I heard there are to be games.’ Her offer dried their tears and Valerian thought he could literally feel his chest swell with pride at her kind efforts.
‘That was very generous of you,’ he remarked as they began a slow stroll past the booths.
Philippa shrugged. ‘Children make the world brighter. It’s a shame the world doesn’t do more for them in return other than to force them to grow up too fast and assume adult responsibilities.’
‘Perhaps that will change. I hear there is legislation in Parliament regarding child labour.’
‘I hope it goes through. I have thrown whatever political clout I have behind promoting such laws. Perhaps you will too?’ Philippa cast him a cautious sideways glance.
Valerian raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes returning her gaze. ‘Absolutely.’ For a fleeting moment he thought of Dimitri’s young son forced to be a warrior, forced to flee from a village that had become a war zone. He wished Dimitri’s children could have had a village like this one, a day like this one, and the security of knowing there would be other days.
‘What is it, Val? You’re miles from here,’ Philippa asked with concern.
He pushed his sad thoughts aside. Today was about the future. ‘An old memory, that’s all. There’s a vendor with some good lengths of ribbon over here.’ He tugged on her hand and the moment passed.
They shopped the rest of the morning. Philippa bought several lengths of ribbon and cakes of soap. At the last booth she bought a bag of peppermints.
‘Sweet tooth, my dear?’ Valerian inquired teasingly.
‘They’re for the children,’ Philippa protested and Valerian smiled. She hadn’t forgotten her promise.
Valerian spread out a blanket on the green near where the games would take place that afternoon and went to assemble a luncheon of sorts from the different stalls. By the time he returned, Philippa was surrounded by her court of children again. She sat placidly in their midst, weaving daisy necklaces for the girls and crowns for the boys.
The scene made his heart lurch, not this time for the boy who had died fighting beside him, but for the children that might be—his children with Philippa. Yes, six or seven little ones seemed just about right.
After lunch, he let the children talk them into playing some of the children’s games. Philippa was quickly snatched up to partner one of the girls in a three-legged race. One small boy shyly asked him to play too. The little boy’s name was Geoffrey and he barely came up to Valerian’s waist. It would be a terribly difficult race with the difference in their heights, but Philippa was already at the starting line, smiling her approval. In the end, he and Geoffrey took third and the vicar’s wife awarded them a shiny white ribbon that made Geoffrey’s eyes light up in delight.
‘He’ll remember that for ever,’ Philippa commented as they left the children to admire their prizes. ‘The day he raced with the local viscount in the three legged race and took third on St Piran’s Day.’ She looked at him with a wealth of meaning in her eyes. ‘Old wives say there’s a lot of good in a man who has such joy in children, Val.’
That did it. He’d been wanting her all day and not just because of how lovely she looked in her habit or the graceful way she’d moved, but because of her easy way with the children, the way everything at the simple fair had pleased her, the way she made people feel good about themselves when they were with her, even him. That had always been her gift and he loved her for it.
Valerian drew her round the back of a wide tree. What he intended was meant to be private, out of sight of children and families.
‘What are you doing?’ Philippa whispered, picking up on his need for secrecy.
‘I want to kiss you,’ Valerian confessed, his eyes falling on her lips. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you all day.’ His tone was playful. He felt like a young boy with his first miss. He bent to kiss her and all boyishness faded. There was no mistaking that he was all man with a grown man’s urges. At the brush of her lips, he felt himself go hard, passion and want surging through him in an irrevocable tide of longing. He’d held himself in check since that day in the ballroom, giving her time to accept him again. But his grip on those reins was starting to slip.
Philippa gave a little moan of pleasure and pressed against him, a hand going to his hard length where it jutted against his buckskin trousers. Her palm found the sensitive head of his manhood through the fabric and she gently rubbed her hand over it.
Valerian groaned, deepening his kiss, desperation to have her flooding him. He wanted to rip off all his clothes and lie naked in the grass with her. ‘We must have more than this, Philippa. I don’t think I can survive on kisses alone much longer.’
‘Nor me,’ she breathed, her eyes full of a pure desire that shook him to his core. This was not the calculated gaze of a woman who wanted him solely for his looks and bedroom skills. He’d seen that assessing gaze far too often in his years abroad. Philippa wanted him body and soul, heart and mind, perfection with imperfection, and he’d never felt more complete in his life.
‘Tonight,’ he whispered, kissing the column of her neck.
‘Tonight,’ she affirmed.
The rest of the day held a heady tension for him, the activities of the fair acting as a form of exquisite foreplay, knowing that each hour moved him closer to the moment he craved.
Reluctantly, he gave into Philippa’s cajoling and joined in the knife-throwing competition. He won easily, to which
Philippa remarked, ‘I had no idea you could throw a knife like that.’ He shrugged and said nothing.
The paper lanterns were lit, surrounding a squared-off space for dancing. Shadows lengthened. Night was coming. Valerian felt his anticipation ratchet up another notch. They’d be expected to dance, of course. It would be wrong to leave before the dancing was underway and he found he wanted to dance. Tonight it would be all country dances and polkas, furries and scoots in the Cornish fashion. It would be thirsty work. The taverner had already set up barrels of ale on the perimeter.
He and Philippa led off the first dance, a rowdy, hand-clapping country dance. Philippa danced the next polka with the greengrocer’s son and Valerian took to the sidelines to watch. Her hair had come loose and she’d given up any attempt of putting it back in place. Now, it hung in a heavy chestnut sheet down her back, flying behind her as she and her partner took a turn. She threw him a joyous smile as they passed and he smiled back.
‘She’s a wonderful woman, milord,’ the vicar’s wife said at his side, following his gaze. ‘Should I be so bold as to set aside a date at St Justus for you?’
Valerian chuckled, his confidence high. ‘I have hopes in that direction.’ If he had his way, he’d marry her tomorrow. That being an impossibility, he’d like to marry her at the summer’s end, after the hubbub of the London Season.
The dance ended and he went to claim Philippa for his turn. She was light in his arms. If he hadn’t known what awaited him at the end of his evening, he might have been convinced to dance with her all night. But he did know. They’d both pledged it and, from the look in her eyes, she knew it too. There was no reason to wait any longer.
The dance ended and he leaned towards her to whisper one simple word. ‘Home.’
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