‘You are welcome here,’ Valerian assured her. He knew all too well what the aftermath of so-called peace brought. Peace in the Balkans would net the Western powers a chance to insert their own economic revolutions into the area, which was exactly why the West had been meddling there in the first place. There would be ‘upheaval’—as Lilya called it—of the social and economic type for years. But perhaps the bloodshed would be less and, after a while, perhaps even the quality of life would be better. A man could make himself a fortune in postwar economies, but such places were not safe for a woman or a child.
Philippa gently ushered them upstairs and suggested everyone change for dinner. Valerian was grateful for her thoughtful intervention. In the midst of all the excitement, he’d forgotten they were still standing in the middle of the wall.
Valerian washed and changed as quickly as his valet would allow it. He wanted a chance to speak to Philippa before dinner. It could not wait until tonight, when he would share her bed.
Philippa was sitting before her dressing table, letting the maid do her hair when he came in. She wore a pale sage-coloured dressing gown of silk that fell softly over the full swells of her breasts, reminding Valerian of how delectable her body was. He felt his own body stir in longing. He wanted to dismiss the maid and take his ease. Was that a trick of the mirror or did her breasts look fuller? He had an irresistible urge to palm them and test them himself.
‘Val.’ Philippa turned from the mirror and murmured a few words to the maid.
‘You saved me the effort of doing that myself,’ Valerian joked, taking a seat on the bed as the maid shut the door behind her.
‘I assumed you needed to talk.’
Valerian nodded. ‘I need to thank you for all you did today. My valet insisted on regaling me with all your efforts. According to him, as he heard it from Mrs Wilcox, you left no detail overlooked, from the dinner menus to getting chambers opened up, even the nursery.’ Valerian paused here and reached for her hand. ‘My valet says that you behaved honourably and denied the guests nothing, not even when there was speculation the boy was my bastard son.’ He said it in kindly tones. But Philippa tensed.
He’d had to drag that confession out of his valet. His valet had suddenly fallen silent at some point in their very one-sided conversation, aware that he’d said too much. But Valerian had not let him stop. It explained the odd look on Philippa’s face downstairs. She’d thought it was possible.
‘His dark hair and age made it a distinct possibility,’ Philippa answered. ‘But, Val, I did not condemn you for it. If Constantine had been your son, I could not blame you for that. I had no claims on you during those years. It is not realistic to expect you would form no attachments.’
‘You are too kind, Philippa. I hardly deserve it.’ Especially, Valerian thought, knowing that she understood him to have been a very different man during that time, thinking that he’d truly shunned her.
‘Do you have any more secrets, Val?’ Philippa queried.
‘None I can think of at the moment.’ Valerian drew her to him, settling her on his lap. ‘But thinking is deuced difficult when I am so distracted.’ He kissed her neck, his hand working at the belt of her robe. His need for her had intensified to the point he knew he couldn’t control himself for the duration of the evening. If he didn’t have her now, he’d be sneaking off with her for a quick tumble on the billiards table.
Philippa laughed between kisses. ‘Do you think there’s time?’
‘Steves won’t serve dinner without us.’ Valerian grinned and rolled her on to her back.
If they were twenty minutes late coming down to the drawing room where the others patiently waited, or if anyone noticed that Valerian’s cravat was tied in a less than complicated knot, no one said anything.
Conversation hovered around Lilya’s journey and news of acquaintances Valerian knew. Occasionally, he’d lean over to Constantine, who sat on his left and say something in Koine, the language spoken by the Phanariots. He would have to see to tutors for the boy immediately so that Constantine could start learning English. He wondered where he’d find an English tutor who spoke one of the Balkan languages. Constantine spoke some Turkish and Russian. Surely there was someone in London or at one of the universities who would be able to converse with him?
‘You still remember!’ Lilya was delighted to hear Koine. She directed the rest of her comment to the table at large. ‘Valerian has the most wonderful command of languages. He learned Koine while he was with us, but he also speaks French and German and some Russian and Turkish too.’
Valerian felt uncomfortable under the aegis of her praise. Philippa was smiling at him. ‘I had no idea, aside from the French,’ she said.
‘It seemed the best way to accomplish my work,’ Valerian said shortly. ‘One can hardly be assured of fair negotiations, even with a translator present, if one doesn’t know the language.’ Beside him, a tired Constantine yawned. Valerian was thankful for the well-timed interruption.
Philippa and Lilya rose. ‘Let’s get Constantine settled for the evening while the men have their port,’ Philippa suggested. ‘Don’t take too long,’ she instructed as she led a sleepy Constantine from the room.
For a moment Valerian let his mind fantasise that it was his son and his wife heading upstairs. Those kind of domestic fantasies had taken up a considerable amount of his time lately. Whenever he saw Philippa in her little office or talking to the housekeeper about menus or arranging flowers for the many vases sprinkled about the house, he could not imagine Roseland without her.
‘German? You learned German?’ Beldon was saying.
‘Yes. It wasn’t that hard. English came from German, you know.’ Valerian dragged his thoughts back to the present.
Beldon was thoughtful for a moment, studying his friend. ‘Is that why you were in London at Christmas?’
‘Whatever can you mean?’ Valerian schooled his features into a look of utter confusion, as if he could not grasp the connection between his fluency in German and being in the capital in December.
Beldon wasn’t fooled for a moment. ‘It was. There had been a rumour that the Russians and the Turks were willing to negotiate peace. Britain and France were to broker the treaty. Those talks are in process right now. The papers are calling them the “London Protocols”.’
‘One would hardly need to speak German for that,’ Valerian said, pushing the remark aside as he reached for the decanter of brandy. Talk about his diplomatic skills always made him self-conscious. He didn’t want people making the mistake of thinking he’d been a modern-day knight, dashing around broken kingdoms and restoring peace with his diplomacy.
Beldon toyed with the stem on his brandy snifter. ‘Unless, of course, one was talking with Prince Otto about overseeing an independent Greek kingdom. Then German might come in handy.’
‘Yes, well, perhaps I had a small hand in that. The German delegates needed an escort and it seemed as good a time as any to return home.’
Beldon chuckled. ‘You’re positively astounding, Val. Why so shy about your accomplishments? Why did you let the gossip paint you in another light?’
‘It suited my cover at the time. It’s not all untrue, at any rate. In the beginning, my uncle needed me to act as a host and I needed to learn quite a lot about the business of international politics. I spent a vast amount of time at parties, listening and learning, becoming self-educated about alliances and the people behind them. I’m sure from the outside, it appeared that I was doing little but enjoying myself.’
‘Well, I am proud of you and Father would have been too,’ Beldon said charitably.
‘I think its time to join the ladies.’ Valerian swiftly redirected the conversation. He didn’t want praise. Beldon couldn’t realistically give it to him anyway. Beldon only knew a tiny portion of what he’d been involved in. Beldon only knew that he spoke several languages and had participated in a few high-profile negotiations. Beldon didn’t know about the diplomacy conducted a
t knifepoint, gunpoint, or sword point. Beldon didn’t know about the men he’d killed.
He wondered what Beldon’s reaction would be if he knew about the night in Negush when Valerian had turned his blade on British allies to save rebels. For that matter, what would Philippa think?
In the music room, Philippa was chatting easily with Lilya and it did Valerian’s heart good to know that Philippa and Lilya had taken to each other so well. He hoped Philippa would be able to guide Lilya through a Season next spring. Lilya would be eighteen and it would be high time to help her find a husband and settle her life in England.
Valerian played the piano for a while, letting the ladies talk. Beldon read quietly, casting a furtive look at Lilya every few moments. Valerian had never seen his friend quite so taken with a woman before and he found it amusing. Beldon spent so much time studying others and watching the drama of their lives unfold; he seldom gave his own life the same consideration. It would serve him right to finally have some drama of his own. Perhaps while Philippa was matchmaking for Lilya, she might do a little matchmaking for Beldon.
This time next year was promising to be very interesting. Valerian stumbled over a stanza, recognising certain assumptions about that claim. He was assuming Philippa would be married to him. This time next year, she’d be the Viscountess St Just and in a position to help his young ward come out. It was time to ask her. There was no more reason to put off proposing. Her actions today proved that she had no further reservations about him.
But he should wait a few days, let the excitement of Lilya and Constantine’s arrival wear down. She needed to see the proposal as something between them, born of their love. He didn’t want her to think for a moment he wanted to marry her because he needed help with his wards. Lilya would shortly move on to be mistress of her husband’s home. But Constantine was young. He’d be a long-term responsibility. Valerian knew such a responsibility would be asking a lot of Philippa, but she’d been generous with the boy today and she’d genuinely enjoyed the children at the St Piran’s Day fair.
The situation with his wards wasn’t the only reason for delay. There was one last secret to share with Philippa before the path was clear to claiming her. And he had to share that secret soon.
He smelled lavender and knew Philippa was behind him before she laid her hands on his shoulders. ‘Your playing is lovely, but it’s been a long day. Lilya and I are going to bed.’
Valerian stood to wish them goodnight, noting that Philippa did look fatigued tonight. She was usually so energetic, but the day’s exertions had left signs of weariness about her eyes and she seemed paler than normal. It was all understandable given the demands of the day.
‘May I come to your room?’ Valerian asked, sotto voce.
Philippa gave him a wan smile. ‘I think it would be best if you didn’t.’ She gave a slight nod, indicating Lilya. ‘I’ll want to be available if she or Constantine need anything during the night. Sleeping in new places can sometimes take getting used to.’
‘I will miss you.’ Valerian covered her hand with his where it rested on his sleeve. In part, he was relieved by her decision. He feared the nightmare. He’d not dreamed it since Philippa’s arrival. But all the talk of the past at dinner and seeing the Stefanov children again had brought those concerns to the fore. Before he could propose to Philippa, he had to tell her about the night in Negush. It would only be a matter of time before Lilya confided in Philippa. He wanted no secrets between himself and Philippa when they wed. Tomorrow, he told himself. He would find a way to tell Philippa tomorrow.
Philippa’s maid woke her at nine o’clock the next morning, under Philippa’s strict instructions. She’d been in the habit of oversleeping lately and was determined not to laze the morning away. In Philippa’s opinion, nine o’clock was late enough. She’d prefer getting up at seven or eight. A note, and a yellow rosebud tinted with pink at the edges, waited for her on the small table near the window.
‘What’s this?’ Philippa asked, crossing the room to look at the envelope.
The maid giggled. ‘It’s from his lordship. He had me bring it in so you’d have it when you woke up.’
Philippa smiled and opened the envelope. ‘He wants me to join him for breakfast on the back terrace.’
‘It’s a beautiful morning for it,’ the maid said, throwing back the curtains to reveal the sun. ‘Shall I lay out the jonquil muslin?’
‘Perfect. A sunny dress for a sunny day.’ Philippa’s pulse raced at the prospect of a breakfast with Valerian. Something was afoot, she could sense it.
She arrived on the back terrace thirty minutes later almost breathless from her flight down the stairs. She stopped to gather herself at the French doors. The sight that met her gaze almost undid her, so moved was she by it.
A white-clothed table set with breakfast china and crystal glass sat under the Chusan palm, looking like something out of an Italian painting. But what held her abject attention was the man standing beside it, his back to her as he surveyed the lawns.
She’d thought Valerian handsome as a youth, but none of that compared to the manly beauty he exuded now. This morning, his hair was brushed forward on to his forehead in raven-black waves, the way she liked it best. He’d been for a ride and was still dressed in his tall boots and riding jacket, looking like a prince of the world.
Philippa went to him, wrapping her arms about his lean waist and laying her head against the broad strength of his back. ‘Good morning, Val. This is lovely.’
Valerian turned and kissed her gently. ‘Good morning—did you sleep well?’
‘Yes. I feel much recovered.’ Philippa smiled easily and sat in the chair he held out for her. ‘And you, did you sleep well?’
‘As well as a man can when he has so many things on his mind,’ Valerian confessed.
Indeed, he looked slightly ragged about the edges, Philippa thought after a good look at his face. His jaw was smooth, evidence that his valet had been up early this morning, but there were the beginnings of tired circles beneath his eyes. ‘You should have come to me.’
‘I needed time alone to think.’ Valerian shook his head. ‘I needed time to think about us.’ He passed her a basket of warm toast covered with a cloth napkin.
‘You’ve been at Roseland for nearly two months. I can’t imagine this place without you. You’ve been generous with your time. I know Cambourne is a large estate. But I can’t accept the idea of you leaving here.’
Philippa lifted the napkin and reached for a slice of toast. She furrowed her brow. There was a small box of sorts beneath the piece she’d taken. ‘What’s this?’ She took the square box out.
‘Something I should have given you years ago. I had it with me the night of the Rutherfords’ ball,’ Valerian said quietly, motioning for her to open it.
She flipped the lid up to reveal a ring set with a tiny band of diamonds surrounding an emerald. ‘It’s beautiful.’ She shot him a questioning look. ‘What does this mean, Val?’
‘It means I want to marry you. But there is something I need to tell you first so that you can make a fully informed decision about whether or not you want to marry me.’
The last bit took some sparkle off the proposal. It made her think of Lucien’s letter. Was he going to confess to something terrible or was there a logical explanation behind it? Perhaps Lucien was just grasping at straws because he felt he’d been jilted.
Philippa set down her toast and folded her hands. ‘More secrets, Val?’ she tried to tease.
‘Something like that.’ Valerian looked pained as he took a moment to collect himself. Philippa’s heart lurched. She wanted to comfort him and she feared the worst.
Valerian drew a deep breath and began. ‘Lilya’s father, Dimitri, was part of a rebel force that tried to throw off Turkish rule. They were successful at the start. The rebels were organised and the district of Negush was liberated from the Ottomans in 1822. That victory was followed by another in the Voden district, but the Ottoman a
rmy was too large for the rebels to stand against for long.
‘The Turkish army sent delegates to speak to the rebels. The rebels were offered terms of surrender and a peaceful return to Ottoman rule. I was with the delegation that went to meet Dimitri’s group. I had two years’ experience in the field by then and was considered more than a junior aide. After the first few months in Vienna, my experience had been beyond the ballrooms, in the little villages where the real living took place. I was selected to go because I knew those men. I spoke their language. For their sakes and their families, I hoped they would be guided by my influence. They were not.
‘The retribution the Ottoman army meted out to them was horrific. Villages were plundered, women and children were killed. The army finally advanced to Dimitri’s village in Negush. He’d been taken prisoner earlier and I had seen him just once. He made me swear to look after his family. He knew what was coming and that he faced certain death.’
A sound at the door intruded. Philippa looked away from Valerian, startled by the noise. Steves rushed forwards, a thousand apologies falling from his lips. ‘My lord, they would not wait to be received. My lord…’
A large group of men flooded on to the terrace behind Steves, led by none other than Lucien Canton.
Valerian rose, placing himself as shield between Philippa and Lucien. His face was grim, set in threatening lines. But Philippa rose beside him, lacing her hand through his. Fear lanced through her. She wished she’d told Valerian about the letter. Lucien wasn’t here to squabble over her. He was here for Valerian. ‘I love you, Val,’ Philippa whispered hastily. His hand tightened around hers in response and then he let it go.
‘What is the meaning of this, Canton? You cannot just invade a man’s home at will.’ He crossed his arms, looking imposing and making the most of his two-inch height advantage over Lucien.
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