She could have slapped a hand over her face for how idiotic she sounded. One kiss with this man and she had lost all ability to think or speak rationally.
Rebecca wasn’t exactly experienced in the ways of men, but she was certainly not a naive innocent girl either.
“You are welcome to explore the passage… any time you’d like,” Valentine said with a slow smile, one that warmed her to her very core.
“Yes, I… thank you,” was all she managed, and he held out a hand beyond her.
“Why do we not go back the way we came?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be seen exiting my bedchamber.”
“Of course not,” she murmured.
“Allow me to find a candle to light the way,” he said, leaving the dressing room for his chamber, returning in moments.
He held out his arm once more.
“Ready?”
She nodded, hardly trusting her voice.
“Ready.”
12
Valentine had never been more pleased to have his friend beside him.
He had fought the idea of a valet for quite some time. But in the end, after realizing the extent of dress that would be required in his role as a duke, he had decided that if there was going to be another person seeing him at his most intimate, dressing him and providing for the care of his person, it was going to be someone he could trust.
Which was why, as he stood in front of the floor-length mirror staring at himself and the man beside him, he had asked one of his closest friends to work for him. He had been somewhat surprised when Archie had agreed.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Archie Thompkins asked him as he tied his cravat. It had taken some time, but he had finally perfected it after much practice.
“I have to.”
“You wouldn’t be the first noble to be in debt.”
“I would be the first St. Vincent.”
“Listen, Val—”
“You don’t have to say it, Archie,” Valentine said, turning from his friend toward the door. “I already know.”
“You obviously don’t,” Archie said as he finished readying Valentine’s clothing for later that evening, “or else you wouldn’t be continually trying to prove yourself. You’re not Matthew, and you don't have to sacrifice yourself in order to make up for his loss.”
Val had no wish to argue any further, but it was more than that — he also had no real argument to make. Archie was right. And yet he owed it to his family.
“I have to do right by them — to do what Matthew would have done.” He paused. “If it wasn’t for me, he would still be here.”
Archie began to argue until Val turned a dark look upon him, causing Archie to throw up his hands.
“All right! I’ll say no more. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
Val nodded before looking at himself just one more time in the mirror.
“I can dress up as much as I want,” he murmured, “but I will never look the part of a nobleman.”
“That’s a good thing,” Archie grunted. “Why would you want to look like one of those fops?”
“I’m beginning to second guess my choice of valet,” Val said with a snort. “Isn’t he supposed to be the one ensuring I look my best?”
Archie shrugged. “You were the one who asked me.”
“So I did,” Val said as he good-naturedly cuffed his friend. “I’m off to dinner. If only you could take my place.”
“Perhaps I would,” Archie said with a wink as he gathered Val’s clothing from earlier in the day to have washed and pressed. “The architect’s daughter is a mighty fine beauty. Can’t say I would mind staring at her through all of those ridiculous courses.”
A hard knot began to form deep in Valentine’s stomach, and his fist involuntarily clenched. He had to remind himself that Archie had no knowledge of anything that had gone on between him and Rebecca — nor would he have guessed that there would have been.
But Archie knew him as well as any other.
He eyed Valentine knowingly.
“Unless you have already laid claim to her?”
Valentine scoffed. “She’s the daughter of the man I have hired to see to my estate and my London home. Of course I would not be dallying with such a woman. I need to find myself a wife who will redeem my family in the eyes of all of the nobility.”
Archie shrugged. “That doesn’t mean you cannot have your fun with others.”
Archie had a point. Valentine wasn’t exactly a rake, but he wasn’t shy around women either. The thought of simply dallying with Rebecca, however, just didn’t sit well with him. Besides that, she didn’t seem to be the type of woman one could easily forget after having any sort of relations with her — he should know. He couldn’t rid her from his mind after just a couple of kisses.
“I’m going down to dinner,” was all he said, walking out the door without looking back at Archie. “Then we will prepare for tomorrow.”
This was now the third dinner Rebecca had taken part in at Stonehall Estate, and her nerves were becoming quite fraught at the thought of her father saying the wrong thing, which would divulge the reality of their current circumstance.
Thus far, he had primarily droned on about past projects — which was by far his favorite topic of conversation, and yet a safe one so long as he didn’t suddenly believe he was in the midst of one of those renovations as opposed to those at Stonehall Estate or Wyndham House.
Mrs. St. Vincent far preferred to discuss members of the nobility, though Rebecca wondered whether she knew many of those she insinuated she was great friends with. Not that it mattered to Rebecca who one was friends with. In fact, she rather wished she had the chance to have close friends of her own, but she and her father had never stayed long enough in any one location, and if she did make friends, it was usually with noblemen’s daughters who enjoyed her company while she was there but would never further any acquaintance. Much like her current situation with the duke and his sister.
Though there was something about Jemima that was rather different from most of the young ladies Rebecca had become acquainted with in the past…
“Are you tired of us yet?” Jemima asked now, leaning over from her seat beside Rebecca.
“Of your family?” Rebecca asked in surprise.
“Why, yes,” Jemima said, laughing, then lowered her voice so that no others could hear, though it would be difficult for them to do so over Rebecca’s father’s droning on or Mrs. St. Vincent’s lilting voice. “Surely you must be tired of hearing Mother regale you with all of the ladies she has recently met, and with Valentine’s brooding over the fact that he has had the awful misfortune to become a duke.”
“Your brother is… interesting,” Rebecca said carefully, thinking of all the other emotions that came along with Valentine St. Vincent — ones that she certainly was not going to share with his sister.
“So he is,” Jemima said carefully, giving no family secrets away. “I am most fortunate. Most brothers would scoff at my work and suggest that now, as a lady, I might prefer needlework or water colors.”