A Woman of True Honor: True Gentlemen Book Eight

by Burrowes, Grace

  “Better?” he asked, setting up a slow, shallow rhythm.

  She hitched closer. “Better.”

  The lovemaking was glorious for its sense of rightness. They moved together instinctively, and by Emily’s breathing, by the hold she took of his shoulders, Valerian knew when she was nearing satisfaction. Her pleasure was silent, a shuddering, thrashing paroxysm that tried Valerian’s self-restraint even as it filled him with joy.

  This marriage would be successful, for them both. As he brushed Emily’s hair from her brow and crouched over her beneath the quilt, he knew he’d chosen the right bride as surely as he knew the panting rhythm of her breathing and the contour of her rosy lips.

  “Again?” he whispered, lips against her cheek.

  “I knew you’d be a wonderful lover.”

  “We are wonderful together.” He proved the point by pleasuring her once more, though twice was the limit of his ability. When Emily was again a happy, panting heap of drowsy female beneath him, he withdrew and finished on her belly.

  Coitus interruptus was a three-quarter measure of fulfillment, and all Valerian intended to allow himself under the circumstances. As a means of contraception, withdrawing was imperfect, but as a means of leaving some final measure of satisfaction for the wedding night, it sufficed.

  He tidied up and lay on his back, pulling Emily into his arms.

  “We should get up,” she murmured, drawing her knee across his thighs.

  “We’re in no hurry. You’ve earned a nap.” He kissed her temple and marveled at the turn the day had taken. Even though he’d denied himself the last indulgence sexually, he was replete in a sense that went beyond mere sexual gratification.

  Emily curled closer, her head on his shoulder, her arm draped across his middle. “I will work on my dancing, I promise. You won’t be sorry you married me, Valerian.”

  What had that…?

  “Your dancing is perfect,” he said, and yet, he grasped the point she made. She was marrying up socially, he was marrying up financially. They brought different strengths to the union as far as any observer would assess the match.

  “My dancing is barely serviceable,” she said, arranging herself over him. “I have never hosted thirty guests from titled families at the same table. My spoken French needs work. Your brothers probably won’t like me.”

  Valerian wrapped her in his arms and bowed up, the better to hold her securely. “Did you take me to bed because you think I’ll desert the marital regiment over something as silly as my grouchy brothers?”

  “No.”

  He waited.

  “Maybe. Our families will be difficult, Valerian.”

  “Our love is equal to that challenge, and if it’s any consolation, I have never hosted a dinner for thirty guests from titled families, nor do I aspire to.”

  Emily fell asleep on Valerian’s chest, while he lay awake, musing at his good fortune. He was to be married to Emily Pepper. They would live at Abbotsford as landed gentry, exactly what Emily’s papa had aspired to for her. Valerian would become the magistrate, a calling that added to his standing, and with hard work and luck, he and Emily would have a lovely life.

  He drifted off almost convinced by his own imaginings, but for a small niggle of discord that prevented him from surrendering entirely to slumber.

  Emily had known he’d be a wonderful lover. How had she known that? On what basis was she making a comparison? She was knowledgeable regarding conjugal intimacies, and Valerian strongly suspected her education hadn’t been limited to books and barnyards.

  Well, neither was his. They were to be man and wife soon, and the past didn’t matter half so much as the future, and that promised to be wonderful too.

  * * *

  Emily dozed in Valerian’s arms, trying to convince herself that she’d just made the smartest decision of her life. Valerian Dorning was everything she could have hoped for in a husband and more—honorable, shrewd, loyal, determined, brave, and unimpressed by wealth.

  She had known he was her heart’s desire from the first time he’d bowed over her hand.

  Her hesitation came not from the challenges Valerian would face—he was certainly equal to a blustering papa and wresting a crop from some Dorset acres—but from the challenges she faced.

  “You’re awake,” Valerian murmured, his fingers gliding along her cheek and jaw. “You barely catnapped. Shall I love you again?”

  That question, in that soft, teasing tone of voice, had her insides turning to eiderdown. “I am tempted, but Briggs will learn that I rode out without a groom and send the hounds after me.”

  Still, Valerian continued his lazy caresses. “Is that why you’re in a hurry to marry, Emily? You are fed up to the teeth with Briggs’s presumption?”

  She was in a hurry to marry, and yet, she needed time as well, if certain topics were to be calmly discussed with her intended.

  “Given a choice,” she said, “between spending the summer listening to Briggs subtly complain about everything from fresh air to sunshine, or spending my afternoons sharing marital bliss with you, I must admit the marital bliss has the greater appeal.”

  He kissed her forehead. “You will please allow me to broach the topic of our engagement with your father before you take him on.”

  Emily extricated herself from Valerian’s embrace and sat back against the pillows. “You think my father is a sweet old fellow who has had some good luck in the cloth trade. That’s exactly what he wants people to think, but he has another side.” An ugly, close-minded, proud side.

  Valerian arranged himself beside her and took her hand. “Osgood is protective of you.”

  “He’s not only protective, he views me as a business asset. I am to marry according to his plan, produce children for the sake of his dynasty, and in recent years, he’s decided I am to keep my nose out of his business.” To be fair, Papa was entitled to be a little despotic where his only daughter was concerned. Whatever else was true, the situation with Adam had been a sore humiliation to him.

  “Then I shall convince your father that I am the best possible connection you could form, and his plans are advanced handsomely by the match.”

  “You make sense, but Papa isn’t always sensible. He can be stubborn.”

  Valerian kissed her fingers. “Emily Pepper, soon to be Dorning, when the prize is the rest of my life with you, I will make Napoleon’s armies look like so many gnats, swatted away with a wave of the hand. Wellington’s determination will pale compared to my resolve, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll rally my brothers and sisters to my cause. Osgood Pepper will blow full retreat. Stop worrying.”

  “I want to stay under these covers with you for the rest of my life, Valerian. I want to hide here until you bring a parson to marry us right in this very room.”

  Valerian rose, and Emily knew she ought to look away, but she could not. He was the quintessential healthy male in his prime. Trim, muscular, beautifully proportioned, and splendidly mussed.

  And he is mine—almost.

  “I never did get you out of that shift,” he said, scratching his chest. “Remiss of me.” He slanted a glance at Emily. “We can make love in the dark, you know. Go by feel. All the fun without taxing anybody’s modesty.”

  Emily swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Do you have any modesty?”

  “Not with you, apparently.” That conclusion had him smiling. “I am a competent lady’s maid. When we are married, you will have to valet me, at least at first.”

  When we are married… “When we are married, I will be only too happy to get you out of your clothes whenever the need arises.”

  That earned her a kiss. “The need will arise frequently. What is the best time to call on your father?”

  “Late morning. He sometimes takes a nap in the afternoon, and he’s not coming down to the office as early as he used to. He already forgets how sick he was.” Or Tobias and Caleb kept him from recalling. “Whatever you do, Valerian, speak to him alone.”


  “One does typically have such conversations confidentially. Hold still.” Valerian dropped her blouse over her head, buttoned her up, and used his comb to tidy her hair.

  In a very short time, Emily was standing beside her intended before a pier glass in the corridor. Valerian had made up the bed, neat as a preacher’s parlor, while Emily had laced her boots and tried to gather her courage.

  Valerian was the right man, no doubt about that, but she wanted to pledge her future to him with a clear conscience.

  “When will you talk to Papa?” she asked as he locked the front door behind them.

  “Not today. The hour grows later than I’d intended, and one wants to marshal one’s arguments with a clear head. Monday, I suppose.”

  “Will you call on me first?”

  The horses were dozing at the hitching post, both of them standing with a hip cocked, heads down.

  “The usual protocol is for the suitor to call upon the head of the household directly and then convey the outcome of the interview to the young lady if all goes well. Otherwise, he makes a dignified exit without facing the object of his affections.”

  Valerian tightened girths and led Emily’s mare a few paces away from the gelding.

  “Such a private discussion is subject to protocol?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. I spent a whole chapter of my book on it.”

  “When can I read that book?”

  He boosted her into the saddle and arranged her skirts. “I’ll bring the manuscript with me on Monday.”

  Emily took up the reins. “Because you are confident the interview will go well and that you will be free to meet with me immediately afterward.”

  “I am hopeful. One doesn’t want to invite the smiting hand of the Almighty by evidencing hubris, but I will not lose you, Emily, not to an old man’s schemes, not to anything. As of today, I have committed myself to you in every sense. I have only to tend to some formalities before I can publicize my good fortune to the world.”

  “I do love you,” Emily said, gazing down at him. “Very much.”

  “And I love you.” He swung up into the saddle, the grace of that mundane exertion provoking a buzzing pleasure in Emily’s vitals.

  And I love you. Those were words to treasure, and Emily hadn’t heard them since Adam had boarded a ship for Botany Bay.

  “Two weeks for a special license?” she asked as the horses ambled down the drive.

  “Maybe less. We should be married before the next assembly, and you will save your waltz for me, Emily.”

  “All of my waltzes, you poor man.”

  They laughed and talked the whole way back to Pepper Ridge, but at no point did the conversation lend itself to bringing up Adam and the circumstances that had resulted in his transportation. The day after tomorrow, once Valerian had surmounted the ordeal of winning Papa’s approval, Emily would explain that her only sibling was a convicted felon.

  Adam’s sentence would run for another two years. It wasn’t as if he’d turn up at the wedding. Every family had a few secrets, and Valerian wasn’t the judgmental sort.

  Emily reassured herself with such platitudes all the way back to Pepper Ridge and was still vainly repeating them as Valerian bowed correctly over her hand, climbed back onto his horse, and trotted off down the drive.

  Chapter Ten

  “I have considered the magistrate’s position,” Valerian said. “Might we discuss the particulars?” He stood before Grey’s desk, looking every inch the country squire in spotless riding attire. Actually, Valerian looked more impressive than a country squire, and Grey had yet to figure quite how his brother did that.

  A touch of lace at his wrists, a particular shine to his boots, the exact cut of his riding jacket… and only Valerian could ride around the countryside on a dark horse and never sport a single horsehair on his linen.

  “We can discuss the magistrate’s job only if your answer is yes,” Grey replied, putting down his pen. “Beatitude says if I must bribe you to take over from me, any inducement other than our firstborn is fair game.”

  “You’re that miserable?”

  “Yes, which doesn’t matter. Beatitude is that anxious for me to be free of the bother. The demolition on the family wing should have started a month ago, I have no idea what Oak has got up to over in Hampshire, and my new land steward seems to exist only to ask me questions I can’t answer. Then I must impose on Hawthorne for answers, and that good fellow is entirely absorbed in his own situation. Beatitude says we’re to invite you for supper.”

  “Let’s enjoy some fresh air, shall we?” Valerian passed Grey a morning coat, which Grey had slung over the back of a reading chair.

  Valerian’s polite suggestion that they take the air could be his way of ensuring that a difficult conversation wasn’t overheard or interrupted by a well-meaning countess. With Valerian, manners served as so many fig leaves shielding all manner of awkward moments.

  Grey shrugged into his coat and accompanied Valerian onto the back terrace.

  “What do you hear from Ash and Sycamore in London?” Valerian asked.

  “Not a blessed thing. Jacaranda has reported to Beatitude, however, that our brothers appear to be in good health, and their enterprise is thriving. Thank God for a sunny day. That damned library manages to be dreary even in high summer.”

  “Then don’t work there,” Valerian said, ambling down the steps into the formal parterres. “Use the earl’s study, which has the southern and eastern exposures.”

  “Papa’s old study is Beatitude’s private parlor now. She needed the light for sewing baby clothes.” And Grey loved to drop in on her, catching her at her needlework in the window seat, or perched at her desk going over household accounts.

  “Why can’t you both work in Papa’s old study?”

  A fine idea. Perhaps Beatitude had been waiting for her husband to think of it? “Because I own everything you see, the lot of it, and my countess deserves to have a few spaces entirely under her dominion.”

  “How do you suppose a humbler couple would divide up that dominion, Grey? Couples who have only a few rooms to call home?”

  “What has this to do with you becoming the magistrate?”

  “Maybe nothing.” Valerian took out his pocket watch as they approached the sundial. “I’ve proposed to Emily Pepper, and she has accepted.”

  A significant burden, composed mostly of guilt, lifted from Grey’s heart. Grey had told his brothers to make their way in the world. Valerian could have joined Ash and Sycamore in Town, could have prevailed on Worth Kettering to find him a post as somebody’s man of business, could have become a tutor of British deportment in Paris, or done quite well in government.

  Like a loyal old hound unwilling to wander beyond the foot of the drive, Valerian had refused to abandon his post as brother-in-residence. The others had all found someplace to be, someone to be, but Valerian’s job had been the family manager, the one who anticipated troubles, mediated squabbles, and handed down the uncomfortable truths.

  The magistrate’s post was a good fit for him, but it was hardly a path to domestic happiness. Emily Pepper could provide that—Grey hoped.

  “Congratulations,” Grey said, clapping Valerian on the shoulder. “Miss Pepper is a fine young woman, and I know you will make her an excellent husband.” And yet, a weight of worry had replaced the guilt in Grey’s heart.

  “You approve of the match?” Valerian asked, flipping open his watch.

  “You aren’t asking for my blessing.”

  “You are my brother, not my great-grandfather.” He snapped the watch closed. “I will marry Emily regardless of anybody’s opinion on the matter. Mr. Pepper is likely to be difficult.”

  “Then he’s an idiot.”

  Valerian’s smile was pained. “He is my prospective father-in-law, and I gather it is the province of fathers-in-law to be idiotic on occasion. He moved down to Dorset to see his daughter introduced to influential gentry families. I am an earl�
�s son. I’m of a suitable age. I can keep Emily in fairly decent comfort at Abbotsford, and I’m not entirely without prospects. But Pepper will withhold his approval, and that will be hard on Emily.”

  A pair of reed warblers were making a ruckus in the birdbath over by the snapdragons, flinging water in all directions and nattering at each other. As Grey watched their antics, it dawned on him that Valerian was asking for his help.

  Of course he was, and Grey had little enough help to offer. “Pepper struck me as a reasonable man, but he has only the one child. Perhaps a long engagement would allow him to accustom himself to the notion of a Dorning for a son-in-law.” Or allow Grey to get the family wing demolished and the salvage sold off.

  “Before Margaret started dosing Osgood with the foxglove,” Valerian said, “he was desperate for Emily to marry. Now his health is improved and he can afford to be choosy. I am not wealthy, Grey. I have discussed Abbotsford with Hawthorne and reviewed the subtenants farming there now. I know what the estate can earn. We won’t starve.”

  Not what a wealthy papa wanted to hear from his prospective son-in-law. “Perhaps if Pepper has time to get to know you, he might be won over by your charm. I learned half my manners from you and the other half trying to set an example for our brothers. What I learned by rote discipline, you seemed to know through instinct.”

  The warblers flitted away, leaving an abrupt stillness in the garden.

  “I have enough manners to fill a book,” Valerian said, gaze on the fleeing birds. “What I lack is coin, and that is what Osgood Pepper values and understands.”

  And what few Dornings were able to amass in abundance. “What does Emily value?”

  “Her father’s regard.” Valerian settled onto a wooden bench across from the roses, which were finished blooming but for a few stragglers. He managed to look elegant and relaxed even in that setting.