Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle

by Bronwyn Scott

  Philippa watched them go with gratitude. How deftly Valerian had managed the situation. Lady Pentlow was a dear, sweet lady and Philippa hadn’t wanted her to feel left out or in the way. Valerian had sensed the need and adroitly stepped in. Unlike Lucien. For a man she’d considered eminently eligible marriage material, she’d certainly had a lot of uncharitable thoughts about him recently.

  Philippa shot a glance at Lucien’s coterie, wondering what they could be talking about that would raise such an interest that Lucien would forgo his guests? Typically, Lucien was an excellent host with an eye for details, showing every guest the utmost courtesy due them in polite society. Tonight, he’d left that task entirely to her. She didn’t mind. She was there to play hostess, after all. Still, such behaviour wasn’t like him and it seemed odd that he would commit such a faux pas in order to talk to Mr Danforth, a man whom Lucien had claimed not to know two days past.

  ‘Are you coming? We’re ready to play,’ Beldon called from the card table.

  Philippa smiled and took her seat. ‘I hope my brother has warned you how competitive he is.’

  Their game was lively and they rotated partners at the end of each rubber. The Trewithens proved to be capable players, demanding all of Philippa’s attention. Usually she was quite good at cards, whist and piquet being two of her favourite games. But tonight, too many distractions competed for her attention, not the least being Valerian’s quiet ballads coming from the pianoforte. On occasion, she caught snatches of Lady Pentlow’s trebly voice singing a few lines.

  At last the tea cart arrived, signalling the end of the evening. Philippa poured out and then went to stand with Beldon as the group congenially sipped their tea. ‘What do you suppose has Lucien so interested?’ she asked quietly.

  Beldon gave a soft laugh, part-teasing, part-cynicism. ‘I see the privileges of being a male prevails here. If you’d been allowed to stay at the table, you would have been treated to Mr Danforth’s announcement that he was opening a bank here in Truro, the Provincial Bank of Truro or some such nonsense.’

  ‘Nonsense?’ Philippa queried. ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘You know what these country banks are really like, Phil. They’re investment firms.’

  Philippa nodded in agreement. Cambourne had done business with Praed and Co., a bank in Truro that invested in high-risk ventures such as inventions and new technologies. If one was clever, these investments paid off. Cambourne had had good luck with them, but it was no surprise that these country banks went bankrupt far more often than the style of bank one would do with business with in London.

  She better understood Lucien’s potential interest now. Lucien was always interested in money. ‘Does Lucien think he’ll invest?’

  ‘More than that. Mr Danforth has offered Lucien a place on the bank’s board of directors.’

  ‘For a sum, I’m sure.’ Philippa offered thoughtfully.

  ‘Definitely for a sum. But Lucien would be in charge of directing the investments. He seems quite taken with the idea.’

  ‘He’d be good at it. Lucien is no fool when it comes to money.’

  ‘But not women, at least not you.’ Beldon eyed her over his teacup.

  ‘Valerian told you?’

  ‘Hmm. Rather cowhanded of Lucien to think you could be politely coerced, if not into an actual betrothal, then at least as far as a publicly announced engagement. Are you thinking of accepting?’

  ‘I haven’t given it much thought,’ Philippa murmured vaguely. Marriage to Lucien Canton had been a foregone conclusion until the very unsuitable Valerian had arrived. Now, she believed she’d been rather naïve not to have thought about it more deeply, to look beyond the simplicity of an arrangement between two friends who enjoyed each other’s company. What other reasons could there be for a man with Lucien’s looks and prospects to choose to marry a childless widow when there were so many eligible débutantes available to him?

  Beldon looked as if he would press her for more details. She stalled him with a shake of her head. ‘This is not the place for such a discussion.’ Lady Pentlow was starting to nod off in the middle of her conversation with Lady Trewithen. The evening was coming to a close. Her guests would want a good night’s sleep before beginning their respective journeys in the morning. They would look to her for the sign to retire.

  Beldon assented. ‘Promise me we will have that discussion soon.’

  Philippa smiled at her brother’s protectiveness. Even with childhood long behind them, he had not forsaken his role as a doting brother. ‘I promise. There is something I want to ask you, too, something about Valerian.’

  Chapter Six

  Beldon returned his empty cup to the tea trolley and said his goodnights to the group as they began to depart upstairs. He wasn’t as ready for sleep as the rest of them. His agile mind was alert, pondering the little dramas of the holiday, and Canton had excellent brandy in the library.

  In general, he found people to be an interesting area of study. Younger men of his acquaintance dreaded the routine of a house party unless hunting was involved, but he found them to be intriguing affairs. The gatherings were a constant source of amazement to him, full of the dramas of intersecting lives.

  Even in a group as small as the one here tonight, the web was tightly woven—Lucien and that merchant-cum-banker Danforth establishing a business tie together; he and Lucien, friends established through their common tie in Philippa; Lucien and Philippa and the budding drama of Lucien’s proposal; Lucien and Valerian, enemies on first sight. Why? The two men did not know each other. They had only Philippa in common between them.

  Philippa was the only possibility. Did Valerian have a liking for Philippa? It was fantastical to think Valerian had fallen in love with his sister at first sight, and yet Val’s animosity towards Lucien had seemed palpable the moment he’d walked into the manor. A hypothesis began to take embryonic shape, events of the past starting to form connections to one another instead of existing as isolated occurrences. But Beldon was interrupted before he could decipher what the link was that bound them all together.

  ‘A farthing for your thoughts.’ Valerian strode into the library as if conjured from Beldon’s own mind. He’d removed his jacket and waistcoat, shirt sleeves rolled up.

  Beldon shifted in the comfortable chair he’d taken up residence in. ‘My thoughts are worth far more than a farthing, old chap. Pull up a chair. Canton has a superb brandy collection.’

  Valerian gave a short chuckle at that. ‘Is that his chief requirement in being your friend? Since I’ve met him, his cellar seems to be his primary recommendation.’

  Beldon waved his snifter. ‘Well, you have to admit the Veuve Cliquot was superior at New Year.’ He paused, stopping to consider the play of firelight on the amber liquid swirling in the snifter’s bowl. ‘In truth, I’d thought Canton was quite an amicable fellow, a bit aloof at times, but otherwise acceptable, until you showed up. Why do you think that is, Val?’ Beldon studied his friend closely, watching him adopt a comfortable slouch in the opposite chair, his feet resting negligently on the fireplace fender as he pondered the question.

  ‘Do you want me to answer that question or is it rhetorical? I seem to recall you made a habit of telling us what to think in school.’ A teasing smile hovered at Valerian’s lips before he sipped from his glass.

  ‘Touché, I am wounded,’ Beldon said. ‘The accusation is true. However, in all fairness, you must admit most of our friends didn’t think. I did them a grand favour by doing it for them.’

  ‘Then carry on. Clearly, you have ideas.’

  Beldon set his drink on a small side table next to his chair. He leaned forwards in earnest, elbows resting on thighs. ‘Tell me the truth, Val. I don’t have all the angles worked out yet, but I think you have a penchant for Philippa.’

  It was telling that Valerian didn’t meet his eyes, but chose to look straight ahead into the waning fire. ‘Philippa is an attractive young woman who is intelligent and conf
ident. I am certain many men desire her. She would be an asset to any peer’s household—’

  ‘More to the point,’ Beldon broke in, not swayed by the general terms of Valerian’s response, ‘you desire her and you have for some time. This is no incident of love at first sight. You’re both past the first blush of such fantasy. How long have you carried feelings for her, Val?’ How had such a thing as his best friend’s affections escaped his notice? Beldon felt a twinge of betrayal. He and Val had been closer than brothers and yet Val had not confided in him. Still, such an omission from Valerian was apparently not amiss. He’d not shared his plans to join his uncle until the night of his departure.

  Valerian straightened and turned to face him, this time not avoiding his gaze. ‘I’ve loved her since we were young together. I was head over heels for her by the time she made her début.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me,’ Beldon said slowly, his mind whirring to adjust the pieces of this puzzle, how it fit against the backdrop of what had transpired. ‘Did she return your affections?’ There was a pit growing in his stomach. It was a horrible feeling to know that the two people he was closest to had fallen in love and he hadn’t known or been told.

  Valerian must have sensed the direction of his thoughts. His answer was simple. ‘Yes.’

  There it was. Valerian had not kept the secret alone. They had conspired together to keep the secret from him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Valerian shrugged. ‘How could I? Cambourne had offered for her.’

  ‘And you stepped aside?’ Beldon asked sharply. ‘That doesn’t sound like your typical behaviour at all.’ The Valerian he knew had championed the underdog at school, standing up for the principle of right, even when the odds were against him. He’d earned more than a few bloody noses for not knowing when to back down. In fact, the Valerian he knew didn’t believe one ever backed down. What had changed that when it came to Philippa?

  Valerian tossed him a warning glance. ‘Beldon, I must ask you to stop your inquisition right now. The hour is late. In my experience, late hours are good for confessions between friends, but not necessarily for understanding them. Be satisfied to know that I have loved Philippa for years from afar. Be satisfied also to know that I would still claim her if she would have me.’ Valerian rose, putting an end to the conversation.

  Beldon put out an arm in a restraining motion. ‘You can’t leave me on tenterhooks, Valerian.’ He gave a snort. ‘No wonder you were such a fine diplomat.’

  ‘Go easy on me, Beldon,’ Valerian said wistfully. ‘I have the utmost confidence in your mind’s ability to solve the rest of the riddle in short order and I will be waiting to confirm your conclusions. You know I value our friendship too much to ever cheat you out of the truth.’

  Beldon nodded. ‘I know. Sleep well, Val,’ he said in all sincerity.

  ‘Aren’t you coming up?’

  ‘No, I want to sit a while longer.’ Beldon held up his half finished snifter. ‘Wasting fine brandy is a sin of the highest order.’

  ‘Enjoy,’ Valerian said from the door. ‘Remember, I did answer your question.’

  ‘And gave me a hundred more to think about in return.’ Beldon offered him a sardonic toast. He would sleep shortly. Valerian was right in one respect. Part of the riddle in terms of Valerian’s dislike of Canton was appeased. They both wanted Philippa.

  Beldon would wager it was for vastly different reasons. Valerian loved her. And, well, love was not a commodity Lucien Canton was known to trade in. Canton wanted her for something else.

  For a long while, Beldon had entertained the idea that Canton appreciated the intelligent companionship Philippa offered. She understood the man’s talk of finances and business since she’d been well groomed by Cambourne for appreciating that aspect of the Cambourne holdings. The duke had believed a woman should understand her worth and seen to it that Philippa had.

  After watching Canton and Danforth tonight talking over the new bank, Beldon had to wonder if Canton’s interest in Philippa was and had been financial. He’d not thought of it before, since Canton was not without his own wealth or the ability to increase it on his own. Canton had no obvious need to find a wealthy bride.

  Valerian’s sudden reappearance had certainly acted much like a clarifying solution, throwing the muddied depths of their lives into sharp relief. If it was up to him, Beldon much preferred that Philippa married Valerian.

  Valerian was a man of honour, a man who could be trusted to do right even in the most dire circumstances, which brought his thoughts for the evening full circle.

  Why had Valerian stepped aside when Cambourne offered for Philippa? What would Valerian have seen as a more honourable pathway than the chivalry of fighting for his heart’s desire? Who or what had Valerian been protecting that would have compelled him to set aside Philippa and leave his own country? They had not spoken of his abrupt departure, but Beldon felt certain the two were connected.

  Beldon smiled to himself in the near-darkness. The fire had died down to mere embers. He loved a good mystery and this was proving to be an excellent one. He’d need his sleep in order to be fresh for the trip. He could hardly wait. Who would have thought such a seemingly innocuous jaunt to view plants at a vicarage could provide so much drama? Oh, yes, the morning promised to be very interesting indeed.

  Cornwall could always be counted on for oddities when it came to weather. When the rest of Britain’s estuaries froze, the streams near Truro and Falmouth were full of migrating eider and goldeneye ducks. When many parts of Britain thought the dark winter would go on endlessly, the sheltered south of Cornwall celebrated an early arrival of spring. So it was that the weather for the trip into Veryan was mild for January, even though the day before had been plagued with bitingly cold winds.

  The last of the guests were gone by eleven o’clock after a late breakfast that would preclude the need for lunch, and the group of four was seated comfortably in Lucien’s shiny black coach with large glass window panes by half-past the hour for the short trip. Philippa would have preferred to ride, since the distance between Veryan and Truro was negligible and the weather promised to remain true. But Lucien insisted on the coach.

  ‘What’s the point of having such a splendid vehicle at one’s disposal if one does not make use of it?’ Lucien said.

  Philippa secretly thought it more likely Lucien preferred the attention the elegant equipage drew as the coachman tooled through Truro. ‘Still, there aren’t many days in the winter when the weather holds for a long ride. It seems a shame to waste one of them,’ Philippa replied.

  ‘Ah, but that’s just it, my dear. I doubt this weather will hold.’ There was a slightly condescending tone to his voice. ‘Certainly, the skies appear safe at midday. But I predict clouds and rain before tea this afternoon.’

  Valerian stirred in his seat across from them, a glint in his eye that made Philippa uneasy. ‘You sound quite sure of your prediction, Canton.’

  ‘I am, St Just. I’ve spent the better part of the year these last few years living here,’ Lucien boasted.

  Valerian nodded, gesturing to Beldon and Philippa, ‘I’ve spent, as the rest of us present have, the better part of our lives living here, and I say the weather will hold.’ Valerian glanced out of the window and tilted his head to catch a view of the sky. ‘In fact, I would go so far as to say the sun will show itself by two o’clock.’

  ‘Care to wager on that?’ Lucien responded.

  Philippa stifled a groan. The weather was supposed to be the one safe topic of English conversation. Wasn’t that the rule one learned growing up? Somehow, Valerian and Lucien had turned the weather into a competition as if either of them could control it. Although, if she had to place her bets, she’d bet on Valerian. Lucien knew mining, but Valerian knew the climate. His estate on the Roseland Peninsula contained some of the rarest plants and flowers known to grown in Britain.

  ‘Twenty pounds,’ Valerian said. ‘The sun shines by two o’clock with no rain
until after five, I win. Canton here wins if the sun fails to shine and it rains by tea at four o’clock.’

  Beldon broke in, drawing his attention away from the window where it had been riveted for most of the trip. ‘Who wins if the sun doesn’t shine and it doesn’t rain? Or the sun shines, but the rain comes early?’

  Oh, lord, not him too? Philippa sent her brother a beseeching stare. Worse, Lucien and Valerian looked as if they were seriously contemplating the developments. By the time they reached Veryan, the two of them would have concocted such an elaborate wager it would be impossible to determine a winner.

  ‘A draw then,’ Valerian declared resolutely. ‘If there’s any discrepancy, it becomes a draw.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Lucien concurred.

  Philippa shook her head and shot Valerian a scolding glare. He fought back a smile and discreetly turned his head to look out of the window at the passing landscape.

  The vicarage was a place of organised chaos when their coach pulled in. Samuel Trist, the new vicar, broke away from a cluster of workmen and strode through the soft mud and dirt to greet them, smiling excitedly. ‘You’re here! This is a great pleasure. I was delighted to get your note yesterday.’

  Philippa liked the man immediately. He was tall and lean, moving with a loose-limbed gait. Even though he’d known they were coming, he still wore the cotton flannel clothes of a workman and mud-spattered boots. He stripped off his gloves and ran a hand through the shock of flax-coloured hair that stood on end. She recognised his type immediately. He was the kind of man who forgot all else when set on a project dear to his heart.

  ‘It was kind of you to let us come on such short notice,’ Philippa said, giving him her hand as she stepped down, glad for her sturdy half-boots and short-skirted walking dress of simple merino wool. She’d guessed correctly that anything more formal would be out of place, although Lucien had quietly disapproved of her informal attire.