Page 75 of The Virtuoso
“Pass my starving Valentine the peas,” Nick suggested. “He’s likely to chew my leg off if we don’t get him some more food. Aren’t you keeping well, Val?”
“I’m working hard,” Val said, but he did take another helping of peas. And potatoes and more ham. “It tends to whittle off the lard. You look to be in good health.”
“I am. Leah insists I stay more in one place, and as long as she’s in the same place, I am content.”
“How did we merit a visit?” Abby asked. “Though I’m delighted to see you.”
“Likewise, Abby love.” Nick blew her a kiss. “But this one”—Nick tilted his chin at Val—“has abandoned my townhouse for this estate renovation project, and I must see what prompts his desertion. Leah was worried for you, Val, and we cannot have my wife worried when in a delicate condition, for that worriesme.”
“Can’t have that,” Val remarked between bites, though he couldn’t entirely mask the affection from his tone. “So you’ll be jaunting out to Little Weldon with us tomorrow?”
“I will if you can tolerate my company.”
“I will be delighted to have your company, but the accommodations are rustic at best.”
“This,” Nick scoffed, “to a man whose height means he must camp half the time rather than be squashed into what passes for a bed at the typical posting inn. We’ll manage, Val, and I’m curious to see what has lured you into the shires. But, St. Just, I am also curious to know how you fare up north. Our families are related, I think.”
A general round of what-does-that-make-you followed, with cousins and removes and in-laws being bandied about the table, since Nick’s wife was distantly related to St. Just’s stepdaughter and to Abby, as well.
“Abby.” Val addressed his hostess in a break in the conversation. “I know we’ve yet to enjoy our chocolate cake, but I find I could use a little constitutional before the final course. Would there be objection to having cake on the back terrace thereafter?”
“Excellent suggestion.”
Nick met Abby’s gaze. “And I will provide mine hostess escort, with your permission, Professor?”
“Abby?” Axel cocked his head at his wife.
“A stroll sounds like just the thing.” Abby rose and leaned over to kiss her husband’s cheek. “Particularly if Nick is to depart tomorrow and it might be my only chance to pry confidences from him.”
Axel smiled at Nick. “Take care of her, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
“But of course.” Nick bowed graciously and held his arm out for Abby.
“Ellen.” Val raised an eyebrow. “Would you join me?” She went to him with something that could only be gratitude in her eyes, and they silently took their leave.
***
“Last night was so violent,” Val observed as Ellen strolled silently on his arm, “and tonight is lovely. One wonders how the creatures and plants are supposed to cope.”
“Some of them don’t cope. Axel will put a number of trees to rest in his woodshed this fall, and I can only wonder what shape your home wood is in.”
“Hadn’t thought of that.” He hadn’t wanted to think of that, really. “These summer storms are sometimes very localized. So what did you think of Nick?”
“Nick?” Ellen’s voice held the slightest chill. “Don’t you mean Lord Reston? I met him before, you know, when Francis was alive and we occasionally spent time in Town. He’s charming, if a bit too flirtatious, but Francis liked him. What I cannot decipher, Valentine, is why you’re trying to keep me from finding out that your friend—for the man clearly is your friend—has a title. You’ve already mentioned as much, so can you explain your prevarication to me, please?”
Eleven
“You have something against titles?” Val kept his tone excruciatingly neutral as they strolled along.
“I am titled,” Ellen said, “so no, I don’t have anything in particular against titles. I do not hold them in any great esteem either, however. When Francis died, I was surrounded by titles at his funeral, and they all said kind things and murmured the appropriate platitudes. They even sent letters of condolence, but I can tell you, Valentine, not a one of those kind, caring titles has bothered with me since.”
“That is certainly plain speaking. Nick would agree with you.”
“Lord Reston,” she said again, very firmly.
“He’s the Earl of Bellefonte now. Viscount Reston was his courtesy title. The old earl died only a few weeks ago and the loss is quite fresh. How well do you know Nicholas?”
“Not well.” Ellen’s tone relented a little. She kicked a pebble out of her path. “We were introduced twice, a couple years apart. I do not believe he recognized me, but he leaves an impression.”
