Page 75 of The Dragoneers of Longbourn and Pemberley
Miss Olivinta inclined her head, stately. Then, she abandoned the rigid posture as she leaned forward and asked excitedly, “Are you the same Miss Longbourn who helped reconcile Mr. Nethenabbi and Miss Alyce?”
“I —”
“She is,” Pemberley cut in, obviously flustered. “She —”
“Bennington was so apologetic,” Olivinta said, taking control of the conversation before her brother could. “Did you know Nethenabbi was so angry he did not speak to him for nine days?”
“Good for Mr. Nethenabbi,” Valeraine said.
“Isn’t is just?” Olivinta gushed.
Valeraine smiled. It was good to meet another woman with sense. “Mr. Pemberley seems to need correction sometimes, and I was glad to provide it on this occasion.”
“On occasion, I will admit,” Olivinta said, “he’s so thoughtful that he gets things extraordinarily wrong.”
Valeraine laughed at this cuttingly truthful assessment of Pemberley. Only the mouth of a sister could have been so precise. “You know him better than I do.”
“Yes. Well,” Pemberley said, “Olivinta, would you find a partner for this next dance? I’m sure all you will need to do is walk near that bundle of fellows.”
“I will give you a moment alone with your corrector,” Olivinta teased. “Who knows what she may change yet? Perhaps raise my allowance?”
As she left, Valeraine asked, “You control her allowance?” and took the seat that Olivinta had vacated.
“Since our parents died, I am her guardian.”
The conversation lapsed there, as Valeraine was not brave enough to ask after either dead parents nor a contested allowance.
“I want to,” Pemberley began. “Well that is to say. Without you I wouldn’t have...” His eyes wandered to his lap during this speech, broadcasting his discomfort. Then, his eyes snapped to meet hers. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
His green eyes were attentive. He didn’t look away after he’d delivered his pronouncement. She saw a man of intensity, a man who truly meant his expression of gratitude. Here was a manwho was waiting on her next word, worshipping her thoughts with his devotion.
What did he see in her eyes?
“It was nothing.” Valeraine looked away to the dancers, breaking the spell with a snap.
She didn’t want to leave this chair, and yet she didn’t know what to say to Pemberley. He may have thanked her, but he’d still made his feelings toward her abundantly clear: she was lowly, barely tolerable, something to be pitied and insulted, an attachment whom he resented and would get rid of if he could, someone he deeply admired.
Pemberley didn’t interrupt Valeraine’s reverie. Was this because he didn’t know what to say, either? The silence stretched on long enough that it stretched her own feelings. Her patience stretched until looking at the dancers was irritating. Her irritation toward Pemberley for summoning her stretched until it was a begrudging acceptance (he couldn’t have come to her, she supposed). Her acceptance toward him was stretching until it was becoming something like admiration.
She needed to break this silence. This was a dangerous sort of silence.
“How is your leg?” she asked.
Pemberley easily accepted the question. “The doctor tells me I was lucky. It’s a small break, really, and I may even be walking again in a month.”
“That’s good news.”
“Thank you for being there. And here.”
“It was nothing,” Valeraine said. “I was just paying you back for patching up my arm.”
As if in a daze, Pemberley reached out and gently laid his hand on her shoulder, the one that had once revealed to him she was the masked rider. “How is that healing?” It was a caress, of a sort, a soft touch. Maybe he was only admiring his ownhandiwork, the place where he had once stitched. That must be it. He could not feel tenderness and concern for the woman who so vexed him.
It had been five months. The healing had already come and gone. A scar was all that was left.
Valeraine had an urge to lean into his touch, to rest her head on his hand. She remembered putting her ear on his chest, in that panicked moment. What would it feel like to do that again, in a calm moment?
She leaned away, dislodging his hand. “It healed well, thank you. Are you finding it difficult to host, with your impairment?” She nodded toward his leg, propped and wrapped.
