Page 34 of The Viscount and the Vicar’s Daughter

Valentine deposited her boxes on the edge of the bed and proceeded to untie the wide silk ribbons of her new bonnet. She was amazed at the steadiness of her hands. “You have no right to go through my things. Nor to be in my room.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Felicity replied.

“To what purpose?”

“So that we might speak in private.”

Valentine placed her bonnet on the bed along with her packages. She’d hoped to avoid any more unpleasantness with Lady Brightwell and her daughter. “I can’t imagine we have anything useful to say to each other.”

“I don’t care what you have to say.” Felicity’s voice rose in volume with every word. “But I am determined to speak my mind.”

Valentine moved to shut the door to her room. Unless she was very much mistaken, Felicity Brightwell was about to subject her to an outpouring of vitriol and she’d much rather the servants not hear it. They’d already heard quite enough last night. “Speak if you must. And then go.”

Felicity’s face flushed with anger. “You wouldn’t have dared use such a tone with me yesterday.”

“Yesterday I was still your mother’s companion.”

“And today you aren’t, is that it? She’s let you go without a reference—and without your last month’s wages, too.”

“She has.”

“Because you’re a slut who’s no better than she ought to be.”

Valentine leaned back against the closed door, her hands clasped loosely at her waist. Her heart was beating swift as a hummingbird’s. She despised confrontations. “Such vulgarity does you no credit.”

Felicity snorted. “They’re Mama’s words, not mine. She says you and St. Ashton have come to some sort of sordid arrangement.” She walked alongside the bed, giving the packages an angry flick with her hand. The topmost box toppled to the floor. “Did he give you all of these things?”

Valentine’s gaze dropped briefly to the smallish package on the ground. It contained five pairs of silk stockings in shades of black, white, pink, cream, and gray. The sixth pair was currently on her legs, as fine as cobwebs, secured above her knees with a new pair of embroidered French garters. She raised her eyes back to Felicity’s face. The knowing expression she found there provoked a sudden twinge of shame.

A sordid arrangement.

Is that what it was? Something sordid?

She cataloged the events of the past night in her mind.

An infamous rake had embraced her. Kissed her. And she’d succumbed to his advances with an appalling display of eagerness. Not only succumbed. She’d returned his kisses in full measure.

Because he’d talked to her as if she were a real person and not a servant. Because he’d shown her kindness and affection—two things that were sorely lacking in her life. And because he was, quite simply, the most magnificent-looking gentleman she’d ever seen.

It was pitiful, really.

And now she was allowing him to buy her gifts. Not only dresses and millinery, but stockings, chemises, and a new corset, too. Intimate gifts that touched her naked limbs. The kind of things a decent woman would never, ever accept from anyone save her wedded husband.

“St. Ashton always did keep his mistresses in high style,” Felicity said. “He can’t abide an unfashionable female. Everybody knows it.”

Valentine tightened her hands in front of her. She reminded herself that Tristan had asked her to marry him. That the two of them had been discussing the future. Their future. She would not allow Felicity to plant seeds of doubt in her mind. Heaven knew there were enough there already. “My relationship with Lord St. Ashton is none of your business.”

Felicity’s dark eyes flashed. “Relationship,” she repeated, covering the word with scorn. “Is that what you call it? How pathetic you are. There is only one kind of relationship St. Ashton has with women like you. He—”

“He has proposed to me.” Valentine heard the words before she realized that she’d said them. No doubt she looked as shocked as Felicity. They both seemed to have lost their color. And they were both standing stock-still, staring at each other with wide, startled eyes.

“You’re a liar!” Felicity said.

Valentine attempted to affect an air of unconcern. She wasn’t certain she succeeded. “Believe what you will.”

Felicity took a step toward her. The enormous flounced skirts of her pink-and-white-striped afternoon dress brushed the edge of Valentine’s own skirts, pressing them back against her legs. “You stupid little cow. If you think he cares for you, you’re a bigger fool than ever I thought you were.”

“I daresay I am.” Valentine folded her arms at her waist to stop her trembling.