The corner of Valen’s mouth refused to stay rigid. It curled with pleasure. “Very well, my lord, since you have broached the subject. Perhaps I might prevail upon you to assist me in the matter? You see…” He glanced down at his bandaged shoulder. “There are one or two elements of my plan I am not disposed to take care of at the moment.”
His father grinned. “Delighted to be of assistance, my boy.”
For the first time in their lives, they bent their heads together for a common purpose. Valen and his father conspired as to how they might bring Lady Elizabeth up to the mark.
Midway through their plans Valen leaned back and said, “We wouldn’t have to go to these extremes if she weren’t the most obstinate female in all of Christendom.”
Lord Ransley patted his son’s hand. “Ah well, she would need to be a trifle headstrong, wouldn’t she, to manage you?”
“There is that.” Valen shook his head. “Excessively managing, our Izzie. In point of fact, she would probably put Napoleon to shame if she had been born a man.”
They laughed, plotted, and disagreed on some of the finer points of their strategy, but they were united in the effort—two warriors hunting a prize. At the end of an hour, Lord Ransley stood up and clapped a hand on Valen’s good shoulder in a wordless gesture. The approval and pride in his expression spoke eloquently enough.
An unfamiliar tightness gathered in Valen’s throat. He tried to clear it away, but it wouldn’t go. He faltered. In an effort to say something, he blundered into an inane comment one might make in passing. “You are looking well, father.”
His father’s chest swelled and Valen caught the glimmer of water in Ransley’s eyes. “Yes. For the first time in decades, I am truly happy.”
Valen understood. All those years without my mother, his bride. And then, scorned by his foolish son.
His father nodded.
As Lord Ransley walked away, Valen clamped his jaw tight, restraining the unmanly emotions that threatened to undo him. How could I have been so blind?
24
Cutting to the Heart of the Matter
“Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below, and saints above;
For love is heaven, and heaven is love.”
Sir Walter Scott, The Lay of the Last Minstrel, 1805
At long last, Robert arrived. Valen thought he would go mad waiting. He sat up in bed while Elizabeth read to him, a melancholy canto written by Sir Walter Scott. It claimed to be a tale about a dying soldier, but there were numerous references to love in the verses. At these junctures, she was wont to pause and sigh pointedly until it was all he could do to keep from grabbing the blasted book and heaving it across the room. So when Robert strode in, Valen felt as if the sun had finally come out, even though the skies outside his window still boded rain.
“What the devil took you so long?” After endless days of a confinement, this was the cheeriest greeting Valen could muster.
“Delighted to see you in such fine spirits, St. Evert.” Robert clasped Valen’s hand, gave it a jarring shake, and then turned to greet his sister. “Has he been a great nuisance?”
“Exceedingly great.” She marked the book and shut it. “I will leave you gentlemen. You must have many private matters you wish to discuss.” She was not usually so eager to escape him.
“Wait, Elizabeth. This concerns you as well.”
“But, I thought...?”
His father entered carrying a long slender wooden case, set it on the desk, and opened it. A pair of foils nested in red velvet.
Robert hefted one of the blades, checking the weight and balance. “Excellent.” He swished it out to his side nearly striking the bedpost. “Superb balance. Where did you get them?”
“Italy. You may of course, select your weapon.”
Izzie whipped to attention like a beagle catching a scent. “What are you saying?”
Valen attempted to shrug, disregarding his bandaged shoulder. “Merely that your brother must challenge me.”
Robert stopped testing the rapier. “Must I?”
“Afraid so. No choice in the matter.”
Elizabeth’s voice went up an octave. “On what grounds?”
He looked squarely at Robert. “I compromised her.”
Izzie’s mouth fell open and then snapped shut. “You did not.” She turned to her brother and clutched his arm. “It isn’t true, Robert. He didn’t.”
Robert patted her hand patiently. “I would think he would know, my dear.” He glanced over her head at Valen for confirmation. “Did you?”
“I did, on several occasions, take advantage and kiss her warmly.” He stated the facts as if they were in court.
Robert’s eyebrows rose. “Warmly?”
“Warmly.” Valen nodded. “Naturally, I offered for her.”
“Right.” Robert’s posture relaxed. “Well, then, the matter is settled.”
“No.” Valen pursed his lips. “Unfortunately, she won’t have me.”
“Izzie? You rejected his suit?” He frowned at his sister.
She slapped her hands to her side and huffed up her shoulders. “He brought no suit.”
“I did,” Valen answered evenly. “She said no.”
“Well, then.” Robert took up his stance and poised his sword. “It must be done.”
Valen climbed out of bed and took up the other sword.
Izzie held up both hands, warding off her brother. “Are you mad? This is nonsense. He was wounded protecting me.”
“Your honor is at stake, Izzie. It’s my duty.” Robert checked his feet and shook the sword to see how much play there was in the blade. “Unless you’ve reconsidered?”
Hands on hips.
The marmot is vexed.
Valen gestured with his blade at her stance. “You see. She won’t have me. Not plump enough in the pocket for her.”
“This is absurd. He did not compromise me.”
“I have witnesses. Father?”
Lord Ransley nodded gravely. “Saw it with my own eyes.”
“Through a telescope, you mean.” She crossed her arms and sulked in his father’s direction.
Valen almost broke his concentration and smiled.
“Robert you can’t—” At last, Izzie was pleading.
Robert stuck to their plan and ignored her. “Are you ready, St. Evert?
“Yes. If you will do me the service of wounding the same side. Wouldn’t want both arms out of service, unless, of course, you feel
