“I hadn’t noticed.” He set his package on the end of the table.
“A gift for me?”
“Regrettably, it is not for you, my dear.” He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Something for my tailor.” Unable to keep the corner of his mouth from curling wickedly, he turned quickly to the side table and placed a kipper on a plate.
“What is it? Hemlock?” Honore tapped the shell of her hard-boiled egg. “For I vow, if you are requiring him to make another set of clothing as revolting as the last, any self-respecting man of the cloth would prefer poison.”
“A man of the cloth is a vicar, my lady, not a tailor.” Valen sat down with his plate heaped high. “And I’ve promised my poor suffering tailor complete anonymity.”
She dipped her egg in salt and studied it on the end of her fork. “So, tell me, how is it you do not find Lady Elizabeth attractive?”
He had raised his knife, but now set it down with some force. “Are we back to that? I have not given the matter much thought.”
“Whyever not? You get along well enough with the brother. Her brother certainly approves of you. Half the difficulties in a marriage are the relations. You ought to know that much.” She bit into her egg and smirked at him while chewing.
He glared at her. Suddenly the mound on his plate seemed less appealing. “She is unsuitable.” There. That’s an end of it. He raised his knife, preparing to cut his fish.
“Eminently suitable, I should think. Did you not see the intelligence in her eyes? Unless I miss my guess, the gel can put more than two and two together.”
“Which simply means she would make a suitable chess partner.”
“My dear nephew, you would be surprised how often a marriage is like a chess match.”
“Ah. Then I should marry a woman dumb as a post. For I wouldn’t care to be beaten at the game with any kind of regularity.” He pierced the fish to hold it steady. “Aside from that, Lady Elizabeth has some rather unfortunate traits that I find intolerable.”
Honore tilted her head. “Unfortunate traits? I hadn’t noticed.”
He glanced at her skeptically. “Don’t tell me you haven’t observed how she holds her nose in the air as if the rest of humanity is far too malodorous for a woman of her caliber.”
Honore dipped the other end of her egg as she mulled over the matter. “You are too quick to judge. Perhaps her nose was broken at one time. Pushed out of joint, as it were.”
He sawed his fish apart, refusing to give rise to her ridiculous conjecture. He was not judging, he was observing. Naturally, his aunt would prize Izzie’s intellect. She valued that trait above all else. He, on the other hand, held to more sound standards. He thrust a portion of kipper into his mouth and chewed vigorously.
“I cannot recall the thing ever being broken.” Lady Elizabeth stood in the doorway staring at him as though he had just slunk in from the sewer. She touched the tip of her nose. “Nor has it been wrenched out of joint. At least, not yet.”
He stood as she entered the room, the fish in his mouth turned to cotton wadding, and he’d be damned if he could swallow.
“Cat got your tongue?” She asked softly, gliding gracefully past him as she went to greet Lady Alameda. “Good morning, my lady. I must thank you again for your hospitality. How very pleasant it is here at Alison Hall. It is beautifully appointed, and I daresay I have not slept half so well since coming to London.”
“So, you have never broken your nose?” Honore smiled at her with unabashed interest.
Valen dropped into his chair. If he didn’t drink something posthaste, he would choke on the wretched kipper.
“No.” Elizabeth answered simply and without the least hint of self-consciousness.
Honore held out her hand to him. “There you have it, Valen. You were right. It must be the smell.”
“Smell?” The vixen asked absently while sniffing eggs and strawberries on the buffet. “Why? Everything smells delicious.”
“I believe Lord St. Evert is referring to the constant elevation of your nose.”
Valen sent his provoking aunt a quelling glance and said firmly, “In point of fact, I was not referring to it at all.”
His aunt, ever eager to bat about a hornet’s nest, challenged his defense. “Oh, but you were. We were conjecturing as to the cause, were we not?”
He refused to be drawn in, but found himself compelled to stand and pull back Lady Elizabeth’s chair for her. She turned to him before seating herself, the nose in question coming quite close to his chin.
“I suspect,” she said to him in a low, cool voice. “You may credit my correct posture to the boards that were strapped to my back as a child and the books I was required to balance on my head without letting them fall lest I wished a beating.”
He felt an odd heat in his cheeks and his features must have softened, for she looked away, uncomfortable under his gaze. She turned brusquely and sat down. “I pray you, do not be so ridiculous as to pity me, my lord. It is thus with all ladies of breeding. We are carefully trained in matters of deportment and carriage. Is it not so, Lady Alameda?”
Honore lounged back in her chair, watching them with interest, munching very casually on a piece of toast. “Mmm. So I’ve heard.”
Valen remained standing and dropped his napkin onto the table. “Pray, excuse me. I’ve pressing matters to attend to this morning.” With that, he picked up his parcel and turned to leave.
Lady Elizabeth commented to Honore. “Lord St. Evert has left a mountain of food on his plate. I fear I’ve put him off.”
“Oh, I don’t see how. I daresay he’s simply a finicky eater.” Once again, his aunt had made an erroneous supposition.
There was, in his belly,
