Rake in the Regency Ballroom: The Viscount Claims His Bride / The Earl's Forbidden Ward. Bronwyn Scott

think it was highly plausible that Valerian and Philippa had met secretly in the garden and that she was crying for a different reason. He couldn’t quite puzzle out that bit yet. Still, on one hand he had more answers. Cambourne’s money had likely come between them. Cambourne’s money had not been a serendipitous godsend as he’d always believed, but rather a calculated move on his father’s part to save the barony.

      Beldon took stock of what he had: some answers, more questions, and one damning hypothesis beginning to form—if the move to woo Cambourne had been planned, then Valerian had to have known, otherwise he would not have willingly stood down from his claims on Philippa’s hand.

      The mantel clock struck midnight, late hours for the country. It was time for bed. He had a long day ahead of him, beginning with a ride over to Roseland.

       Chapter Ten

      Valerian was in the greenhouse, working with his new rose hybrids, when Beldon arrived the next day. He looked up from his pots and cuttings in glad surprise. He had been alone too much with his thoughts lately in lieu of any available company. ‘I’m hoping to get a yellow rose with pink highlights,’ Valerian said, brushing off his hands on a towel.

      ‘It’s good to see you. What brings you over so suddenly? I hope everyone is well.’ For a moment his stomach tightened. He hoped the news wasn’t about Philippa. A hundred images of all the things that could go wrong raced through his mind. She could fall from her horse on uncertain terrain, she could take ill with a winter cold, she could have accepted Lucien’s ridiculous marriage proposal.

      Apparently, his concern was obvious. ‘At ease, old friend,’ Beldon chuckled. ‘Everyone is well. Philippa’s well, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

      ‘Would you like to go inside?’ Valerian offered.

      ‘No, don’t let me stop your work.’ Beldon waved the offer away, pulling up a tall stool next to the long work table. ‘I came to talk. Some things about our riddle were niggling at me,’ he confessed.

      Valerian nodded, pushing a wooden crate across the table. ‘You can sort seeds while we talk.’ He knew precisely what Beldon meant by the riddle and he could guess with approximate accuracy what Beldon had unravelled and what he hadn’t.

      Beldon grabbed a packet of seeds and starting sorting the menagerie by flower type. ‘Good lord, what are all these for? There must be a hundred packets in here, Val.’

      ‘They’re all wildflowers. I want them for the south garden. Sort them by type, not colour,’Valerian instructed.

      ‘You’re making plans. That must mean it feels good to be home again,’ Beldon said.

      Valerian looked up from his clipping and smiled gently at his friend. ‘First, yes, it does feel wonderful to be home. I am finally starting on the plans I once had for this place. Second, you don’t have to ease into it, Beldon. We’ve been friends a long time. I’d like to think you could ask me anything and our friendship would not suffer for it.’

      Beldon snorted at that and Valerian knew he was thinking of the irony of that statement, thinking that Valerian had not felt he could tell Beldon his own great secret years ago. ‘Perhaps you’ll think differently about why I didn’t tell you, when you’re done with your questions,’Valerian said softly, apologetically. There was so much he had to account for. Today would be a start.

      Beldon drew a deep breath. ‘All right—what do you plan to do about Philippa now that you’re home to stay?’

      Valerian chuckled, intent on the plant before him. ‘It’s not so easy as what I intend to do, Beldon. Philippa’s a stubborn woman. She’ll do what she pleases and I am afraid she’s not convinced I am in her best interest.’

      Valerian looked up in time to see Beldon’s brows furrow as he tried to work through his statement.

      ‘I don’t really understand the difficulty,’ Beldon began. ‘The two of you were in love once, she’s free to pursue her own interests now and you’re still in love with her. Beyond a little wooing, I don’t see the problem.’

      Poor Beldon, Valerian mused. He knew so much and yet so little of the details. Valerian took mercy on his friend. He set down his garden shears and leaned across the rough-hewn work table. ‘Listen, Beldon. The night you found her crying in the garden, she wasn’t crying because she had to forgo me and marry Cambourne. She was crying because I purposely broke her heart. She thought I was going to propose that evening.

      ‘Instead, I told her I wanted her to marry Cam-bourne, that what we shared together was nothing more than a young man’s dalliance.’ Valerian winced at the last. Surely, Beldon would forsake his seed sorting and send him a rounder across the jaw. He deserved no less.