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Chapter Three

Richard Thornton drew a long, deep breath over gritted teeth. “Mr Valance,” he said. The damn you, remained unspoken.

“You gentlemen are acquainted?” Serafina’s mother asked, with her usual lack of perspicuity, but Richard did not have the energy to focus on her or her snobbery any longer. 

Edward had powdered over his bruises, and looked brighter than he had any right to - then again, he’d always had a nauseating ability to bounce back from defeat, humiliation, or intoxication. He was smartly – if unfashionably – dressed in a blue velvet suit that did not go with the abject poverty in which Richard had found him the previous afternoon.  

This is your own fault. You sought him out. You practically invited this.

“Oh, Dickie and I go way back.” Edward said, with a smile that anyone else would think was affable. Richard knew him well enough to sense the sharp edge of provocation beneath it, “Old school fellows, ain’t we?”

Serafina, his sainted Serafina, looked at the newcomer with eyes wide with innocence and good faith. To see that beside Edward’s demon grin stirred something deep within him, dark and powerful. 

It should not, could not, be allowed here. 

Richard had put this behind him.

Serafina had told him that he held her heart…

“And at Oxford,” he admitted, curtly. “Though our paths have diverged somewhat since then.”

“You were at Oxford, Mr Thornton?”

He tried to conceal his annoyance at Mrs Tooting’s surprise. It would not do to forget himself among these people; they would never see him as more than a jumped-up little clerk. Except Serafina, of course. She was looking him with modest, lowered lashes, and the sweetness of her face gave him some strength, “I was, madame. However -”

“Thornton wasn’t able to graduate, were you, old man? Had to come down at the start of his third year. Some sort of domestic drama.”

“Mr Valance, I believe you are being very indiscreet.” The old snob was practically simpering at him. 

Trust Valance to make the whole thing sound salacious.

“I do believe you’re right, Mrs Tooting.” Edward pulled off the kind of flamboyant bow that made Richard want to trip him. He had a sudden memory of Valance lying on the floor of that squalid little room with his hands crossed over his head to protect himself as the whip came down. Richard shifted, joining his hands before him. 

What was it he had thought but a moment before about unwholesome desires?

“What’s worse,” Edward insisted in his usual, insinuating tones, “is that in my delight at seeing old Thornton again, I have overlooked paying my address to yourself and your daughter.” He clicked his heels and executed another pair of his bows, wearing that that lopsided smile that made you want to slap him until he started to bleed. “Mrs Tooting, Miss Tooting, I am your most humble servant. Please, accept my apologies for my apish behaviour.”

“Really, Mr Valance, you cannot be quite so ashamed as all that.” Much as Richard tried to ignore it, there was the hint of a smile about Serafina’s mouth as she spoke.

“How could you say so? I am overcome with mortification. I blame only the great loveliness of the ladies of this house - it would make a fool of any man. Wouldn’t it, Thornton?”

Richard said nothing.

“Oh, come now, Dickie, don’t be so churlish.” He inclined his head again to Serafina, “He always was a heretic in the face of beauty.”

“Perhaps Mr Thornton does not feel the need to channel his admiration into empty compliments, Mr Valance?”

Edward batted his absurdly long eyelashes, “Madame! Why, I have duelled with many men, but I would not dare cross wits with one so fair.  I do beg your pardon if my forwardness has displeased you.”

“Tell me,” said Mrs Tooting. “You’re a Mr Edward Valance, are you not?”

Edward nodded.

“Are you, perhaps, any relation to Lord Forthenby?” 

Trust the woman to get on to such matters with the speed of a gold digger.

“Ah. Ah, well, yes, I am, but don’t read too much into that. The whole thing is rather a muddle, you see? There are several branches of the Valance family, and we all have at least one Edward. The Forthenby branch, of course, have two, but I’m a Westlehill Valance, and the only Edward among us. This isn’t helping, is it?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” said Mrs Tooting, indulgently. 

Richard, who had heard the entire speech several times, tried not to make his annoyance too plain.

“Well, the key part is this; the Forthenby Valances are the central branch, if you will, upon which the rest of us are mere twigs. They consist of my cousin Ned – the Viscount Hartell - and his father Eddy the Earl. Rightly, that’s Lord Forthenby and he’s my uncle… or cousin… or, something of that kind. My godfather, too, worse luck. You, er, you don’t know the old rotter, do you?”

“I would not call us close friends, Mr Valance.” The unspeakable biddy was clearly delighted that Teddy assumed she moved in such elevated circles. 

“Well, between you and me, madame, he’s rather a choleric old chap, and when the scions of the lesser clans Valance aren’t quarrelling with him, they’re trying their very best at flattery. Therefore, sad to say, there is a rather limited nomenclature among my generation. It gets fearfully confusing, Miss Tooting. Weddings, christenings, even funerals can be somewhat unsettling when the priest asks, ‘Do you, Edward Valance...?’ and half the church sits up a little straighter. For that reason, we, er, tend to avoid large family gatherings.”

Serafina laughed. Richard wanted to believe it was a forced pleasantry, but the very sweetness of it, its sheer joyousness would not allow him to lie to himself. That was the most dangerous thing about Teddy. He could make himself so very disarming. 

Richard tried not to allow his expression to become sour. Edward would notice that. 

“I believe you must be exaggerating, Mr Valance,” Serafina said. “You spun me an equally implausible tale at the Lady N---’s.”

“Not a word of it a lie. I assure you that, in the season, if you call ‘Mr Edward Valance’ in a loud enough voice, half of London will turn ‘round. I’m afraid that having the commonest name among the decent sort is my only claim to renown, Miss Tooting, you must not try to take that from me.”

“Your brother,” Richard said softly, “doesn’t have to bear that misfortune, does he?”

Edward smiled wider, “No, of course not. Dear Charles has all the luck. But I swear I have been rattling on in the most inconsiderate fashion.” He slapped Richard on the arm in a rather more forceful gesture than comradely spirit would recommend. 

Had he dared such a thing in private, Richard would have grabbed his wrist and slammed him against the nearest wall to see how quickly discourtesy could be turned to pleas. Teddy always broke, in the end, no matter how much he snarled at you first.

Of course, he could not do that here, not with Mrs Tooting declaring that, by no means was Edward being anything other than charming, not while Serafina looking at Valance as though he were a dear animal trained to perform for her very own amusement. No. Plain Mr Thornton could not presume to do such a thing to Edward Valance, Godson of ‘Earl Eddy’. 

In truth, he should not think of doing any such thing at all. He had put all that behind him.

“I say, Dickie, are you quite well? My apologies, ladies, but I believe Mr Thornton is looking rather pale. Paler than usual, I should say. Is there something disagreeing with you?”

Richard looked closely at Edward’s face before answering, close enough to see the thin, blue-purple line that marked the underside of Valance’s cheek on each side. Those were his bruises. He had left them and could easily leave worse. Edward’s mouth must be a mess of half healed cuts and ulcers, but that never stopped him talking, did it? 

“I am quite well, sir.” 

“Perhaps some air,” suggested Mrs Tooting, reminding him that it would be the done thing to make his excuses and withdraw. 

Richard swallowed his anger. “I assure you, madam, I am in perfect health.” 

Edward flashed him another impertinent, blazing smile, “Now, now, Dickie. I have your best interests at heart, you know.”

Richard’s own words, thrown back at him. How many times had he said them to Valance as he bent him over desks or chairs?

You have only yourself to blame.

For he knew Teddy Valance: knew that a warning, a beating, a shaming, would not pluck the burr of him from Richard’s life or mind. Valance had clung to him, desperate and degenerate, dragging him down into the same stews of penury and depravity that he inhabited with his whores. Harsh words, threats, had only ever made him keener, more maddening. That had always been the game they played.
And still, still, in Richard’s breast was that wicked thread of desire which made him oblige when that impossible face begged for hard contact of a fist.

No. No, there was nothing for him along that path. It was a criminal love, and they had conducted themselves in the manner of beasts. There was nothing but ignominy in wanting to taste the blood of your lover when you kissed him.  

Her, he corrected, her.

Damn Teddy Valance. 

No. It would be Edward, would be Valance. Not Teddy. Never Teddy ever again. 

He should leave. He should make his excuses and cede the ground, but all sense and propriety abandoned him when Valance entered the equation.

As, surely, he should know by now. As yesterday had shown him, for, dear God, he had not intended it to come to blows. The pistol had been a precaution - Valance had never shied from a duel or an exchange of fire. Richard had seen the scars, had beaten him for being too free with the challenges he issued, and had spent sleepless nights refusing to lie beside him, knowing Teddy was going out to face his death again at dawn.

No, he had not intended to use the pistol, had not even intended to take it from his pocket. He had merely forgotten that Edward Valance was still capable of looking impertinent and wanton in his sleep. 

It had taken him all day to find that shabby little room. Even knowing what he did of Valance’s situation, he could not believe an old school-fellow could possibly live in such a place, lower than any of the garrets he’d inhabited in his own poverty. Its little pretensions - the cheap fabric covering the windows, the sickly sweetness of a drab’s perfume – had only made it worse. Yet there, looking quite at home, had been Valance himself, sprawled on the bed, his shirt open at the neck and his head thrown back with that sweet, mocking expression he wore whenever you dared show jealousy or anger around him.

Anyone else would have woken at the sound of the door, but Valance had only moved in his sleep, his strong wrists stretching from frayed cuffs, the golden stubble on his chin catching the light that came through the dirty glass. His Adam’s apple had risen and fallen like the invitation to a bite, his mouth had been so pretty that it begged for a split lip, and…

In Mrs Tooting’s tasteful morning room, Richard shuddered. He would not surrender to such thoughts, not here. 

He had turned his heart from Valance to Serafina - to her luminous white skin, her soft, plump arms. She bowed her head with such modesty, spoke such compassionate sense in such a sweet voice, and yet her eyes were lively with intelligence, her laugh quick and sincere. Yes, she spoke a little boldly at times, but that was only the same restless, striving spirit that inhabited his own breast. Meeting her had been his salvation, breaking the final lingering grip Valance had upon his mind.

She loved him.

So he should not look at her now and imagine twisting her wrists until he saw awed surrender blossom in her eyes. He should not wish to grab her in a rough embrace, or tear the fragile muslin of her gown away to expose breasts so pale they would seem almost be transparent, so round and vulnerable, tipped with nipples as pink as a welt.

That the thoughts even crossed his mind was merely the same sickness which had made him, almost without thought, level his pistol against Valance’s jaw, made him want that pretty, whorish face to wake with a look of fear and plea. 

But of course, Edward Valance was no longer so easy to intimidate as he had been as an unruly tart in the Fifth. Richard wrapped his gloves around his hand. 

He should just have shot the man and had done with it.