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When Richard had taken his first post at the bank, Mr Rainworth, his godfather, had suggested that he might wish to take a boat out to India and make his fortune there, had told him that to do so would be considerably swifter, if less certain, than building a slow career at home. 

Richard had given him a thousand excellent, plausible reasons as to why he would do better in the land that he knew, and every one of them had been a lie. He wanted to remain in London solely because he had promised Teddy Valance that he would meet him there, that they would be reunited once again, just as they had been when Teddy trailed after him to Oxford. 

But the work had been harder, his position more lowly than he could bear, and his colleagues disdainful, even cruel – and in the few leisure hours he was permitted, it seemed he could go nowhere without hearing that same name, Valance. Edward Valance. 

It was, after all, as Teddy boasted, the most common name among the decent sort. Everybody in London knew at least one, and for that dreadful first year, every time that Richard heard it, he was overcome with the wild stemming of hope that it was Teddy, his Teddy, coming to snatch him back from drudgery and shame. Richard had worked hard, long evenings and early mornings, but every night as he fell exhausted in to his bed, he had thought of Teddy and the wild life they had led together. 

Oh, he longed for it. 

Until Teddy had graduated and come down to Town after all, full of joy and smugness, and pride at keeping his word. Stringing after him had been two dozen whores and hangers on, lapping up his money, his attention, his beauty. In no time at all, Teddy was the darling of every wanton and rake, for he had blazed his trail at Oxford just as brightly as he had done at school, and showed no inclination to stop now. 

Facing that, after a year and a half of hard and steady work, Richard saw just how flimsy and detestable Edward’s manner and mannerisms were. When they met, the tender, respectful reunion Richard had envisaged, the laying aside of old poison, was written over by the way Edward had fallen forward with the swagger Richard had once almost beaten out of him, as though he expected to have his beauty and his cleverness praised with an adoration equal to the anger he’d once had at Richard’s hands. 

It had not been true that all Richard had felt was disgust, but the disgust was worse because it was not unmingled with desire, nostalgia, tenderness. It was worse because Edward clearly expected nothing to have changed, to have the same old games rehearsed endlessly. 

And he would not accept denial. 

However many times Richard tried to escape his toils, however many times he reacted brusquely, with violence, Edward would come sloping after him with a provoking grin on those pouting, pretty, lips. It was as though some kind of barb were buried deep in Richard’s guts, as though each attempt to pull it out only ripped apart more of his flesh, lodged it more deeply, more painfully inside him. No matter how long he might ignore it for, hearing those words would give it another tug - Edward Valence.

But Valance was gone. Richard had banished him when he gave the coin to the gamin with a word that there would be another if he could lead Richard to anyone who wished to know Teddy Valance’s whereabouts. Still, it didn’t stop the echo of his name ringing around him, bringing with it the full weight of memory.
  
So, there, in Mrs Tooting’s drawing room, Richard took a breath to calm himself and said, “Yes, madame. I believe the Earl is that gentleman’s uncle.”

“No, Mr Thornton,” said Serafina quietly. “The old Earl passed away last year.”

“But it is nothing to concern you, Mr Thornton,” said Mrs Tooting with an edge of kindness that he could not but read as patronising. “We have Lord Forthenby’s assurance that your old school fellow is just as unwelcome at his residence as he is at our own.”

Which was strange, when he considered it. 

Richard had met the former Viscount Hartel once or twice, and had found him an affable, proper young man, much suppressed by the choleric temper of his father, and the bounds of expected behaviour. He was exactly the sort of accommodating man one would expect to be abused by villains like Teddy. 

Richard wondered how Valance had managed to close that particular door.

He made himself smile, “That is a great comfort, madame.” “Please, pay him my respects. I believe that I met him when he was Hartel. A very upright young man - although I doubt that he would remember me.”

Serafina smiled at him in a sidelong, sad fashion, and turned her head away. 

“Miss Tooting,” Richard said softly, “are you quite well?”

“Yes. Yes, perfectly well. I would…” She would not meet his eyes as she said it, so that once again he longed to turn her face towards him, to stop her from flinching away. “It is only that I would rather attend a concert with you, sir.”

He wished to put his hand over hers, or to bring it to his lips and press it with a kiss. Instead, he looked at her with proprietorial admiration, and said, “You forget, Miss Tooting, that I am but an indifferent judge of music.”

“So is Lord Forthenby,” she said, to her embroidery, in a quiet voice that he one not sitting quite so near her might have mistaken for meekness.

Richard felt something cold touch the core of him, felt it press against his chest. 

“You must be very sensible of the honour that is being done you, then, Miss Tooting.” He was unable to keep the note of criticism from the words.

“You would think that,” said Serafina, “would you not?”

Richard glanced up at Mrs Tooting, who was resolutely plying her needle as though she were both deaf and blind, “You believe he has… intentions?”

Serafina picked up her embroidery, and placed it down again, carefully. “I believe that is one word for it, sir.”

“And his advances. Do you welcome them?”

She turned her face to him, and he saw the anger in her glance, the red rims around her eyes and the tears streaking down her cheeks. As she turned her face away again, anger blossomed beneath Richard’s skin, a thousand flowers of fire.

“Forgive me, Serafina. I did not mean to…”

“But you did, sir.”

“This Lord Forthenby, he has been courting you?”

She nodded.

He was about to open his mouth to reprimand her - for not telling him, for not repulsing the fellow - when he saw the way her head bowed, as though she were carrying a weight too heavy for her. So, instead, he took the handkerchief from his pocket and, as subtly as possible, passed it to her.

Serafina took it, but did not wipe her eyes, only worked it between her hands. “I would have told you, but I did not wish to put it on paper. That would have made it so much... so much worse. And I have not seen you since…” She balled the handkerchief in her hands, closing them about it like fists, closing her mouth.

“Do you find him an agreeable man, Miss Tooting?”

“No, sir.”

“What does…”

“..Mama say? She advises me to humour him and to wait until you are in a position to declare yourself publicly. Once our engagement is announced, he will not do anything. But we fear…”

“You fear his motives towards an acknowledged rival?”

Serafina nodded again and brought his handkerchief to her lips in a kiss. If it could only have been his lips then the terrible emotion that was beginning to possess him may have been allayed. 

“Miss Tooting,” he said, as though he could not quite believe it. “I have said that I believe myself to be acquainted with the present Lord Forthenby. I cannot credit him with such motives. Tell me, is he not the late Earl’s son?”

Serafina looked at him with a stricken expression, “No. I believe he is some manner of cousin. The Viscount Hartell was lost at sea. With his father.”

Damn all bloody Valances. 

“But this is another Edward Valance, Miss Tooting?”

“Yes, sir.”

Trying to control his rage, Richard sorted through what he knew of the Forthenby succession, which depended entirely upon what Edward had told him and was therefore hardly coherent, let alone reliable. 

After a moment he said, “Forgive me if this gives you pain, Miss Tooting, but would you be able to describe Lord Forthenby. What manner of man is he?”

“He is a very cold man, Mr Thornton. If I were to speak frankly, it would seem he has as little grasp of propriety as his cousin. But while that Mr Valance had some skill at making himself agreeable, even amusing, Lord Forthenby is…” She shook her head again, and closed her eyes, as though she could not even bear to think of him.

“So much for his mien, madam, but what of his person? What of his height?”

She turned to him, then, and the fondness in her eyes disarmed him, even as it gave his anger greater strength, as it spurred the suspicion building within him. “Somewhat less than yours, sir.”

“And is he a dark man, or a fair one?”

“Fair. And his eyes are blue.”

A pure, clear blue. Like the sky on midwinter’s day, if the weather is fine. 

“Then he resembles his cousin, the…” He forced himself to control the bile that was rushing up in his throat. “The gentleman I met here one afternoon, and was able to offer you some service regarding?”

“Their manner is very different, sir, but otherwise,” Serafina nodded again, “the resemblance is pronounced.”

But Teddy Valance got his looks from his mother’s side. Every other member of the clan was dark. 

Perhaps she had noticed some change in his expression, for she asked, “Do you know the gentleman, Mr Thornton?”

“No, Miss Tooting, I do not.” He rose. “Although I fear I have stayed overlong. Please, accept my apologies.” 

The look she gave him rent open his breast and nearly brought him down, back into her company with a thousand declarations of love, but he knew now what must be done. So, he seized her hand and bowed, and laid upon it a single, chaste, kiss. She stared back at him, but did not pull her hand away. 

Richard looked into her eyes and said, “Your mother is a very wise woman, Miss Tooting. Now, I must take my leave.”

“Return again soon, Mr Thornton.”

He merely bowed.