It was Valentine who broke the silence.
“Marissa,” he said, and his chest rose and fell heavily, his expression taut and tense, as if he was laboring under an enormous strain. “I have spent years on the quest of the Crusader’s Rose and that’s all that’s mattered to me. Now a beautiful, desirable woman has suddenly arrived in my life. Forgive me if I’m less than coherent.”
She watched him warily, not sure whether he was telling her something she wanted to hear.
“Valentine,” she began, feeling her way as cautiously as a cat across a floor of tacks. “When I was attending Miss Debenham’s Finishing School some friends and I formed a special, eh, club. You could say it was rather like your quest to find the rose, only our quest was to find something, eh, different. When I came to Abbey Thorne Manor my own quest was uppermost in my mind.”
He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “Marissa, I don’t believe you want to be a Bohemian like your grandmother.”
“I’m trying to explain,” she said, attempting to remain calm when she felt like screaming. “Perhaps if you listened for a change you would understand.”
They glared at each other, and then Marissa felt the tension ease, and with it came an urge to laugh. At the same moment Valentine’s mouth twitched and he gave a chuckle.
“Perhaps we should continue this conversation after we’ve been to Canthorpe,” he suggested. “When we can give it our full attention.”
“Yes, perhaps we should,” she agreed, softly.
“We are clearly at cross purposes, minx.”
“Yes.” She sighed.
They had been climbing a gently sloping hill and now they reached the top. The scene spread out before them was quite breathtakingly delightful, with the cottages of the village gathered neatly about a spired church, and the green fields surrounding them.
“How lovely,” Marissa declared. “It looks perfect.”
“It would be perfect if I found the rose,” he said.
He turned to her, and his eyes lingered on hers, a spark deep within them. Just by looking at her he made her feel flushed and alive, and very much aware of herself as a woman.
“Marissa.” Reaching out he took her gloved hand, his fingers enfolding hers. Despite their misunderstandings, she felt as if they were in complete harmony. Just for a moment. Perfect companions.
A moment later the feeling was gone, and Valentine was urging his mount into a gallop as he rode down the slope toward the fulfillment of his dream.
There was nothing Marissa could do but follow him.
Chapter 19
Canthorpe, the home of the Longhurst family, was beyond the church and hidden within a grove of splendid old trees. Even to Marissa’s untrained eyes the sprawling manor was a mingling of varying styles and time periods, evolving and growing over the years as it passed from generation to generation. It appeared to be well cared for, the paintwork was fresh and there were no missing bricks or broken tiles. A formal garden ran along the terrace in front of the house, with bushes clipped into topiary balls and spiraling twists.
There was no sign of any roses.
“There is a more promising garden at the rear of the house,” Valentine assured Mar
issa when she mentioned her concerns. “Morris knows of Canthorpe. He told me Lady Longhurst is renowned for her floral arrangements using roses, picked directly from her own rose garden.”
“What would we do without Morris?” Marissa said with a smile.
They were led into a sitting room which Marissa personally thought far too full of bows and ruchings and clashing floral designs, while the maid who’d admitted them to the house went off to ask if Her Ladyship was receiving visitors.
They waited in a silence broken only by Valentine’s restless tapping on the mantelpiece as he stood by the hearth. After several moments the door opened and Lady Longhurst made her entrance, pausing a moment on the threshold, as if she were accustomed to being admired.
It was understandable.
She was one of the most beautiful women Marissa had ever seen. Almost as beautiful as her best friend and fellow member of the Husband Hunters Club, Olivia Monteith. With her blond hair softly dressed, ringlets falling to her nape from a clasp on her crown, and her elegant but understated blue dress with white lace trimmings, Lady Longhurst could have been posing for a portrait called The Wealthy Country Lady at Home.
“Lord Kent?” the fair vision spoke in a well-modulated voice. She moved with single-minded purpose toward Valentine, ignoring Marissa.
He took the hand she held out to him, bowing elegantly over it. “Lady Longhurst, how do you do?”