“Augustus…”
“The rose isn’t in the garden. I’ve checked. It isn’t there.”
Valentine tried again, and again, but it was no use. Augustus had moved on or forgotten or he simply wasn’t interested in telling him. Eventually he had to give up and leave the baron to his solitude. At least he had a name, as bizarre as it sounded.
Bo-bo. He repeated it to himself and thought it sounded vaguely familiar. For a time he tried hard to remember why, but the fleeting memory would not come to him and he had to let it go. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking.
He glanced back at the redbrick house as he left. He knew he would come again—he felt a responsibility. Augustus may not be his flesh and blood brother but they were joined together in other ways.
Valentine even felt a sort of pity for him, now that the danger he’d posed had passed. The baron would never know the happiness that Valentine knew, would never have a future to look forward to. His life was effectively ended.
Valentine hoped that the baron didn’t understand that.
Chapter 35
That evening Marissa and her family dined at Valentine’s house in Mayfair—a house that was to be hers, too, soon enough. It was set in a square behind leafy gardens and looked grand enough to intimidate people far more socially ambitious than the Rotherhild’s. But Valentine soon put them all at ease.
“My family has lived here for a hundred years, as you can see by the rather drab portrait gallery upstairs. I’m afraid it has been a long time since the house entertained anyone other than relatives and the occasional friends.”
“You must throw a ball as soon as possible,” Lady Bethany declared, her sharp eyes darting about as she considered the possibilities.
“What a good idea,” George said. “Invite as many beautiful women as you can and I will choose one for my wife. It’s only fair after you stole mine, Valentine.”
“George, what nonsense,” Marissa retorted. “We would never have suited. We are much better as friends.”
George appeared shamefaced but anyone could see he didn’t mean it, and he was soon smiling again.
Lord Jasper was also dining at the Mayfair house, and Marissa noticed her parents’ exchanging puzzled looks at the obvious affection shown between him and Lady Bethany.
“Don’t you think you’re a little old for such nonsense?” Marissa overheard her mother saying after the meal, when the women withdrew to the formal drawing room. “I thought maturity brought a degree of wisdom, Mother.”
“Good heavens, I am not dead yet!” Lady Bethany retorted.
Marissa was glad when the men joined them, and grateful when Valentine suggested she come with him for a stroll in the garden.
Alone with him, she took a deep breath, lifting her face to the evening sky. Valentine smiled, bending to kiss her. “Have you changed your mind about marrying me? I’m sorry about the size of the house. I know it must be daunting. We can sell it if you like, or give it to George.”
“I don’t mind about the house,” she said, reassuring herself as well as him. “And of course I haven’t changed my mind. I’m surprised you haven’t, now you’ve seen my family in all their eccentric glory.”
Valentine raised his eyebrows. “I find them rather intriguing. I have only ever had the elderly aunts who brought me and George up, so I’m enjoying expanding. George told you I have a tendency to imagine people I meet as roses.”
Marissa smiled. “He did. How do you imagine my family?”
“Your grandmother I can imagine quite easily. She is one of those wild roses that tends to throw out uncontrollable canes in all directions, but in the summer she’s covered with flowers of such a glorious perfume that everyone puts up with her bad manners.”
Marissa giggled. “And my father?”
“Well, I think he may be a tall bush rose with strong healthy foliage and a tendency to overwhelm any less vigorous plants in his vicinity.”
“Hmm, I quite agree. What about my mother?”
“Ah, she is a small climber, easily managed most of the time, but occasionally she will grow in a direction you do not wish her to and there is nothing you can do about it.”
Marissa laughed out loud. He observed her, eyes sparkling, before he leaned forward to kiss her.
She sobered. “And what of me, Valentine? What sort of rose am I?” She’d wanted to ask him that question ever since she met him, but some inner anxiety had always prevented her. She felt even more anxious as he observed her, a smile in his eyes.
“Marissa, you are an exquisite climbing rose upon a sunny garden wall, filling the air w