Rake in the Regency Ballroom. Bronwyn Scott

his life, he’d thought he was protecting his younger sister, watching over her at balls to see that she didn’t dance with the wrong sort of gentleman, making sure she went nowhere unescorted, and all the while she had been protecting him. There was a certain amount of guilt that went with that realisation.

      Had she known? He remembered vividly the night he’d found her in the Rutherfords’ garden. She’d been crying although she wouldn’t admit it. At the time, he thought it had been the shock of the sudden engagement to Cambourne. Had she known why their father had favoured the match?

      Beldon remembered too his brief encounter with Valerian that night. Valerian had been brusque and out of sorts. His friend had paused only long enough to tell him that Philippa was in the garden. The next weeks had been chaos. Valerian had gone and Philippa’s wedding had to be planned. He’d had little time or reason to ponder the turn of events or even to see his friend’s disappearance in connection with the wedding.

      In retrospect, Beldon began to 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.