that is most certainly neither appropriate nor desired.”
Valentine shook his head. It would probably be best if he didn’t tell her how much he suddenly longed to rip away those hideous spectacles and plant a whacking great kiss square on her prunes-and-prisms lips. “As my grandmother would say, you’re a pip, Miss Marchant. She’d enjoy watching you put me through hoops.”
“I’ve no intention of putting you through hoops. I should only ask the same favor in return. We should separate now, and I will meet you to turn over my diar—my journal just outside the servant entrance behind the stables in a quarter hour. The full moon could be as close as this very night.”
Valentine pulled a small silver disc from his watch pocket and looked at it closely. There were, in fact, three discs, all joined together at the middle, and each could be moved independently of the other. “Yes, it begins tonight.”
Daisy stepped closer. “How can you know that for certain without consulting a chart? What is that strange thing?”
At last, something she didn’t already know! He passed it over to her. “Just something I discovered in a shop in Bond Street. I’m assured the language is German, so it may have found its way here along with the first George. But the months are also marked with their Zodiac signs, so it’s all read easily enough. You move the dials about, and the small openings reveal the days of the week, the phases of the moon, even the number of days in each month, the length of the days and nights.”
Daisy was studying the disc, turning it round and round. “The Calendar Ivmperpetuum. Perpetual calendar, I imagine. And you’re right, quite old. There’s a date here, 1696. So if I slide the disk to the correct year, month and day— Ah, there we are. It’s rather amazing, isn’t it? Don’t lose it.” She handed the disc back to him. “Now, as to meeting again. A quarter hour. Are we agreed? Please don’t dawdle.”
And with that she was gone. Without another look toward the stone altar, or to him, for that matter. Don’t lose it. Please don’t dawdle. She was handing out orders now. “I told Piffkin she’d get in the way. And now she’s gone and done it. Dawdle? God, she’s wonderful!”
She was, precisely thirty minutes later, also late. Valentine didn’t pace, like some anxious Romeo waiting to steal a moment with his Juliet—because that wouldn’t be appropriate behavior—but he was beginning to worry. He was adequately concealed amid the fairly overgrown shrubbery flanking the servant entrance, but at any moment a servant could be popping in or out, and that would put paid to any secrecy, which couldn’t be a good thing.
So where in bloody hell was she? This was why nobody in clear possession of his wits ever involved a female in his plans. Women were an unknown quantity, prone to improvisation, and a man worrying about a woman could end up a dead man in more ways than one.
He heard the latch depress and quickly stepped back against the wall, so that the opening door would conceal him.
Which would have been a sterling plan, save for the fact the door opened inward, leaving him exposed, looking the complete fool as he stood pressed up against the stones. All he was missing were the pointed shoes and the bells. If the rest of his day went as it had gone thus far, he might have to consider himself being punished for some unknown sin.
Still, when Daisy stepped straight out onto the path, the move put her in front of him; she had yet to see him.
“Oh, God, no. He’s not here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I thought God hasn’t been here all along,” he said, stepping forward.
And then he had the surprise of his life.
“Valentine!” She took his hands in hers, squeezed his knuckles together with more strength than he’d supposed she possessed. He could have taken this fervent greeting as a sign of some growing affection for him, save that her fair
Valentine shook his head. It would probably be best if he didn’t tell her how much he suddenly longed to rip away those hideous spectacles and plant a whacking great kiss square on her prunes-and-prisms lips. “As my grandmother would say, you’re a pip, Miss Marchant. She’d enjoy watching you put me through hoops.”
“I’ve no intention of putting you through hoops. I should only ask the same favor in return. We should separate now, and I will meet you to turn over my diar—my journal just outside the servant entrance behind the stables in a quarter hour. The full moon could be as close as this very night.”
Valentine pulled a small silver disc from his watch pocket and looked at it closely. There were, in fact, three discs, all joined together at the middle, and each could be moved independently of the other. “Yes, it begins tonight.”
Daisy stepped closer. “How can you know that for certain without consulting a chart? What is that strange thing?”
At last, something she didn’t already know! He passed it over to her. “Just something I discovered in a shop in Bond Street. I’m assured the language is German, so it may have found its way here along with the first George. But the months are also marked with their Zodiac signs, so it’s all read easily enough. You move the dials about, and the small openings reveal the days of the week, the phases of the moon, even the number of days in each month, the length of the days and nights.”
Daisy was studying the disc, turning it round and round. “The Calendar Ivmperpetuum. Perpetual calendar, I imagine. And you’re right, quite old. There’s a date here, 1696. So if I slide the disk to the correct year, month and day— Ah, there we are. It’s rather amazing, isn’t it? Don’t lose it.” She handed the disc back to him. “Now, as to meeting again. A quarter hour. Are we agreed? Please don’t dawdle.”
And with that she was gone. Without another look toward the stone altar, or to him, for that matter. Don’t lose it. Please don’t dawdle. She was handing out orders now. “I told Piffkin she’d get in the way. And now she’s gone and done it. Dawdle? God, she’s wonderful!”
She was, precisely thirty minutes later, also late. Valentine didn’t pace, like some anxious Romeo waiting to steal a moment with his Juliet—because that wouldn’t be appropriate behavior—but he was beginning to worry. He was adequately concealed amid the fairly overgrown shrubbery flanking the servant entrance, but at any moment a servant could be popping in or out, and that would put paid to any secrecy, which couldn’t be a good thing.
So where in bloody hell was she? This was why nobody in clear possession of his wits ever involved a female in his plans. Women were an unknown quantity, prone to improvisation, and a man worrying about a woman could end up a dead man in more ways than one.
He heard the latch depress and quickly stepped back against the wall, so that the opening door would conceal him.
Which would have been a sterling plan, save for the fact the door opened inward, leaving him exposed, looking the complete fool as he stood pressed up against the stones. All he was missing were the pointed shoes and the bells. If the rest of his day went as it had gone thus far, he might have to consider himself being punished for some unknown sin.
Still, when Daisy stepped straight out onto the path, the move put her in front of him; she had yet to see him.
“Oh, God, no. He’s not here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I thought God hasn’t been here all along,” he said, stepping forward.
And then he had the surprise of his life.
“Valentine!” She took his hands in hers, squeezed his knuckles together with more strength than he’d supposed she possessed. He could have taken this fervent greeting as a sign of some growing affection for him, save that her fair
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