by Cheryl Bolen
Good.
The library door handle rattled, and then Mr. Milne pushed both doors wide to admit them.
Otis quietly set his feet on the floor. He had been hoping to avoid the Milnes for a little longer but it appeared his luck had run out. Mr. Milne strode to the center of the room and looked about as if he owned the place. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
“There are so many books,” Miss Milne exclaimed in wonder as she stared up at the walls. “We might finally get my sisters interested in serious matters at last.”
“When you are mistress here,” Mr. Milne said in a whisper.
Otis rolled his eyes. Presumptive prig! He’d not even spoken to the chit and they were making plans for after the wedding.
“Lord Bellows told me his library was much like this,” Miss Milne noted.
Otis’ ears pricked up at the mention of Miss Milne’s former suitor.
“Not that he could read any of it,” Mr. Milne said with a mocking laugh.
Otis was curious to know how Miss Milne considered her former suitor. Bellows was not very bright but he had been clearly besotted with this chit. Otis was certain he had seen affection for the earl when Miss Milne had been with the man.
“He does try very hard,” she said briskly. But then Miss Milne turned around and spotted him in his corner. Her eyes widened, and she grasped her father’s arm quickly.
Otis stood and tugged down his waistcoat. “Bellows does try extremely hard to hide his difficulties from others. Persistence and loyalty is what he is known best for though.”
Miss Milne dipped into a deep curtsy worthy of a court appearance. “Lord Clement,” she whispered in an unnaturally reverent tone. “We did not see you there.”
“Miss Milne.” He took in her appearance and bowed with the appropriate degree of respect for such a woman. This was the daughter he had met before. She was exactly as he remembered, elegant, delicate, somewhat vain, and he felt not a single stirring of attraction toward her still. He would not marry a woman he did not crave to be close to. “Welcome to The Vynes.”
“The estate is lovely,” Miss Milne gushed. “Your family has been so welcoming.”
“I’m sure everyone will have done all that is required to make my father’s guests enjoy their stay.” He turned his attention on Mr. Milne. “Mr. Milne, I was led to believe that we were not to meet until four. You are somewhat early.”
This pair had interrupted his musings about another lady. One he was finding himself very drawn to. He wanted them to go away while he considered what to do about Lady Margaret.
Mr. Milne adopted an apologetic expression. “My daughter was eager to see more of the manor. I’m sure you can understand why. Perhaps you would consent to show her around the rest of the house until our meeting.”
He couldn’t very well claim to be unavailable, so he nodded. “Have you viewed the family gallery?”
“Not yet.”
“Please,” he gestured toward the door as Mr. Milne hung back, urging him to join them. There was not a chance in hell he would conduct a private tour of the manor for just Miss Milne. “After you both.”
Otis put his hands behind his back as they walked into the hall and turned toward the gallery. More than fifty paintings of unmatched size graced the walls, nestled between tall windows. Given it was snowing again, there was not much to see outside, but in springtime the gallery offered the best views of the garden.
“Oh, these are wonderful.”
He pointed toward the wall. “One of my ancestors was prodigiously fond of painting the estate, as you see.”
Miss Milne nodded. “Your mother told me your family has lived in this one valley for generations.”
“Six generations, on both sides of the family, too. The Vynes and my mother’s family, the Morgans, were once sworn enemies.”
She smiled. “How was a peace brokered?”
“The usual way. Marriages were arranged between sons and daughters.” He shrugged. “Not all unions ensured peace for the newlyweds.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that can happen in arranged matches,” Miss Milne murmured with a subtle glance over her shoulder.
Otis glanced behind them, too, and groaned. Mr. Milne was dragging his feet. “Mr. Milne, I think you will find this painting to your liking.”
The man came forward slowly and stopped before a scene depicting a tannery. Milne had started out as an apprentice at such a place, he’d heard, but within twenty years had somehow amassed a fortune that had propelled the Milne family into the heart of the ton. “It is an impressive feat to rise from such honest labors. You made your fortune the right way in my opinion.”
Mr. Milne colored deeply but Otis was not mocking him. There was no harm in offering the man his respect, given he’d come on a fool’s errand.
“What is this one?” Miss Milne asked, pointing to the next painting.
Otis stepped up to it and smiled. “The house before improvements were made by my grandfather. It was quite a bit smaller in those days. This part of the house used to be outside—a walled garden and pond. Of course at this time of year, the pond was often so frozen it was skated upon.”
Miss Milne laughed. “Lord Bellows once promised to teach me to skate.”
“Surely there is still time for him to do so,” he whispered, so her father did not hear the remark.
Miss Milne nodded slowly but her expression became strained. She flashed a smile that fell far short of sincerity. “Perhaps.”
They moved along, and Otis answered every question Miss Milne put to him. He was well schooled in the family history to give the tour, even if he couldn’t wait to get back to the book and Lady Margaret. Neither feat could be accomplished until after speaking with his father. But he was impressed by Miss Milne’s intelligence. She would do very well for Bellows if Otis could turn her back in the earl’s direction.
He glanced at his pocket watch and smiled. “Time to head to the library.”
Miss Milne quickly availed herself of his arm. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I hope Lord Bellows knows how good a friend you are to him.”
“You can tell him, after you marry him,” Otis suggested, leaning close. “He tends to get flustered when anyone does him a kindness.”
“Well, well, well. This is what I had hoped to see,” Mr. Milne exclaimed, grinning widely at the sight of them standing so close together.
Otis untangled himself from Miss Milne. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Is it not?” Mr. Milne beamed, and then laid his finger beside his nose. “But I see and hear only that which makes my heart happy.”
“We all see what we wish to see in others.” He narrowed his gaze on Mr. Milne. “Did you know Lord Bellows was a good friend of mine before you dragged your daughter here? I could never bear to be the cause of his unhappiness.”
Mr. Milne blinked. “She will do her duty.”
“Marriage should be based on more than that. Respect. Affection and mutual interests.” He caught Miss Milne’s eye. “There are no dogs allowed around me. I’m allergic to them.”
“Oh.” Miss Milne stared. “That is unfortunate.”
“Not for me.” He gestured them toward the door that led back to the library impatiently. “We should not keep my father waiting longer than necessary. Delays are not good for his health.”
He led the way to the library where Father was indeed waiting for them before the fire. Vyne brightened when he saw them arrive together but Otis made sure not to sit too close to the visitors. He would not encourage them to consider a marriage between himself and Miss Milne as a certainty.
It was anything but.
Chapter 9
Meg took the chair closest to the fire to comb out her long hair, her thoughts fixed on Lord Clement. She had not seen him today but she’d heard he had met with Mr. Milne and his daughter that afternoon. She had hoped to see him at dinner tonight, but he had not appeared. No one seemed able to find him, or Hector either. “I hope
nothing terrible has happened to him.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up hale and hearty soon,” Lady Vyne murmured, apparently unconcerned for the whereabouts of her son. “He has taken a great many responsibilities on his shoulders in recent years. I’m sure he’s somewhere on the estate and fully occupied.”
“I hope he is warm.” The snowfall Lady Vyne had predicted yesterday had settled over them and continued still unabated. Night had fallen long ago, and there was snow piling up thickly on her window ledge. “Lord Vyne is very worried about his absence.
“True, but not for the reason you imagine,” Lady Vyne advised.
“I imagine he must miss his son,” Meg said.
“Well, you would be wrong,” Lady Vyne murmured as she reclined in the opposite cozy chair by the fire, tipping her glass of wine high to drain the contents. The countess’ children had long since gone to bed, Miss Milne had retired in a huff, and the gentlemen, Lord Vyne and Mr. Milne, were drinking in the library. Lady Vyne might be a little disguised at the moment. It was just the two of them in Meg’s chambers tonight, talking together as usual before they went to bed.
Lady Vyne regarded her gravely as she set the glass aside. “I trust you will keep our family matters to yourself, but you must realize my son and husband are not close.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that,” Meg said quickly. “They have been together so rarely in the same room that I never noticed.”
“I’m glad you were spared the tension.” Lady Vyne rubbed her brow. “Neither ever hides their true feelings from me.”
Meg nodded quickly, worried that to ask more questions would be presumptuous. “When fathers and sons quarrel, it is always hardest on the mothers.”
“Of course, the money now is the source of discord.”
“I am sorry to hear Lord Clement is a burden on the estate.”
“Money is the least of my son’s concerns.” Lady Clement frowned at her. “Are you telling me you don’t know about the inheritance he received from the late earl, his grandfather?”
Meg shook her head quickly. “Hector tells me very little that is the truth, I’ve come to realize. I thought Lord Clement’s situation must be similar to Hector’s, before he inherited my father’s estate.”
“Their situations were and are vastly different. Otis could afford to buy his own estate tomorrow, one grander than this one, if he chose to ever leave us.”
Meg couldn’t be more surprised. Otis did not act like he had pots of money. “Why doesn’t he? He seems capable.”
“He will not leave without us,” Lady Vyne admitted, looking away guiltily.
Meg’s estimation of Otis’ character rose exponentially. He was a good man, more caring than her own brother, perhaps. “You are lucky to have such a son.”
“I know.”
Meg’s comb suddenly caught on a lock of hair and when she removed it, she discovered a tooth had broken. She held it up, staring at its unhappy state. Since leaving home, it continued to break. She heaved a sigh. “At this rate, I might have to purchase a replacement before Christmas.”
Lady Vyne shook her head. “I keep a second new comb laid aside for just such emergencies. I’ll fetch it and bring it back to you shortly.”
“It is not urgent,” Meg protested but Lady Vyne was already out the door, a little unsteady on her feet.
Meg drew her knees up to her chest, made sure her legs were completely under her nightgown for warmth, and stared into the flames. It was comforting being with Lady Vyne, being here in the place she never thought she would ever enjoy herself. These quiet moments at night with another woman offered a companionship sadly lacking in her life since her mother’s passing.
And the more she learned about Otis, the more ashamed she became. She had wronged him in her thoughts more times than she could count.
A window rattled suddenly, and a blast of cold air swept through the room, chilling her to the bone.
“What!” she exclaimed, turning towards the window as Otis climbed through it, his shoulders and hair dusted heavily with snow.
He put his finger across his lips to silence her again as he shut it—but then froze as footsteps hurried down the hall in their direction.
His mother’s voice rang out, and he suddenly dived under her bed.
Meg bolted for the dressing screen and hastily pulled on her thick winter coat.
Lady Vyne sailed into the room, brandishing a new ivory comb. “I’m afraid I’ll not be able to linger with you any longer tonight. I’m needed in the nursery.”
“But Lord Clement—”
“Otis will be fine. Do not worry for his welfare so much, my dear,” she suggested, and then frowned at Meg. “Were you really going to wear that coat to bed tonight?”
“I was thinking I might,” Meg lied. She would wear the coat until Lord Clement left her room.
“I can have a maid deliver another blanket if you like.”
A maid might discover Lord Clement. Meg quickly shook her head. “The coat will be enough.”
“All right.” Lady Vyne chuckled softly. “Well, good night my dear. Sleep well and perhaps dream of hot springs.”
As soon as the countess was gone, she moved to the bed and peered under. Lord Clement was hard to see in the shadows, but she had not imagined his arrival. “You cannot be here,” she admonished. “What are you doing?”
“Every window and door downstairs was locked,” Otis complained as he slid toward her. “I am very sorry about this.”
Meg rushed to the window and looked down. “How did you get to my window?”
“The old vine is still quite sturdy,” he answered in a soft voice, and then he glanced toward the door. “I had no idea my mother would be here when I started up.”
“We talk together every night.”
Otis grinned quickly. “What about?”
“Never you mind,” she admonished again. “You had better go.”
“True.” He started toward the door, but when they both heard voices raised outside the room again, Meg froze and Otis hurtled himself across the bed and threw himself down on the opposite side.
Although impressed by his speed and agility, Meg hurried to the door and opened it a crack. “It is Miss Milne,” she whispered to the viscount.
“Do not let her in!” he warned sternly.
Miss Milne and her maid appeared in no hurry to return to their room, though. The pair crept along the hall and, after listening at a closed door, Miss Milne slipped inside. The maid remained in the hall, appearing to be keeping watch.
Meg shut the door and locked it. Miss Milne’s behavior disturbed her, but not enough to go out there and ask her what she was doing, creeping into another guest room.
Meg moved to the bed and clasped her hands together before her stomach. “The door is locked now,” Meg informed Otis.
He poked his head up and placed his arms upon the bed. He smiled, and Meg was utterly charmed. “Thank you, Margaret,” he whispered. “You have saved my life tonight.”
“How did I do that?” she asked but felt a little thrill anyway. He was back and obviously well. She had worried for naught about him. But he could have frozen out there. She leaned down and grabbed his coat sleeve, discovering the fabric cold and damp under her fingers. “Oh, you must go to the fire before you catch a chill,” she urged, pulling him up off the floor.
He moved slowly to the hearth, where a good fire burned, and sank down on his knees before the flames. He held his hands out and sighed in obvious pleasure. “I’m used to the cold you know, but I dreaded I might have to spend a night in the stables until I saw light at your window.”
She nodded slowly and sank down on the nearest chair. “Where have you been?”
“Here and there about the estate. By the way, thank you for not letting Mother know that you saw me tonight, or in the drawing room yesterday.”
“How do you know I kept yesterday a secret?”
“Instinct, and the fact that Mother called
out my name and I still managed to slip away.”
“Why were you hiding from her?”
He added another shovel of coal to the flames. “I do not hide from my mother.”
Meg bit her lip. He was clearly not hiding from her either, so that just left… “Do you hide from Miss Milne?”
“Yes, but do not tell anyone I said so.”
“You do not like her?”
“Not the way I like you.” He grinned, and then schooled his features as if he’d not meant to confess that.
Meg couldn’t hold back a smile. “She seems quite nice.”
“I have nothing against her.”
That was faint praise if ever she heard it.
“I had better leave you now,” he whispered, as he climbed to his feet and dusted off his coat sleeves.
Meg caught his arm. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
He looked at her sharply. “Do you want to?”
“We were going to read my story together.”
“So we were.” He nodded. “The library will no doubt be occupied again tomorrow. My father likes to impress visitors with the size of his collection, not that he reads many of them these days. But there is a chamber on the floor above, right above it. The light is good, and no one should think of looking for either of us there. Will you meet me there at four o’clock?”
Lady Vyne took an hour of rest at that time, and Meg thought she could manage to slip away from her maid then, too. “I’ll try.”
“I’ll wait for the hour. Come if you can,” he whispered. “It’s time to find out what happens next in your book.”
Meg nodded…and when Lord Clement leaned down, she allowed him to kiss her again.
It was as lovely as the first time. Lord Clement cupped the back of her head as he peppered kisses over her willing lips. She felt the brush of his tongue across the seam of her lips and she parted them.
Lord Clement devoured her mouth then, and Meg submitted quite willingly. She lifted her hands to his coat and spread her fingers over his chest. A soft moan left her lips, and Otis drew back, blue eyes bright and full of questions.