Stirring Up the Viscount

by Marin McGinnis

  Hardly anyone ever saw Mrs. Ravensdale after her first month of marriage. Mysteriously, Ravensdale had sacked all of his servants and then had treated his wife like one, or worse. No one had any proof, but more than one nosy neighbor swore she had heard strange noises from their house.

  Jonathan was appalled. Not that he was surprised to hear a man had beaten his wife; women were little more than property under the law, and he had heard more than one man of his acquaintance discussing how he would punish his wife for some transgression. That was something he truly could not fathom, given his own upbringing, and he could not help but feel sick every time he thought of Theodora with that man. It explained so much about her. Her mysterious appearance, her inability to come to Durham to interview for the position, her terrified look when he first tried to touch her, her cowering when his father raised his hand.

  He grabbed a hansom to King’s Cross, stopping at Longley House just long enough to fetch his valise. As he stared unseeing out the train window, he realized he no longer cared what she had done prior to her arrival at Longley Hall, even if she had tried to kill her husband. Although the man undoubtedly deserved it, Jonathan didn’t truly believe she had. He needed to tell her he knew who she was, and that he loved her. He only hoped she would forgive him for disappearing without a word, and making inquiries behind her back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lucien awoke in a foul mood, his skin itchy from whatever foul creatures resided in the bedclothes and desperate for the decent meal which had eluded him upon his arrival. His frustration at failing to find Theodora was wearing on him.

  Nevertheless, he was nothing if not perseverant. He decided to start his search for his willful bride by assuming the role of a prospective resident. He began by speaking with the innkeeper, a rotund woman with a pink frock and an annoyingly cheerful demeanor. She gave him the name of an estate agent who could help him locate a suitable dwelling. She was also full of gossip, which he tolerated only because it gave him an opportunity to steal a glance at the guest book. He was not surprised that Theodora’s name was not listed within it, nor was any name that seemed familiar.

  He obtained a horse from the inn’s stables and began to pursue his inquiries. He had never been this far north before, and was, despite himself, quite taken with the region’s beauty. Nestled in a bend of the River Wear, Durham Cathedral perched majestically over the valley. Lucien rode along the river path and came to a bridge with a particularly stunning view of the cathedral. He stopped and dismounted to read an inscription on the bridge:

  Grey towers of Durham

  Yet well I love thy mixed and massive piles

  Half church of God, half castle ’gainst the Scot

  And long to roam these venerable aisles

  With records stored of deeds long since forgot.

  He vaguely remembered reading the poem, by Sir Walter Scott, in university. A tale of warring Norsemen, violence and repentance. He almost forgot what he was doing here and simply drank in the sight and the sounds of a peaceful autumn afternoon. He leaned against the bridge, idly fingering a bright red leaf that had fallen from a nearby tree.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” His spine stiffened at the sound of a voice behind him. He turned slowly and saw the aristocratic gentleman whom he had encountered on the train. The man smiled, and with a delicacy at odds with his massive frame, he placed his elbows on the wall and leaned forward to take in the scenery.

  Lucien was wary, wondering if the man had recognized him from the train.

  “I like to come here when I am feeling the need for quiet. This view is nice, but a visit to the cloisters in the cathedral will feed your soul.”

  The man leaned back a bit to regard Lucien with a critical eye, and it took some effort for Lucien not to squirm under the inspection. “You look as if you could use a little soul feeding, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  Lucien was speechless for a moment. He simply wasn’t used to anyone passing judgment on him, and he rather doubted an afternoon in the cathedral cloisters would have any impact on his soul. Curious, however, as to what outrageous statements this giant man would make next, he said nothing and simply nodded.

  The man clearly waited patiently for his reply, and Lucien could not resist offering a response. “I have recently lost my wife. It has been...difficult.”

  The man nodded sympathetically. “I am sorry to hear it. Losing my wife is too awful to contemplate, so I can only imagine how you must feel. Was it sudden?”

  “Yes.” Lucien stared out over the water. That was certainly the truth. It had never occurred to him she would not only leave him, but try to kill him in the process. His brain still reeled when he allowed himself to think on it.

  The man shifted his gaze from the scenery and turned to look inquisitively at Lucien. “I have not seen you around here, but you look familiar. Are you a stranger to Durham?”

  If the man did not remember seeing him on the train, Lucien did not choose to enlighten him. “I am from London. My wife’s people were from Northumberland, so I am on my way there. I decided to stop here on the journey, as I had never been to this area.”

  “Well, you are welcome, I am sure.” He stuck out a hand to Lucien. “Peter Tenwick, Earl of Longley, at your service. My family seat is just through those trees.” He nodded toward the opposite bank of the river.

  Lucien shook his hand. “Lucien Ravensdale. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.”

  “Ravensdale.” The man looked quizzically at him, apparently trying again to place him. “That name sounds familiar, and I feel certain I have seen you before. Cambridge?”

  “Oxford.”

  “Hmm. Well, never mind, it will come to me. How long are you planning to be in Durham?”

  “Another day or so. I have begun to tire of London, and it is not the same with my wife gone. I am considering a change. I am planning to make some inquiries about houses to let.”

  “Would you like to be our guest for dinner, perhaps tomorrow? My wife and I would be happy to share our knowledge of the area.”

  Lucien rocked back on his heels and regarded Lord Longley beneath hooded eyes. “That is most gracious of you and your lady wife, my lord. I would be delighted to accept.”

  “Capital! I shall tell Cook to expect you. We generally dine at eight.”

  Lucien nodded.

  “Just ask anyone in the village to point you toward Longley Hall, and you will find us. I look forward to it.”

  “As do I, my lord. Until tomorrow.” Lucien tipped his hat and sauntered back to the riverbank and his horse. He smiled to himself. He didn’t know how, exactly, but Theodora was here somewhere, and Lord Longley was going to help him find her. He could feel it.

  ****

  Theodora was in the kitchen cleaning kale when the earl poked his head in the door. She was so surprised to see him—he had not ventured downstairs in the entire time she had been at Longley Hall—she dropped the greens at her feet.

  “Oh, I am sorry! Did I startle you?” The earl was solicitous and rushed over to help her pick up the vegetables and dropped them in the sink.

  “A bit, my lord, yes.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “May I help you, my lord?”

  “No need to ‘milord’ me to death, Mrs. Milsom.” He smiled at her, and she could not help but return it. He looked so much like Jonathan.

  “Sorry, my lo...Sorry.”

  “Never mind, Mrs. Milsom. I came down to tell you we will have a visitor for dinner tomorrow. Would have sent someone down and avoided giving you the fright, but I could not find anyone. Where is everyone, anyway?”

  “It’s Sunday, my lord. They are at church.”

  “Ah,” the earl said, coloring a bit. “I expect I’ll be in trouble then.” Then he shrugged, grinned, and said, “Oh well, can’t be helped. I met a man on Prebends Bridge, visiting from London, just lost his wife.”

  Theodora stilled. Surely it couldn’t be Lucien. Could it?


  The earl continued, quite oblivious. “He said he was thinking of buying a home in the area.”

  Not Lucien then. Theodora relaxed a bit. He would never think of living anywhere but London.

  The earl said, “Can’t recall his name, Raisin something or other, I think. He looked demmed familiar. Oh, and Jonathan sent word that he is returning. He should be here for dinner as well.”

  Although Theodora’s heart warmed at hearing Jonathan would be back, she could not help but dwell on the stranger’s name. “Raisin?”

  “No, thank you. Julia loves them but I can’t stand them myself. Too sweet.”

  Theodora took a deep breath. “No, my lord. I mean the man. Raisin was his name?”

  The earl looked at her as if she were quite stupid. “No, no, not Raisin. Raven, I think. I don’t remember, but it was something like that. Handsome fellow.”

  Theodora felt the blood rush from her head, and sank into a chair.

  “Here, now, are you unwell, lass?” The earl leaned over her and patted her awkwardly on the back. “Shall I get someone?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you, my lord. I’m fine, I’m sure. It’s just a bit warm in here.” She fanned the air in front of her face with her hand. It did suddenly seem rather warm.

  The earl looked skeptical, but eventually he nodded. He bustled over to the sink and filled a glass of water. He held it out to her and gestured so dramatically it almost spilled on her lap. She took it from him and sipped.

  “Thank you, my lord. You are very kind.”

  “Nonsense. I just thought water might help. Did it?” He looked so eager to please that Theodora felt an overwhelming urge to laugh. She thought it might turn hysterical with very little effort, though, so she quelled the desire and smiled gratefully.

  “Yes, thank you.” She set down the glass, ran her hands over her apron, and stood. “Would you like anything in particular for dinner tomorrow, my lord?”

  “No, no need to trouble yourself. I am sure that whatever you were planning will be delightful.” The earl waved her away and walked to the door. Then he stopped and turned toward her. “Mrs. Milsom?”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Why weren’t you in church?”

  Theodora was silent for a moment. “I used to attend services regularly. Then for a period I did not go to church, but I prayed quite a bit. After a while, I realized no one was listening.”

  He nodded, his expression full of an understanding she did not expect.

  He left the kitchen without saying anything more, and she heard his steps on the stairs. She stared after him, unseeing. Lucien was in Durham, and he was coming here. He had somehow tracked her this far, although how he had tracked her to this house she could not begin to understand. Unless it was just luck that had him encountering her employer? Lucien was, after all, the luckiest man she had ever met. He always, always got what he wanted.

  She was saved from further mental wanderings by the return of the staff. They smiled as they entered the kitchen and chattered happily to each other as they put away their coats, hats, and bonnets. She listened fondly to these people, who had become a family to her. She hated to leave them, but leave she must. There was no way she could risk remaining; now that he was so close, Lucien would find her. Although he might turn her over to the authorities with a claim she tried to kill him, he thought it much more likely he would punish her himself. She thought back to that night, to the decision made in haste. She would have been much better off drowning herself in the Thames.

  ****

  Lucien stepped into the pub and wrinkled his nose. There was a particular smell in these establishments—a combination of old cabbage, stale beer, and desperation. He shoved his own feelings of hopelessness aside and tried to breathe through his mouth. He needed a drink before heading back to his own lodging house at the other end of town, and this was as good a place as any.

  He sat at a corner table and ordered a whisky from the buxom barmaid. She was beautiful, if a bit used, but he forgot her as soon as she plunked down his drink and wandered off. His inquiries had been fruitless. After meeting the earl, he had asked at every hotel, inn, and pub within several miles, but no one had ever seen Theodora, or even anyone vaguely like her. He was beginning to think the clerk had given him incorrect information, or Theodora had purchased a ticket for Durham and then gotten off the train elsewhere, just to throw him off the trail. He dismissed that option as soon as it entered his mind—Theodora simply wasn’t that clever.

  He considered his options, staring into the bottom of his glass. He could go a bit further afield to some of the neighboring towns. He signaled the barmaid, who sidled over and settled her ample curves in the chair opposite.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” she purred, in an obvious attempt at flirtation.

  He raised his dark brows and considered. Perhaps, he could use the distraction. She was not his type—blowsy blonde hair, excessively large breasts, a bit too much rouge on her face. She was Theodora’s polar opposite, but he had been alone for longer than he liked.

  “What are you offering?”

  The woman’s eyes widened, as if she were surprised her efforts had paid off.

  “Anything you like.” She leaned closer, her breasts nearly falling out of her gown.

  He sat back in his chair, considering. The barmaid jiggled her attributes in a manner she must have thought enticing. His body responded even as his mind was repelled. It had been a very long time, though, and he decided to let his body have its way. His decision made, he stood. “I suppose you have a room upstairs?”

  She blinked in surprise, then her lips curled into a satisfied feline smile. She cast a surreptitious look around the room, as if to ascertain whether she’d be missed. The place was quiet—a few men at the bar, deep into their cups. The barkeep idly wiped a glass with a grayish towel. The woman rose. Gesturing toward the door led him out of the room and upstairs to the top floor.

  “No one’ll hear us up here. It’s the barmaid’s room, and she’s been gone for weeks.”

  The chamber was small, just large enough for the bed, a nightstand, and a chest of drawers. “Aren’t you the barmaid?” he asked, mildly confused.

  “Nah, I’m just helping out me da. I am a lady’s maid. Or was.” She pouted, and he frowned. He sensed a story there and didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t care about her occupation, or even her name. He pulled her roughly toward him.

  He was grateful she stopped prattling. Instead, she fumbled with his trousers as he kneaded her breasts. His erection was rather more interested in this exchange than he was, and she expertly wrapped her hands around it. He groaned, twirled her around and pushed her hard onto the bed. He pulled up her skirts and entered her from behind with some force. He lacked any finesse, but he didn’t care. He grabbed her hair in his hands and pulled her head back until she cried out in pain. He closed his eyes and pounded against her, thinking of Theodora until he came, explosively, violently. He was still and then opened his eyes and shoved her away from him. She collapsed on the bed, turned and eyed him accusingly.

  “Like it rough, do ye?” She sat up and pulled down her skirts. “Ye might have warned me.”

  He would have expected tears, or outraged dignity, if he had thought about it at all. Now he studied her with some interest. “What would you have had me say?”

  She shrugged, then stood and ran a finger along his jaw line. “Never mind. It was interesting, if not particularly satisfying. You’re a dark one, you are.”

  He flung her hand away from him, annoyed that she had insulted his prowess, even if he had deserved it. He slapped her across the face, and she fell backward on the bed. He was pleased to see some of the spark leave her eyes, replaced by fear. Her meek expression reminded him of Theodora, and suddenly his mind clouded with rage. She needed to be punished. She had left him, tried to kill him. He had found her, and she needed to be punished. He hit her again, and again, and again, until he could no longer see
Theodora in his head.

  ****

  Jonathan arrived home in the early evening, with just enough time to freshen up before dinner, and no time to see Theodora. Promising himself he would go downstairs at the earliest opportunity, he walked into the drawing room to greet his parents. He stopped short at the appearance of a strange man in the room, quietly chatting with his mother.

  “Jonathan, darling! You’re back,” his mother said when she saw him.

  The man smiled thinly and stood up to greet him. Jonathan gave his mother a peck on the cheek and waited for the introduction, but it did not come.

  “Welcome back, Jon. Did you conclude your mysterious business to your satisfaction?” The earl walked into the room and pounded him on the back in greeting.

  “Yes, Father, I think so.” He raised an eyebrow but said nothing about the silent man, and walked to the sideboard to pour himself a drink.

  “Get one of those for me, too, would you, son?” At Jonathan’s nod, the earl continued. “Then come over here and meet our guest.”

  Jonathan poured the whisky into two crystal tumblers and took a deep swallow from one before carrying both glasses over to his father. He handed one of them to his father and waited expectantly.

  “I encountered this gentleman on Prebends Bridge yesterday, and when I learned he was thinking of relocating to the area, I invited him to dine with us.”

  “Very neighborly of you, Father.” He held out a hand, and the other man grasped it firmly. “Jonathan Tenwick, Viscount Caxton. Welcome to Durham.”

  “Thank you, my lord. Lucien Ravensdale, at your service.” Jonathan pulled back his hand as if he had just discovered it in the mouth of a snake. He rocked back on his heels and stared at the man who had made Theodora so miserable she tried to kill him, fled her home in the middle of the night, and assumed a strange name and occupation halfway across the country.