A Bride for the Viscount

by Sara Freeze

  Ariadne wondered what it would be like to be his wife. She knew how to perform all the basic duties of a Society wife, though she sensed fresh challenges would await given the overall rundown nature of the hall. Of the marital bed, though, she had no knowledge. Her eyes drifted down the hard lines of his body. For some reason, her eyes fixated on his hands. A fine coating of dark hair sprinkled the back of his hands. Her cheeks heated as she wondered what it would feel like to have those hands caress her own hands, her face, her arms. She would be his, fully his, if her deception worked.

  She realized almost a full minute had passed as her concentration had been swept away by his physical presence. Her cheeks flushed as she allowed her gaze to drift slowly back to his face. She sucked in her breath as she realized he had noticed her rather brazen inspection of his body. She castigated herself; after her experience with Albert, she should know better.

  She took a deep breath and decided to take a chance that her somewhat shrewish manner hadn’t entirely ruined her chances. “My mother is still waiting in the carriage. We were unsure of the reception we would receive.” A questioning lilt at the end invited him to respond.

  “She must come in at once.” Lord Holt said with the tone of a man who would brook no refusal. Before Ariadne could blink, he was already at the door, barking out orders at the footman lurking in the hallway. He turned back to her. “My mother will be eager to meet you—and your mother, of course.”

  Ariadne refused to let her composure falter. Holt’s mother. She still felt the sting as she remembered Lady Partington’s horrified reaction to finding out her son had developed a tendre for a maid. Would Lady Holt be any different? Well, she would just have to make sure Lady Holt never found out, at least until the marriage was secured and an heir planted in the nursery. She pasted a determined smile on her face as a diminutive lady with sparkling blue eyes, an impressive bosom, and a Roman nose breezed through the door. Ariadne’s mother followed her in as the butler and a rosy-cheeked housekeeper brought in the tea. Lady Holt greeted Mrs. Alton with a casual air of general goodwill; Lord Holt had also swept forward to bend over her mother’s hand.

  Ariadne pasted a bright smile on her face as the housekeeper laid out the tea. The ladies all chattered over the clinking of the delicate tea cups, while Lord Holt retreated to the periphery of the room. As Ariadne bit into a slightly stale biscuit, the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickled. She looked up to see Lord Holt leaning forward, his chin in his hand, and his dark magnetic gaze rooted on her face. Ariadne lifted her chin slightly and sent him an arch smile as she turned back to his mother and extended the fake letter of introduction.

  Lady Holt accepted the letter at face value. And why not, Ariadne thought with a wry twist of her lips, since who would be insane enough to try to pose as a proper lady to marry a lord?

  Ariadne was proud and happy to see her mother maintain her composure as she chattered with Lady Holt. Her mother had been in service her entire life and was accustomed to adopting a certain deference toward what she termed “her betters.” As though Lady Partington or even Lady Holt, just by virtue of their birth, were any better than her loving and gentle mother, Ariadne thought fiercely.

  Lady Holt beamed at Ariadne and her mother as she set down her teacup. “I am delighted to meet you both and am grateful to Lady Partington for sending such a lovely young woman to meet my son.” Her smile faded a bit as she glanced over at her silent son. “As my son knows, time is of the essence, yet I do not want either you or him to rush into an alliance if the two of you do not suit. I have arranged for a ball, where you both may mingle with others of your age and station. If you still wish to wed, we will announce your engagement as the ball concludes, with my full blessing.”

  “And mine as well,” Ariadne’s mother said as she reached over to clasp her daughter’s hand. “You have spoken with wisdom, Lady Holt. Hasty weddings often result in hasty regrets.” She and Lady Holt exchanged meaningful looks. Just then, a loud honking issued from the hallway.

  “That will be my uncle,” Holt said with a quiet sigh. He stood as his uncle entered the room.

  Lord Holt quickly performed the introductions. Sir Banbury blushed furiously as he bowed over Ariadne’s hand then over her mother’s. He harrumphed a great deal and seemed at a loss for what to do until Lady Holt directed him to the refreshments on the tea table. Holt’s uncle hefted himself onto a sofa and helped himself to a biscuit; after stealing a sly glance at his sister, he deftly added two more to his plate. Munching on the biscuits appeared to restore his composure, and he tilted his head and peered askance at Ariadne. “I beg your pardon for the indelicate nature of the question, but I am curious as to why you would accept such an unconventional invitation. My nephew, of course, is quite the catch, though his reticence makes it difficult for him to court.”

  “Yes, I am quite the wallflower,” Lord Holt said in a dry tone then issued a pointed look at the extra biscuits on his uncle’s plate.

  “The one offer I received was unacceptable.” Ariadne didn’t dare look at her mother, who knew only that Albert Partington had developed an affection for her daughter. Luckily, however, she was blissfully unaware of the ungentlemanly offer Albert had made. “In addition, I have no desire to leave Yorkshire, and I long to settle here among the moors and the heather and the rolling hills. Although many of the ladies of my acquaintance deplore the north, I believe Yorkshire expresses the character of England itself: rugged and tough, yet with inexpressible beauty.”

  “You are quite the poet, Miss Alton.” Holt rubbed his hand under his chin, his gaze never wavering from Ariadne’s face.

  “I have not a jot of poetry in my entire being,” Ariadne said pertly. “I am merely stating what I know to be the truth.”

  The next hour passed swiftly as Sir Banbury and the ladies chatted about the beauty of Yorkshire. Ariadne noted that Lady Holt only asked the most desultory inquiries about the Partington family’s welfare. Clearly, they were not close, she thought with some relief. As the conversation began to peter out, Lady Holt nodded to a hovering footman to begin clearing the tea things and rose from her seat. Lord Holt stood silently aside as the ladies and his uncle exited the room. Ariadne’s entire body bristled with awareness as she sensed him walking closely behind her.

  Lady Holt and Ariadne’s mother led the way to the immense staircase winding up to the upper floors. “Now, my dear Mrs. Alton, I know the hall is not quite up to its usual standards, but we make every effort to see to it that our guests, especially our special guests, are kept comfortable. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Dawes, and the three maids we have managed to retain have thoroughly prepared both your room and Miss Alton’s.”

  “We are grateful, Lady Holt. I hope our presence has not caused you—or your household—any trouble,” Mrs. Alton said with a tentative smile.

  “Not at all, I assure you, Mrs. Alton. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you and your lovely daughter have come for a visit.” Lady Holt clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Such a delight to have visitors again. Once Holt Hall regains its former glory, I anticipate we will have many other charming guests. Now, let us adjourn for the night, so you and your daughter can rest after your tiring journey.”

  Ariadne halted next to Lord Holt at the foot of the stairs as her mother and Lady Holt continued on their way, chatting about the house; the housekeeper followed with a vaguely harried look on her face. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, “for accepting me and my mother into your house. I understand that I may not be the bride you expected, but I promise you I will not disappoint you.”

  James said nothing, and Ariadne tried not to fidget as his gaze swept across her face. His lingered over her hand a few seconds longer than necessary then straightened and gave her an enigmatic look. “Welcome to Holt Hall.”

  Chapter Three

  Ariadne arose early the next morning, eager to explore Holt Hall and to learn more about its enigmatic master. For the first time i
n years, she had a spring in her step and a cautious optimism blooming in her heart. Lord Holt seemed so different from every other aristocrat—indeed, every other man—she had ever met. Ariadne generally viewed the upper class with a fairly jaded eye, especially given the various affairs and other scandalous behavior she had witnessed during the Partington house parties. Holt, with his brusque inquiries and candid humor, flew in the face of all her previous assumptions. This was a man she could respect, and for Ariadne, that meant everything.

  Ariadne raised her eyebrows as she entered the breakfast room. A meager assortment of breakfast items were scattered across the sideboard. Given Holt’s status, she would have expected to find heaps of platters lining the sideboard. She frowned as she glanced at the table. The silverware and plates were haphazardly placed, and she spied a few stains on the lace runner. Lady Partington would have slapped her maids had she ever seen her dining room in such a shabby state.

  “Miss Alton.”

  She jumped as she realized Holt had been standing over by a window. She had been so consumed with her observations of the rackety breakfast presentation she hadn’t even noticed him looming to the side. With his forbidding features and towering demeanor, he no doubt intimidated the unwary observer, yet Ariadne could only feel a small flutter of pleasure as he marched forward to escort her to the table. He was not dressed in the usual raiment of a lord of the manor; instead, he wore rough working clothes that would be better suited to a stable hand that to a viscount.

  “The work of the ghost?” She swept her arm to indicate the sideboard and table.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Holt said, heaving a sigh as he pulled out a chair for her. “The servants are on edge and can barely focus on their duties. My mother has entreated them, my uncle has wrung his hands, and I’ve issued my direst threats, yet nothing works.” He eyed the table. “As you can see.”

  “Other men in your position would have let them go.” Ariadne arched an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

  “I understand it may be difficult for a lady to understand, but dismissing a person from his or her only livelihood is not a step that should be taken lightly.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the door. “Some of my staff have been with my family for decades. Their mothers and fathers served my forefathers.”

  “I did not mean to sound critical,” Ariadne said, gentling her tone. “In fact, I admire your decision. Few members of the Polite World understand what it means to be so dependent on work.”

  “That is their loss. On this estate, everyone works.” Holt shrugged his shoulders as he added, “Except for my uncle.”

  Ariadne smiled at him. “Perhaps I could help with the servants.”

  “I would appreciate that,” Holt said as he rose to fetch her a plate. Ariadne lifted her eyebrows in silent consternation; a footman ought to be performing the task, but as far as she could tell, the downstairs was deserted. She half stood then realized a proper lady would probably allow herself to be served and kept her place.

  Ariadne stared down at the plate Holt had placed in front of her. Burnt toast resided next to runny eggs. She looked over as Holt seated himself and raised his fork with an air of pure resignation. He would be working out on the estate today, with nothing to sustain him but a terrible breakfast. She would not let that happen.

  “Stop!” Holt’s fork clattered to the plate as her order rang out. “You cannot eat this food, my lord. It isn’t fit even for the horses in the stable.”

  “I have made do so far.” Holt waved a hand down his upper body. “I see it in a positive light. They are keeping me from running to fat.”

  A blush crept along Ariadne’s skin as she gazed at Holt’s body. She mentally castigated herself for becoming distracted by his broad shoulders and adopted a brisk tone as she responded. “You will be skin and bones if this keeps up.” She stood up with a decisive air and collected his plate and hers. “This stops today.”

  “Miss Alton.” Holt stood and placed one large hand on her wrist. “Give the plates to me.” Ariadne nodded and handed them over then gestured for him to follow her.

  Once they were in the kitchen, Ariadne quickly introduced herself to the cook, Mrs. Devon, and her staff. She noted their downcast expressions and shuffling feet. She would not win the day by harassing them or by cajoling them.

  “I understand this spirit is making life quite unpleasant at the moment.” Murmurs of assent rose all around her. “I am sorry for it.” Before they could begin adding their individual gripes, she added, “You give it too much power over your lives. Granted, I have only spent one night in the manor while you have had to endure the spirit’s meanness and mischief for many days.” She folded her arms and looked each staff member in the eye before going on. “Yet I know what it’s like to feel out of control and at the mercy of a force you cannot hope to overcome.” Ariadne paced in front of them before finally coming to a stop in front of Mrs. Devon. “All you can control is your reaction. All your anger and fear affect the spirit not one whit; if anything, it may feed off those emotions and grow even more powerful.”

  Surprised murmurs erupted around her. Holt cleared his throat loudly, and the murmurs abruptly subsided.

  “Don’t give in.” Ariadne’s throat tightened, and she had to swallow hard before continuing. How often she had told herself that same message as she had labored for the Partington family, her only kind words coming from Daisy or from her own mother. “You can fight back just by refusing to let the spirit affect your conduct. Holt Hall was once a magnificent estate, lauded by kings. Let us rally the rest of the staff by showing them there is at least one domain here at the Hall that will not be cowed.”

  Ariadne patted Mrs. Devon on the shoulder before following Holt to the door leading back to the main hall.

  “You spoke from experience.” Holt gestured for her to walk ahead of him.

  “I am not sure what you mean, my lord. I have no experience when it comes to battling a fickle spirit.” Ariadne felt her heart thudding in her chest and took a calming breath. He could not have guessed her status as a lady’s maid just from her brief speech in the kitchen. “I merely hoped to ensure that you would not have runny eggs again for breakfast.”

  “Don’t dissemble. You took a risk in coming all this way to a haunted estate to become the wife of a man you have never met.” He paused and stared at a painting of an ancestor, resplendent in his wig. “A man who is desperately trying to restore his fortunes. This is not a light undertaking. One who is not intimate with adversity would shun such an onerous task.”

  “Perhaps I am just naturally adventurous.” Ariadne stared down at her serviceable morning gown and sturdy shoes.

  “Of course,” Holt said with a deadpan expression. “And I am a dandy who lionizes Beau Brummell.”

  Ariadne arched an eyebrow as she inspected Holt. “I could most certainly see you fainting away if you spotted a bit of mud on your shoes.”

  Holt nodded. “Of course.” He bent forward a bit. “As you can see, my valet spends hours curling my locks.”

  “And arranging your cravat so stiffly that you cannot see your shoes.” Ariadne bit back a smile. “When in London, I am certain you walk with your quizzing glass in one hand and your snuff-box in the other.”

  “You are indeed perspicacious, Miss Alton.”

  “You may call me Ariadne.” She glanced around the deserted hallway. “At least when we’re alone. You do not seem to stand on ceremony around here.”

  “And you may call me James.” Ariadne’s eyebrows arched in surprise. Most aristocrats clung tightly to their titles and to their family name as evidence of their superiority; he seemed destined to surprise her at every turn. He touched her elbow with the most fleeting of gestures. “I hope one day soon you will trust me enough to reveal more about yourself.” Apparently believing he had said too much, James immediately withdrew his hand, though his gaze lingered on her face.

  Ariadne felt a lump in her throat and didn’t trust hersel
f enough to speak, so she settled for a nod and resumed their stroll to the breakfast room. Here was a man with a title and the power to go along with it, yet unlike Albert and most of the other men of rank and privilege she knew, he didn’t lord it over others.

  They walked the rest of the way to the breakfast room in a companionable silence. As they drew closer to the breakfast room, a sudden chill permeated the air. Ariadne stifled a gasp as they entered the sunny room. The mahogany chairs were now perched in a haphazard manner on top of the table.

  James muttered a quiet oath. Ariadne placed a warning hand on his upper arm. When he scowled down at her, she shook her head and issued him a pointed look. In reaction to the ghost, anger had not worked and neither had fear. Perhaps indifference would be the most effective strategy.

  The sound of Lady Holt having a lively argument with her brother drifted down the staircase. After a moment, they, along with Ariadne’s mother, came into view and joined James and Ariadne at the doorway.

  “Dear God,” Sir Banbury groaned. “My dear sister, we are indeed cursed.”

  “I join you in His praise. And how perfectly lovely the breakfast room looks this morning, Lady Holt,” Ariadne remarked in a steady voice. “Clearly, you have seen fit to do some redecorating. Other Society mamas would be hard pressed to exhibit such joie de vie with their chairs. Such gaiety, such creativity in placing them on top of the table.”

  “I applaud you as well,” Mrs. Alton said with a gentle smile. “And people say the English have no gift for fashion and style.”

  “Er, yes,” Lady Holt stammered after her son gently nudged her.

  “How utterly distressing,” Sir Banbury spluttered. “How are decent people to eat when everything is at sixes and sevens?”

  “Archibald, dear, why don’t you take a tray in your room?” Lady Holt mustered up a bolstering smile.

  James’s uncle dabbed at his forehead with a starched handkerchief. “I think you are right, my dear. I apologize for being such a nuisance.”