A Bride for the Viscount

by Sara Freeze

  “We are not yet married, so you do not have any say over what I do,” Ariadne said tartly. “And should we become ensnared in the parson’s mousetrap together, I would hope that you trust my judgment. I am not some young miss fresh out of the school room. I know what I can handle.”

  “Well put, Miss Alton,” James said in a soft voice. He removed his arm, and they both stepped into the cavernous ballroom.

  Ariadne’s eyebrows lifted as she took in the lurid images etched onto the floor. “Well, the spirit is nothing if not imaginative,” she said. “Clearly, it put a great deal of thought into this.” Ariadne tilted her head as she gazed at one of the more intricate drawings. All the participants’ limbs were so entangled it was difficult to decipher what was actually being depicted. “I must be in need of my spectacles. From this vantage point, I do not believe such an act is anatomically possible.”

  “It may be possible, but it would quite possibly place undue stress on the joints,” James said in a thoughtful voice as he crouched over the drawing she was looking at.

  Ariadne wished she had the courage to ask him if he had ever engaged in such acts, but her tongue remained tied. She glanced back down at the drawings. If all went as planned, she and James would be husband and wife someday soon. Although she seriously doubted they would be quite as adventurous as the amorous couples depicted on the floor, she knew they would be intimate. Her heartbeat quickened. James always maintained the utmost decorum when they were together. What it would be like, once they were along together on their wedding night? What would he say? She glanced down at his large hands. What would he do?

  “I wish you would tell me what you are thinking right now. You have the most enigmatic expression on your face.”

  Ariadne tried futilely to keep herself from blushing. Her face always turned so blotchy when she felt put on the spot, and she wanted to look her best for this man who would—if she played the hand fate had dealt her—become her husband. “I will share my thoughts once I know you better.” She darted another look at the colorful figures on the floors and chewed her lip. Obviously, the Holt family ghost was unorthodox, but she wondered at the subject matter of the drawings. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

  “Some of the books in the family library may harbor some decidedly inappropriate content.” He put up his hands in defense when Ariadne frowned at him. “My father and grandfather, as well as some of my ancestors, had unusual tastes in what I will generously term ‘literature.’ I assure you it was none of my doing; just one more hideous family legacy I will be happy to leave behind.”

  “We certainly cannot ask any of the younger maids to clean up these scandalous drawings. Could you arrange to have several buckets of water and plenty of rags brought here?”

  “Ariadne, you are not suggesting that we clean this mess?”

  “No, I am suggesting that I clean it. As I said, I am hardly the missish sort, and the staff are already in low spirits. Cleaning this type of nonsense will hardly raise anyone’s spirits.”

  “You have such a charming turn of phrase,” James said. “Spirits indeed.” Ariadne swatted at his arm but couldn’t keep herself from chuckling.

  “I will send for all the materials we need.” He placed his hands on his hips. “And I will assist you with the cleaning.”

  “You don’t need to help,” Ariadne protested. “You’re needed out in the fields to help with all the labor. I can do this myself.”

  “I will return with the buckets of water and a load of rags, and then we will work on this together.” He raised a finger as Ariadne started to argue. “No arguments, Ariadne.”

  Once their supplies arrived, they worked in a companionable silence for about an hour, the only sound the scratching of the rags as they scrubbed at wood floors.

  Needing a break, Ariadne wrung out the rag she was using and sat back on her heels. “I suppose I feel sorry for it, the spirit, I mean.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, one day, he, well, I assume it’s a he, was just conducting his normal, everyday life, and the next, he wakes up and finds he’s not a person anymore. He’s trapped and doesn’t know how to escape.”

  James didn’t speak for a moment. “I hadn’t ever thought of it that way. All I ever considered was the inconvenience he caused for me.”

  “I’m not saying he’s entirely blameless. Perhaps he believes his situation is hopeless and lashes out in fear and anger.” Ariadne shrugged. “I find it ineffective to respond to fear and anger by projecting my own anxiety and hostility. It will only feed into the spirit’s bleak mood.” She resumed scrubbing the floor then started at the sound of a shy knocking at the door.

  “Sounds like our refreshments are here.”

  “Oh, good,” Ariadne said, sitting back on her heels and swiping at her forehead with the back of her hand.

  James went to the door. When he jerked it open, the staff had already disappeared. “No one wants to come in here,” James said, amusement lacing his voice. “It seems we are entirely on our own.”

  Ariadne jumped to her feet and helped James spread out a soft blanket and lay out the chicken and freshly baked bread.

  “I’ve always wanted to have a picnic.”

  “You have never been on a picnic before?”

  Ariadne flushed. What a stupid mistake to make. Of course most ladies would have had the leisure time to go on picnics. “I meant, I’ve always wanted a picnic under these circumstances.”

  “I am not sure I can see the attraction of lunching in a ballroom where a notorious spirit has decorated the floor with colorful obscenities.”

  “It’s not about the external; those are just things.” Ariadne toyed with her glass. “It’s about the company. I’ve always felt…different than other people. I never understood what it was like to feel comfortable among a large group of people. I envy the social butterfly with the grace and wit to be the object of attention.”

  “Perhaps you are not the problem; perhaps it is the other people who are at fault. Not everyone is meant to be a butterfly; some of us are content with remaining at the caterpillar stage.”

  “Are you a caterpillar, sir?” Ariadne tilted her head to one side and crooked an eyebrow.

  “Indeed I am. And proud of it. As you have perhaps noticed, I am no lady’s ideal husband. I can be demanding and difficult; I can promise I will often appear sweaty and dirty, even when Polite Society comes to call. I do not allow other people to interfere with my work on the estate.”

  “I appreciate your devotion to your duty, James. And I will be pleased to call myself a caterpillar too,” Ariadne said with a sense of deep satisfaction.

  “You are the most attractive caterpillar I have ever seen.” James leaned forward. Ariadne forgot to breathe as she noticed the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. Whereas before she had dreaded the click of Albert Partington’s heels and shuddered whenever he approached, she found herself spellbound by James’s nearness. Her customary reserve fled as she allowed herself to sway just the slightest bit in his direction.

  James had stopped, as though uncertain of his reception. Refusing to be held hostage by her past, Ariadne reached out a tentative hand and traced a strand of hair that was plastered to his forehead. She blushed as James sucked in his breath and lowered his head even closer to hers. “Consider me your willing servant, Ariadne. You may do whatever you wish.”

  Ariadne swallowed hard as she leaned forward and brushed her lips again his. It was a soft kiss, a tentative, slow exploration that quickly grew more heated. James gave a low moan as he leaned forward to wrap one strong arm around her waist. Her ears barely registered the tinkling of the wine glasses he knocked over with his sudden movement. Suddenly, he muttered a low oath and pulled away. Ariadne squeaked in protest. “Come back,” she mumbled, wanting to lose herself in the dream world of his kiss.

  “I don’t want to stop either, sweeting. However, I seem to have incurred a small wound.”

  She had wounded
him with the depth of her fervor. Perhaps she had pressed her lips too hard against his? Ariadne felt her cheeks redden as she muttered a garbled apology. “So terribly sorry…not used to this sort of thing, you see… I hope the damage is not permanent.”

  James gave a low chuckle as he used his good hand to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. “It was my mistake. In my ardor, I put my hand down on top of one of the wineglasses and crushed it.”

  Ariadne glanced down and gasped at the small gash on the side of his hand. She grabbed one of the handkerchiefs and dabbed at the spot where a small bit of blood oozed. “Oh, those wretched glasses.” She looked up again and couldn’t help but laugh when she saw the mirth in his eyes.

  “You are well worth the pain.” James laid his uninjured hand over hers. She found his callused palm comforting rather than abrasive; once again, here was the evidence of a man unafraid of work. All the other men of the quality that she had ever known had taken such pride in their soft, manicured hands; James’s hands reflected the entire man himself: strong, rough, and capable. He seemed to wage some inner war with his conscience as his eyes darkened. “And I apologize for my forwardness. A gently bred lady should not be accosted so. My forefathers took it as their due that they could have any woman they wanted. I will not be as they were.”

  “James, I know you are not your father.” She bit her lip then decided to confess. “I wanted that kiss as well.”

  She once again felt the stirrings of her conscience. Whereas before, she had only felt beholden to her mother and to their survival, her heart, mind, and body were feeling dangerously drawn to James. After knowing him just a few days, she knew her loyalty extended not only to her family but to him as well. In fact, she saw with sudden clarity, she was starting to think of him as part of her family. She couldn’t allow them to move forward with the wedding until she told him the full truth. “James, there is something I should tell you.”

  James settled on his haunches, but he kept his hold on her hand. His tawny eyes showed no mistrust, just a keen curiosity about what she was about to impart.

  Gathering her courage, Ariadne opened her mouth to speak just as the doors to the ballroom banged open. Ariadne closed her eyes as relief flooded through her body. She wasn’t sure she could have gone through with telling him the truth and risked seeing the betrayal in his eyes.

  “James! What are you doing on the floor with your future bride?” Lady Holt tsked in horror as she bustled toward them. A shame-faced maid and footman followed in her wake.

  “You need not phrase it that way, Mother. We were simply having a picnic.” James gestured to the remnants of their feast.

  Lady Holt wrinkled her nose. “On the dirty floor? For shame! You should have a proper picnic out in nature.”

  James looked over at Ariadne. “I have not the heart to tell her some of the dreadful things animals do in nature.”

  “Wicked boy,” Lady Holt said without any rancor. “Miss Alton, I have arranged for a seamstress to visit us first thing in the morning. We believe we can trim one of my dresses to suit your form, so you are attired properly for the ball.” She shook her head. “Such a shame that your maid neglected to pack a proper ball gown.”

  “Thank you, Lady Holt,” Ariadne said, chewing the inside of her cheek as she castigated herself for perpetuating yet another untruth. And Lady Holt was being so generous to her and to her mother. Lady Partington would never have thought to offer a gown. Although most generous mistresses would share their cast-offs from previous seasons with the staff, Lady Partington and her younger daughters jealously guarded their gowns. When their gowns became too unfashionable, Lady Partington would have them sold rather than allow her maids to have them. She feared her servants would begin taking on airs if they were attired as their “betters.” Lady Holt amazed Ariadne with her air of generosity and goodwill; her son had apparently taken some of these traits from her.

  James grunted from his station on the floor. “You do not need any finery to impress me.” He rose to his feet with one fluid motion and offered his hand to assist Ariadne to stand. “I have no appreciation of all the feathers and fruit and flowers and nonsense you ladies like to adorn yourself with.”

  “Feathers and fruit have their place,” Ariadne said, lifting one eyebrow.

  “Of course,” James said, “On a bird or hanging from a tree, not on your hats.”

  Lady Holt sighed. “It is so difficult to be so far removed from London. We lack the most fashionable modistes and always receive fashion plates that are already months behind. Our shops do not equal even the tiniest shop on Bond Street. I do so long to return to civilization.” She beamed at James and Ariadne. “Once you two children are married, I shall remove myself to London and take up residence with one of my dear friends, Lady Harrington.” She nodded at Ariadne. “Perhaps your mother would like to accompany me.”

  Ariadne beamed, surprising herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled with such joyful abandon. Always, life had been so hard, and her work had dominated her every waking moment since she had entered service. Up at dawn to make preparations for the ladies of the house, constantly assisting them with their dress changes and finding new styles for their hair, working into the wee hours of the night repairing seams and trimming dresses and hats. Now, a whole different life stretched in front of her. She, who had never dared to dream since dreams were for other people, now found herself hoping—for what, she wasn’t exactly sure. She only knew it concerned James and a life she hoped to build with him.

  “I must leave for the fields again and see how the Merytons’ livestock are improving,” James said.

  “May I go with you?” Ariadne asked on impulse.

  “Oh, my dear, what are you thinking?” Lady Holt asked with a look of horror. “You will see mud and dirt and animals, not to mention smelling the most dreadful odors you could possibly imagine.” She wrinkled her pert nose, as though the thought of it were enough to conjure the pernicious odor.

  “If she is interested, let her come.” James cocked one eyebrow in challenge as he surveyed Ariadne. “What do you say, Miss Alton? Will you do me the honor of visiting with mud, dirt, and dreadful odors?”

  Ariadne sketched out an extravagant curtsy. “I would be absolutely honored to accompany you, my lord.”

  Ariadne ran upstairs and made herself ready as quickly as possible. When she returned downstairs, she smiled shyly as she beheld James waiting by the front door in his great coat and work boots. They immediately set out, with James giving Ariadne a brief yet lively description of the tenants they would be visiting. Ariadne sensed his respect for his tenants, yet another difference between him and the rest of the ton. Once they reached the drive, James placed Ariadne’s hand on his arm and kept his hand on hers as they strolled. “I hope you enjoy walking. We do not have many horses in our stables, and I enjoy walking the moors.”

  Ariadne breathed in the crisp Yorkshire air and smiled. “I am impressed by your hard work, my lord. It must be difficult when you have so few workers.”

  James stared straight ahead, his gaze fixed on the path. “During the war, we had a few bad harvests. My father did nothing to help the situation, and I was still away in France, unaware of the extent of the damage. The Corn Laws helped us a bit, though considering the damage incurred to so many families, they were more harmful than anything.”

  “The Corn Laws hurt a great many poor families,” Ariadne said, unable to keep some anger from seeping into her tone. Most of the ton simply had no idea how difficult survival was for many poor families. “And the Peterloo massacre was a travesty.”

  “I agree. Should I ever be able to leave Holt Hall to take my seat in Parliament, I hope to spearhead some changes.”

  Ariadne tightened her grip around his arm. “Your fellow peers will not thank you for it.”

  “It is for the good of the country.” James stopped and gestured to the rolling moors all around them. “Even when I was enmeshed in France, fight
ing for my life and cursing Napoleon to the deepest bowels of hell, my heart was here in the moors. This is what I fought for, the land and the people. I won’t rest until I have atoned for the sins of my forefathers.”

  “I am sorry you had to endure the battlefields, though I am grateful you and your comrades protected us from Napoleon’s encroachment. And regarding the hall, I can help you, if you will let me.” Ariadne pursed her lips as she considered her next words. “And I do not believe you have anything to atone for. From what I can tell, you care deeply about the people under your domain; you also work harder than any man I have ever seen. To be truthful, I am amazed some pretty young girl hasn’t already ensnared you in the marriage market.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “I am not one to flatter. I simply speak the truth based on the evidence I see before me.”

  “You are a very observant and reasonable young woman. Given that, I cannot understand why you would marry into such an estate, but I am not going to quarrel with the fates that have brought you here.” He spent the rest of the walk pointing out the various features of his lands and telling her more about his tenants and their concerns.

  Once they arrived at the first cottage, the rest of the morning was taken up in a flurry of meeting James’s tenants and their families. Everyone regarded Ariadne with open curiosity but also provided warm welcomes as they leveled speculative looks at their lord. Ariadne had watched with pride as James helped to repair a tenant’s cottage. She had admired the flexing of the muscles in his back as his shirt was plastered to his back then blushed as she caught the knowing look of the tenant’s wife. She needed to guard herself against becoming too attached to James.

  She thrilled to be out in the fresh air instead of cooped up inside a house, utterly dependent on the whims of others. Even a luxurious manor could seem like a prison if one didn’t have the freedom or the means to leave. As the sun began to set, Ariadne found herself stifling a yawn. Although she tried to conceal her dawning fatigue, James had seemed to spy it all the way from atop the roof. He quickly descended and made their excuses, stating that he would return in the morning to help finish the job.