The Virtuous Viscount

by Susan M. Baganz

  “How did you know?”

  His deep voice wrapped around her in the most delightful way. She wondered if he smiled. Were his teeth as perfect as his soothing voice?

  “I cannot see, but I can still use my other senses.”

  “May I sit?”

  “Go ahead. I cannot stop you.” Her voice sounded petty, even to her own ears.

  “Do you want me to stay?” Uncertainty laced his words.

  Josie sighed. Thoughts of let me be miserable in peace warred against the comfort she experienced in having him there. “Yes. I’d like you to stay. Please.”

  “Does conversation make the pain worse?”

  Josie heard the concern. “No, I only tire easily.”

  “My visit will be brief.”

  “Regardless, I’m grateful you came.”

  “I would be a poor host if I did not tend to the comfort of my guests.”

  “And what kind of comfort do you extend to my aunt and cousin?” Jealousy seeped into her heart with these words. Please, let him not like Hetty.

  “I’m not as good a host in that regard. I came home from London to relax and attend to estate matters, not to entertain. I’ve relied on my friends to help me with your family.”

  “They are extended and estranged family. I didn’t meet either of them before Monday, when we departed my home.”

  “That would explain some things.”

  “Like what?”

  “They show no great concern for you.”

  “I recognized from the first moment I met them I was a means to an end.”

  “How so?”

  “My father funded a majority of the expenses for our season in London. My mother had saved money for my season when she was alive.”

  “The Widmores are not able to do this?”

  “I don’t know. Why would they take me up with them, when I am a country nobody lacking the illustrious connections necessary to make a match in London? They were just…”

  “Rude?”

  Josie nodded. “You’ve noticed? Of course. They may be nice enough people, but I’ve not been privy to their favor.”

  “If they left to continue the journey to London without you, how would you feel?”

  “Relieved.”

  “Why?”

  “I regret my injuries have kept them from their entertainments in town. If they go, I won’t experience guilt. I also would not be obligated to visit with them, which eventually they may want for the sake of appearances.”

  “How terrible is your pain today?”

  Josie brought both her hands up, placed them over her eyes, and began to rub her temple under the bandage as much as she could gain access.

  “That bad?”

  “And worse. The laudanum tempts me.” Tears come to her eyes, and she could no longer hold them back. “I promised myself I would not cry, and I will rejoice in my sufferings, and yet I cannot. Oh, Lord, please help me.” She dropped her hands, and the tears flowed.

  He placed a soft piece of fabric in her palm. A handkerchief. She brought it up, wiped her tears, and blew her nose. Handsome bachelor falls in love with injured woman after carriage accident. Ha! In your dreams, Josie. She wiped her nose again. She must look awful.

  “I cannot understand how difficult this must be for you. If I were able to take it away, I would. I’ve done everything I can to help, and it’s not enough. Tell me what you need for me to do, and I will do it.”

  Anger at herself and her circumstances spewed forth. “I long to watch the sunrise again, to attempt to paint it. Can you make that happen? I want to walk again in the gardens and across the verdant fields and hills of England and paint every shade of green God has created. Can you make that happen?” She paused and took a shaky breath. Her voice grew softer. Sadder. “I would love to ride a horse again. Swim in a lake. I dream of dancing with a tall, handsome man who adores me. To meet his gaze later across a room and share a private joke. To someday marry him and raise children in our own home with laughter and love…” Her voice drifted away to silence for what seemed a long time. She turned her head away from him. Tears coursed unabated down her cheeks. “No one can do that,” she whispered, “no one—not even you, Lord Remington.”

  A hand clasped hers, but he didn’t speak.

  “I am ashamed”—she sniffled—“I am inexcusably rude to speak like this to you. You are not at fault and are beyond gracious to me.”

  He squeezed her hand but again said nothing.

  They sat in silence for several moments.

  “You are correct. I am unable to bring you back to a reality in which I never knew you. I will do whatever I can to make your time here as bearable as possible. I offer you my friendship. I do not understand His actions, but I believe God is still good. I will continue to pray for healing.”

  The door opened, and the scratching of claws on the floor preceded a small bundle landing on top of her. Charlie leapt forward to give Josie several sloppy, wet kisses on her face, licking away any remnants of her salty tears. Josie embraced him, finding solace in the soft fur.

  Lord Remington gave her hand one last squeeze. “I had better leave you to rest. I can tell you are well comforted by Charlie.”

  “Thank you. Your visits help more than you realize.”

  ~*~

  Marcus rode his horse across the estate to unwind and escape some of the company residing indoors. As hard as he tried, he could not stop thinking about Miss Storm, helpless and alone in the yellow suite. Her unseeing eyes had flashed at him, and her cheeks had turned a delightful pink during her short tirade. Marcus allowed himself a wry grin at the memory. She would not give in to her injuries. She was a fighter. He prayed her desire for recovery would not be in vain.

  Returning to the stable, he dismissed the groom and brushed down his horse. He had missed this simple task while living in London and found the rhythm to be soothing. After he finished in the stables, he decided to return to the house through the gardens. Many of the plants were in full bloom and responded vibrantly to the rain followed by sunshine. They reminded him of his mother, who had spent hours in the dirt with her prized roses. The air was brisk and exactly what he needed to clear his head, even after his invigorating ride. He stopped in his tracks when he spied Lady Heticia up ahead.

  Confound it.

  She had spotted him.

  He couldn’t skirt around or go back to the stables. The sights of her weaponry focused on him—target number one. Marcus bit his lower lip. Maybe this was the best time to depress any plans she might have toward him. A man who smelled of horse and barn was not conducive to a romantic rendezvous, and he hoped to use that to his advantage. He was not in the mood for flirtation. Work awaited him in his study.

  “La, Lord Remington, how wonderful it is to come upon you in this beautiful garden.” Lady Heticia sashayed up to him in what he suspected she intended to be a seductive manner. She appeared silly.

  “Good day, Lady Heticia.” He spoke in his most formal tone and gave her a brief bow.

  Her arm swept to one side. “I adore the gardens at Rose Hill.”

  Lord Remington made sure they were in full view of the windows of the house. “Thank you. My mother labored in love to establish the blooms here, and our gardeners work hard to maintain the grounds.”

  “I adore roses, especially these coral ones. They seem to be the most romantic flower with the sweetest scent. I hope in London I receive many bouquets of them.” Hetty gazed at Marcus with wide eyes and what he suspected might be a flirtatious smile. Her lips alternated between a pout or turned up at the edges to a pucker as if she suggested a kiss.

  He fought the urge to laugh and struggled to maintain a dour expression on his face. “Roses are well enough, but for a young woman of tender years making her debut, coral hued roses may be overblown. I would be suspect of any man who sent you such an outrageous offering. Lilies, daisies, or carnations would be far more appropriate.”

  A flash of anger crossed Het
icia’s countenance before her smile returned. “Lord Remington, I’m glad to learn about these things before I would show how green I am and unaccustomed to society. Do you enjoy the season when in town?”

  Marcus strode toward the garden gate leading to the path to the house and stayed in view of the windows. “Recently, it has been a bore. Too many faces of milk-and-water misses dressed in identical pastel gowns presented for marriage to the highest bidder.” He kept his tone flat. He was not lying about his perspective on London, but he rarely gave voice to his opinion.

  Heticia’s face clouded over, and her eyes narrowed. “Oh.”

  “Exactly so.” Remy’s clipped response cut off further conversation. He offered his arm to escort her to the side entrance. “I believe I spied your mother searching for you. Let me walk you to the house.”

  Once Marcus had arrived at the door, he opened it. “If you will pardon me, Lady Heticia, I have estate matters to tend to.” He gave a nod of his head to her and strode off in the direction of the stairs.

  Grasping matrons and desperate debutantes. That was the reason he left London. Of course, he desired a woman to share life with, raise a family, and fill Rose Hill with laughter and children. He didn’t want to choose a woman for her appearance, or wealth, or title alone.

  He gained access to his room, pushed the door shut, and leaned his back against it. The brief episode with Heticia was a narrow escape. While the Widmores had not intended to drop on his doorstep with a staged accident, they would not let the prime opportunity to snag a titled, wealthy husband slip by. He was equally determined they would fail.

  After all, he wanted a wife, but on his own terms. Guilt stabbed at him, reminding him that his sister, Henrietta, didn’t get that. From what he could tell, she was as in love with Lord Percy as he was besotted with her. He’d never regret his actions on her behalf. And he would do anything possible to avoid a compromising situation that could result in a misalliance for himself.

  ~*~

  An hour later, a freshly attired Viscount descended the stairs and managed to gather his friends. They made their way to Lord Remington’s study and locked the door.

  “What are you about, Remy? You played least in sight and left the women to us to entertain.” Lord Westbrooke continued, “My boots and top coat will never be the same after that rescue, but I shall recover. However, these women are beyond encroaching. They pop up everywhere. I was minding my own business, reading a book in the library when before I realized it, Hetty sat across from me, her mother nowhere around. I beat a hasty retreat. I don’t think I can bear them for much longer.”

  “You know, Remy, there is some truth to what Phillip says. That woman is a shark, and I don’t want her sinking her teeth into my hide. The questions she asks border on offensive. Is there a way to get rid of them?” Theo shook his head. “When can we be comfortable again?”

  “We need a battle plan for dealing with the Widmores,” Marcus started. “I stared down the barrel of a loaded gun this afternoon in the garden. None of us can ever be caught alone with Lady Heticia.”

  “Easier said than done,” grumbled Phillip. “We entertained ourselves and tried to stay out of their way. This morning terrified me. I’ll read in my locked bedroom from now on. I think, Remy, the greater danger lies with you as you travel around to manage your estate.” Lord Westcombe leaned back in his chair.

  “Michael and Theo, are either of you the object of her attentions?” Marcus asked.

  “Lady Widmore has dropped broad hints and has tried to wheedle information out of each of us about the other. The standard drill. How much money a year we take in, properties we manage, investments, etc. It’s possible Lady Heticia is merely seizing every opportunity she has to gain the interest of one of us.” Michael went to the sideboard and poured a glass of brandy. “Since I carry the lowliest title and income along with being born on the wrong side of the blanket, I’m safe.”

  “Lady Heticia is a lovely young woman. But doesn’t the daughter grow up to be like the mother?” Theo shivered and grimaced.

  The others chuckled.

  “They are guests here, however unexpected, and should be treated with respect. I do not think we need to go out our way to entertain. This is not a house party. My aunt will arrive within a few days, and hopefully we can dispatch the Widmores to London.”

  “Has the carriage been repaired, Remy?” Theo asked as he rose from his seat to get a glass of brandy as well.

  “It should be done by tomorrow.”

  “Odd that both axles would break,” Michael queried.

  “Stickney discovered they had been tampered with.” Marcus helped himself to a glass and poured one for Phillip.

  Phillip reached for the glass. “Thank you. Tampered, you say? A dastardly business. Who would want to harm the occupants of a carriage?”

  “That is what I would like to know. One passenger may never recover. Something should be done to bring justice to whoever would perpetrate such a crime.” Michael sat back down and sipped his drink.

  “I’ve summoned Bow Street to investigate the matter. I expect a Runner any day.”

  “Good idea.” Theo sat down.

  “How is Miss Storm?” Michael asked.

  Marcus expelled a sigh. “She is conscious and in a significant amount of discomfort.”

  “Poor thing. She appeared quite pretty from the brief moment I saw her,” Theo commented. “What else have you learned about her, Marcus?”

  “She requested no visits from her aunt and cousin. The Widmores do not even request to see her. I do not know much else. I sent a note to her father to inform him of her accident. According to the doctor, she cannot be moved safely for some time.”

  “Another reason for your aunt to come?” Phillip asked.

  “Yes. I wish to preserve Miss Storm’s reputation.”

  “Whyever for? She’ll never see or walk. A season in London is out of the question. Her reputation is insignificant.” Theo crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair.

  Phillip chimed in. “You are talking to Remy here, remember? Maybe he’s more interested in protecting his own reputation.”

  Marcus bristled, and his eyes narrowed. “The thought never crossed my mind.” If it had, I would not be visiting her as she lay on her sickbed. Marcus shook his head. Sometimes a good reputation was a burden.

  “Well, it should. Regardless of her injuries, if her reputation is ruined under your roof, you would be expected to marry her.” Michael smirked.

  Marcus closed his eyes as his friends continued talking. For some reason, being forced to marry Miss Storm didn’t horrify him as much as it would if it were any other woman of his acquaintance. She was easy on the eyes and had fit in his arms when he had held and carried her. His heart skipped a beat at the memory and fought the urge to go to her even now. Her scent reminded him of his mother, who was all purity, light, and joy. He didn’t know yet if Miss Storm had those same qualities. He must be losing his mind to be meandering around in thoughts about possible marriage to the guest in the yellow room. He shook his head to attend to what his friends said.

  “I think we need to be more concerned about how to avoid the parson’s mousetrap with Lady Heticia Widmore. Miss Storm is the least of our worries.” Theo rose and paced.

  “Until the women leave, how shall we protect ourselves?” Phillip tipped his glass for a sip.

  “That’s what we need to figure out,” Theo responded.

  The men discussed possible ways to deflate the pretentions of the Widmores and keep themselves from any risk of compromise. Before they went to meet their dinner guests, Marcus cheered them with this thought. “It won’t be long, fellows, before we can enjoy peace at Rose Hill.”

  “Peace? There hasn’t been a moment’s peace since we left London yesterday morning. Certainly not an auspicious beginning to your holiday, Remy.” Michael frowned as he rose to pat his friend on the back before unlocking the door. He swung it open, and the two women stum
bled into the room. Michael shook his head. “I rest my case.” He glanced at the ladies posing with their elevated noses, and pushed past them without another word.

  5

  Dinner was a subdued affair. Lady Widmore made few attempts at conversation, and her daughter avoided eye contact with the men.

  Marcus wondered what they might be scheming.

  After servants removed the cover, the ladies left the men to their port.

  Theo spoke up. “I sympathize with Lady Heticia.”

  Michael groaned. “Why?”

  “I think she’s being coached and forced to act in ways she’s not comfortable with. I suspect her mother does not treat her well. Are any of you acquainted with Lord Widmore?”

  Phillip shrugged and commented, “He rarely comes to town from what I recall, and he doesn’t take his seat in Parliament. I could point him out in a crowd, but I have never spoken with him.”

  “Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?” Michael asked. “Why would a peer put his only daughter on the marriage mart and not participate in the process of vetting prospective suitors?” Michael gazed into his glass and shook his head.

  “A lot of men avoid the season. We cannot fault Lord Widmore for choosing to stay home and tend to his estate.” Marcus swallowed. “I pray I can find a woman who won’t annoy me, though.”

  Theo chuckled as he spoke. “Are you suggesting Lord Widmore stayed home to avoid being with his wife?”

  Marcus shrugged and emptied his glass. “Gentleman, I believe we need to provide entertainment of our ladies this evening, even if only for a short time.” He pushed his chair back and rose.

  Sharing tortured glances, the other three men stood as well.

  Entering the drawing room, Marcus approached the women seated by the fire. “How have you enjoyed your stay at Rose Hill thus far?”