The Virtuous Viscount

by Susan M. Baganz

  Charlie jumped up on the bed to snuggle with Josie, and both were soon asleep.

  10

  Marcus joined his friends for lunch, but his attitude had not changed much as the men gushed about how delightful, charming, and beautiful Miss Storm was. Maybe they were right. He acted like a dog salivating over a bone he refused to share. Except Miss Storm was not a bone, but rather, a woman with choices. He had no right to be jealous because she had enchanted his friends. He just hoped she liked him better.

  Theo broke Marcus’s reverie. “Have you heard from Bow Street?”

  “A letter arrived in the post a few minutes ago. I’ve yet to read it.”

  Michael rose, his chair almost tipping over in the process. “We should look at it now.”

  The rest of the gentlemen followed suit.

  Marcus shook his head, sighed, and pushed back his chair. “As you will.”

  Marcus strode to his desk, grabbed the letter, and opened it. He read aloud to his friends.

  Lord Remington,

  I am still in the process of investigating the carriage accident that injured Miss Storm. I regret we have no suspects as of yet. The inns I investigated reported Lady Widmore was rude and tight-fisted. She failed to make a good impression anywhere along her journey to or from Rose Hill. With incentive, the Widmore servants revealed they have not been paid for several months and do not leave due to threats of bad references being given.

  Please be assured I will keep you abreast of any new developments. Regards,

  Mr. Nigel Neville

  Marcus threw the letter on his desk. “It is not unusual for someone to be under the hatches, and being rude isn’t a crime, either.”

  The four sat staring at each other. They threw around some possible ideas for why those axles would be cut, but none were credible. They grew frustrated.

  “We cannot give up. Certainly Mr. Neville will find something if given enough time,” said Theo, hoping to lighten the heavy mood in the room.

  “Time is the one thing we have,” said Michael.

  ~*~

  Dr. Miller informed Marcus that Josie was resting. Bruce was hopeful about her recovery, and they talked about the prospects for her healing.

  Marcus had received word of flooding issues at the home farm. He rode out in the afternoon to meet with the tenant and arranged for necessary repairs. After he arrived home and changed out of his muddy boots and work clothes, he strode down the corridor to inquire if he could visit Josie.

  Aunt Dorothea met him at the door. “Marcus, Miss Storm had a delightful morning but is now in great discomfort. Your visit must be short.”

  Marcus nodded to his aunt, went into the bedroom as she followed, and sat by the fireplace. His heart skipped a beat as he gazed at Josie lying in the bed.

  From her furrowed brows she was suffering, but she still looked lovely. Her head turned toward him as he crossed the carpet. She smiled, and his heart did a jig.

  “Marcus, I missed you this morning.”

  Marcus was silent. He could hardly confess his fear of competition from his friends for her affections. Since when did he ever compete for a woman? He shook his head at his errant thoughts. “I had work to tend to. My friends informed me I could no longer keep you to myself.”

  Josie’s eyes squinted. “What kind of work?”

  “Estate business, letters, and some flooding issues on part of the property. Aunt Doro says I cannot stay long. I am sorry you are in pain. However, I am in need of some assistance from you.” He pulled the chair up and sat down.

  “How might I be of help?”

  “After the accident, I had your aunt address a letter to your father. He has not responded, and I desire to send another one. However, I was careless in copying down what she had written, and I cannot make out the direction. Would you give it to me? I will send out another missive. He must be worried for you.”

  “Thank you for caring about me and my family.” Josie proceeded to give him the address.

  Marcus wrote it down slowly with graphite and repeated it back to her. “I shall send this out in the morning.” He put the piece of paper and pencil in the pocket of his coat. “How did you enjoy my friends?” Did he really want to know? He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. When they opened, he saw her lips curve softly.

  “I liked them exceedingly well and appreciated their visit. They treated me as a younger sister, which put me at ease. They seem like proper gentlemen. Men worthy of your regard. None of them would take credit for their part in my rescue when I expressed my gratitude. They gave all credit to you for your sacrifice and leadership.”

  Marcus blinked. “Sacrifice? What did I lose by rescuing you? They obviously lie. Don’t believe a word they say.”

  Josie’s dimple showed as she spoke. “Their voices spoke of deep devotion and affection for you, my lord.”

  “We are not back to ‘my lord’ now, are we?”

  “Sorry, Marcus.”

  “That is better. Sometimes I think the title and all that comes with it to be far more of a burden than I would prefer. However, I was born to do this. I must fulfill my destiny to the best of my ability. There are benefits that come with wealth and position.”

  “Like what?”

  “I can give to charities and other endeavors that I believe in. I can use my influence in the government to effect positive changes in our country.”

  “I would love to hear more about that.” Josie yawned. “I’m terribly sorry, Marcus.”

  “I have reached my time limit anyway.” Marcus spied Aunt Doro rising to insist he leave.

  “I think this conversation needs to be saved for another day, when Miss Storm has more stamina to endure the lengthy lecture that might ensue.” Lady Grey laid a hand on Marcus’s arm as he rose from his chair.

  Marcus scowled playfully at his Aunt and turned again to Josie. “She is right to keep me from boring you with my pet charities and causes. It would be better if you were stronger and had other, more pleasant conversations between us, lest on the basis of this one you would choose never to allow me to visit again.” Marcus noted his Aunt had moved to the doorway. He picked up Josie’s hand, stroked it lightly with his thumb, and gave it a squeeze.

  Josie sighed as he released her hand. “I don’t think much of what you could say to me would ever be boring, Marcus. I am a captive audience for the time being.”

  “Marcus, you scamp. Please leave before I forcibly remove you. You will be late for dinner if you don’t hurry.” Lady Grey’s eyes danced with laughter even though her voice was stern.

  “Yes, ma’am. Good night, Josie.” Marcus gave his aunt a slight bow and a peck on the cheek and exited the room with a spring in his step.

  He hurried down to his study, pulled out the scrap of paper, and compared it to his scribbled note. The addresses were not in any way similar. For some reason, Lady Widmore had misdirected his first letter to Mr. Storm. This was information to pass along to the runner. He copied down the address and took the letter out to the salver, where his butler would tend to it in the morning. The thought continued to plague him–why would Lady Widmore give him a wrong address? He entered the drawing room as the first dinner bell rang. He sensed Phillip’s gaze on him, and it shook him out of his reflections.

  “You look preoccupied, Remy.”

  Marcus frowned. Had they read him so easily? “I am, and I apologize. How has your afternoon gone?”

  “It was quiet and relaxing, unlike yours, I understand. Trouble at the home farm?”

  Marcus nodded. “Too much rain, too fast. I think we’ve come up with some solutions so we are not vulnerable in the future. Messy work.”

  “Somehow, I’m guessing what is on your mind has nothing to do flooding issues.” Michael helped himself to a glass of brandy and took a sip, never taking his eyes off Marcus.

  Marcus gave a half-smile. “You always were perceptive, Michael.”

  “Would it perhaps have to do with t
he lovely lady upstairs?” Michael teased.

  Marcus nodded. “Correct, as always.”

  “Always? I’ll remember that.” Michael came over with a glass of brandy for Marcus. “Here, maybe this will help.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, you now have our attention. What is bothering you, and how can we help? We will be more than happy to render any assistance needed.” Phillip held Marcus’s eyes. “You are not in this alone.”

  Marcus nodded again.

  At that moment, the gentlemen were disturbed by Lord Harrow, who led in Lady Grey. Soon the men playfully argued over who would have the honors of escorting in the lone lady to dinner, and Aunt Dorothea tittered like a schoolgirl over their antics.

  Theodore asserted, as he was the oldest of them all, it was his right to lend his arm to take her into the dining room. Light-hearted humor filled the dinner that followed.

  As the servants brought out the third course, Marcus decided to inquire as to the men’s visit with Josie.

  “You never told us she was able to sit in a chair,” Michael said, in-between bites of salmon.

  “Really?” Marcus raised an eyebrow toward his aunt.

  “Doctor Miller and I spoke yesterday, and he agreed she might be allowed to sit up for a short period of time to receive visitors,” Lady Grey defended.

  “I found Miss Storm to be a delightful and charming young miss,” Theo gushed.

  Soon the others chimed in about their impressions of their guest, and Marcus fought against the unspoken threat their admiration aroused in him. He stabbed at his food, and the footman refilled his wine glass. The men appeared oblivious to Marcus’s changed mood, but his aunt watched him closely.

  She cleared her throat loudly and gave the other three gentlemen speaking glances.

  One by one, they turned to look at Marcus, who refused to make eye contact. He was very much aware of their perusal.

  Phillip leaned back in his chair, away from his empty plate to allow the footman to clear it. He sipped his wine and spoke. “You mentioned earlier you had news pertaining to our patient?”

  Marcus’s gaze shot to Phillip’s, and he laid down his fork. “Today I wrote another letter to Miss Storm’s father, but the direction Miss Storm gave me differed from the one Lady Widmore inscribed.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t a mistake?” Lady Grey asked.

  “They had been traveling from the west to head to London and had only left Miss Storm’s residence that morning. If my memory of geography classes holds true, the address Lady Widmore gave me is from far north of London. I was a fool to have not paid attention to that detail earlier.”

  “Why ever would someone do such a thing?” Theo asked.

  “That is what I wondered,” Marcus said.

  “Will you be letting Bow Street know?” Michael asked.

  “Of course, yet I cannot figure out how this fits in with the carriage accident.”

  “Puzzling indeed,” said Phillip. “Did you mention the discrepancy to Miss Storm?”

  “No reason to alarm her. She is unaware the carriage was tampered with. None of this makes sense.” Marcus’s frustration rose.

  “Is Miss Storm in any danger?” asked Lady Grey.

  “I do not think so, Aunt, but I cannot be certain. I do not want to be seeking trouble around every corner, and yet these things don’t add up. I suggest we stay on our guard.”

  The men were quiet as they finished their dessert. The evening ended with the men playing cards with Aunt Dorothea.

  Marcus pleaded exhaustion and headed up to his suite. At the top of the stairs, he paused. He wanted to visit Josie one last time. He headed down to her rooms.

  Molly answered his soft knock. “My lord, Miss Storm is sleeping,” Molly whispered.

  Marcus bent his head. “Thank you for keeping watch over her, Molly. Good night.”

  Deflated, he headed to his own room.

  ~*~

  Marcus tossed and turned for the better part of the night as a thunderstorm flashed and boomed outside his window. Finally, he gave up his attempt and threw on breeches and his robe. He made his way through the darkened hallways to Josie’s room. Has it come to this? Skulking about in my own home in the dead of night? He slipped into the room quietly, not even disturbing Charlie. Not much of a watchdog, are you, girl? Marcus grinned to himself as he grudgingly admitted he missed having his dog follow him around all day.

  Molly was a sound sleeper on her pallet in the corner.

  Marcus sat next to the bed in the chair left from earlier. He bent his head to pray as the storm raged.

  Josie’s scream startled him.

  Charlie’s head came up.

  Molly snored.

  Marcus tried to calm Josie with whispers. “There is nothing to fear. Just a storm. You are safe. Josie, you are safe, and you will be fine.”

  Josie sobbed and started to calm but never awakened or seemed to be aware of his presence. He sat and watched, helpless, as she tossed and turned before finally relaxing into sleep. Marcus prayed, and when he noted her breathing became slow and even, he rose to seek his own bed.

  The storm continued through the night.

  Before Marcus drifted back to sleep, he wondered if the roads would even be passable on the morrow for the mail or for other travelers, and hoped there would be no more accidents. He would need to pursue further repairs on the main road. Another task for a drier day. Soon his eyes closed, and his thoughts grew mute.

  11

  The day dawned shrouded in fog. Marcus’s eyes scratched like wool as he stood, stretching by the window overlooking his estate. Weariness settled over him as he glanced back at his bed. His shoulders slumped, and he bent his head, shaking it as if to clear the cobwebs that had sprung up during the few hours of sleep he had managed. He leaned forward and let his forehead lean against the cool glass for a few moments. Lord, help me get through this day. He finally stood up straight, went to the washstand, and splashed his face with water. Revived, he attended to shaving and dressing for his day. Reluctantly, he left his room.

  It appeared everyone either slept in or had breakfast in their rooms.

  Marcus sat alone with his coffee and some toast and eggs. He wondered how Josie fared and what had caused her terror in the night. Was it a flashback to the accident? Maybe part of her remembered. He ached for her fear and wished he could take it all away—the fear, pain, blindness. Lord, would I have been drawn to her if we’d met in London?

  Fenton disturbed his thoughts with the information that a visitor awaited him. Directing Fenton to show the unknown person to his study, he finished his coffee and withdrew to learn who had been brave enough to venture forth on such a damp and dreary day. Marcus hoped the servants had lit the fireplace. He shivered as he entered the open door to find Mr. Neville. “Good day to you, Neville. You have news?” Marcus motioned to chairs near the cheerfully blazing fire. “I’m surprised you traveled on such a day as this.”

  “I knew you were anxious for Miss Storm, and since I was investigating in the area, it seemed timely to meet with you.”

  “I’m glad you came. There is some information that may or may not be related to this I had intended to forward to you.”

  Nigel nodded, but he pursed his lips and he paused for a few moments before beginning. “Someone has been poking around at the posting houses inquiring about the carriage accident, and it is not one of my men. This personage wore green and gold livery, the same colors boldly painted on the Widmore carriage.”

  “So a Widmore servant is checking up for Lord Widmore? I do not recall Lady Widmore ever posting any correspondence to her husband, although she indicated she had planned to do so.”

  “That is as much as I suspected. Reports reached my ears that the Widmore marriage is not a happy one. Lord Widmore has more often than not been a ramshackle excuse for nobility, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord. My gut instinct tells
me he may be the instigator of the accident. If he has staff asking around, he will already be aware Lady Widmore has moved on to London. I suspect injuring Miss Storm was not part of his original plan. Regardless, it shows a wanton lack of regard for human life. Attempted murder is serious business.”

  “So if his marriage is unhappy, does that necessarily make him guilty of tampering with his own carriage? Can you really be sure Miss Storm was not the intended victim and is safe from further danger?”

  “I believe she is safe, but I only have my suspicions at this point. No proof to back up anything, much less take to a magistrate. If you want me to investigate, I will do so. It is possible Lady Widmore and her daughter may still be in danger if one or the other were the intended victim.”

  Marcus pressed his left thumb and index finger together at the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Why couldn’t this be easier? Should he continue to pay for this investigation if Josie was safe and recovering? Why would he care about the Widmores other than they were human beings? After all, they were not his responsibility. Lord, what to do? He pulled his hand down and released a breath. “I’ll continue to fund the investigation. We do not know for sure that Miss Storm is not still in danger until we identify who instigated the accident and why. It seems caution would be prudent.”

  Nigel nodded. “You said you had some information that might be pertinent to the case?”

  Marcus relayed the misinformation he had received from Lady Widmore regarding Mr. Storm’s real address. “The address she had given is in a different part of the country than from where Miss Storm hails.”

  “Are you suggesting Lady Widmore deliberately delayed Miss Storm’s father from coming here?”

  “It would appear so.”

  “This could not be a simple error on her part?”

  Marcus shook his head. He rose, and grabbing a piece of paper off his desk, he returned and handed it to the Runner. “Here, compare the two addresses.”

  Nigel met Marcus’s eyes, took the page, and scanned it. He frowned, and his dark eyes shot back to Marcus. “I’ll check out both these addresses to make sure. I would suggest we post one of my men here, just in case.”