The Vision of a Viscountess (The Widowers of the Aristocracy Book 2)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Aimed at her.

  “Christ, Marianne! You could have been killed!” he shouted as he placed his hands at her waist and lifted her from atop him. Her legs akimbo and her gown nearly up to her knees, Marianne struggled to sit up. “What were you thinking?” he asked as he finally regained his feet, wincing when he realized he had skinned an elbow. His shirt sleeve had torn, and blood from the wound was already staining the fabric.

  Marianne gave a start at hearing his curse and jerked again when she was close enough to make out that he was bleeding. Glancing around where she had been dumped from atop his body, she struggled to understand just why he had pushed her to the ground.

  “What...what happened?” she managed to get out, wincing when she noticed a tear in the fabric of her gown. Her face screwed up when she heard his curse again. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she attempted to look in his direction, pain radiating from her arm from where she had landed on the hard ground. Her limited vision coupled with the glare of the sun made it appear as if he was a silhouette bobbing about against a sea of blue.

  “Put on your spectacles right this minute, dammit,” he shouted.

  His hands were suddenly at her waist again, lifting her from the ground until she barely had her feet beneath her. Trembling in fear, she felt for the pair of eyeglasses and pulled them from her pocket, wincing in pain when she realized she had hurt the back of her gloved hand when she was thrown to the ground. The parasol still dangled from her wrist, and she struggled to get the strap off so that she could open the folded spectacles.

  Jasper pulled them from her grasp, opening them and then placing them onto her face in a less than gentle manner. He had his hands at her waist again, forcibly turning her body until she faced the cliff’s edge where she had been walking.

  One side of her body ended up pressed against the front of his, and through his light shirt, she could tell his body quaked, could feel his racing pulse, and hear his ragged breaths. Given his curse and how he held her and the expression she could make out in great detail, she thought him angry. Very angry.

  Suddenly fearful, she attempted to leave his hold—until one of his arms lifted parallel to the ground and he pointed out to the sea. “You nearly walked over the edge of the cliff,” he yelled. “Jesus, Marianne, you would have died,” he added, his voice still raised.

  Tears poured from Marianne’s eyes, the droplets collecting in the bottom edge of her lenses so that she could barely see anything. Her fright, as much to do with his yelling at her as from having been thrown to the ground, had her entire body shivering. And then she was suddenly facing him, pulled hard against the front of his body, his arms like steel bands wrapped around her shoulders and waist.

  “Oh, Christ. I apologize, my sweeting,” he murmured as he struggled to breathe. “I didn’t mean to curse at you. Jesus, I just... I was so frightened,” he whispered, his lips coming down to press hard against the top of her hair. “I could not bear losing you, my sweeting,” he added. “I would be bereft for the rest of my...” He allowed the sentence to trail off.

  Tears still streaming from her eyes, Marianne sobbed and finally relaxed into his hold. “I’m sorry I frightened you,” she said between attempts to breathe. “But, you merely had to call out to me,” she replied finally. “Warn me.”

  “I barely saw you as it was,” he countered, pulling her away so that he could direct his attention to her. He wanted her to see his frustration—nay, his anger—at what had just happened, but he had to stifle the sudden urge to grin. Her tears made the lenses of her spectacles appear as if they were partly under water. He lifted them from her face and silently cleaned them using the fabric of his shirt. He aimed them in the direction of the sea and glanced through them, as if to confirm they were clear before he turned and settled them back onto her face. “I had just made a discovery and was concentrating on it. I don’t even know what had me looking in your direction,” he murmured. “You must have an angel watching over you.”

  Marianne sniffled before reaching into the pocket of her gown for a hanky. Wiping the tears with the linen, she sniffled and finally allowed a nod. “I shall be more careful,” she promised, dipping her head. “I feared this would happen. I... I have become a burden to you...” Her words were cut off when her lips were suddenly covered by his. It dawned on her then that every time she tried to put voice to a complaint, or a suggestion she return to England, or apologize for her poor eyesight, Jasper silenced her with a kiss.

  Well, there are worse ways to be silenced, she considered, one hand moving to his shoulder as he continued to kiss her. Worse ways to be treated when she expected he truly wanted to throttle her.

  When Jasper finally ended the kiss, he left his head bent so his forehead rested on hers. “You are not a burden,” he murmured. “You are stubborn, though,” he stated, ignoring her gasp of shock. “I would not have believed you capable of allowing vanity to override good sense.”

  Marianne’s eyes widening even more, she gave a huff. “Vanity has nothing to do with this,” she countered, angered by his comment and struggling to swallow a sob.

  “Then why? Why? When I have assured you at every turn that you are a beautiful woman, why are you so damned stubborn about not wearing your spectacles?”

  Daring another glance at the expanse of blue, Marianne felt a bit disoriented by the wavy image at the edge of the lenses. Her gaze then lowered to the cliff’s edge. From her vantage, it appeared as if the ground simply stopped and the water began.

  She was sure it wasn’t supposed to look like this. But how could she explain it to Jasper? Explain that the spectacles might have provided a clearer image, but not necessarily a truer image?

  Marianne stared at her husband, momentarily forgetting she wore the awful spectacles. She had seen her husband’s reaction when he had forced them onto her face—even he was appalled at how they made her appear. At least he hadn’t said anything right then, though. She was quite sure she would have jumped off the cliff if he had.

  Well, perhaps not. She did have that fear of heights.

  She hadn’t even realized she had such a fear until they had been on the ship. When she had worn the spectacles and gazed out on the sea, and then made the mistake of looking down from where she stood at the railing. She could see the surface of the water so far below, with its churning whitecaps and swirling eddies as the ship made its way toward the Strait of Gibraltar.

  Perhaps it wasn’t really so far down—she wasn’t really so high—but her glasses had made it seem as if the water was far away. The disorientation led to a wave of nausea, which had her stepping back from the railing. Had her removing the spectacles even as she struggled to keep her feet beneath her.

  She hadn’t ever been that high up before, she was sure. Even when her aunt took her to the top floor of the British Museum, she wasn’t as high above... well, above the surface as she was then.

  “What is it?” Jasper asked, his attention going from the Mediterranean Sea to Marianne and back again.

  “I cannot believe what I see when I am wearing these,” she replied, her manner still defensive.

  Jasper frowned. “Cannot believe because... because it’s a sight you’ve never seen before? Because it’s vast, and so blue—?“

  “No,” Marianne replied with a shake of her head. “No. It’s... distorted, I think is the word. When I look there,” she lifted a finger to point at where the beach met the water’s edge. “I see there are rocks, but their edges tip up,” she claimed as her other hand joined the first. She used her fore fingers to illustrate what she meant by drawing arcs in the air. “...When I know they do not, because when I look to the right just a bit, the rocks straighten out but the other side tips up.” She motioned with the flat of her hand. “Now, if I do this...” She slowly scanned the horizon, her body giving a start as if she thought she were falling to one side. “Then it appears that the entire horizon is... wavering.” One of her gloved hands reached out and formed a wavy pa
ttern in the air.

  Frowning, Jasper carefully lifted the spectacles from her face and held them up. He pulled them toward his face until the bridge between the lenses was settled on his nose, his eyes darting about as he attempted to replicate what she was describing. He jerked them off his face after a moment, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again.

  He held the spectacles aways from his face a ways and slowly brought them toward him again until they were nearly mounted on his nose. “I think... I think I see what you mean,” he murmured. He screwed up his face in annoyance, unable to force his eyes to see the horizon clearly. When the lenses were a few inches from his face, he was suddenly able to replicate what Marianne had described. “Is this how everything looks to you? All curved down in the middle and turned up at the edges?” He was about to imagine how he might look through her lenses, and decided he didn’t want to know.

  Marianne felt a hint of excitement when she realized Jasper understood her dilemma. “Mostly things far away. It’s not so bad for objects that are closer,” she explained. “You do see what I see then?” she asked then, wondering if she could make him understand just how frustrating it was to wear the eyeglasses.

  Jasper gave a half-chuckle. “I rather doubt I’m seeing exactly what you’re seeing, but I think I have a pretty good idea,” he replied. He allowed a sigh. “The thing is, they do make what you see far more clear, do they not?”

  Allowing a shrug, Marianne had to agree. “As long as I look through the middle of the lens, and what I’m looking at is directly in front of me.”

  He gave a nod. “So, you can make out the cliff’s edge?”

  Marianne glanced at where she had nearly stepped off the cliff, the area evident in how the ground had been marred when Jasper knocked her down. “Yes,” she hedged.

  Jasper placed a hand against the side of her face and turned it toward him. “Then I must require you to wear your spectacles. I cannot abide the thought of losing you.” When tears once again filled her eyes, Jasper gave his head a shake. “Why are you crying?”

  “I feel as if I’m being punished again for having poor eyesight.”

  “Again?” he countered, wondering what she meant.

  “Having to wear spectacles, of course. They’re... they’re hideous,” she spat out.

  She hadn’t thought about them in that respect back home. The first time her father had placed them on her face—back when she was only eight or nine—her entire world seemed to come into focus. Suddenly, everything had crisp edges when before, only the things she was standing closest to had those edges, especially when she squinted. Books were the best, though, for she could see the print clearly without using the spectacles and without having to squint. Later, when her mother taught her how to embroider, she found she could master the stitches without having to wear the eyeglasses.

  Jasper sighed. He had to agree with her assessment of the eyewear, at least when it came to the pair she was wearing. If they’d had the time in London, he would have arranged for her to see Wather-Wallen and would have had lenses made to be mounted in a more stylish pair of gold wire frames.

  “I think we shall make our way north the day after tomorrow,” he announced.

  “North?” she repeated, her gaze going to the map he had spread out on the ground next to where he had dug a hole.

  “Palermo,” he said with a nod. “Dr. Jones says there is an oculist there who gets his glass from Venice.”

  Marianna angled her head. “Glass? For what?”

  Jasper shrugged. “Everything, but our interest is for a new pair of spectacles for you. See if we can’t find the oculist Dr. Jones mentioned. The man who can grind a pair of lenses perfectly suited to your vision and mount them in a beautiful gold wire frame.”

  “Gold?” Marianne repeated. “Like the ones Lady Evangeline wears?”

  His brows rising in surprise, Jasper wondered when she’d had an opportunity to meet the bluestocking who was Lord Everly’s sister. Marianne had only been in the capital a few days before they had met at the ball. “Yes, like hers,” he said with a nod. “Where—?”

  “Aunt Cherice introduced me to her when we were in The Temple of the Muses,” Marianne replied. “She was... reading the end of a book,” she whispered, one brow arching up as if she were sharing gossip.

  “Ah, skipping to the end, was she?” he teased.

  “And then to the beginning,” Marianne countered. “That’s when Cherice... Lady Devonville... asked if she might introduce me. Lady Evangeline was wearing the most dainty pair of eyeglasses, and she didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed at having been caught wearing them in the bookshop.”

  Probably because she doesn’t have a chaperone admonishing her for wearing them, Jasper nearly replied, remembering Lady Evangeline was under the protection of her older brother, Harold Tennison, Earl of Everly. And he was usually off on some expedition searching for some rare flower or bird.

  Or fish.

  Jasper still hadn’t paid a visit to the man’s library, where apparently a collection of tropical fish were housed in a large, glass tank.

  “If we find the oculist in Palermo, we’ll see what he can do for you,” Jasper explained. “I know one in London who has some special lenses he uses to determine how one’s sight can be improved, but I do not wish to wait until our return to British shores before arranging new eyeglasses for you.”

  Marianne finally nodded, deciding the sooner she had a better pair of lenses, the better Sicily would look.

  Chapter 32

  A Fear in Plain Sight

  The next day

  When Singleton claimed he was sun sick and unable to join Jasper at the ruined temple, Jasper allowed a sigh of frustration. Before the incident with Marianne, he had managed to locate the small flags Dr. Jones had used to mark what he was sure was the location of a small temple’s floor near the edge of the ridge.

  Jasper had surveyed the site from four vantage points, finally understanding his colleague’s claim. The area featured an evenly flattened rectangle, as if a giant had pressed a large block onto the ground and then removed it. Knowing that other Roman temples featured mosaic tile floors, Dr. Jones was sure Jasper would find the same beneath the volcanic soil that covered most of the island.

  Working closer to the ridge meant he was more exposed to the wind than he had been in the Greco-Roman quarter, but the breeze was cool. Jasper erected the sunshade he and Singleton had used at the other site, glad for respite from the bright sun.

  Although he had worked inward from one edge of the temple ruin the day before, he had only exposed a small fraction of a mosaic design. He had hoped to finish uncovering the entire mosaic—the soil covering it was only a few inches thick—but without Singleton’s help, it might take a day or two longer. If he took Marianne to Palermo on the morrow, it would take even longer.

  The younger archaeologist’s face had been rather red when he appeared in Jasper’s bedchamber, and he looked as miserable as he sounded when he made his apologies and headed back to his own bedchamber.

  “I will see to some aloe for his face and neck,” David offered, once he was finished seeing to Jasper’s morning shave. “And lots of water. I fear Signore Singleton did not abide my warnings yesterday,” he said by way of apology.

  “I expected you two would spend most of the time inside important buildings,” Jasper commented.

  David’s eyes widened. “Oh, we did, my lord. But we spent the rest of the time out of doors, walking from place to place. If I hadn’t warned him of my cousin’s wrath if he missed dinner, Signore Singleton might still be in Girgenti.”

  Jasper suppressed the grin he was tempted to display, quite sure his colleague wouldn’t want to anger the woman he flirted with every night during dinner. “I plan to take my viscountess to Palermo on the morrow. I am in need of an oculist. Do you suppose Pietro can drive us?”

  David blinked. “Are you quite sure? It is a long journey—eighty miles.”

&nbs
p; “I expect we’ll need to spend a few nights. Do you know of a coaching inn, or... a hotel along the way?” Jasper asked. “And one in Palermo?

  “There are hotels, of course. A good one near the port,” David replied. “Would you like me to come with you?”

  Jasper considered the question, realizing the valet was offering to go. “I would like that,” he agreed. “We could use a guide.”

  “Very good. I will pack for you.”

  Rather surprised at the young man’s enthusiasm, Jasper finally nodded. “If you’re sure—”

  “Very,” David replied. “As for an oculist, I only know of one gentleman who makes eyeglasses in the capital. Ricardo Ricciardini. He has a shop there,” he said with some excitement.

  Ricardo Ricciardini. Darius Jones had mentioned the same man just last week.

  “Will Signore Singleton be joining you?” David asked, his query sounding a bit guarded.

  “If he is of a mind to do so, and if he is recovered from his sunburn, then I suppose so,” Jasper replied carefully. He watched as David’s face seem to indicate relief.

  Jasper noted the change in the man’s demeanor and wondered if perhaps David was the reason James seemed so much happier the past few days. Had the two merely become good friends? Or was there more to their relationship?

  Jasper was thinking of his earlier conversation with David as he used his arm to push dirt away from a series of white and cream tiles, their pattern suggesting at least two people were featured in the mosaic floor.

  Readjusting his position, he was about to use the same arm to reveal more of the mosaic when he noticed Marianne had taken a seat on a marble block, her attention on a book.

  She wasn’t wearing her spectacles.

  Frowning, Jasper scrambled to his feet and stalked over to his wife. “Where are your eyeglasses?” he asked, barely reining in his anger.

  Marianne blinked. “In my reticule,” she replied, as she held up the fabric purse that she had nestled against one hip. “I really don’t need to wear them whilst I’m reading,” she started to say, but Jasper’s expression had her dipping her head.