The Viscount's Bride

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  She pressed a kiss on Chloe’s cheek. “I’ve wanted to call for ages, but at first Lord Salcombe was so ill, and then we went away to Scotland and there was no time. But I have so wished to speak to you of the night of your betrothal ball.”

  That seemed like centuries ago. “When I left you with Sir Preston, I had no idea that you would be locked in as well and that you would be…be compromised.”

  A little smile touched Emily’s mouth. “That was exactly what I had hoped.”

  “You wished to be compromised?”

  “Yes. Oh, at first I was furious with Lady Kentworth for locking you in with Preston and wanted to make certain her plan for discovering you two together would be thwarted. I planned to have the three of us go back through the tunnel and into the library. But then, she would only come up with another scheme to interfere, and so I decided it would be best if she discovered Preston with another woman. Then we would need to be married straight away.”

  “I rather thought you had decided against Sir Preston,” Chloe said slowly.

  “Oh, no. I merely wanted to teach him a lesson. The only difficult part was keeping him from insisting we follow you through the tunnel. He wished to be the gentleman and protect my reputation.” Again that little smile. “In the end, I distracted him quite nicely. I had no idea how enjoyable it would be to seduce a man.”

  “You seduced Sir Preston?”

  “I did not mean to. I merely meant to kiss him, but then other things followed and it seemed quite impossible to stop. And I did not want to.”

  Emily laughed at Chloe’s expression. “Are you shocked? I would think after more than a month of marriage you would realise how enjoyable seducing one’s husband is. They are so wholly in one’s power. But perhaps you have not yet attempted to do so with Lord Salcombe. He seems rather masterful, but I quite imagine he would be completely at your feet if you were to pursue him.”

  Chloe should be shocked, but her desire to know more overrode any delicacy of feeling she might display. “Is it something women do? It is not considered vulgar?”

  “By whom? Certainly Preston does not. I doubt if your husband would either. Not the way he looks at you.”

  “Emily!” This time her cheeks heated.

  “Surely you have noticed! Very well, I will not tease you. There is something else I came to say. I hope you will forgive me for locking the door to the library after Lord Salcombe went to find you.” She looked truly contrite.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I did not want anyone to discover the door in the fire-place was open and then close it. But more than that I…I had some thought that if you and Lord Salcombe were compromised that you would marry sooner and Lady Kentworth would have no more reason to interfere.” She hesitated. “I had no idea that you would take the wrong path and become wet and chilled. Or that Lord Salcombe would dash off to London when he was ill as well. I hope you will forgive me.”

  She looked so uncertain that Chloe did not have the heart to be angry. If she was. “I imagine you only wanted to do what was best. Of course I will forgive you.”

  “You are very kind. I am so glad we will be neighbours.” She gave Chloe an impulsive hug.

  She sat back. “There is one more thing. We are having a small dinner at Martin Woods. I would like it very much if you and Lord Salcombe would come. If I am not too presumptuous now that you are a Vicountess.”

  “Of course you are not. I would be more than delighted to come. I am certain Brandt would as well.”

  “I must go.” Emily rose and then hesitated. “I have one more thing to tell you. I have not told anyone yet except for Mama who guessed right away. I…I am increasing.” She looked shy and pleased all at once.

  Chloe fought down the stab of envy that shot through her. “How wonderful! But you have not yet told Sir Preston?”

  “No, I wished to be certain before I did, but Mama assures me that I show all the signs.”

  “I hope you do not feel too horribly unwell. I remember how ill poor Belle was with Julian.”

  “No, I do not feel very ill at all. Just sometimes in the morning, but as soon as I eat I am fine. The worst, I suppose, is that I am so horribly fatigued. I wish to lie down and sleep almost all the time which is not like me at all! But Mama assures me that will pass.”

  “And it will be worth everything when you have your baby,” Chloe said. She rose and embraced Emily one more time and then Emily was gone.

  Chloe sat back down, still stunned by Emily’s visit. Most of all, she was shocked that Emily could speak so lightly about seducing Sir Preston. And before they were married.

  Perhaps, then, her own lack of control had not been so unnatural; perhaps she was not the fallen woman her father had predicted she would become. And, perhaps, all the power in their marriage did not lie so completely with Brandt after all.

  She wondered what he would do if she attempted to seduce him. Or if she told him she wanted a baby. Would his eyes darken in that way they did when he desired her? Or would he back away as if he feared he would hurt her?

  She rose. Really, she could not sit here and brood in such a way. Brandt had gone off to look at a fence in need of repair and so she was quite alone except for the servants. Perhaps she should stroll to the garden and see the most recent changes. Even that seemed too much effort. Of late, she hardly felt like doing much but sleep.

  Rather like Emily.

  Her heart leapt to her throat as a horrid premonition seized her. She could not possibly be with child. Surely not after one night. She was tired, to be sure, and had not felt well, but in the past few days she had been a little better. She had not had any more bouts of dizziness and she was eating more. And certainly she was not nearly as ill as Belle had been.

  She should have asked Emily about her other symptoms. What else did one look for? If only she could ask Belle. But then Belle would wonder why she asked. What if she said something to Brandt?

  And whatever would she tell him?

  No, it was quite impossible.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Madame Dupont entered the small dressing room just as her assistant finished pinning the hem of Chloe’s gown. “How very charming! The colour, it is complimentary to your complexion.” She straightened the bodice a little. “Very good, the bodice is not so very tight, which you will find most necessary very soon.” She glanced at Chloe’s face, her own sympathetic. “You must sit for a little while before Ruth helps you change. Always, at first, it is difficult, but it is said to be a most promising sign.”

  “What is a good sign?” Chloe had no idea what Madame was talking about. She sank into the chair in one corner of the dressing room. She had begun to feel light-headed and the longer she stood while the little assistant fitted the gown, the more dizzy and sick she felt. The room seemed too hot and she wished she had not let Belle convince her that a new gown was quite necessary for her first public appearance as Lady Salcombe.

  “The sickness. It means the child will be healthy.”

  Chloe felt the colour drain from her face. She was vaguely aware of the shop bell ringing. “The child?”

  Madame’s own face changed. She motioned Ruth to leave the room before kneeling next to Chloe and taking her hand. “My dear, are you not enceinte? Perhaps I should not have said anything but the paleness, the dizziness—how well I remember them from my own confinements.”

  “I…I cannot be.” She heard Ruth greet the new customer, vaguely recognising the newcomer’s voice.

  “I see. You did not suspect. Tell me, when did you last have your courses?”

  She could not think for a moment. Not since she had been at Waverly. Or since Brandt’s illness. Time had blurred together so much that she had not even considered them. “I do not know. It has been more than a month. Perhaps nearly two.”

  “Then I would suspect you are with child.” Madame squeezed Chloe’s hand. “There is no need to look so. Your husband will be pleased, will he not? He is fond of
children. I see him with Lady Haversham’s little ones and with his nephew, and I think he must have his own.”

  “Yes, he…he will be pleased.” She felt as if someone had dealt her a severe blow. “I pray you will not say anything to anyone, not even to the Duchess. I wish to tell her…him myself.”

  “Of course.” She released Chloe’s hand and rose. “I will send Ruth in now. Do not worry yourself. You are young and strong and you will have a fine, healthy child.”

  She was hardly aware of Ruth’s helping her change from the gown into her walking dress. Ruth’s light chatter fell around her ears and she had no idea what Ruth spoke about, until she said, “You will not be wanting these corsets soon. They will not be good for the child.”

  “No, of…of course.”

  She stepped through the curtain, expecting to see Belle. Instead, she nearly stumbled over Lady Kentworth, who was thumbing through the pages of a lady’s journal. “I…I beg your pardon.”

  “Ah, Lady Salcombe. How delightful to see you.” Her gaze travelled over Chloe’s face. “I understand my daughter-in-law called on you. Such a delightful girl.” She moved a little closer to Chloe. “And already we have happy news, very happy news. I trust we will soon hear equally happy news from Waverly, will we not?”

  “If you will pardon me.” She stepped around Lady Kentworth, wanting to leave her as quickly as possible.

  She was shaking as she stepped into the street. What had Lady Kentworth heard? She tried to think when Lady Kentworth had entered. Surely she would not have known Chloe was there. Madame’s voice had not been loud, nor had Ruth’s. Or had she been merely boasting of her own coming grandchild while at the same time gloating over Chloe’s lack of similar news?

  She must find Belle and then go home. She needed to be by herself, try to think of what she should do. What she would say to Brandt. Belle was at the milliner’s. She would find her there. She started to walk and realised she was going in the wrong direction. She stood there for a moment and then turned. She smashed into a solid, male figure.

  “I am sorry.”

  “There is no need to apologise. You may throw yourself into my arms any time you want.”

  She looked up. Brandt had that slight smile at his mouth. He looked so familiar and welcome and safe. She opened her mouth to greet him and instead burst into tears.

  The smile left his face. “Chloe? What is it?”

  “N…nothing. I…I just want to go home.”

  He caught her to him. “Of course. My carriage is just around the corner.” He somehow produced a handkerchief. “Take this.”

  She nodded and sniffed. He gently took her arm and led her to the carriage. He helped her in and peered in at her, his face still worried. “Where is Belle? I should send her a message.”

  “At the…the milliner’s.”

  He nodded and disappeared. She sunk back into the cushions. On top of everything else, she had just humiliated herself by bursting into tears in public in front of him. His kindness made her want to weep.

  But she wanted to cry even more at the thought of losing him when she told him she was with child.

  —

  Brandt watched his wife as she talked to Marguerite on the other side of the Kentworths’ drawing room. She looked lovely in the dark green silk, her auburn hair gleaming in the candlelight, but she lacked the quiet animation he had always noticed about her in company. Instead, her smile looked forced.

  As it had for days now. Ever since she had burst into tears in the middle of the village, she had become increasingly preoccupied and jumpy. When he had suggested that he send for Dr Crowley, she had looked terrified and then said it was not necessary and she would not see him even if he was sent for. Brandt was no match for such adamant refusal, but when he found her eyes fixed on him with a sort of sadness, he began to think she had contracted a fatal illness and wondered if he should contact Dr Crowley after all.

  But it was the kisses that troubled him the most. Determined to be patient and gentle, he had limited himself to nothing more than restrained kisses. Kisses she returned with a fervour bordering on desperation, almost as if she were saying goodbye. When he tried to question her, she assured him it was nothing, and once or twice had looked so much on edge that he had not pushed her further.

  He had no idea if she was going mad. Or if he was.

  “I doubt if she will disappear if you take your eyes from her,” Justin said sardonically, appearing next to him.

  “I am beginning to think she is about to disappear, whether I watch her or not.”

  He could feel his cousin’s eyes on him. “What does that mean?”

  He shrugged, suddenly too tired to dissemble. “She has little appetite, droops with fatigue after the least exertion and is so pale at times I fear she is about to swoon. And she bursts into tears at the least provocation. I suggested that perhaps she should return to Falconcliff and she looked as if I had suggested imprisonment. I’ve not the damnedest idea what to do.”

  “Probably not much. I’ve no doubt the problem will resolve itself.”

  He finally looked at his cousin. “What the devil does that mean?”

  “Have you ever considered that she might be pregnant?”

  For a moment, he thought he was the one who was about to swoon. “Impossible.”

  “Why not? It is rather to be expected under the circumstances.” Justin eyed him. “The symptoms sound quite familiar, particularly the tears. In fact, Belle had some idea that might be the case, but did not want to say anything until Chloe did. But perhaps we are more aware of such things since Belle seems to be once again afflicted with the same, er…illness.”

  In a sort of daze he found himself congratulating his cousin. He still felt stupefied, as if he had been struck or drugged. He excused himself from Justin. It was impossible; she would not be unfaithful to him; and he had not…for the second time that night he felt almost dizzy.

  The dream.

  It had not been a dream after all.

  “Ah, Lord Salcombe.”

  Lady Kentworth stood in front of him. “You appear nearly as unwell as your wife.”

  “I’ve no idea what you refer to. If you will excuse me,” he said curtly.

  She did not move. “I doubt very much you both are suffering from the same affliction.”

  He stared at her. “I trust you will curtail your speculations.”

  Her smile was malicious. “I fear it is too late since the milliner’s assistant has informed half a dozen people already that an interesting event will be occurring at Waverly.”

  He took a step towards her, barely containing the urge to mow her down. She backed away.

  He found Chloe sitting in a chair in one corner. She was drooping again. Why had he not guessed? He remembered Belle’s pregnancy very well—she had had the same pale, wilting look, but he would have considered a pregnancy so improbable he never thought of it.

  He wanted to demand why she hadn’t told him about that night, upbraid her for lying to him. But when she looked up at him, her eyes filled with weariness and that same sadness, he wanted to take her into his arms. “We need to leave,” he said.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “I need to talk to you, but I do not want to do it here. I will send for the carriage and make your excuses to Emily.”

  He saw the apprehension in her eyes. “There is no need to look like that,” he said roughly. He tightened his grip on her hand.

  She nodded. She looked as dazed as he felt as they took their leave of their host and hostesses. He said nothing on the journey home, but he could not keep his eyes from her face. His thoughts were in turmoil, angry with himself, angry with her, but also the faint beginnings of joy that she possibly carried his child. Their child.

  She made no protest as he led her upstairs and then to the small room off his bedchamber that he was using as a study until the downstairs room was repaired. A lamp had been lit o
n the desk. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it. In the shadows, her face looked drawn and fearful. “Sit down, Chloe.”

  She took the chair he indicated and perched on the edge, her eyes fixed on his face. He took a deep breath. “Tell me, Chloe, are you with child? My child?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The blood pounded in her ears. At the same time she dimly registered he had claimed the child as his. She heard herself whispering, “Yes. I…I think so.” She forced herself to look at him, waited for the loathing and the fury she knew was to come.

  Instead there was silence. His eyes were still on her. “That night was not a dream, then,” he finally asked.

  “No.”

  “Why did you not tell me?”

  “I did not know how. When you did not say anything, I thought that you did not remember.” She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling. “I remembered. I did not know if it was a dream. I tried to ask if you had been there but Mrs Keith said you did not sit with me that night. And when I saw you, you were so calm—” He broke off. “How could you be after I had seduced you, taken your innocence and used you in the most despicable way and then had not the decency to even recall it?”

  “It was not like that. You did not seduce me. You asked me to kiss you and I did. I went to you willingly.”

  “You had no idea what you were doing. You were an innocent. I doubt if even now you realise how mad you drive me, how the lightest touch of your fingers or even the scent of you can make me want to pull you down next to me so I might take you the same way I did that night. How could you know what a kiss would do? Especially to a man who had lost all reason. You were at my mercy.”

  “It was not like that.” She could not bear the self-recrimination in his voice. “You asked me if I wanted to stop but I said no. I…I was not so naïve that I did not know what would happen. I begged you to go on.”

  “Why? Why would you allow me to use you in such a way?”

  “Because you were alive. And you needed me.”