The Reluctant Viscount

by Lara Temple

  ‘Well, this is certainly more entertaining than I thought our country sojourn would be,’ he said. ‘I almost regret leaving tomorrow, even if it is only for a few days. Will I still be welcome once I’ve done my duty by my family?’

  Adam shook his head ruefully. It was hard to stay mad at Nicholas, however aggravating he might be.

  ‘You know you are. I need someone here who doesn’t look at me like a two-headed wonder at the village fair.’

  ‘Point taken. Try to stay out of trouble while I’m away, will you?’

  ‘Yes, nanny.’

  Nicholas laughed and shook his head. In the silence the fountain chattered merrily behind them. After a moment Nicholas indicated the colonnade.

  ‘Should we go back in?’

  ‘You go. I’ll follow in a moment,’ Adam replied.

  Nicholas’s brows rose, but he merely nodded and headed back towards the ballroom.

  Adam walked over to the fountain. A faint sulphuric smell rose up from the water. It was fitting, since he felt this gathering was one version of hell, at least as far as he was concerned. He needed a moment of quiet before he went back into the Assembly Room.

  He knew Nicholas well enough to realise his taunts had been primarily a warning to Alyssa, which he could have told his friend was unnecessary, since Alyssa took him no more seriously than he did himself. But Nicholas’s words had struck home none the less. Adam wished he could live up to his own words and turn his back on this unwelcome inheritance and the way it tied him inexorably to the scene of his previous weakness and disgrace and to his memory of what a trusting fool he had been. He could hardly credit that he was the same man as the boy who had once stood in this ballroom, glaring after Rowena as she danced with other men, like a laughable impersonation of a Byronic hero.

  He should just pack up and be gone tomorrow and forget about Delacort. The estate had limped along for decades and survived, who cared if it continued in the same vein? He already had more money than he would ever know what to do with. He didn’t need the income from the estate and he didn’t need the headache and he certainly didn’t need the approbation of the people of Mowbray. It hadn’t taken Alyssa’s comments to make it clear the town was only waiting for the first signs of transgression.

  His family, thankfully, now lived far away, but the whole place seemed to have subsumed that same narrow-minded, judgemental sourness that had ruled his mother’s life. The only positive he could see in the whole situation was that everyone was so fixated on his notoriety that no one seemed to remember the serious and bathetic young man he had been other than himself.

  He glanced over towards the haze of light spilling out from the ballroom and smiled. Alyssa appeared to remember enough not to be unduly impressed by his transformation. Surprisingly her insistence to call him to order didn’t bother him. It only made him want to ruffle her feathers even more. He could never tell if she would scold or blush in response. He thought her own change was just as impressive as his, despite it being in quite the opposite direction. She might not give credit to his transformation, but she herself had put so much effort into turning her back on the wild young girl she had been and becoming proper that he wondered if she even knew who she was any longer. He knew only too well it was very easy to lose track.

  What he could not understand was why she was still unmarried. He found it hard to believe it was simply because no one had asked her. She was attractive, intelligent, and she certainly seemed to have overdeveloped maternal instincts. It was probably as he suspected, that her tyrannical and selfish father had kept her well under his poetic thumb.

  But he could see flashes of that girl—her mischievous bravado, usually accompanied by that single, distracting dimple. And then she would promptly disappear again like an errant child scolded back into the nursery. Except there was nothing childish about that side of her, quite the opposite. Strangely enough it was her proper demeanour that seemed young and rather endearingly severe, like a child playing at dress up, while the complicit, laughing, knowing sprite promised something much more mature.

  It was a pity she hadn’t taken him up on his offer of a dalliance. Not that he had really expected she would. It had just been amusing to goad her and watch her emotions reflected in those amazing green eyes.

  She was certainly adding flavour to his stay in Mowbray, but he knew he should not carry this rather unusual flirtation too far. However clever she had been at parrying his approaches, it was too uneven a battle to be quite fair. He might be a rake, but he had yet to pursue a serious flirtation with a woman who did not fully know the rules of the game. And he certainly should not confuse the degree of comfort he felt with her, which was based on some shared memory of another, simpler time, with any real intimacy.

  Not that she showed any signs of being in danger of taking him too seriously or of fancying herself in love with him. But as proper as she was, there was that edge of heat in her eyes that told of a young woman who could enjoy physical passion very much if given half the chance. He had played unfairly on that conviction during the dance because it had been pleasant to forget for a moment that he hated being back here and wanted nothing more than to wrap up his business and be on his way. He had no right to toy with her of all people.

  Adam turned and headed back into the Assembly Room in search of Nicholas. He had done what he had come to do and he wanted to get out of the oppressive morass of speculation. He’d had enough of Mowbray society for one night.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘She does not want to go.’ Mrs Aldridge squeezed her plump hands together anxiously. She glanced at the mantelpiece clock in the neat little drawing room of the Queen Street house she had rented for the summer season in the fashionable quarter of Mowbray. ‘And we just bought the most charmingly becoming bonnet with jonquil ribbons to match her gown. Whatever shall we do…?’ She trailed off and looked hopefully across at Alyssa.

  ‘Of course she doesn’t want to go,’ Alyssa replied, trying not to let her impatience show. ‘She knows everyone will be talking about Percy and Mrs Eckley. For goodness’ sake, Aunt Adele, this is just tea at Lady Nesbit’s, hardly a court presentation. If she doesn’t want to go for once, then we should not force her.’

  ‘In Mowbray they are practically one and the same as you well know, Alyssa. If she doesn’t come now, the whispering will only get worse!’

  Alyssa sighed. Her aunt was right. Every week during the summer months the best of Mowbray female haut ton joined the grande dame for a weekly dissection of events at the Assembly Room dances and other social gatherings. For years Alyssa had attended dutifully. As little as Lady Nesbit and Rowena seemed to appreciate her presence, she knew that to snub them might have serious consequences both for her and her family. The tedium of these afternoon gossips had been alleviated somewhat when her aunt and Mary had arrived in Mowbray. They’d just put off their mourning for Mr Aldridge and had clearly needed Alyssa’s help navigating the often treacherous waters of Mowbray society.

  But today Alyssa had a somewhat selfish reason for wishing to attend. She couldn’t help wondering how Rowena was coping with the snub she had received from Adam. She also wanted to learn what she could about Mrs Eckley. If anyone had information about her, it would be Lady Nesbit with her faithful network of local gossips. Alyssa had heard from Betsy that Percy had been seen promenading with the widow in the town gardens that very morning. From her aunt’s worried countenance when she had arrived at the house that afternoon it was clear the news had reached Queen Street as well.

  Alyssa stood.

  ‘I will talk to her, Aunt,’ she said and headed up the narrow stairs to Mary’s room. Her cousin was dressed very charmingly in a muslin dress trimmed with jonquil ribbons that matched the newly acquired bonnet lying on the bed by her side.

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ Mary said petulantly when Alyssa entered. Alys
sa sat down on the bed beside her and picked up one of Mary’s delicate hands.

  ‘I had a letter from Charles,’ Alyssa began, hoping to distract her. ‘He is doing well and is hopeful he will be able to visit for a few days in September.’

  ‘That’s nice. He hasn’t written to me in weeks.’ Her voice was flat, indifferent, and Alyssa could not make out if there was any pique there or just pure lack of interest. She was also surprised to hear Charlie had not written to Mary. When he had first gone up to Cambridge at the beginning of the school year he had written to her on a weekly basis. At least.

  For the first time she wondered if Adam might have been right. After all, Charlie was young, and though he had seemed in love with Mary almost from the day she had arrived in Mowbray a year ago, he had never actively courted her. Alyssa had assumed it was because he believed, correctly, that Mary was still too young or because he felt her inheritance placed a barrier between them.

  When he had gone up he had told Alyssa to take care of Mary for him and Alyssa had taken him at his word. She had therefore been surprised when he had written to say he would not come home for the summer vacation, but would be staying with friends in the area and would perhaps try to earn some money tutoring. She had rationalised this, deciding that he wanted to become as independent as swiftly as possible. But Adam’s cynical observations as to the inconstancy of young men would not leave her.

  She told herself she had done Mary no disservice by detaching her from someone like Percy. But if Adam were to ask Alyssa now if she intended to go to such lengths to separate Mary from any other potential suitor, she would have to answer that she wouldn’t.

  In fact, the more she thought about her blind insistence on preserving this pretty but not overly intelligent girl for Charlie simply because she thought he willed it, the more she felt foolish, even pathetic. It would have been better if she had acted out of purely mercenary aims rather than some romantic notion of constancy and love. Simply because she herself was foolishly still captive of the false image of someone she had loved years ago… She reined in her thoughts. There was no point in dwelling on ancient history. Right now she still had an obligation to her cousin.

  ‘I know this isn’t easy for you, Mary, and believe me I don’t want to go either, but the brutal truth is that in cases like this the worst thing to do is hide and let people gloat and gossip behind your back. We shan’t force you to go, but it really would be best for you if you came and tried to act as if you aren’t in the least bit bothered.’

  Mary raised her large blue eyes, now glistening with tears, and Alyssa felt she was being unfairly demanding. Mary was only a girl, after all. Why was it so necessary that she not show she was human and hurt? Surely it was healthier than holding everything inside.

  The blue eyes dropped and Mary breathed in shakily, drying her eyes with the crumpled handkerchief in her hand. Finally she shrugged.

  ‘Very well.’

  Alyssa gave her a quick hug.

  ‘Good girl. Let’s get this over with.’

  * * *

  When they entered Lady Nesbit’s elegant celestial-blue drawing room they were the last to arrive and it was clear they were entering a scene of unusual tension. Rowena was beautiful as usual in a lilac jaconet muslin morning dress with lace-trimmed sleeves, gathered below the bosom by a silver buckle. Her perfect complexion was enhanced by a slight flush. Alyssa, who knew her well, knew she was furious. Her heart sank. Rowena was never easy, but an antagonised Rowena was dangerous. She was not used to being the butt of either pity or derision and Alyssa could sense that there were those in the audience who felt either or both emotions towards the uncontested belle of the county.

  It was not long after their arrival before Rowena made her move to deflect attention from her own ignominy towards Mary’s. In a sweet but carrying voice she asked the young woman sitting next to her if she had chanced to see what a simply stunning gown Mrs Eckley had worn during her garden promenade with Percy. Surely it must be a French design! Only they could design something so dashing…

  Mary’s frail shoulders sagged and her fingers played nervously with the beading on her reticule and Alyssa wished she had not talked her into attending. She felt a flash of anger at Rowena for targeting someone who was so obviously unable to defend herself.

  ‘I think you are probably correct, Rowena.’ Alyssa spoke as calmly as she could. ‘Probably the same modiste who designed that amazing creation she wore to the Assembly. But then she has a most perfect figure. Not every woman can wear such fashions and still appear elegant. It was clear all the men present remarked it.’

  Rowena shot her a venomous look.

  ‘Oh, quite, dear cousin. As they also remarked on the way you flirted so desperately with Lord Delacort. Really, my dear Alyssa, you cannot possibly imagine he might be interested in someone as farouche as you.’

  It was such a blunt, inelegant attack, Alyssa felt more embarrassed for Rowena than for herself. There was a moment of disconcerted silence in the room; even Lady Nesbit took a moment longer than usual to re-establish her control over the conversation, turning it down avenues of gossip which for the first time that week touched upon neither Percy nor Lord Delacort.

  Alyssa allowed the conversation to flow around her and waited for the afternoon to be over. There was no pleasure in kicking Rowena when she was down and Rowena’s own taunt, though blunt, lingered. She knew she was right, that Adam’s flirtation during the waltz had meant nothing more than a practised game. But at least it was an honest game. She needed to let go of the persistent fantasy that the Adam of her girlhood memory existed anywhere but in her imagination. And in a way the best way of doing that was to overlay that memory with reality.

  Why not flirt with him? she told herself defiantly. It was about time she stopped being so careful about everything, and…

  ‘…don’t you think so, Alyssa?’

  Alyssa blinked, startled as her aunt addressed her directly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Rowena gave a very unladylike snigger.

  ‘Cousin Alyssa is daydreaming again. How many times has Grandmama reproved you on that tiresome habit of yours?’

  Alyssa flushed. ‘Not as many times as she has reproved you on your ill manners, Rowena,’ she shot back.

  Rowena raised her beautifully arched brows.

  ‘My, my. Lessons on manners from someone who wore breeches until she came of age? I find that rich,’ she mocked.

  Alyssa felt like replying that she would not have had to wear breeches if either Lady Nesbit or Rowena herself had taken enough interest in her family to ensure she and her sister had more than two dresses to their name.

  ‘“Who makes the fairest show, means most deceit,”’ she quoted sweetly instead. It was childish, since she knew that although Rowena had only contempt for her bookishness, it was the one area where Alyssa was clearly her superior and Rowena hated being second in any respect.

  Before Rowena could find a response, Lady Nesbit gave the floor a sharp rap with her cane, leaning forward from where she sat enthroned on her favourite mahogany sofa.

  ‘Now, now, girls. I would appreciate if you did not squabble in my drawing room. Really, at your age one would think you might have outgrown such nonsense. Alyssa, your aunt was enquiring whether you thought it would be a good idea for her to take Miss Aldridge to visit with the Aldridges in Windermere for a few weeks. You can see the unusually warm weather here in Mowbray does not at all agree with her delicate constitution. A few weeks up near the Lakes may be just what is needed for her to recover her bloom.’

  Alyssa turned to inspect the sad droop of Mary’s pretty mouth and the confusion in her aunt’s eyes.

  ‘Would you like that, Mary?’ she asked her cousin gently.

  ‘I suppose. I think so,’ Mary answered almost inaudibly, looking so
much younger than her seventeen years that Alyssa wished once again she could strangle Percy with one of his own beautifully arranged cravats.

  ‘Then I think that is an excellent idea, Aunt Adele,’ she replied calmly and a look of relief spread over her aunt’s plump face. Alyssa glanced over at Lady Nesbit and met the old woman’s pale blue eyes. She had never quite understood her, but in that moment she could almost believe Lady Nesbit was motivated by compassion for the girl and she gave her a grateful smile. Lady Nesbit met the smile with one of her direct, expressionless gazes, before turning to address a comment to Miss Mott on the most recent fashion plates in Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine, expressing her stringent disapproval on the distinct lowering of the waistline evident in the latest fashions.

  Alyssa sighed inwardly and was extremely grateful when Lady Nesbit finally stood up, signalling the end of the gathering, and they all filed out to their awaiting barouches and landaus like obedient schoolgirls. On the ride back Alyssa went along with her aunt’s determined prattle about the beauties of the Lake District and the pleasures in store there for Mary. For a moment Alyssa wanted to ask if she could go with them. But she knew that would merely be a cowardly evasion. It was time to stop hiding and make some serious decisions about her future, whether that be in Mowbray, or elsewhere.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Adam guided Thunder across the small stream and up on to the lane towards Mowbray. A thatch of leaves dislodged under Thunder’s hoofs and Adam watched as they were snatched away, disappearing under a tangle of blackberry brambles that hung over the water. There was something soothing about these small lanes and streams, undramatic and undemanding. So different from the vivid but often unforgiving landscapes he had explored over the past years.

  It wasn’t just the easing of survival instincts; for a boy who had grown up outside a town smaller than Mowbray there was something relaxing in the familiarity of the countryside. In the steady pace and predictable rituals of country life.