“And to you, home is…?”
“Sheffield. And London,” Owen said, and Westwood tilted his head to look at him.
“What do you do there?”
Owen paused. He preferred to be known for what he did within the war effort rather than outside of it.
“I look after the needs of the people and the land.”
“Are you a steward?”
“No.”
“Do you work for a nobleman?”
“No.”
“Are you a landowner?”
“Yes.”
“I never knew such a thing,” Westwood said with some surprise. “How did you come by such land?”
“It’s entailed.”
“Entailed? Then you must be—”
“Titled. Yes. Lord Primrose.”
“No.”
Owen chuckled at Westwood’s astonished look.
“I am a viscount. Not a particularly attendant one. Hence, my role here.”
Westwood looked aghast.
“Your exploits are legendary as Owen Ridlington, and yet I have never heard mention of a Lord Primrose. How can that be?”
“Because I did not wish my true identity to be known within the military,” Owen said with a shrug. “I’d rather be known for what I do than what I was born into. To be rewarded with a position rather than given one simply because of who I am.”
“Fair point,” Westwood said, walking over to the side table and pouring drinks for the two of them. “Here you are, Ridling— Primrose. I hardly know if I can look at you the same anymore.”
“I would ask that you do. And that you keep this secret better than you ever uncovered one. I’d rather others not be aware. I far prefer to stay in the shadows, as it were. Makes it easier to look after everyone else.”
“Fair enough, Ridlington,” Westwood said before taking a sip of his drink. “Who looks after your estates, then, while you are keeping England safe?”
“I have an estate manager and only one estate,” he said with a shrug. “My father was not particularly prudent, and when he passed, he left debts that required the selling off of some properties — anything that was not entailed. It makes things easier, at any rate, for I prefer keeping busy with more than a pen and paper.”
“How very… fortunate,” Westwood said, though he raised an eyebrow while he did, clearly displaying how he would have felt were he left behind such a situation.
“You could say that,” Owen said with a shrug. “I know most noblemen would despair of such a state, but to be honest, Westwood, if I wasn’t taking part in the war effort, I would be much happier spending my days on the grounds of my estates, working with the horses and the harvest with my own hands rather than from behind a desk or through correspondence. It’s what I’ll likely go back to someday.”
“What about the Season?” Westwood asked. “You have no desire to spend any time in London?”
“None at all,” Owen said with a bit of a laugh. “If I had a choice, I would give the title away.”
Westwood shook his head.
“Well, we are glad to have you here among us for now, that is for certain,” he said. “I feel a mite safer with the man who is known for taking down French spies and protecting the Prince Regent himself when needed.”
“I cannot recall ever admitting to such,” Owen said with a frown. While he wasn’t a spy, most of his work had been done without even those he was protecting being aware of his accomplishments.
“You don’t have to,” Westwood said, “And I’ll keep your secret if it matters so much to you. At any rate, I’d best be finding my wife. Good day to you, Ridlington.”
Owen tipped his hat to him, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the windowsill, content, for the moment, to enjoy the view beyond.
* * *
“I simply do not think you should agree to it, Violet,” Iris said as she helped Violet prepare the table outdoors. Since Violet’s three sisters had all married gentlemen of the nobility — former military men, all three — her mother and father were attempting their utmost to entertain as they assumed the men were used to, despite the gentlemen’s protests.
“A picnic outdoors,” her mother had said earlier that morning, “is just the thing! Why, all the ton do so.”
“I understand that we might enjoy it, Mother,” Marigold had said diplomatically. “But I do not think it is necessary in order to please our husbands.”
“Nonsense!” Alice had exclaimed. “Now, Violet, you will prepare everything, will you not?”
And so Violet did, though her sisters were kind enough to help. Why, even Daisy and Marigold went down to the kitchens to help collect everything that some of the new staff had prepared.
This was one idea of her mother’s, however, that Violet didn’t overly mind. While she wasn’t often found traipsing through the woods or marshes as Marigold had always been wont to do, she did love being outdoors, in the family’s gardens or in one of the comfortable spots that could be found along the seashore. She was usually with a book in hand, but she still felt that she was enjoying nature, in her own way.
She thought that perhaps she might enjoy setting the table more than actually eating with her family, though she would have to do so regardless. Each dinner since her sisters’ return to visit was something of a nightmare as her father attempted to impress the three gentlemen at his table with his own stories of his war efforts, though they all humored him well enough.
She came back to the present moment when she felt Iris staring at her, waiting for a response.
“What was that?” Violet asked.
“I said,” Iris began, clearly attempting patience as she placed her hands on her hips, “that I do not think you should agree to this ridiculous idea of Father’s.”
“Well, I clearly have no good judgment of my own,” Violet said with a shrug, attempting nonchalance despite how painful it was to speak of. “So why not do as Father asks? What else I am to do with my life?”
“What do you want to do?” Iris asked, and Violet sighed.
“I am not entirely sure,” she said as she turned from Iris to continue her table setting. “In my novels, it seems that everything happens as the heroine would like it to happen, even if she doesn’t know what that will be until later. I read one recently in which the young woman is sent to a seaside resort town because she is deemed nearly mad by her father — though not mad enough to be sent to an asylum. She actually enjoys it there, but, of course, has no idea what direction her life might take, for the town is composed of mostly women. Then one day, a group of men come to town because they are looking for somewhere to train for war. So she meets one of the men, and they end up falling in love. He, of course, is a duke — kind of like Daisy’s life, isn’t it? — and she is whisked away. She is then able to greet her father once more and allow him to see how she is now incredibly happy and powerful and that he was in the wrong about who she was. She wasn’t mad, she simply had ideas other than his own. You should read it.”
“I should, should I?”
Violet gasped at the masculine voice behind her, and she whirled in its direction, startled to find she was alone with one of their boarders — Owen Ridlington, the soldier who was sent to protect Lord Westwood.
“Mr. Ridlington!” she said, a hand — still holding a plate — at her breast. “Where did you— what did you— where is Iris?”
“Your sister left a few moments ago. To where, I have no idea,” he drawled in that slow, leisurely manner of his. “You seemed quite animated as you recounted your story, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, it sounded so interesting that I thought even I might give it a try, though you’ve spoiled the ending for me now.”
Warmth rushed to Violet’s cheeks. Surely if she touched her face her hands would come away scorched.
“Yes, well, if you’d like, it is on the shelves in your sitting room,” she said, unable to meet his eyes.
Violet had a difficult time speaking with any good-looking
man, which Mr. Ridlington was, in a somewhat… mysterious way. He was tall, with a lanky build, and unlike some of the others around here — particularly her own sisters’ husbands — he dressed quite casually in simple trousers and a linen shirt. He kept a pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants and usually wore a hat — which was rather short with a long brim in the back — so low over his eyes that it was difficult to see his face. She would have hardly known what he looked like had he not had to remove it for mealtimes, for his chin and the lower half of his cheeks was covered with a beard as dark as the hair upon his head.
“I thank you for the recommendation,” he said, and Violet wondered if she was hearing things, or if that was laughter in his voice. “An interesting idea, setting a table outdoors.”
“My mother would like our family to have a picnic for lunch this afternoon,” she said, resuming her task so she would no longer have to look at him. “She feels that this would be of interest to the gentlemen.”
Mr. Ridlington chuckled lowly, something about it stirring Violet deep within, but she ignored the sensation. This man made her uncomfortable, though most of it was not his own doing, but the fact that he had witnessed Violet at her worst, during a moment of complete embarrassment.
“Somehow I do not think the gentlemen have much of a care whether they eat within your mother’s garden or in a dining room,” he said. “Picnics are more for women.”
“I cannot say I have any particular knowledge on the subject,” she said, though she had read of a picnic in one story. It hadn’t ended well, as in that story the dogs had come running out of the house and had eaten all of the food. The guests had been quite upset. She didn’t think they would have to worry about that today as there was only the well-behaved Clover, Marigold’s dog.
“Neither do I,” he mused, though she hadn’t asked. “If I am eating out of doors, it is typically alone with a meal from the saddlebag.”
She smiled at the thought, though she wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.
“Do you need a hand?” he asked, and Violet hurriedly shook her head.
“Oh, of course not,” she said, finally looking up and meeting his eyes. They were a warm brown with flecks of gold that she could see from the distance between them, as he stood slouched against a tree. “I’m almost done. And I’m sure Iris will return any moment.”
“I’m sure she will,” he said, though with the slightest hint of a smile that told Violet Mr. Ridlington was no fool and knew as well as she that there was little chance of Iris returning. “Good day to you, then, Miss Violet,” he said as he pushed off the tree and began walking away.
“Good day,” Violet replied as she returned to her task, though now with a slight bit of unease that she just couldn’t describe.
3
Owen entered the inn just as Alice Tavners was flitting through the foyer. He smiled at her in greeting and moved to continue on his way.
“Oh, Mr. Ridlington!” she called as he passed by, and he turned around to see her waving him back toward her.
“Yes, Mrs. Tavners?”
“I have a favor to ask of you.”
Owen sighed, as he had a feeling this would not be one which would be a pleasure to help with.
“Of course, Mrs. Tavners.”
“Well, you see, I have a bit of a conundrum as it were. We are to have a picnic in the garden this afternoon with the family. I thought it would be quite what the gentlemen are used to, you see. However, the issue is with this particular plight.”
“Hmmm,” was all he said in response, waiting for her to continue, as he was not at all sure how he could help her with table settings and she seemed to be talking in circles.
“I have one daughter who is, at the moment, unattached. It makes our table quite lopsided. As I was reviewing everything, I came to the conclusion that we should likely fill the place so that it does not seem so awkward.”
He finally realized where she might be going with this, but he waited for her to continue.
“Well,” she continued when he didn’t make an offer, “I was hoping that, perhaps, you might fill the final seat at our table for today. You have been here for some time, and we know that we can trust you. You are also close with our Lord Westwood.”
If by close she meant that he had helped save the man’s life, then very well, close they were.
“Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Tavners, but that won’t be necessary,” he said. “I’m sure your family wouldn’t want an outsider in their midst.”
“Oh, of course they would love to have you there!” she exclaimed. “Besides, you are not an outsider at all, having lived with us for so long. Also, I’m sure Mr. Tavners would be happy to have another man there who was not so… titled, if you understand what I am saying.”
He had a feeling he did. He smiled, though Mrs. Tavners couldn’t know what he was thinking — that he was just like the rest of the gentlemen she despaired of her husband looking a fool in front of.
Well, it was not as though he had anything else to do this afternoon, and perhaps the lunch could be somewhat entertaining.
“Very well, Mrs. Tavners, I would be happy to join you,” he said. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“Oh, good!” she said, clearly relieved. “We shall begin in an hour. See you shortly.”
He nodded, then placed his hands on his hips as he watched her walk away. For a woman whose head was always in the clouds, her daughters seemed particularly sensible. One thing was for certain — this would be one of the more interesting engagements of which he had been a part.
* * *
The family’s heads swiveled toward him in surprise when he joined them in the gardens a short time later. He nodded at them in turn as Alice Tavners hastily explained that she had, in fact, invited him. He smiled at Violet, the youngest and the one he had come upon in the gardens that afternoon, as he took a seat beside her.
His smile became slightly broader as he remembered the spirited accounting of her book. Since he had arrived, he had hardly heard her speak any more than what had been necessary. She was a willowy thing, and at first glance, she seemed somewhat meek. He had seen firsthand, however, that she had a bit more spunk than others might give her credit for. When her sister had been in danger, she hadn’t hesitated to do all she could.
She had certainly displayed passion as she recounted her tale earlier. He hadn’t intended to embarrass her, but it seemed he had nonetheless. Her cheeks had flushed a bright pink from both her enthusiasm as well as the fact that he had caught her speaking to herself. He had just been passing through to the house when he had seen Iris’ attention caught by her husband, and she had left her sister in the gardens on her own.
Owen also hadn’t been able to help but notice what a pretty thing Violet was. Even now, the sun glinted off of the gold that shone through the darker pieces of her hair, as she left her head unadorned. When she shyly returned his smile, he froze for a moment as her eyes bore into him. He hadn’t realized before just how vivid they were. He had never seen anything quite like it — eyes the color of violets in the spring. Hence, her name. Obviously.
He cleared his throat when he realized the table had quieted as they looked at him. He wasn’t typically one to make much of a speech, particularly in front of such a crowd, so he simply smiled, removed his hat, and said, “Thank you.”
“Yes, well, we are very glad to have you, Mr. Ridlington, are we not?” Alice said before looking beseechingly at her husband. It was her eldest daughter, however, who came to her rescue.
“We are all very fortunate to be here today,” Daisy said, and the rest of them quickly agreed before one of the maids came from the inn to begin serving them.
“Who is attending to the rest of our guests?” Elias asked, and Violet answered quietly, “They have already eaten, Father,” which seemed to appease him. Interesting that the man hardly knew what was happening within the inn that he apparently owned and managed.
“What do
you say after our luncheon is over we men head inside for a game of chance?” Elias continued, and the rest of the family looked down at their plates, leading Owen to suspect that this was a regular occurrence.
“Another time, Elias,” said Daisy’s husband, the Duke of Greenwich. “Daisy and I were going to go for a walk this afternoon.”
“Oh, to your mysterious hiding place, Daisy?” Iris asked with a smirk. “What will you do there?”
“Iris!” Marigold admonished under her breath, but Owen heard it nonetheless. He would have liked to chuckle but knew that might not be the best response at this moment.
“This is a beautiful place for a luncheon,” Daisy said, ignoring her sister in a clear attempt at polite conversation, and Owen could see that despite her humble upbringing, she had a countenance befitting of a duchess. “I don’t think I ever appreciated this garden the way I should have. Not like you do, Vi.”
“None of us did,” Marigold said, and Violet lifted a delicate shoulder in response.
“She mostly reads here,” Iris said. “It’s somewhere quiet, where no one can find you to add to your duties, isn’t that right, Vi?”
“Not entirely,” she said, looking at her sister pointedly. “It is quiet, but I simply enjoy the surroundings out here, that is all.”
“Which is why I have made sure that you will be able to continue to do so,” Elias said with a wide grin, and Owen was confused when Violet looked up at her father, shaking her head.
“We believe we are going to be leaving the inn,” Elias said to Owen, taking him aback. “We have an interested family friend — a man just like a son, really — and he will be arriving next week. Violet will likely—”
He looked to his daughter, stopping for a moment before continuing with his tale.
“Well, that is, Violet might stay on here.”
“I see,” Owen said slowly. “Well, it is unfortunate you will be selling the place. Your inn has been quite the respite to all who have called it home for the past few months. I know the Crown has appreciated your generosity.”
A Viscount for Violet: The Blooming Brides Book 4 Page 2