Picky Viscount: A Modern Aristocracy Billionaire Romance (Endowed Book 3)

by Sara Forbes

  I shake my head and then shake Daddy’s arm. There’s no response. I shake it harder. And again. “Come on.”

  I slap his cheek, which is cold. “Daddy? Daddy?”

  Peter pulls my hand back firmly.

  I stare at him in blank bewilderment. Peter shakes his head.

  No, no, no. No.

  All my stupid hopes of a miracle recovery are dashed in one blow. I didn’t even know how stubbornly I’d been clinging onto those hopes until they were wrenched away from me.

  Tears well and spill down my face, uncontrollably. I clench my stomach and grip the wall for support, feeling dizzy. This can’t be it. The end. This is not the way my father was supposed to leave this life.

  “Mummy,” is all that comes out of my throat, in a dry croak.

  “I’ll get her. Hold tight,” Peter says, and he’s out of the room like a shot. He’ll fetch her. She’ll come and see this. And then it’ll be real. Because it doesn’t feel real. All the pettiness of a few minutes ago, all the annoyances of life… I can’t even remember what they were. None of it is real. Only death is real.

  I force my head up again and look over to Daddy’s resting face. How dare he leave us like this?

  “Daddy?” I whisper. “What have you done?”

  27

  KEN

  “GET THROUGH YET?” Letty asks.

  “No.”

  We’re sitting in deep leather chairs around a tony oval table in the reception of the Marquess Inn hotel. The euphoria hasn’t died down yet. We voted to stay here overnight because nobody’s sober enough to drive except me and I don’t like to drive when it's dark. I can’t tell the difference between street lights and traffic lights and I get very confused.

  The only thing dampening my mood is the fact that Liv never called to congratulate me. I’d have expected that at least.

  “Well, I’ll try her too.” Letty holds her phone to her ear and motions that I keep quiet.

  “Huh. No answer.” Letty stares at her phone in surprise.

  “See?” I say.

  When she turns to me, her eyes widening a fraction, I realize it. My sister does too, at the exact same moment.

  Oh fuck. “Letty, you’re coming home with me now. Will you help me with the lights? How drunk are you?”

  “I’m okay. Yeah. Let me get my handbag.”

  We fly into our respective rooms. I call Seb and ask him to explain to the rest of the family why I disappeared with the car. Letty meets me downstairs.

  “Come on,” I urge. “Car park this way.”

  We rush to the Rover. I’m glad my sister’s here, reassuring me when the parking barricade light switches to green, warning me in advance of traffic lights coming up and what color they are well before we get to them.

  “Do you think that’s what happened?” Letty asks when we’re out of the tricky municipal area. Neither of us has mentioned the word “death” yet but it’s heavy on our minds.

  “It would be damn bad timing, but it would explain her not answering.”

  “Poor Liv.”

  “Yeah.” I step on the accelerator.

  It’s all I can think of now. Seeing her. I can’t believe I left her alone when her father was so ill. What rotten luck. God must hate me or something. Couldn’t He have waited one more day till I got back? No, He had to strike when she was on her own.

  “Slow down,” Letty warns. “Or the next colors I’ll be warning you about will be blue ones flashing in the rear.”

  “Yeah.” I glance at the sat-nav. Thirty more minutes to Fernborough. I’ll be there just after midnight.

  “I’ll check out the situation and open the front door if I think you should come in,” I say to my sister when we finally drive up in front of Strathcairn Castle. “If it’s nothing you just drive on home and… try not to crash my car.”

  My sister grips my arm. “Let me know, okay?”

  “I promise.” I jump out of the car and let her come around to the driver seat.

  I key in the combination code for the electronic gates and walk up the long and leafy entrance to Strathcairn Castle. Once again, I try Liv’s phone. But before the second ring, the massive front door opens with a squeak. A small face peers around, looking pale and wan, like a tragic heroine in a gothic romance. All that’s missing is a huge candle.

  “Ken.” Her face falls in slow motion, an “oh no” look that pierces me like a knife though the heart. Now I know my hunch was right about her father.

  There’s a shuffling behind her and a man comes forward into view, illuminated by the overhead light of the front door. It takes a moment for my confused mind to register who it is. Peter. Her ex.

  I gape at him, stumble backwards and trip onto the gravel. My hand whacks the stones and draws blood. This is a nightmare, surely.

  “Oh dear,” Peter says with a snide grin. “Too much partying, I expect?”

  But I hardly hear the words coming out of his sickly mouth. I’m only looking at Liv, trying to comprehend, but not succeeding. Not even nearly. Her face is expressionless like a Japanese doll.

  “Is he dead?” I ask.

  She nods. “The doctor’s gave us the certificate an hour ago.” Her voice is thin, brittle.

  Oh God. I step forward to take her in my arms, but Peter blocks me with an outstretched hand.

  With one finger, I remove the offending arm from my chest. I straighten my shoulders and look him in the eye. He’s playing a dangerous game, this piece of shit. I could take him down with a puff of breath. He must surely know this.

  Liv lays her fingers on my forearm. “Ken, please. Not tonight. Go home. Get that fixed,” she says, pointing to the dark blood oozing out of my hand onto my shirt sleeve. “Call over tomorrow.”

  She spins around and disappears down the corridor.

  Excuse me?

  Peter half-closes the door and peers around it right before he closes it. “You heard what the countess said.”

  He pulls the door shut before I can smash his head in.

  28

  LIV

  WHEN HE’S CLOSED THE door, I round on Peter. “You've got one thing right. I am Countess now. Don’t think you have a chance of getting back with me.”

  “Whatever makes you think I’d want that? I have a title of my own.” His barb is so perfectly aimed, his sneer so chillingly familiar, that I want to hit him.

  “Then why exactly are you here?”

  “I was worried about you, Liv.” His tone is so aghast I almost believe him. But I also know he doesn’t have the capability of worrying about anyone but himself, least of all me.

  “I’m here as a friend. It looks like you’ve nobody else to turn to in your hour of need. Certainly not Ken Belgrave.” His face creases into a superior smile. “We all know he’s a party boy, Liv. Gallivanting off to gamble while your father is dying? Husband material? I think the events of today speak for themselves.”

  He laughs soullessly.

  I do have to concede him a point there.

  But then Peter takes my silence as permission to continue yapping. “You won’t see him for the dust when there’s money to be gambled somewhere. Yes, he won this time—a total fluke might I add—but what about the next race, and the one after that? Are you prepared to watch him squander away your own fortune as well as his? Is that what’ll become of the Strathcairn legacy?”

  “Oh God, cut the theatrics, Peter. I can’t listen to this.”

  Because it’s skirting too close to the truth.

  The next hour or two goes by in a blur. Making phone calls, soothing Mummy, who is incapable of doing anything and who won’t leave Daddy’s bedside now. Mrs. Henry and her boys rally round, stoic-faced, not knowing what to do.

  It’s only when Mrs. Henry forces me to go to bed that I remember Peter’s in the house. Somewhere. The thought gives me the creeps and I know I’ll have to find him before I can settle down and try to get any sleep myself.

  “There you are.” Down in the main ha
llway he sidles up in his perfectly buttoned up pajamas and dressing gown which I realize belatedly he must have taken with him in expectation of staying over. “Liv, I can’t see you go from our marriage to ruin like this,” he says as if continuing a conversation.

  I huff out a weary breath. “Not now, Peter.”

  He moves even closer and I get this bad sixth sense about the situation. I’m glad I told Mrs. Henry to let her two strapping sons stay over in the house. If Peter so much as lays a finger on me, I’ll fucking scream the place down and rely on them to come running and rescue me.

  Peter thinks he’s got me just because he’s in the house. Well, he can think again. He’s never resorted to physical coercion—mental torture was always enough when we were married. But now? Now, I just don’t know what I’m dealing with.

  I step away and skitter to the stairs. My heart’s pounding as I place my foot on the step.

  Please don’t let him come after me.

  I take another two steps up, tentatively, trying not to look as scared as I feel. Peter still hasn’t moved. I speed up until I reach the first landing. Now I have enough of a head start to get to my room and lock the door before he has any chance of catching me.

  “Good night,” I call down through the banisters as calmly as my shaking voice allows.

  “See you in the morning,” he says.

  Up in my room, I bolt and lock the door. I sink into the bed and let the tears finally come, in deep sobs. I feel so helpless, floating in a wide, stormy sea without any anchor. My compass has been thrown overboard. Things I believed in before just don’t seem to hold true.

  I just can’t take it anymore. This relying on men who let you down. I want to forgive Daddy for being dead, but I can’t. I want to forgive Peter for being such an awful husband, but I can’t.

  Most of all I want to forgive Ken for being what he is—wild and brave, able to make my heart sing again, but basically unreliable. I can’t forgive him for not being here when I needed him the most. It’s not his fault. It’s just the way things are.

  I think the universe is trying to tell me I’m better off alone.

  29

  KEN

  I HOLD UP THE blazer to the morning light in my bedroom. “Is it black or is it fucking navy?”

  Letty pokes her head in the door and shakes her head. “Olive green, actually.”

  “Just get in here and help me out here, please.”

  Letty struts into my room and points into my wardrobe with her hairbrush. “Wear this one and this one. Take off that shirt—it’s fluorescent yellow.”

  “You told me it was white.”

  “I was joking. Ken, people like you should have labels on their clothes at all times. Figure it out yourself. I have to go do my hair now.”

  We’re both a bundle of nerves after last night. I called Letty and she turned around and picked me up in the car. I didn’t know what else to do because if I had stayed another second at Strathcairn, Liv would have had a second dead man to contend with.

  My game plan? Even though the funeral’s not for another three days, I want to get over to Strathcairn castle this morning in a formal show of condolence, wearing my black suit and white shirt like a gentleman, not like the mess I was in yesterday, disrespectful and probably stinking of alcohol.

  In that vein, I organize for my whole family to come visit Liv and her mother when they get back later. I haven’t given up. If anything, Liv told me about her marriage with Peter is true, then I know she’s a victim of verbal abuse and she’s confused now that her attacker is back. It’s my job to rescue her.

  I refuse to believe that she’s hankering after him.

  I refuse to believe that I’m not good enough for her.

  The person to greet us at the door is Liv’s mother, the newly widowed Lady Strathcairn.

  “Kenneth. Letitia, you do look very nice,” she says faintly. She’s the only person in the universe to use our full names. Impeccable in a chiseled dark suit, she looks every bit the elegantly tragic widow, so similar to my own mother three years ago.

  “Thank you,” I say while Letty gives the poor woman a hug.

  “A cup of tea?” she asks as we stand awkwardly in the hall. She beckons towards the front drawing room. I’m an official guest now.

  “Please, that would be very nice,” I say.

  After she issues orders to her staff, she sits down on the sofa opposite and faces us with mild inquiry on her face. It takes every ounce of reserve not to bolt out of there, fly up the stairs and bash Liv’s door down.

  “My sincere condolences,” I say, “from me and our family to you and to Liv. I must apologize that we were all away at the time and couldn’t be the supportive neighbors we would have wished to be at such a difficult time.”

  She slaps a hand to her chest. “But no one would expect you to be here, my dear. Your horse was running. We all watched it.” She sighs sadly. “Even I. So, please, you need not feel any guilt on that account. Life must go on, you know.” Her eyes focus into the middle distance and she lets out a little sigh.

  I nod my appreciation of her generous words. “Is she… around?”

  “I do believe they went for a walk.”

  I’m breaking out in a sweat. I rub my forehead. My suits feels too tight against my clenched muscles. “They?” I repeat.

  “Peter’s here. They have a lot to discuss.”

  I’ll give him a hospital bill to discuss when he gets back.

  Letty puts a restraining hand on my arm.

  The housekeeper enters with a tray of cups and things. She slides me a look as if to say ‘look at you, pretending to be all posh’ when she’s seen me slobbing around the house begging food off her in my t-shirt and jeans and bare feet.

  “Felicity, dear, did Liv say when they’d be back?” Lady Strathcairn asks the housekeeper.

  “No m’lady. But soon I imagine. It’s not like they took a picnic. I reckon they’re down by the stables.”

  Mrs. Henry’s tone tells me it’s exactly where they are and that she wants me to act on it. She’s on my side. Politeness compels me to sit through another few minutes with the mother though. It’s the longest five minutes of my life.

  “Then, if you’ll forgive my abominable rudeness, Lady Strathcairn, I thought I’d catch the last of the sunshine and catch up with Liv and Peter.”

  “Very good,” she says.

  I’m out of that room like a bullet.

  My feet bounce off the turfy soil as I dash down to the stables. They’re at the stable door, looking at Stratosphere. Well, Liv is looking at the horse and Peter’s standing off to the side as if he’s allergic to the beast.

  “Well, look who it is,” Peter sneers in his nasal voice.

  Liv swings around. Her face is drawn, resigned, listless. But her eyes widen as she scans me up and down like she’s never seen me in a suit. “You look—”

  “Like you’ve something to tell us?” Peter cuts in. “Well, what is it?”

  “Nothing for you, moron,” I say.

  “Ken, please,” Liv says, looking at Peter. “Let’s all just be civil, shall we?”

  That’s when I flip.

  I charge up to the wimp, and bash him with my left hook. He yells, and clutches his nose where blood gushes darkly out, all over that nice bright cashmere jumper he’s wearing.

  He clutches his nose. “You’ve broken it.” His eyes are livid as he pulls up a nearby pitchfork.

  Oh shit. Gotta watch this bastard real closely or my face is going to end up looking a whole lot worse than his. I’ll give him points for tenacity.

  Peter swings the fork and it misses my arm by inches. Terrifyingly, it swings very close to Liv.

  I lurch forward and yank the tool off him, flinging it several yards into the field. I clutch Peter by fisting the front of his damp jumper. “You nearly hit her, motherfucker,” I snarl.

  The horses have started whinnying with excitement.

  “Ken,” Liv screams. “
Get off my property! Now!” She’s pointing towards the nearest exit from her land.

  “What about him?” I say, throwing Peter against the wall. He lands with a crash and sprawls on the floor in the straw and horse shit. Good enough for him. I’ve lost all interest in fighting this wimp.

  “He stays. I have to clean him up, thanks to you.” She approaches me, her cheeks dark with emotion, eyes flashing with determination. “Just go.”

  “Watch yourself. I’ll get you back, Belgrave,” Peter snarls as I stomp away, leaving them to it.

  Looks like he already has.

  30

  LIV

  DADDY’S FUNERAL WAS ON a Saturday. A cold Saturday in late September. There was a massive turn-out for it—hundreds of his friends and acquaintances, old and new. Mummy held up well and I managed to get through it all without turning into a blubbering mess.

  Peter wanted to stand beside me “in solidarity,” but I refused to let him. Instead, I asked Mrs. Henry and her two sons to stay close to Mummy and me. The Belgraves stuck together as a tight group throughout the ceremony. I stood beside them by the grave side at one stage. Seb and Mara, Alex and Hayley, Ken, and Letty—when they gather in one place like this they’re breathtaking. Then they dispersed. Ken shot me one parting glance as he turned away.

  I can still feel the burn of that glance five months later. Because I haven’t laid eyes on him since.

  I haven’t seen much of Peter either, strangely enough. He got “busy,” just like the old days. Not that I’m complaining. The less he hangs around Strathcairn, the better. Even the horses don’t like him. The only person who seems to be able to stand him at all is my mother, and she’s lukewarm towards him at best, as opposed to all over him like before. I think Daddy’s death has helped her see though to his real nature, unbiased by Daddy’s favorable opinion of Peter.

  Strathcairn Sanctuary has grown significantly over the last five months and is now one of the largest in the southeast, dedicated—as our brochure says—”to improving equine welfare through rescue, rehabilitation, education, and re-homing.” The local community is deeply involved. I take eager young recruits from the age of six and up. The children learn about animal welfare and about respecting the environment. I make a point of taking on a certain proportion immigrant kids.