The Proud Viscount

by Laura Matthews

  Lord Barlow had blinked at him and cleared his throat before remarking that their incompleteness was a circumstance of their antiquity.

  Still not catching on to the significance of the older man’s darkening countenance, Rossmere chuckled. “Ancient amputees,” he said. “Very colorful.”

  Lord Barlow had looked almost apoplectic. Jane had had to bite her lip to keep from entering the fray. Fortunately Mabel knew how to change a subject so deftly that neither Lord Barlow nor the viscount was aware precisely how they found themselves discussing Italian marble. But Lord Barlow had remarked later to Jane, with some chagrin, “The young fool hasn’t the first idea how rare and valuable my collection is. If he knew that any one of these statues would pay his mortgage for a quarter, he’d probably slit his wrists!”

  The earl had, over the years, trusted his curricle to any number of young men, but on this occasion, perhaps because of Rossmere’s ignorance of matters antiquarian, he supervised the harnessing of his pair and waited to see if the viscount proved to be an adequate whipster. Jane couldn’t imagine what he intended to do if Rossmere exhibited two left hands in the matter. Surely he wouldn’t bellow after them to return to the stables, as he had with his own misbehaving children.

  It was obvious to Jane that Rossmere disliked this kind of unwarranted supervision. He stood rigid beside the gleaming black vehicle with its red wheels and gold crest, returning polite but brief answers to the leading questions Lord Barlow threw at him. “And what would you do if the curricle overturned on you?” the earl demanded.

  "I would probably expire on the spot.”

  Jane laughed and patted her father’s cheek. “Have you seen him in the saddle, Papa? Anyone who can ride that well is bound to be more than adequate as a driver.”

  “Just look at the horse he rides,” Lord Barlow muttered. “Oh, very well. Off with you, then.”

  Rossmere set the horses at an easy pace down the avenue of willow trees. It was a cooler day than the previous one and Jane watched the elegant tendrils dance in the warm breeze. As a child she had spent long hours under those branches, her chin propped on her hands and her mind filled with the glories of whatever book she was reading. She wondered now why she hadn’t taken a book there in so many years.

  The village of Lockley was only a mile distant. More often than not she walked the short distance, but she was content to share the curricle with him. It was hard to tell if he really was a good driver because the road was undemanding: wide, straight, and untraveled by any other vehicle. She suspected that he could drive to an inch.

  “Papa wouldn’t have questioned your driving ability, Lord Rossmere, except for your remarks on his antiquities. I have to tell you that he questions the competence of anyone who doesn’t understand his consuming passion for them.”

  “But surely there are very few who do.”

  “More than you’d suppose, but still, not many,” she admitted.

  “Do you share it?”

  “Oh, yes. Though I’m the only one of his children who does. A great disappointment to him, Samuel and Geoffrey not taking after him in that respect. He doesn’t care so much about Margaret or Nancy.”

  “Your brothers and sisters don’t live in the area anymore, do they?”

  “Nancy does. The Parnham estate is three miles the other side of Lockley, so we see her now and again.” A tiny frown drew down her brow. “Not as often as I should like, of course. I’m very fond of Nancy. She’s eight years younger and I feel I helped to raise her. Now she has a baby of her own."

  “Parnham.” Rossmere seemed to be searching his mind for some connection to the name. After a moment he shrugged. “Your father’s pair is extremely well-matched for appearance and gait. I used to have chestnuts very like them. It’s been a while since I’ve driven anything more demanding than a farm cart,” he said, eyeing her challengingly.

  “I daresay that takes even more skill than a curricle, all things considered. Aunt Mabel told me you’re determined to make the farming profitable enough to bail out Longborough Park.”

  “It will take years, but the land is good and my tenants are hard workers.”

  This seemed a propitious moment to bring up the matter of Graywood, but how? Jane glanced at Rossmere’s profile with its firm chin and aristocratic nose. A proud man. Every feature indicated it, as did his inflexible bearing. The references to his financial straits were warnings to her rather than confidences. It was as though he were saying, “You know where I stand, and I know you know it, but you’ll never prove that it distresses me unduly.” Obviously she would have to be blunt.

  “If Richard had died intestate, you would have inherited Graywood and the rest of his property.”

  His jaw tightened. “But he didn’t die intestate.”

  “No, he left a will. An old will. A will made after his first episode of...madness.”

  “I’m sure it was none the less valid for that.”

  “Are you?”

  He didn’t even bother to meet her interested gaze. ‘‘Quite sure."

  “You would have benefited more from his inheritance than I did. If he’d known he was going to die so young, perhaps he’d have disposed of his property in a completely different manner.”

  “I doubt it. He wanted you to have it, Lady Jane. That’s perfectly understandable. He would have married you if he could.”

  “And Graywood would have gone to our children, not to me. There would have been a comfortable jointure for me, an arrangement for a dower house, but the estate itself would have been passed on to the next generation.

  “I don’t take your point, ma'am."

  “The property would have been passed on to family, to those deserving of it.” They were nearing the village and Jane laid a hand on his arm to draw his attention. “If I’d known he was going to die and I’d been more aware of your...situation, I would have insisted that he leave Graywood to you.”

  His cool eyes met her steady gaze. “Commendable, I’m sure, Lady Jane, but there’s no need for you to offer this explanation. What’s done is done.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, in this awkward manner, Lord Rossmere. That what is done does not necessarily have to stay done in this particular way. Graywood itself I could not possibly part with, but the estate generates a great deal of revenue that is not needed to see to its upkeep. I think that revenue would best be diverted to Longborough Park. Richard would have been pleased with such an arrangement."

  “Well, I wouldn’t!” His voice grated through clenched teeth and his silver-blue eyes glinted with an icy anger. “My godmother’s generosity is quite enough for me to accept. I don’t wish yours or anyone else’s. I beg your pardon if that sounds rude, Lady Jane, but I personally find it most disagreeable for other people to concern themselves so closely with my affairs.”

  “I daresay,” Jane returned. “To be perfectly frank, Lord Rossmere, I’m not particularly concerned with your affairs, nor with your difficult straits. I am, however, concerned with disposing of Richard’s property in a way that will leave my conscience clear. Now that the matter has been brought to my attention, I think it would benefit us both if you were to temper your pride with a little practicality and come to some agreement with me.”

  “I won’t hear another word on the subject.”

  Jane laughed. “You sound like a poor, defenseless maiden whose virtue has been assaulted, my dear Rossmere. Spare me your self-defeating pretension. If there’s one thing that distresses me in a man, it’s this kind of odious, self-indulgent pride.”

  “What the devil would you know about a man’s pride and whether it’s self-indulgent?” his lordship demanded. They were on the main (and only) street of the village, and he drew the horses to a stop in front of a greengrocer’s shop. He made no attempt, however, to descend from the curricle, but sat glaring at her, the reins held tightly in his hands.

  “It may surprise you,” she said, her usual calm undisturbed, “but I know a great d
eal about pride, and men, and self-indulgence. I’ve had the opportunity of being an observer in society for many years now. I take a great interest in human nature.”

  “Do you?” He made no attempt to restrain the sarcasm in his voice. “No doubt you have vast experience on which to base your judgments. A maiden woman from a privileged family, gleaning tidbits of scurrilous information about her contemporaries. I don’t think you could possibly have the first idea of ‘human nature,’ Lady Jane."

  “Scurrilous information, indeed!” she retorted. “Don’t try to twist my words, Rossmere. My knowledge comes from my ability to empathize with my fellow beings, not to judge them.”

  “And what do you call terming me self-indulgent?”

  “It’s no more than the truth, is it? You would rather see a fine old estate dwindle into rack and ruin than accept assistance from a well-meaning friend. What do you think I’d do if you took the money? Spend my time reminding you of my generosity? Is being a viscount without a penny to his name all that demanding a situation that it claims all your pride?”

  He allowed the greengrocer’s boy to tie his pair to a post, but turned to her before he climbed down. “Perhaps it is. You have no idea how it feels to lack sufficient funds for your daily expenses.”

  “But I can imagine it. I have an excellent imagination, and a heart that’s suffered pain to guide me. You reject the humiliation of your situation, pretending it is no more than an inconvenience. Balderdash! It rules your life. Anyone can see that. Only you are too blind and too proud to acknowledge it and accept help!”

  “Spare me from women who think they understand the first thing about men! They do nothing but indulge their own flights of fancy when they analyze some poor devil and pronounce him a saint or a sinner. The whole thing is a product of the gothic novels they read, and just about as reliable as a source of truth.”

  At this point in their exchange they were interrupted by the sound of a delighted laugh across the street. Jane turned to see a woman observing them with great amusement. The woman had flaming red hair and wore a charming emerald-green walking dress. Her abigail carried a variety of packages from the dressmaker’s shop they had obviously just left.

  “Why, Rossmere,” the woman exclaimed, “I had no idea you could be so uncivil as to argue with a lady!” Her eyes were shining with merriment, and a smile played temptingly around her mouth, never quite settling.

  The viscount stared at her, allowing an awkward moment to pass before he turned to his companion. “Do you know Mrs. Madeline Fulton, Lady Jane?”.

  “I had heard someone of the name took the Bentwick cottage. How do you do?” She remained perched on the curricle seat, because her hand was suddenly, and firmly, planted to it by Lord Rossmere. Assuming that this meant she wasn’t to have a closer acquaintance with the woman, Jane assessed her with a lively curiosity. It wasn’t every day that such a situation arose in sleepy Lockley.

  Mrs. Fulton inclined her head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Jane. I’ve indeed taken the Bentwick cottage. A charming house, with a lovely prospect of the surrounding countryside. I’m told that Willow End is just beyond my view, but that it is the loveliest place in the county.”

  Rossmere interposed to prevent Jane from engaging in a polite rejoinder. “Lord Barlow’s seat is certainly an impressive one. But please, don’t let us delay you, Mrs. Fulton. Your abigail is already staggering under the weight of all those packages. I hope your stay in Lockley will be a pleasant one.”

  With a smile of wry amusement, Mrs. Fulton thanked him, nodded to Jane, and walked off. Jane thought it rather a saucy walk, as if the woman had perfectly understood that he was trying to prevent any further contact between them and that she found this altogether too priggish of him. So far as Jane knew from local sources, Mrs. Fulton was accepted in the town as a widow, and a very attractive one. No hint of anything compromising had reached her ears.

  But the choice of the Bentwick cottage was rather interesting. It stood at the edge of town in a little wood, so that a visitor not wishing to be noticed could hide his horse in the trees and enter quite unnoticed by the villagers through the back door. The perfect spot, in fact, for a rendezvous.

  Jane allowed Rossmere to hand her down from the carriage, asking, “How is it you know Mrs. Fulton, Lord Rossmere?”

  “I was acquainted with her in London,” he replied. “Have you a list? Which of the shops did you wish to visit first?”

  “So you think she’s not someone with whom I should be acquainted, is that it? A charming-looking woman. And with a sense of humor, I would say. She wasn’t at all put out by your brusqueness. Do you know, I had the impression she knew you rather well.”

  “I will not discuss her, Lady Jane.”

  ‘‘My, my, what a lot of subjects you refuse to discuss," she said. “I shall have to make a list of them and keep it to hand so as not to annoy you in future.”

  “Let’s try the greengrocer’s first. I’m sure your cook has made a request for something here.” Rossmere put an insistent hand on her elbow and guided her toward the door.

  “Plums and greengages. Everything else the gardener grows in the gardens or the conservatory. Cook wants to make a greengage tart and a vol-au-vent of plums. Of course, if you’d prefer a raspberry-and-currant tart..."

  “Greengage will be fine.”

  “Saturday we’re having my sister and her husband to dine with us. And Papa has invited some former neighbors. Aunt Mabel is determined to have roast grouse and curried lobster. Are you fond of cards? Mr. Parnham is especially good at whist. Well, I should say he’s quite a hand at faro and hazard when the opportunity arises, but my father prefers simpler games at home.”

  Jane continued in this vein before the greengrocer and his lad as she inspected the bins of fruits and vegetables. She only glanced at the viscount rather absently when she asked her innocuous question. Yet his face took on a sharp, wary look. “Oh, dear. Another subject I mustn’t discuss. What is it this time, Lord Rossmere? Gambling? Card games? Roast grouse? Curried lobster? Pray tell me.”

  He stared at her, uncomprehending. Then his gaze swept to the window, where he appeared to search for something. There was nothing in the street except the curricle and pair. No villagers strolled past and no other horses or carriages descended on the scene. With a frown he brought his gaze back to her. “I beg your pardon. Did you ask me something?”

  “Are you quite well?” she asked, concerned. “Perhaps a touch of heat..."

  “Nonsense! My attention was merely distracted for a moment.”

  She had seen nothing to distract it and found his behavior oddly suspicious, but she wasn’t going to argue with him. “I merely wondered if you enjoyed playing whist. We frequently have a few hands when my sister comes to dine.”

  “I’m tolerably fond of it.”

  “Fine. We offer music, too, of course. Nancy plays quite well and we’ve always sung together, as a family. Do you think this plum is ripe enough? Cook plans to use it today.”

  They visited three other shops during the next hour and she managed to elicit from Lord Rossmere the information that he liked salmon and detested high-crowned women's hats, that he thought every house needed a brass door knocker and that no house needed a cute spinning wheel in the parlor. Though his mind seemed to wander occasionally, he obviously made an effort to follow Jane’s conversation and add his contribution to it. Not until they were driving back to Willow End did he put forward any topic of his own.

  “How long has your sister Nancy been married to Mr. Parnham?”

  The question sounded innocent enough. Too innocent, to Jane’s mind. “Almost a year and a half. Their son was born in March.”

  “I see. And she’s how old?”

  “Twenty last month. Were you trying to figure out how ancient I am?” she asked with an impudent grin.

  But he looked surprised. “No. I’m quite aware that you are twenty-eight, Lady Jane. Your aunt referred to it as an
age of genteel maturity. An interesting term. Do you suppose she thinks it ungenteel to be older, or younger, or both?”

  “She thinks it is the perfect age for me to marry, since it is the age I’ve acquired. Poor Aunt Mabel. She must have minded being a spinster more than we’ve ever imagined. I shan’t mind it at all.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  “I know it instinctively. The way you know that you could not bear to be under an obligation to me,” she added, her eyes shining in the noonday sun.

  “And here I was under the impression that you were a woman of genteel maturity, with polished manners and elegant conversation. My godmother never let on that your tongue had a sting to it.”

  “I daresay she’s never noticed. I’m not moved to use it all that often.”

  “Should I count myself fortunate that I’ve inspired you?” he asked. For the first time a touch of humor lightened his voice.

  “You may if you wish.”

  Jane leaned back against the plush upholstery of the carriage and studied him with thoughtful eyes. Decidedly a handsome man, but too proud and too cold to win her approval. Richard had been such an agreeable man, warm and generous. Rossmere could not compete with his memory in any way.

  But she intended to spend a certain amount of time with the viscount. His behavior in the greengrocer’s shop had been decidedly intriguing. Lady Jane had gotten the distinct impression that he knew something she really ought to learn. And she had every intention of finding out what it was.

  Chapter 4

  On Saturday Jane felt restless. Nancy and John Parnham were due to arrive in late morning and spend the day at Willow End. But her sister’s husband was given to last-minute changes of plan. When they hadn’t arrived by noon, Jane feared this would be another occasion on which there would be a message sent about a mysterious indisposition, or a fear for a change in the perfect weather, or a misunderstanding as to the time and day. Jane was pacing the flower beds on the north side of the house when Rossmere came upon her.