The Proud Viscount

by Laura Matthews

  The maid reappeared and beckoned the viscount inside. There was a short hallway with several doors off it, plus a stairway leading above. Rossmere hesitated as the girl opened the first door on her right. “Mr. Rossmere,” she announced carefully, if inaccurately.

  “Do come in.” Madeline stood by a writing desk, her hair piled lavishly on top of her head, with bright ringlets falling about her face. “I’d hoped you would call. Imagine meeting you in this part of the world, Rossmere.”

  “That’s precisely what I thought,” he said, lifting the hand she offered to his lips. “You look charming, as usual.”

  “How kind of you to say so.” She waved him to the sofa and seated herself beside him. “It’s been several years. You don’t spend much time in London, I gather.”

  “As little as possible. Is Mrs. Smith no longer with you?”

  “No. She’s gone to live with her sister. In the country one can manage without a chaperone, I find. A few servants do much more nicely.”

  “Don’t you miss London?”

  “London is for the young and the rich,” she temporized. “And I am neither.”

  “It’s also for the beautiful,” he replied with a gallantry he’d forgotten he possessed. “And you have beauty.”

  Madeline thanked him with a slight mocking smile. “Not to compare with the younger women, dear Rossmere. You forget that each year a new crop of desperately pretty girls arrives on the scene. A smart woman knows when to retire from the competition.”

  He didn’t believe her for a minute. If she was in Lockley, it was not because she couldn’t find a protector in London. There were few signs of aging on her lovely face, but it struck him suddenly that she must be of an age with Lady Jane. How very astonishing! And he had thought of the earl’s daughter as quite old, for someone his godmother was pushing as a potential wife.

  Madeline elaborated on her tale of retirement. “I have friends in the neighborhood. Oh, no one you would know, my dear fellow. Quite beneath your notice. And it is so much less expensive to live in the country; I’m sure you’ve found that yourself.”

  If this was a jab at his own poverty, he chose to ignore it.

  “But there’s so little to do here, for a woman of your energies.”

  “Pooh! The delights of the countryside are underrated by those living dissipated lives in town. Think of the walks in the fresh air! The shopping at uncrowded stores in the High Street! The freshness of the fruits and vegetables! There’s no limit to such pleasures.”

  Rossmere laughed, as she had expected him to do. “And what if you wish to ride or drive? You don’t appear to keep a carriage.”

  “There’s a livery service at the inn on the Ridgely Road. I have only to send a message and a carriage arrives at my door. So much more sensible that housing a pair, with all their expense.”

  “But there are no masquerades, no breakfasts, no excursions to Astley’s or Vauxhall. What do you do with yourself all day?”

  “There are a thousand things to do,” she said, dismissing his concern. “Reading and drawing and walking and eating. Really, there is scarcely time for everything I wish to accomplish. One wearies of the constant round of entertainments in the city. A little quiet seems more conducive to genuine happiness.”

  There was a suspicious twinkle deep in her green eyes, but she refused to be led by any avenue of conversation he attempted to explore. According to Madeline Fulton, she had settled here for the benefits of country living and she was more than happy with her choice. Certainly she looked content enough. One other possibility occurred to Rossmere.

  “You’re not enceinte, by chance?”

  Her delighted laughter broke the quiet of the room. “With child? Oh, my dear, no. Whatever gave you that idea? As you can see, my figure is as slender as ever.”

  It was quite true, but rather discouraging, because Rossmere hadn’t really learned a thing from her. He felt certain there was an important reason for her being in the country, and yet he couldn’t learn the first thing about it. Whether she had had to leave London on the tail of some scandal (a duel? an embarrassing dismissal by a protector?), or had come to Lockley with a specific purpose, he was no closer to discovering.

  He didn’t dare stay longer. In a village the size of Lockley, there would be gossip if he failed to reappear and claim Ascot within a very short period of time. As he dismissed himself and wished her well, she said, “You must come again. But it’s wise of you not to stay long. I have a reputation to protect here. Are you staying at Lord Barlow’s seat?”

  “Yes, my godmother is his sister."

  “Lady Jane is an attractive young woman. I’m surprised she’s not married.”

  “I believe it is a matter of choice with her.”

  Madeline raised a brow. “Never believe such a thing, Rossmere. Marriage is a lady’s only choice.”

  A rather odd thing for her to say, surely, he reflected as he bowed and strode from the cottage. Of course, he realized that she had hoped once that he would marry her, in spite of her tenuous position in society. All her clever planning had not been aimed at maintaining the extravagant allowance she received as his mistress. Her ultimate intention had been to convince him that she was more than just a mistress to him, that his own life was unorthodox enough not to be destroyed by making her his wife.

  Had she some hope that sequestering herself in the country would lead to a permanent arrangement with some naive country gentleman? There would be no one here to recollect her London reputation, no one to deny her account of her being the genteel widow of a war hero. Except himself. And his calling on her today might have set that fear to rest. That, or the knowledge that he wouldn’t be around for long.

  Ascot danced restlessly as Rossmere mounted. The viscount allowed him his head again on their way back to Willow End. Even in the exhilaration of the ride, though, something nagged at his mind. Something about Madeline. Well, there was no sense in trying to grasp a wispy thought like that. It would come to him in time.

  At the stables he dismounted and handed Ascot over to the wary groom. On the way to the house he passed no one and slipped through a rear door that took him to the entry hall by the least public corridor. Though he was anxious for some word from Longborough Park, he was in no mood to encounter any of the family just at present.

  He found the post on the silver tray Winters always left on the mantel. There was, finally, a letter from Jim Wardy, the local man who had agreed to manage the estate in Rossmere’s absence. Rossmere broke the seal and read the brief letter where he stood. Wardy was a man of few words: he needed Rossmere to send fifty pounds for unanticipated expenditures; otherwise all was fine on the estate and with the tenant farmers. It would have pleased Rossmere to hear of the progress of the crops, or the local gossip, but he had to content himself with what he’d received. And find a way to broach the subject of another loan pretty quickly to his godmother.

  “Ah, there you are,” Mabel said as she appeared suddenly across the hall from him. “Could I have a word with you?”

  “I’ve just been riding Ascot and I fear I reek of the stables. I was on my way to change.”

  Mabel’s nose twitched slightly. “Yes, indeed. Perhaps you’d have a moment before dinner. It’s a matter of some importance.”

  Rossmere slipped the letter into his pocket with an inaudible sigh. “Of course. I could meet you in the north drawing room in half an hour.”

  “Excellent.” Mabel dabbed unconsciously at her nose with a tiny lace handkerchief. “Such a nice day for a ride,” she murmured as she turned away.

  When he joined her later, she was frowning at a copy of the Ladies’ Magazine. “I’m not at all certain it’s a good thing that we’re able to travel on the Continent again,” she remarked. “So many astonishing things happen there.”

  “I daresay they think the same about us.” He took a chair opposite her and arranged one long pantalooned leg over the other.

  Mabel set the magazine aside
and clasped her hands firmly in her lap. “I’ve noticed that you’re spending some time with my niece, and I appreciate it. She’s a delightful girl, isn’t she?”

  Rossmere would not have called her a girl, and he thought it was unwise of Mabel to do so, since it drew attention to just what an ungirlish age her niece had attained. “She’s quite charming,” he agreed.

  “I knew the two of you would get along. From the very first, when the idea came to me, I felt you were absolutely destined for each other."

  “My dear Lady Mabel, I’m afraid you’re way ahead of us. Your niece and I have had several enjoyable exchanges, but we’re hardly beyond the stage of new acquaintances. And I very much fear that there is a temperamental difference between us that could not be bridged.”

  “A temperamental difference?” Mabel was clearly disappointed. “What could that possibly be?”

  Rossmere had no idea why he’d used that particular term. It had simply appeared on his tongue when the need for some excuse arose. There was no telling what harm could be done if Mabel were allowed to believe that things were progressing smoothly between him and Lady Jane. Faced with the necessity of explaining his words, he fell back on obscurity.

  “Sometimes one is aware in getting to know another that there is a great difference between them. That is, one can have the highest regard for a person and yet feel the differences between them are too great to countenance any kind of ongoing alliance.”

  “Nonsense! You and Jane are ideally suited. Obviously you haven’t gotten to know each other well enough yet to have discovered that.” Mabel leaned toward him and tapped a bony finger on the back of his hand. “I’m an old hand at matchmaking. I directed each of Jane’s brothers and sisters toward the right mate. Oh, there were plenty of possibilities of misalliances among them, but I persisted in urging them in the appropriate direction. And with Nancy... that whole arrangement was mine from start to finish.”

  Astonished, but curious, Rossmere asked, “How did that come about?”

  Mabel was clearly torn between pride in her accomplishment and the desire to get back to the more-pressing subject of their interview. Rossmere managed to look especially intrigued by her revelation, and she settled back slightly in her chair. “I understood John Parnham had only recently come to live in this area,” he remarked by way of giving her a starting point.

  “That’s very true. His own estate, in Yorkshire or Westmoreland or some godforsaken spot, had burned to the ground. Not enough left to make it economical to rebuild on the same site, unless one was drawn to the area, and Mr. Parnham was not.” She said this with some satisfaction. “So he scouted out the best possible location for his home and decided on our very neighborhood.”

  “Had he no relations to object to such a move? Usually there are three or four cousins determined to instruct one in the necessity of following tradition.”

  “If he has any relations, they are very distant ones. Mr. Parnham answers to no one save himself in such matters.”

  “I see. How very convenient for him!”

  “It is very much the same for you,” she reminded him severely. “Mr. Parnham bought an old manor house and furnished it in excellent taste. He made an effort to meet his neighbors and to support local businesses. Too often these old manor houses are bought by men who’ve grown rich in trade and haven’t the first idea of how to behave in a country community such as ours. Mr. Parnham was a stroke of luck for Lockley. His manners are impeccable, he talks sensibly, he has wit, his person is pleasing— altogether a very agreeable man.”

  “And it was you who brought him to Lady Nancy’s notice?”

  Mabel disliked being rushed when she had settled into a tale. “Early on when he moved into the house, he came by and left his card. Jane and her father were in Bath at the time, and Nancy and I were in London for the Season, but due to return. Nancy had been successful in town, you understand, but she was never comfortable with the idea of marrying a stranger and disappearing off to his estate at some great distance, as Margaret had done.”

  “The youngest in a sizable family is often greatly attached to her home, I believe,” Rossmere said.

  “Sometimes. But Nancy is a biddable girl and would have adjusted to a different life if it had been necessary. Fortunately, when we returned from London, we became acquainted with Mr. Parnham almost immediately. Nancy was not taken with him at first. I daresay he seemed rather ordinary after the fashionable extremes of London. Nancy was very young. I, however, could see the distinct possibilities of a match and gave the young people a chance to get to know each other. It didn’t take long for them to develop a tendre for each other then!”

  “I see.” Rossmere shifted slightly in his chair, asking casually, “And you consider it a good marriage? They’re well-suited?”

  “Decidedly. It couldn’t possibly be better.”

  “And do you think,” Rossmere hazarded the guess, “that if Lady Jane and I spend time together, we will decide to marry?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  Rossmere shook his head. “I can only say that I think it unlikely, on either of our parts. We are, after all, considerably older and more experienced than Mr. Parnham and Lady Nancy.”

  Mabel scoffed at this suggestion. “Age has nothing to do with it. Adjusting to the advisability of such a match is even simpler than falling in love, my dear Rossmere.”

  It was an awkward time to bring up the matter of a loan, but Rossmere felt suddenly impatient with her schemes. He wished to settle the matter of his finances without all this extraneous tomfoolery. He was willing to remain at Willow End for the month he’d promised, but not in order to win Mabel’s support.

  “I’ve had a letter from my temporary manager,” he said. “He’s had to make some unexpected purchases for the estate. I wonder if I might impose on you to lend me the necessary sum. Which would include the quarter’s mortgage payment as well, of course. I can’t depend on receiving payment for the harvest before that’s due.”

  Mabel’s lips had set stiffly during his speech. Now she lifted a hand in an apologetic gesture and let it drop back to her lap. “You see what happens, Rossmere? These little emergencies are forever arising. You don’t need a temporary solution, you need a permanent one. I don’t know that I can see my way clear to lending you sums year after year when you make no effort to restore your fortunes by the only means at hand.”

  “Marrying a rich woman.”

  “Marrying my niece, who is a perfectly delightful girl and would bring you a dowry that would solve your difficulties forever.”

  Rossmere nodded and rose from his chair. “I understand your position, Lady Mabel. You’ve been very generous and I assure you every shilling of the money you’ve loaned me will be repaid on our agreed terms. I won’t look to you for any further assistance. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Mabel looked stricken. “Rossmere,” she called after him, “it’s for your own good.”

  “Doubtless,” he murmured as he let himself out the door.

  Chapter 7

  Jane was disturbed by Rossmere’s cool behavior during dinner. Each time she made some effort to engage him in conversation, he offered only a simple answer, giving no indication of any interest whatever in the subject. His bearing was rigid, his mind obviously preoccupied, his face stiffly forbidding.

  At first she thought she must have done something to offend him. Then it occurred to her that he had had further speech with her Aunt Mabel on the subject of marriage. Mabel cast little glances in his direction, the way she used to do when she’d punished one of the children when they were young and she wanted to know if she’d yet been forgiven. Either Rossmere did not notice her glances, or he chose to ignore them. The only one he listened to with any sign of tolerance was Lord Barlow, who had started reading the book John Parnham brought him and wished to try out its arguments on his captive audience.

  Jane was impatient with the lot of them. Dinner had been a lively affair when the Re
edness children were growing up. Each of them would introduce an interesting topic by stating something outrageously provocative. The others would take up cudgels on one side or another of the issue, and soon a heated discussion was raging. Jane sighed. They had been wonderful times.

  And then there was Richard to fascinate and challenge her. They had often read out loud to each other, stopping to debate a point or remark on the excitement of the author’s ideas. In those days antiquities had been only one of the dozens of subjects that interested her and that she was able to talk about. Now she could discuss menus with Aunt Mabel and Roman and Greek statuary with her father... and little else.

  When it was time to withdraw for the gentlemen to have their port, Jane said, “I hope you will excuse me. My head is aching and I think I’d best lie down in my room.”

  “But, of course, my dear,” her aunt exclaimed. “I could bring you a damp cloth. How very strange for you to feel unwell.”

  “Please don’t trouble yourself on my account. I’ll be quite all right,” Jane assured her.

  With a brief nod to her father and Rossmere, she hurried from the room and up the stairs to her chamber. She kicked off her white kid shoes and pulled the combs from her hair. Though she had exaggerated about having the headache, her head was racked with disappointments and worries. In her stocking feet she paced restlessly about her sitting room, pausing at the open window to draw a breath of fresh air.

  How very dull her life had become! And she’d barely noticed it. Since Richard’s death she’d lived a very retired and a very inactive existence. She’d scarcely been on the new mare her father had bought to distract her from the loss of her love. Suddenly she felt she must get outdoors. Inside, with all these stiff and single-minded people, she was close to suffocation.

  Since she didn’t wish the household to know she was going out, she managed to undress herself, though the sarcenet slip was a chore to release without her maid’s help. Getting into her riding habit was scarcely easier. The slate-colored cloth was moderately full and finished up the front with braiding and a ruff at the neck. She pulled on leather boots to match and carried Limeric gloves and a small round hat to cover her loose hair. To avoid running into anyone at the front of the house, she went down the servants’ stairs at the rear and slipped out unnoticed.