A Vixen for a Viscount: Book 2: Hyacinth - Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet)

by Arietta Richmond

  Whilst she was adjusting to the shock of that, and schooling her face into a steady expression, he spoke – it was quiet, half whispered into her ear as they turned about one another, but the tone of it was warm enough to send shivers through her.

  “My dear Lady Hyacinth, I can assure you that I am doing ‘this’ because I want to. None of my friends are fool enough to believe that daring me would make me do anything but ignore them. And I do not, at all, believe you a dragon – you are far too young and comely to be named for a scaly, fire breathing monster. Nor would I call you a shrew – nasty bitey little things they are. Perhaps, though, a vixen I might allow – cunning, sharp toothed, but most judicious in the use of those teeth.”

  She continued to turn, his words rather dizzying.

  Taking a deep breath, she summoned all of her long practice at delivering set downs, and attempted one – yet there was a disturbing part of her mind which was not at all sure that such a thing would work, with this man.

  “Dear me, Lord Kevin, I do believe that your skill at flattery and correct social conversation has failed you. For I cannot see any light in which comparing a lady to a vixen might be considered a compliment.”

  He laughed again, obviously unworried by her censure. He really was a most unusual gentleman!

  “You can’t? Are you sure? Would you not rather be compared to something quick and clever like a fox, than to something so insipid and overused as a flower, or the stars, or pearls and diamonds? I cannot see you as anything so bland as the stuff of most common compliments.”

  The dance spun them apart again, and Hyacinth felt flushed and breathless, her mind whirling – what could she say to that! They came back together, and she met his eyes.

  “Perhaps I would prefer to be the dragon. For surely, to be large and frightening has its benefits – I doubt that anyone wishes to argue with a dragon – but people regularly hunt foxes.”

  “You do have a point, my Lady. But still, legend has it that people hunt dragons too – at least knights brave enough to be foolish do. And a dragon is rather large and obvious – a fox finds it far easier to hide when it wishes to, and slip past all but the keenest observers. That is a skill to be respected. And a skill which I believe I have seen you apply, many times.”

  “Do you imply, Lord Kevin, that you have been… observing me?”

  He smiled, and a shiver went through her again.

  “It would be most ungentlemanly of me to admit such a thing. But perhaps I can say that I have found it… difficult to not notice you…”

  Her heart beat unaccountably fast, even allowing for the energetic movements that the dance required, and she pondered his words as the music finally drew to a close. They spun through the final turn, and to a halt, facing each other. Hyacinth lifted her fan, and flipped it open, needing the distraction. His deep brown eyes drew her in, and it took her a moment to realise that he held out his arm, awaiting the moment when she would place her hand upon it. She did so, annoyed with herself, and he began to lead her back to her family.

  “I do believe that you flatter again, Lord Kevin. But I will admit to being intrigued – for you imply that, knowing my reputation, and having observed the… manner… in which I tend to treat most gentlemen, you are yet still here, by your own choice, subjecting yourself to my sharp toothed conversation.”

  “You have, my Lady, the right of it. That is, exactly, the situation,” they had reached the cluster of her sisters, and he turned to face her, bowing, “a situation which I find enough to my liking that I intend, with your permission, to repeat it, at future events such as this.”

  How did he do this to her? How did he unmoor the foundations of her world so easily?

  Yet… there was only one possible answer to his words.

  “I will grant you that permission, my Lord. We shall see how well you weather the storm when next we meet.”

  He bowed again, his fingers pressing hers, perhaps just a tiny amount more than might be socially correct, then he released her, and turned and walked away. Against her conscious will, her eyes followed him.

  “My dear sister, how enlightening! I do believe that you have just provided me with a reason to tease you, rather than allowing Lily to bear the full weight of my amusement.”

  Hyacinth turned, schooling her face into absolute calm.

  “Dear brother, tease me? I fear that you have become addled in your mind. What possible cause could you have to tease me?”

  Thorne Gardenbrook, Marquess of Wildenhall, took his sister’s arm, and led her towards the refreshment tables.

  “Hyacinth, if you think that, for a moment, I am going to be deceived by that innocent expression, then you are far more foolish than I believed you. For this evening, I have seen something I never thought to see – you, dancing with a man, gazing at him with rapt attention, and, at least twice, rendered temporarily speechless. I can think of but one possible reason for such a reaction.”

  Hyacinth took the glass of orgeat he handed her, and sipped, wondering how on earth she might cause her brother to forget what he had seen.

  <<<< O >>>>

  Chester House felt empty. His parents rarely came to London now, especially since all of the drama the previous year with Maria, and the death of her husband. Now that was past, and things had settled down a lot, they stayed at Chester Park with Maria, as she began to rebuild her life. Which rebuilding was proceeding rather well, from Kevin’s perspective, as it looked almost certain that she would marry Viscount Wareham, who was brother to the Duke of Melton, and also a long term friend.

  But it left Chester House echoingly empty.

  Kevin took his brandy to the library, and settled in front of the fire. It might be spring, but the evenings were still rather cool, and the warmth was welcome. As he stared into the flames, he replayed the events of the evening in his mind. Lady Hyacinth Gardenbrook was fascinating – there was no other word for it. One dance, one conversation, and he found himself looking forward to seeing her again.

  He almost laughed at the thought – his acquaintances in society would deem him quite mad for that – for they were all firmly convinced that she was an irredeemable shrew. A fact which had less to do with Lady Hyacinth’s actual character, and more to do with his acquaintances’ lack of mental and verbal agility, in Kevin’s opinion. When might he see her again? There were Balls and soirees most nights now, as the Season was in full swing, so the chances were good that they might both be in attendance at a number of events in the week ahead.

  He frowned, staring at the flames, but seeing something else entirely. Could he afford to stay in London for the rest of the week? He needed to go back to Chester Park, for a few days at least, and soon.

  It wasn’t that his parents would expect him to leave London, but more that he felt that he needed to. There was something not right at Chester Park, beyond the things that Maria still struggled with. He was sure that his father was hiding something from him.

  Each time he went home, his father seemed more careworn, and quieter, as if he lacked the strength to do as much as he had been in the habit of doing. But he said nothing of it, and Kevin was loath to push him. Still, more and more, he wanted to be close by, so that he could deal with whatever happened, if anything did.

  He sipped the brandy, and made a decision – another four days in London, which was at least two possible chances to see Lady Hyacinth, and then he would go to Chester Park for a week. Perhaps, if he was persistent enough, he might get his father to speak of whatever was wrong – he could not ask outright, but surely, with enough chances, his father would tell him? But then again, Lord Chester was, if nothing else, a very stubborn man.

  <<<< O >>>>

  Hyacinth sat in her bed, a half-eaten breakfast tray on the table beside her. On the mornings after a Ball, she liked to stay late in bed and, once her breakfast had been delivered, she chose not to be disturbed by anyone until she was ready. In a family as large as the Gardenbrooks, such time to oneself wa
s precious – and each of her sisters had their own habits of ensuring personal time too.

  What Hyacinth did with that personal time was something that was just for her – and almost certainly not something that the rest of the family would expect.

  The journal in her hands was old, bound in now worn dark red-toned leather, and rather battered – it had been given to her when she was a child, and the first few pages were graced with extremely poor illustrations of what were supposed to be hyacinth flowers, done in blotchy watercolours. She had been so frustrated by her inability to render them well, all those years ago, that she had refused to put her name on the journal, and had simply put it away, and ignored it.

  It had stayed in the back corner of a drawer in her dressing room, until two years earlier, when she had discovered it again, by accident. Since then, it had filled a far different purpose from its original use. For when she had come out, she had found her head full of observations of the people around her in society – observations which she most rapidly discovered were not to be spoken aloud, to anyone. But she could not help doing the observing.

  So she had taken the journal, and begun to record her thoughts about them all, after each event that she attended. It had become a soothing ritual – the morning after an event, she would take her breakfast in bed and write in the journal, using a sharpened pencil – for spilling ink on the bed was a risk that she chose not to take. What she wrote was an unmodified version of her observations from the previous evening – all sharp and scathing, and baldly delivering the truth of the people who had attended, rather than the socially acceptable version of events.

  If she was not permitted to say what she thought in society, then she was most certainly going to do so in the privacy of her own journal. Once those thoughts were written, it was as if the pressure in her mind was eased.

  What she had never found herself tempted to write was the positive things – oh, there might be a compliment here or there, for something exceptional, but, on the whole, the journal contained acid observations on the failings of the ton – their attitudes, manners, affairs and more. For the undesirable aspects of humanity were far more interesting to write about – and far more deserving of commentary, than the pleasant aspects. The pleasant aspects she treasured quietly in her thoughts, feeling no need to spill them onto the page.

  What she was writing, this particular morning, was a discourse on the insipidity of the year’s new crop of young women making their come outs. Lord Kevin’s conversation, during the dance, where he had suggested that most common compliments were bland – and implied that so were most of their recipients – had inspired her to put down her thoughts on the matter. For they were bland – all of them.

  Words like ‘faded pastels’ and ‘conversation worthy of nothing more than ennui’ seemed appropriate. Once she had finished a page of discussion of the failings of the hopeful young husband hunters, her thoughts turned to a far older generation. They fascinated her – the older dowagers and the chaperones, with their penchant for odd and extreme fashion choices, their outdated opinions on the world, and their apparent certainty that they deserved to be treated respectfully, no matter how badly they treated everyone else.

  Amongst those women, there were definitely those worthy of being called a dragon, far more than Hyacinth was. Lady Dunwiddy for example – her attire the previous evening had been in a style twenty-five years out of date, in a virulent shade of puce, topped off by a turban with feathers.

  So many feathers that Hyacinth had to wonder if her purchases had single-handedly required the activities of dozens of hunters, simply to collect them all. The effect was startling, and rather ludicrous. She was, any time that she walked close to a wall, at risk of the feathers brushing through the flames of the candles in the sconces – Hyacinth had watched, in horrified fascination, as she had nearly set herself alight multiple times.

  Attempting to describe it all took more than a page, for there was just so much ridiculous detail to record. Like the multiple flounces on her gown, which made her look more like a child’s overdecorated doll than anything else, and the less than subtle colour applied to her cheeks – she would have done well on the stage, with a face made up like that!

  What Hyacinth wrote in that journal would never be seen by any eyes but her own – no matter how well it might suit the sort of scurrilous report that was found in gossip sheets like the ‘Society Commentator’, which was more commonly known amongst society as ‘the Gossip Gazette’ – just writing in it served her purpose adequately. The morning passed in a pleasant indulgence in sharp commentary, until Hyacinth felt relaxed, and relieved of the pressure that had been created by not saying it all to anyone at the Ball. Now, she could be as polite as necessary, no matter who called upon them today! Once she was done, she tucked the pencil between the pages of the journal, and returned it to its accustomed place in her drawer of assorted keepsakes – a drawer which the maids were forbidden to touch – and rang for Sally to come to help her dress.

  As Sally did up the ridiculous number of little buttons on the back of her day dress, Hyacinth realised that it was still far earlier than she would normally have expected to be finished writing.

  Why? Surely, there had been just as many people worthy of commentary at the previous evening’s Ball as usual – so why had she written for less time?

  And then it came to her. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks as she realised – she had written less, because she had noticed less – because she had been distracted, in a way that had never happened before.

  She had been distracted by a man - Lord Kevin Loughbridge, that most unusual of gentlemen. A man she wanted to see again, and to dance with again.

  Shocked at her own wishes, and at the intensity of that desire, Hyacinth pushed the thoughts away, and determinedly tried to turn her mind elsewhere. An effort at which she proved singularly inefficient.

  Chapter Three

  The evening’s event was obviously a crush, for the carriage spent a full twenty minutes inching forward in the queue, before their turn came to be set down before the imposing building. Hyacinth swallowed her impatience, and spent the time ignoring her sisters, and staring out the window, not really seeing what was before her. Would he be there? It was only a few days since she had met, and danced with, Lord Kevin Loughbridge, yet it seemed far longer.

  The extent to which she desired his company annoyed her. She was not used to any man being able to influence her so much and, in fact, had always been sure that there was not a man in existence who could do so. It seemed that she had been wrong in that belief.

  If he was there, would he dance with her again? And what might he say to her? For, of a certainty, there would be conversation worth having, if it was Lord Kevin to whom she spoke. A shiver ran through her at the thought – anticipation? Or apprehension? She was not sure.

  By the time that they had finally made their way through the receiving line, and into the ballroom, that sensation had intensified, until it was almost unbearable. Hyacinth scanned the room, unable to help herself, looking for him. He wasn’t there. A rush of disappointment ran through her, so intense that it left her reeling. She was still regaining her composure while Lily was greeted by Lord Canterford – who was, as always, unfailingly polite to all of them. For once, Hyacinth barely heard his words.

  She had just managed to settle her senses and convinced herself that she really did not actually care all that much if Lord Kevin was not in attendance, when she had the odd sensation of being observed. Unable to help herself, she spun around, to find herself mere inches from those rich brown eyes, which regarded her with amusement.

  Conflicting emotions filled her mind – annoyance, that he had startled her so, and that he most obviously knew it and was amused by it, delight, that he was there, and anger – that he was so easily able to discompose her completely. He winked at her, a most cheeky and impolite thing to do, and bowed - a perfect court bow, as if that wink had never happened.
>
  “Lady Hyacinth, I trust that you are well? I have come, as you gave me permission to, to ‘weather the storm’ of your conversation once more. Might I claim a dance? Or would you prefer to walk on the terrace, or take a turn about the room?”

  Hyacinth curtsied, suddenly breathless. He was teasing her! She flipped her fan across her face, the breeze welcome, for she could feel a flush heating her cheeks, and considered her words with care. Let him wait for her answer.

  “You may claim a dance, Lord Kevin – although it seems that you will have to wait for some time, as the orchestra do not appear to be in place yet. But I will note your claim now, so that I do not forget, when I am deluged with attentive men, all seeking a space on my dance card.”

  Her tone was dry, the sarcasm obvious. Ostentatiously, she lifted the card, and wrote in his name.

  He gave a soft laugh – a warm resonant sound that she felt on her skin, somehow – and bowed again.

  “Perhaps then, whilst I endure the interminable wait, you might grant me a turn about the room? I am certain that your conversation will serve well to enliven the evening.”

  Enlivening… well that was a rather different description of her conversation than any she had heard before. She smiled, and when he offered his arm, she placed her hand upon it, and allowed him to lead her around the outskirts of the crowded room.

  “And what, Lord Kevin, would you care to converse about? Do you find some topics more… enlivening… than others? Shall I hold forth on horticulture – a topic which everyone in our family has learnt in depth, as a consequence of our father’s obsessions – or perhaps on fashion, as a young lady is expected to?”

  His deep brown eyes laughed at her, but he appeared to give her questions true consideration, nonetheless.