Unsuitable Bride for a Viscount

by Elizabeth Beacon

  Behind several days’ growth of beard his features were clean-cut and patrician and she supposed he would look stern and impatient even without the whiskers. With them he looked like a pirate, or a very dirty duellist who was all hard eyes and dangerous edges. Something deep inside her whispered he looked like a warrior rather than the idle gentleman of means his accent and the quality of his clothes under all that dirt argued he must be. She almost preferred him this way if he had to be here at all. The set of smooth-shaven and immaculate gentlemen of fashion he probably belonged to when he was clean and decent and not trying to intimidate his way into strange houses made her inner radical stir and shake her fist at the luxury they took for granted while so many people in this unfair world had nothing but the rags on their backs.

  ‘I must speak with Miss Grantham immediately,’ he argued like a king in disguise.

  A pretty heavy disguise, she argued silently and stayed where she was.

  ‘On personal business,’ he added in the deep and growling voice that secretly sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. ‘Kindly let me in without more ado, then go and tell Miss Grantham I have arrived. Never mind if she is dressed or no, it is urgent,’ he added as if his outrageous demand would remove her from his path like magic.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she replied, folding her arms across her body to make it very clear she was going nowhere.

  She could stand here until half the townsfolk were wide awake if she had to and she had no intention of telling this grim and arrogant stranger that Fliss had been out all night with a man she would now have to marry if she wanted to save her good name. Even if Marianne had wanted to tell him that tale, it was not hers to tell. The man glared at her again and looked determined to stay in the way until he got what he wanted. She felt a treacherous stir of pity for the dark shadows under his hard blue eyes and the lines of exhaustion so stark around his mouth. He looked as if he had been screwing up his face against the elements and physical weariness most of the way here. He was not wet enough to have been out in the worst of the storm, but he did not look as if he’d spent much of last night sleeping either. In fact he looked as if he had spent days of hard effort and not much sleep to get here with the dawn.

  For a fleeting moment he reminded her sharply of her husband Daniel after too many hard days on the march. But this was not the time to weaken or grieve for what she had lost and this man did not need her pity. Her memory of how exhausted she had felt after days in the tail of the Peninsular Army would not help her be sternly objective about him either. And this bossy autocrat had nothing in common with gallant and kind Sergeant Daniel Turner and his beloved but sometimes very weary wife. She reminded herself this man’s filthy clothes had once been of the finest quality and no amount of money could buy him a right to stand on a lady’s doorstep issuing brusque orders at dawn. He needed taking down a peg or two if he thought it should.

  ‘Go to the local inn and get some sleep,’ she told him brusquely. ‘If you fall down on their doorstep, at least the grooms and ostlers can carry you to the barn to sleep off your journey. If you collapse out there, we will just have to leave you lying there until you wake up again.’

  ‘I dare say you think you are a good girl protecting your employer’s privacy, but a young woman’s life could depend on you doing as you are bid, my girl, and you are confoundedly in the way,’ he informed her with exaggerated patience, as if she was the last straw he was trying hard not to sweep aside like an annoying fly.

  ‘I am not the maid, you stupid man. Nor am I a girl,’ she told him with a sneaky little worm of temper writhing away inside her. He must have taken one look at her slept-in clothes and unkempt hair and decided she was of no account.

  ‘Who are you, then?’ he barked impatiently.

  ‘A friend of Miss Grantham’s and of her own former governess, Miss Donne—whose privacy you are violating by calling at her house at such an unearthly hour and demanding the company of a lady living under her roof.’

  ‘Privacy be damned,’ he said with an exasperated sigh, as if he was still thinking of pushing past her to rouse the household and maybe even opening every door he came across until he found Fliss behind one of them. And all he would find was an empty room and neatly made bed so she could not allow that.

  ‘Do tell me where you live, sir, so I can organise an early morning invasion of your house and see how you like it,’ she said and did her best not to blink when he stared back as if daring her to do her worst.

  ‘Stratford Park,’ he snapped impatiently.

  Oh, no, he must be Viscount Stratford, then—Juno Defford’s uncle and guardian and Fliss’s former employer. How could she not have realised he was the only autocrat likely to turn up in Broadley demanding Fliss’s presence at this ridiculous hour of the day and throwing his weight about when she did not jump to obey his orders? He was supposed to be in Paris annoying the French, but here he was on Miss Donne’s doorstep, annoying Marianne instead.

  ‘So you are the idiot who caused this unholy mess in the first place,’ she said with a glare to let him know what she thought of him for neglecting a girl he should be honour bound to care for.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said wearily. He took off a fine and filthy riding glove to rub a hand over his eyes.

  ‘I suppose you really are Lord Stratford?’ she said with haughtily raised brows to let him know his title cut no ice with her.

  ‘Yes, and you are still in my way. Whoever you are, you seem to know a great deal about me and mine although we have never set eyes on one another until this very moment, so you must also know how urgent my mission is and I must suppose you are being rude and obstructive on purpose.’

  ‘Think what you please, I am not rousing the household when they had so little sleep and so much worry yesterday because of what you did to your unfortunate ward.’

  ‘Is Juno here, then—is she safe?’

  Chapter Two

  At last, there was a gruff but almost painful anxiety for the lost girl in his voice and Marianne had been accusing him of not caring about her ever since she heard Juno Defford’s sad story from a panicked Fliss yesterday morning. He had treated the poor child like an unwanted package he could hand over to his mother to be rid of however she chose and look how the wretched woman had chosen to do it. The very idea of such an April and December marriage for the girl had made her shudder with revulsion, so goodness knew how alone and desperate such a young woman must have felt when she realised what was being planned for her. Taking a deeper breath to calm her temper and trying to remind herself there were two sides to every story, Marianne struggled to be fair to him, although it really was a struggle.

  ‘No,’ she said starkly. She could not give him false hope. There had been no sign of the girl yesterday and no late-night knock on the door to usher in a soaked and exhausted Juno.

  ‘God help us, then,’ he murmured wearily, as if hope his ward was here was all that had kept him riding on for what looked like days and the loss of it meant he might collapse after all. ‘What must I do to find her?’ he added despairingly.

  Marianne knew he was not speaking to her when he shut his eyes and swayed as if her No was a felling blow. She watched him battle exhaustion and despair and her temper calmed at such signs he really did care about that lonely little rich girl whose only refuge in a storm was her former governess, but something told her sympathy would only revolt such a proud man so she had best not risk it for both their sakes.

  ‘We looked all the way from here to Worcester yesterday and searched every hiding place we could think of on the way back,’ she explained curtly. ‘The rain was so heavy in the end we could only see a few steps in front of us, so we were forced to give up the search for the night. It will begin again as soon as all the searchers are awake after their long and weary day yesterday.’

  ‘I would not have stopped,’ he muttered almost accusingly.

 
She felt fury flare again and was glad it stopped her having to feel sorry for his lordly arrogance. ‘Then you would be no use to anyone now, would you? I told you we could not see for the force of the rain. If you had been out looking for her in it with no idea of the local terrain, we would now be put to the trouble of rescuing you as well as finding your niece.’

  ‘You were out in it as well, then?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘Of course I was. Did you expect me to sit at home sewing while a young woman was lost and alone and with all that brooding cloud about to warn us that a heavy storm was on the way?’

  ‘I expect nothing, ma’am. You are a stranger to me and still in my way.’

  His hard expression and stony look of indifference made her temper flare, hot and invigorating this time, and there was no reason to hold back now he had made it so obvious her opinion did not matter a jot. ‘Then expect me to be furious about a girl’s lonely and probably terrifying journey from London to Worcester on the stage. She must have been easy prey for a petty thief and thank God she met with nothing worse than robbery, unschooled as she must be in the ways of rogues and con men. I dare say she has never even travelled by post before, let alone on a public stagecoach, and I admire her for getting as far as she did.

  ‘So you can expect me to admire her courage in walking into an unfamiliar countryside when all her money was stolen and I doubt she is used to much more than a leisurely stroll in the Park. And expect me to pity a lonely, put-upon girl who felt the only person she could flee to for protection was her former governess. But please don’t expect me to think you care a snap of your fingers for your niece and ward, my lord. I cannot believe you can possibly do so when you left her so alone and friendless under your noble London roof that she felt she had to come all this way on her own to find sanctuary with the one person who would love and support her come what may.’

  ‘I expect nothing of you. I do not even know who you are,’ he replied shortly.

  She might have felt her temper hitch even higher if not for the flat weariness in his blue eyes as he stared back at her as if he could hardly see who she was for utter weariness and worry. ‘Just as well,’ she said grumpily because she did not want to feel compassion for him. Loathing for the haughty and indifferent family who gave a shy girl no choice but to run away from home had powered her through anxiety, fatigue and the threatening storm all day yesterday. She did not want to be fair to him until Juno Defford was safe and she was still very tired herself. She had fallen asleep waiting up for Juno to knock on Miss Donne’s door and walk in out of the endless rain. Obviously she needed to be angry with someone to keep on doing whatever had to be done to find the missing girl and he would do very well.

  ‘Who is it, Marianne?’ Miss Donne’s sleepy voice demanded from the top of the stairs and Marianne could hear the painful anxiety in it.

  Lord Stratford used the momentary distraction to move her out of his way as if she weighed nothing. He was inside the house before she could protest or counter his sneaky move. Oh, drat the man! She cursed him under her breath. She should never have lowered her guard for even a second and now he was sure to get in the way of the search for his niece. He would throw orders out left, right and centre and he had no idea of the shape of the countryside or any of the places where a girl might seek shelter from a storm. Marianne shut the door behind him with an outraged sniff and glared at his lordly back. She had been right about his arrogance and bad manners all along then. How stupid of her to feel even an iota of pity for the man when he obviously did not deserve any.

  ‘Viscount Stratford,’ she called out to warn Miss Donne exactly who had broken into her house at an outrageous hour of the morning. Yet her shoulders still felt the echo of his leashed strength under that fleeting touch. She refused to let that be because awareness of him as a man had shot through her when he put her aside as if she was weightless.

  ‘Oh.’ Miss Donne’s voice gave away her horror at such a visitor arriving at her door at dawn with Fliss not here to greet him.

  A few moments of tense silence stretched out and Marianne hoped His Lordship was squirming with discomfort as the wrongness of forcing his way into a lady’s residence at such a ridiculous hour of the day finally hit home. No, of course he was not, she decided as his impatient frown stayed firmly in place. He was not capable of examining his own actions and could only pick holes in all they had done yesterday to find his unfortunate niece.

  ‘Then of course you must let His Lordship in, Marianne, dear. Ask him to wait in the front parlour while I dress. I will come down and explain what little we know of his niece’s movements as soon as I am fit to be seen.’

  Miss Donne’s voice faded as she went back to her room and shut the door behind her and Marianne was left eyeing the filthy viscount dubiously. She raised an eyebrow to tell him he was not fit for a lady’s parlour, particularly not one as neat and clean as Miss Donne’s. ‘You could always come back when you are cleaner and more civilised and in a better temper,’ she suggested coldly.

  ‘Where is the kitchen?’ he barked as if she had not spoken.

  ‘Of course, silly me. You are not humble or polite enough to go away to bathe, shave and change out of your riding clothes and come back later, are you? How could I be so stupid as to think you might act like a gentleman instead of an aristocrat?’ she carped as he shot her an impatient glance, then strode down the corridor leading to the cheerful best kitchen Miss Donne and Fliss used as a dining and sitting room when they did not have company. She had left the door open when she stumbled towards the front door still half-asleep to stop his rattle on the front door. Silly of her, she reflected now, as he spotted the obvious place for a filthy and travel-worn gentleman and Marianne had to tag on behind like a sheepdog keeping a wary eye on a fox.

  ‘All I care about is my niece, everything else can wait,’ he told her and looked around the sunny room as if they might be hiding Juno in a corner.

  Now she had to admit to herself he really was desperate to find his niece and he seemed so much safer when she could fool herself he was heartless. He sighed when he realised he was wrong about Juno perhaps being hidden in here from the likes of him, then he frowned down at the last faint glow of last night’s fire as if he had never seen one before. That traitor pity for his desperate state of mind and body turned her heart over; followed by embarrassment when she realised her own nest of cushions and covers was still lying on a Windsor chair like a discarded shell and betraying her own largely sleepless night.

  She hastily folded the quilt Miss Donne’s maid had found for her when Marianne insisted on waiting up just in case the missing girl found her way to Miss Donne’s house despite the downpour and nobody heard her knocking. She might as well have accepted the guest bedroom Miss Donne offered her. Then at least she would not have woken with a crick in her neck and half her wits missing when this man hammered on the front door and startled her out of the rest of them. Marianne plumped up the cushions that had shaped themselves around her while she slept and would have knelt to rekindle the dying fire if he had not got there first.

  Silence stretched between them like fine wire this time as he concentrated on reviving the fire and ignored her as best he could. Who would have thought he even knew how, let alone be considerate enough to sweep up the cold ashes on the stone slab to save them spilling out into the room? He looked at the brass shovel full of them when he had gathered them as neatly as he could as if he did not know what to do with them. She was glad of something to look disapproving about as she took it off him without a word, then went outside to add them to the neat ash pile by the back-garden gate. She paused out in the fresh air to frown at a new pall of cloud trying to blot out the early morning sun.

  ‘I really hope it is not going to rain again,’ she observed as she re-entered the room. He seemed taller and darker without the sun to lighten the place with a little hope.

  He frowned
as if it might be her fault it had gone in. ‘Where the devil can Juno be?’ he barked and glared at her as if she should know. Apparently their brief truce was over now he had got the fire burning nicely and Miss Donne would be down shortly for him to be a lot more polite to.

  ‘If I knew that I would not have been out looking for her most of yesterday,’ Marianne snapped because she had only had a couple of hours’ uneasy sleep as well and she did not see why she should play the perfect lady when he was being such a poor gentleman.

  ‘If you truly want to help my ward, then tell me everything you know about her journey and the search so far.’

  ‘I doubt if I know much more than you do.’

  ‘All I know is my ward has been missing in the wilds of Herefordshire for far too long. I rode to Worcester, expecting to find out she had taken the Leominster stage to get here at last only to discover some cur took every penny she had so she could not buy a seat. If only I had got to her a few hours earlier I could have saved her the ordeal of wandering penniless and alone through a strange countryside. If only I had left Paris even a day before I did I could have made sure she got here safe and well or that she need not flee in the first place. Because I failed to find her in time my niece is probably lost and frightened half out of her wits at this very moment and even if she has not fallen into the hands of a villain she could be soaked to the skin and in a high fever.’