Unsuitable Bride for a Viscount

by Elizabeth Beacon

  ‘I am a crotchety old woman to rip up at you like that when you have been having such a dreadful time, but we have been so worried about you,’ she said to the top of the girl’s head. ‘And now I have made you cry when there are so many things we could be busy doing.’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ the girl managed to gasp out between sobs.

  Marianne urged her back towards the ancient oak bench. ‘Here, sit down and cry it all out,’ she said and had to guide Juno’s steps as she could not see for tears. Trying to will comfort into the weary and woebegone girl, Marianne recalled her little sister crying as bitterly seven years ago when Marianne had told Viola she was leaving home to find Daniel. If anything could have kept Marianne away from him, it would have been her sister’s tears, but she had loved him too much to be swayed even by Viola’s heartbreak. So she had gone anyway and the close bond between her and Viola had broken that night and the gap had never truly healed.

  Her little sister had not written back when Marianne sent letters to tell her about her adventures as an army wife and tried to bridge the gulf between peaceful England and the war-torn lands where she had spent most of her married life. When she had come back, she was too full of pain and grief to reach out to her aloof and preoccupied teacher sister.

  Then Viola had taken her current post as governess to Sir Harry Marbeck’s wards and moved fifty miles from Bath and their parents’ cramped house and it was too late. A few stiff letters since had not mended things and Marianne did not feel far from tears herself now. She smoothed Juno’s tangled dark hair. ‘Better?’ she asked at a pause between sobs.

  ‘Yes,’ Juno said with a sigh that sounded as if it came from her boots and a hiccupping sob. ‘Have you a handkerchief? I lost mine.’

  Marianne dug in her unfashionable but convenient pocket and Juno wiped her eyes, then blew her nose a few times and held out the handkerchief. Marianne shook her head and was pleased when Juno managed a small chuckle. ‘Not very appealing, is it?’ she said.

  ‘It can be washed. Speaking of washing—after you have done so, brushed your hair and eaten something, I expect you will feel much more ready to face the world again.’

  ‘I am not sure I want to.’

  ‘No? Well, I will have to send word to Miss Grantham you are safe and well and here with me so that she can call off the search and stop worrying about you.’

  ‘Does Uncle Alaric have to know?’

  ‘Alaric?’ Marianne frowned and searched her memory for one of those. Oh, of course, the girl must mean Lord Stratford. ‘Is that His Lordship’s name?’ Juno nodded. ‘It suits him,’ Marianne said unwarily.

  ‘The first one was King of the Visigoths who sacked Rome. Uncle Alaric is not a barbarian.’

  He had certainly looked like one when he had been filthy from the road, unshaven and tired half to death, her inner Marianne argued silently, and that reminded respectable Mrs Turner how much trouble she had had with her inner siren this morning. Her silly fantasy of a pirate lover had been ridiculous, especially when he had turned out to be a viscount and way above her touch. ‘Then why did you walk past Broadley and not let His Lordship and Miss Grantham know you are safe and well?’

  ‘Because he might make me go back and I truly cannot live with Grandmama ever again after some of the things she said and did while we were in London, Mrs Turner. She told me she would lock me in my room until I agreed to marry Lord...’ Juno paused as if she could not even bring herself to say the man’s name. ‘Anyway, I ran away before she could actually do it, but then I got to Worcester and...’ Juno’s voice tailed off as she remembered the disaster of being robbed and Marianne expected more distraught tears.

  ‘I suppose you were right to run away—’ she began to say.

  ‘I knew you would understand,’ Juno interrupted impulsively and gave a gusty sigh of relief.

  ‘If there was no other way to make your feelings plain to your suitor and your family, but it was very wrong of you to leave Miss Grantham and your uncle frantically searching for you today when you are quite safe. His Lordship must have ridden after you as if the devil himself was on his heels and I doubt from the look of him that the poor man has had much sleep since he left France.’

  ‘I saw him. I hid behind a hedge when I heard a horseman coming and nearly stepped out when I saw it was Uncle Alaric, but he looked so grim and stern I did not dare. Maybe he is furious with me and has come to fetch me back and make me marry that horrid man and Grandmama was right all along and he did approve of the match. So that is why I came here to beg you to hide me, then get word to Miss Grantham, but ask her not to tell my family where I am because I would rather die than wed that—that man...’ Juno paused as if she did not have words in her to describe how much she hated the lord her grandmother had been so determined to make her wed.

  Marianne wondered what they had done between them to make Juno so revolted by the very idea of him she could not even say his name. From the almost childlike appeal in the girl’s blue eyes she really hoped it had not been the ultimate in forced persuasion to make her agree she would have to marry a man who had ravished her. Heaven forbid, Marianne decided with a shudder. Sooner or later Fliss or Lord Stratford or maybe even Mrs Marianne Turner would have to try and persuade Juno to talk about what had happened to make the terrible risks of running away from all she knew to get here and escape that terrible situation seem worthwhile.

  ‘I promise I will make myself useful and I would much sooner scrub floors and clean windows for the rest of my life than marry that awful old man. I know you work very hard because Miss Grantham said so in her letters and I am sure you could do with some help,’ Juno said earnestly and that proved she was still more child than woman, did it not? To think she would just stay here and pretend the frantic search for her would die away and leave her in peace with Lord Stratford ransacking half the Welsh Marches for her was a world away from reality.

  ‘Hiring yourself out as a housemaid until you are of age could never work. Lord Stratford nearly collapsed from shock and exhaustion when he found out you had not got to Broadley ahead of him, so we simply have to tell him you are safe, Juno. It would be cruel not to and you do not seem a heartless person to me.’

  ‘No, I am not,’ Juno said, her extreme youth obvious in her pout and refusal to meet Marianne’s eyes and admit she was wrong to panic and come here instead of simply walking on into the town and saving herself and everyone else the extra trouble and effort of coming all the way out here. ‘I suppose you are right,’ she said at last.

  ‘Can I trust you not to run away again while I write to tell Miss Grantham you are here and ask her to pass the news on to your uncle?’

  ‘I did promise I would not,’ Juno said and sounded so sulky and misused that Marianne nearly laughed. She resisted the urge as the girl was obviously in a fragile state and might take offence and flounce off if she did, promise or no.

  ‘Good, then I will write a hasty letter and get our stable lad to deliver it before I come and find you again. Thank goodness the lad had enough sense to stay sober so he is in a fit state to ride Robin’s brother Swift to Broadley.’

  ‘I must hope he is not, then,’ Juno said. ‘Swift,’ she explained when Marianne raised her eyebrows.

  Chapter Four

  Alaric knew it was a mistake to come, but he could not stay away. Even after the bath and shave Miss Donne had insisted on before he set out and the change of clothes he had needed for so long, he was not fit to do much more than sleep. But he had to see Juno with his own eyes and reassure himself she was safe, however foolish it was not to rest first and let her do so as well. At least every time his vision blurred and his brain threatened to shut down, his abiding sense of shame jerked him back to life again and urged him relentlessly on.

  This was all his fault; he should have stayed in England and never mind his mother’s open dislike of her only surviving child. It h
ad been his duty to be sure Juno felt supported and loved during her first Season in town, even if he was too shallow to actually admit he loved his niece despite what her grandmother thought of both of them. What a fool he had been to think it would be better if he was not there to irritate the Dowager Lady Stratford and make Juno’s debut a disaster. He shook his head to try to dismiss the fact his mother had hated him from the day he was born from his weary thoughts. He had always borne that burden and piling it on top of the guilt might make him forget the here and now and fall off this hard-mouthed and restive animal. He frowned at the road ahead because surely this back-of-beyond house of Yelverton’s should be in sight by now? His latest hired horse was not an easy ride, but was every bit as fast as the ostler promised he would be.

  Ah, there it was and a far more impressive house than expected, given Yelverton’s rough manners and ruffian-like appearance this morning. As if he had any room to talk about appearances, Alaric chided himself and frowned at the streak of pale blue sky fighting the pall of cloud. Yelverton’s home was nestled at the heart of a verdant valley and soon Alaric would have no more time to rail at himself for being a useless guardian. ‘Aye, and do not forget you are a loser in love as well, Stratford, and Yelverton is the one you lost to,’ he reminded himself out loud, thinking it was high time he slept if he was talking to himself like a lunatic. ‘Even if it was not love between you and Miss Grantham, she was your best chance of finding yourself a polite, well-bred and kind-hearted viscountess,’ he added under his breath. It did not help him feel any better now he had to revise Yelverton’s status up a notch from the look of the substantial manor house up ahead. The road twisted and turned yet again. Was nothing in this confounded county straight or direct? Ah, there it was again and Owlet Manor was a fine and ancient gentleman’s residence. Alaric already owed the man respect for the fine military career Miss Donne had outlined while Alaric ate a hot meal at her insistence before he got back in the saddle to find this place.

  The worst of his fears had faded when they got that hasty message of Mrs Turner’s to say Juno was safe, but the flood of emotion he felt on learning he could stop worrying about her safety had left him weak with relief. And this was no time for weakness when his niece clearly needed him to be strong. Despite his exhaustion he decided he simply had to see Juno with his own eyes and let her know he was sorry he had been such a poor guardian and protector, before he found a bed and slept for a week then thought a bit harder about his many sins of omission.

  He blinked his eyes open wide again and realised he had almost nodded off in the saddle. He made himself take note of the land around the fine manor house growing ever larger on the horizon to keep himself awake. Closer in, he could see that the old house had been neglected for many a long year. The landlord in him could see that hard work and a little money had been spent on it lately. As the owner of prosperous estates he could offer Yelverton help getting this house and his land in order, if he happened to like him. As it was he had no intention of staying longer than it took him to remove Juno from Mrs Turner’s care and get her back to Broadley, even if he had to beg the naggy-tempered and annoyingly unforgettable woman for the loan of her gig and a fresh horse to draw it with.

  Tomorrow he would feel alive and awake enough to hire a carriage for the journey back to Stratford Park and a new life. He could worry about the details when they got there, but at least both of them would be excused his mother’s cold dislike for the first time in their lives.

  How could he have trusted the Dowager to put Juno’s interests before her own? He had thought the obsessive love the woman had had for her eldest son would have rubbed off on George’s only child, but apparently he was wrong about that as well as everything else. The Dowager Lady Stratford had told him she would never forgive Juno for being born female when they had had their last confrontation in London, before they finally washed their hands of one another and he galloped away. George’s girl or not, Juno was a female, so she failed to keep the Dowager Lady Stratford’s despised second son from inheriting his title and the fine estates that went with it. Of course she despised the silly chit, she told Alaric as if he was stupid not to have known it all along. And how could he have trusted Juno to his mother’s care believing she must care because George was the girl’s father?

  ‘It suited you to believe in a fantasy, my lord,’ he condemned himself disgustedly now.

  Deep down he must have known his mother only had one chip of love in her stony heart and she had buried it with his brother. Alaric had given up trying to convince his mother he never wanted his brother’s inheritance long ago, but he must have carried on dreaming impossible dreams when he passed Juno into her care after George’s funeral and thought he had done the right thing. At seventeen he felt overwhelmed by the burdens that fell on him and poor little Juno was one more. But this was not about him and his excuses for behaving badly; it was about putting things right for Juno if he still could. He deserved to be so tired every bone in his body ached. He should feel the loss of an ideal wife in Miss Grantham. He had been a fool to leave her free to find and love a better man than careless, self-absorbed Alaric Defford. He truly hated himself as he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and urged the sullen animal on as fast as he would go.

  He shot a disapproving look at rusted, open main gates to the venerable manor house’s front door and rode on past. Grass was growing across the once-gravelled drive and there were so many weeds between the stone flags nearer the house that the flags were barely visible. He shook his head at such wanton neglect. He hoped Yelverton was ashamed of himself for not getting the path to his front door cleared straight away. How was the man’s sister to receive polite visitors if they had to come in through the farmyard? ‘Place is a shambles,’ he muttered as he rode into the stable yard.

  ‘Sir?’ a slightly unsteady-looking farmhand asked warily, as if he thought he should have heard an order if his ears were up to it.

  ‘Are you castaway?’ Alaric demanded as he dismounted and staggered until the earth settled under his feet.

  ‘If I am, that’s two of us,’ the man muttered, then stared back at Alaric with pretend innocence.

  ‘Does your master know you despise his kind?’ Alaric asked with a steady look to let the rogue know he was not deceived by forelock tugging.

  ‘He’s bin a soldier, though, ain’t he?’ the man said as if that excused Yelverton’s sins as one of the ruling elite.

  Alaric decided he had heard quite enough about Saint Darius and his heroic past for today. ‘Respect for his army service does not seem to have stopped you drinking in the middle of the day when you were supposed to be hard at work for him, though, does it?’ he replied to let the fellow know he was not fooled by his act and taking advantage during a crisis was reprehensible.

  ‘No, sir, but Mrs Turner ripped up at us so there’s no need to join in. Said she was going to open the taps on the cider barrels until they was empty if we didn’t get back to work, so she did,’ the man said with a hint of male appreciation for a fine and spirited woman in his bleary eyes Alaric did not like one bit.

  ‘Serve you all right if she did it anyway,’ Alaric informed the man coolly. ‘And kindly see that my horse is tended while I speak to the lady.’

  The man gave a mocking salute that hit his ear instead of his forehead and Alaric decided Mrs Turner’s wrath must have been mighty indeed to work its way past all that alcohol. He supposed he should be grateful she had managed to put the fear of God into her brother’s workmen, since this one took the horse’s bridle and led it towards the stables without another word. At least the nag would be inside and might get watered and maybe even fed to put it in a better temper for the return journey.

  Alaric stopped frowning after the rebellious farmhand and frowned at the back of Owlet Manor instead. At least the narrow garden separating the house from the farmyards and the road was neat and newly planted with herbs and even
one or two cottage-garden flowers to brighten it up. There was an old orchard to the side of the place that looked as if it had received some attention as well and a row of raspberry canes still glowed with the occasional red fruit the birds had not gobbled up. Mrs Turner’s concerns were obviously more about food than decoration. Understandable if her brother did not have funds for more than the basics despite his grand house. Miss Donne had told him the manor and estate had fallen into the man’s lap when he came home from the war.

  Alaric eyed the narrow and mellowed Tudor brick on this side of the house and wondered how he would have felt if his grand heritage came with no money attached and years of neglect to make up for. Lucky that most Deffords had been careful landlords, then, and they never spent more than they could afford. It was no credit to him that he was a rich man and a lord, he decided as he noted the bricks needed pointing and the ancient oak porch was listing to one side like the farmhand who had done his best not to welcome Alaric to his master’s new home. Ah well, none of it was any of his business, he decided and stepped through the porch to rap on the door.

  ‘Yes, whatever is it this time?’ Mrs Turner opened the door and demanded impatiently before she took the trouble to see who was out here.

  Alaric supposed she had an excuse with all those fools half-drunk and maybe a little bit dangerous and her brother occupied elsewhere. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said with a silly echo of the awe and wonder that shot through him the first time he laid eyes on her troubling him again. He had hoped she would be less lovely and desirable than he recalled, but if anything he had undershot the mark.

  ‘Oh, it is you,’ she said as if he was the last person she wanted to see on her brother’s doorstep even with a pack of half-cut rogues to be impatient with. ‘I am sorry. Good day to you, Lord Stratford,’ she said, sounding a lot more polite, but still not enthusiastic about their second doorstep of the day.

  ‘I have come to see my niece,’ he told her. She stood in the doorway as if trying to hide even the kitchen from his view and he was tempted to lift her aside and march in again, but could not bring himself to be so rude twice in a day.