Unsuitable Bride for a Viscount

by Elizabeth Beacon

  ‘According to Dr Long, you have been very lucky although I would argue. You have to stay in a dark room for several days so we can make sure you suffer no lasting damage from that blow on the head and it is hardly good luck to be thrown against a stone wall by a bucking horse. None of the hurts you sustained will be life threatening as long as you are patient and do not go galloping across the country on another mad ride for a month or so and stay in bed until all danger of worse consequences than a headache have passed.’

  The thought of his headache jarring if he even got on a horse made another mad dash across country seem unthinkable. He was more frustrated by her constant ‘my lording’ than the idea of not being able to get out of bed. It felt as if they should be beyond distinctions of rank by now, but he supposed he was forced on her and her brother, so he would just have to endure her reminders of who he was and how poorly he fitted in here. ‘What about those other injuries you mentioned, how bad are they?’

  ‘You must know you have sprained your wrist by now since you tried to move it and flinched and you have sprained and perhaps broken your ankle.’

  He must have looked horrified by the possibility of not being able to walk or ride properly for a month or so. She gave him a wry smile and a sympathetic shake of her head. Where were lordly aloofness and hard-won self-control now? Lost like a highwayman’s mask, he decided, and only just stopped himself shaking his head because he knew it would hurt.

  ‘I suppose the amount of time your ankle takes to heal will let us know whether it is broken or sprained. And as for your head and the amount of time you have spent sleeping since you knocked yourself out on that wall, the ridiculous ride you put yourself through to get here faster than a man was meant to travel accounts for most of that, if you ask me. Dr Long was worried the pain of being moved did not wake you, but he did not see you at dawn on Miss Donne’s doorstep so he has no idea you were a fool to start with, my lord. At least two days’ worth of hard riding and your refusal to be sensible even before you insisted on riding here because you did not trust me to look after Juno meant you have had less sleep than your body needs for several days. In my opinion Mother Nature simply took over, Lord Stratford, and your head injury is not as severe as the doctor fears. Your long sleep only proves your body has more sense than the rest of you.’

  ‘He is a doctor,’ Alaric said with only half his mind on what he was saying. The rest was worrying at the threat still hanging over him that the blow on his head was more serious than they hoped and how he wished she would stop calling him Lord Stratford all the time. He did not feel like a correct and aloof viscount, lying here like a helpless infant. He wished she really was Marianne to him and not just a stranger so she might call him Alaric and soothe and nag him out of affection instead of duty to an injured stranger.

  ‘Of a sort,’ Marianne said dismissively and where were they? Ah, yes, doctors—he had little interest in them at the best of times. ‘I met one or two like him when I was with the army,’ she went on as if she agreed with him for once. ‘They believe in malign providence rather than a duty to heal the injured. In my experience cleanliness and patience mend more hurts than the sawbones’ gloom and purges.’

  ‘You were with the army?’ Alaric asked incredulously.

  ‘My husband was a soldier,’ she said and he thought she must be very weary herself to let him see the sadness and faraway look in her eyes, as if she was with her absent Mr Turner in spirit even if she would not be seeing him again this side of the grave.

  ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ he said sincerely, presuming on that past tense.

  ‘So am I,’ she said very quietly, then seemed to make an effort of will to snap herself out of the lonely place memory of Lieutenant or Captain Turner, or however high her late husband rose, had taken her. ‘And you need more sleep in order to heal. I forgot to add you are bruised black and blue all down the side of your body that hit my brother’s newly mended wall to the list of your injuries, Lord Stratford,’ she told him softly but sternly, as if he might not know he was aching like the devil.

  ‘I must have had a deal of rest already. It was no more than an hour or two after midday when I let that bad-tempered nag throw me and you say it is the middle of the night now. You are the one who is in need of sleep now, Mrs Turner. I seem to have had plenty of it to be going on with.’

  ‘Someone has to sit with you in order to make sure you do not get out of bed and ride off into the night. Juno is too young for this much responsibility and quite worn out after all the walking and worrying she did on the way here. My brother has to be up early tomorrow to take charge of the men after yesterday’s shenanigans, so I persuaded him go to bed as well.’

  ‘You should have a chaperone,’ he argued and frowned when she chuckled as if the very idea was ridiculous. ‘Of course you should—you are hardly at your last prayers and neither am I.’

  ‘You are not in any state to endanger anyone and the widow of a common soldier is not bound by the same rules as a Miss Defford, my lord,’ she said and her set mouth and steady gaze dared him to be shocked by the man she had married.

  Yes, he was shocked and her family must have been disappointed by the match, but she still looked like a lady to him. It must have taken great courage to defy the conventions and marry her soldier anyway. ‘So you feel free to make up your own rules?’ he said and there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes as if he had put his finger on something she did not want the rest of the world to know.

  ‘I am free not to paint watercolours or embroider fire screens or perform good works the poor probably do not want if that is what you mean. I fear I was never a properly genteel young lady, my lord, and at least I do not even have to pretend I want to be one any more.’

  He wanted to laugh out loud, but did not dare, first, because it would jar his bruises and, second, because she would be offended. She would never be quietly, boringly compliant with society’s sillier edicts about what a lady could and could not do if she lived to be a hundred. Did that make her less of a lady? No, he matched her to the best examples of her kind and decided character and charm triumphed over the lack of it every time. ‘Are you an improper one, then?’ he joked carelessly and saw contempt in her eyes before she turned away as if looking for a better distraction than him in this pared-back bedchamber.

  ‘I shall never marry again and no lover could compare to my late husband, so I shall not be taking one of those either, my lord, before you ask,’ she said very firmly indeed and squared her chin as if he might argue and would be wasting his breath.

  He recognised a false trail when he heard one and ignored that slur on his supposed nobility. So her brother had been trying to persuade her to consider a second marriage, had he? Yes, he must have done for her to be looking at him so sternly she clearly thought he was joining a male conspiracy against her. And did she really think he wanted to be one of those lovers she was so determined not to have? If so, she was right. He did not blame Yelverton for doing what any responsible brother would rather than see his sister lonely or pestered by rakes and rogues for the rest of her life. She was dangerously unaware of her own looks and, even if most of him had no intention of offering her a carte blanche, he could have provided a comprehensive list of her form and features blindfolded and after barely as day’s acquaintance. No wonder her brother was worried.

  She would be happier and safer with a husband to fight off the wolves if only she would consider the idea. Of course, if she was wed, she would not be here for him to gawp at like an overheated youth. If she had an eager lover waiting for her to come back to his bed, my Lord Stratford would have woken up alone and bewildered in a strange bed and that would never do.

  ‘What will you do when your brother marries Miss Grantham?’ he asked, using up all the tolerance an invalid could play on in one go. But at least he could talk about Miss Grantham’s wedding to another man without a trace of disappointment she was
not marrying him. He was not jealous of Titian-haired, quietly lovely, well-bred and accomplished Miss Grantham and Squire Yelverton. Only yesterday, he had thought he was bereft and humiliated when it became obvious those two lovers had spent the night together in every sense of the word. Now the very idea of a marriage of convenience with Juno’s former governess seemed to belong to a different world, along with an Alaric Defford he did not know or understand any more. That blow on the head must have been more severe than she thought.

  ‘For now I shall be busy getting this lovely old place back in good enough order to house their guests, then I suppose I will have to find another house in need of care and attention and apply for the post of housekeeper. My perfect employer would be a reclusive elderly lady so I did not have to avoid the gossips or be put to the trouble and mess of entertaining her non-existent friends.’

  ‘I doubt the world will ever be incurious about you, Mrs Turner, even if it was ready to oblige your solitary and bad-tempered employer by staying away,’ he warned half-seriously because the idea of her as anyone’s housekeeper was absurd.

  He hated the idea of her at anyone’s beck and call year after year, growing careworn and depressed as day followed day in a relentless procession of sameness and duty. He shuddered to think what her life would be like if she had to work for a man instead of an elderly lady as the dog was sure to try and take advantage. His fists tightened under the covers and pain shot through his damaged wrist.

  ‘No, you are quite wrong,’ she argued earnestly. ‘I would work hard and I am not important enough for anyone to take notice of, my lord.’

  ‘All this “my lording” is sheer flummery,’ he surprised them both by saying wearily. ‘And worldly rank and jostling for position in high society means nothing next to family and true friends.’

  She was silent, as if carefully weighing up what to say to a viscount who did not want to be one any more and they both knew he had no choice about the matter. He felt guilty and a bit stupid for letting his confusion about his life out to someone he did not even know this time yesterday. Was this a concussion after all, then, or the after-effects of his long ride and all that terrifying anxiety for Juno as Marianne claimed? Maybe he felt low because he had wasted so much time behaving as a viscount should. He recalled his horror that Juno was hiding from him this afternoon with a shudder and a yawning gap threatened to open inside him and let loneliness flood in. Juno did not trust him; she thought he came after her to make her wed against her will and that hurt more than any bruise or sprain or sore head.

  ‘It seems to me we both need to review our ideas about the world, Mrs Turner,’ he told her seriously. The thought of her walled up in gloomy isolation made his heart ache as well as the rest of him.

  ‘Maybe we do, but not now,’ she told him as if she was humouring him. She rose from her chair to lean over him and he meekly allowed himself to be in pain and bone-weary and in dire need of her care and compassion. Tomorrow would be soon enough to restart his whole life and she still needed to be persuaded her plans were ridiculous. That sounded enough of a challenge for now and she was right, he was very tired.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Did you sleep at all last night?’ Darius demanded when he came downstairs and found the back door open and his sister outside. Marianne was sitting on the low wall that separated the house from the road to the farm, gazing at the view she had become very fond of during the short time they had lived here.

  ‘Yes,’ she said and carried on watching the sky lighten and listening to the chorus of birdsong because her brother had a gift for being silent and worming more out of her than she wanted to say. Even the birds seemed to pause as if waiting to hear more and that was nonsense, but far more effective than an open demand for information. ‘My patient was very well behaved and slept for most of the night. He awoke about two and seemed perfectly rational, so we should not need to ask the sawbones to come back unless Lord Stratford becomes agitated and irrational. I am quite sure His Lordship is far too strong-willed to indulge in such weakness.’

  ‘You still do not like him, then?’

  Marianne paused to think about that question before she answered, ‘He is well enough, I suppose. He must be very strong to withstand the ride he put himself through on his way here searching for Juno and he certainly has a stubborn nature to go with his physical prowess. No doubt he will want to put the discomforts of Owlet Manor behind him as soon as he can endure the journey to town or his nearest mansion to recover in style, so it does not really matter what I think.’

  ‘I take it that is a “no”, then?’

  ‘I am trying to be neutral and fair-minded, if only you will let me. Maybe we did get off to a bad start, but he is a brave and determined man, even if he is stubborn as a donkey and will be a very difficult patient as soon as he begins to feel better. And given who we are and who he is, I am never likely to be better acquainted with him than I am now, so it hardly matters if I like him or not,’ she said defensively.

  Her brother did not need to know about the odd skip and thunder in her heartbeat when she had first set eyes on the bearlike and piratical-looking man standing on Miss Donne’s doorstep. Nor the odd feeling she had when he had woken up in the night that they understood one another a little bit too well. She did not even want to think about her panic and bitter regret when she had run into the yard yesterday and it had looked as if Lord Stratford was seriously injured and might even die. A cold sense of dread had shivered through her when she had seen him lying unconscious at the base of that wall, but that was her secret and her worst fears were unfounded. Darius was not getting that out of her if he stayed silent and listening for the rest of the day. ‘The kettle must have boiled by now. I will go and make tea,’ she said to put paid to more uncomfortable questions.

  ‘No, stay there and let me do something for you just this once,’ Darius said, then left her brooding on the waking landscape and all the changes about to reorder her life, yet again.

  They were too big to consider until she felt less tired, so she just sat in the strengthening sun and let it warm and soothe her before the power of it was too much to endure bareheaded. Now it felt reviving and reassuring and she allowed herself the luxury of revelling in the peace and quiet for a few precious minutes.

  ‘Here you are,’ Darius said softly and slipped the handle of one of the kitchen mugs into her hand, then went back inside to drink his own tea, as if he knew she wanted to be quiet and not think about anything much for a few moments at the beginning of another busy day.

  He probably wanted to do the same himself, but his thoughts would be of Fliss and the new life they were about to begin together in this lovely old house. If anyone deserved a peaceful life and a happy marriage, it was Darius. Fliss needed a proper home as well, so this place would be perfect for her, and Marianne only envied them because she remembered how it felt to love someone as surely and completely as they loved one another now they had finally admitted it.

  If only Daniel was here to share this lovely summer morning with her; if only he had lived to find such a peaceful home with her after the war was over, even if theirs would have been far more humble than Owlet Manor. He would have come with her to help Darius sort this lovely old place and its rundown farms out first and she knew Darius missed Daniel’s energy and optimism as well. It would have been such fun with Daniel here to laugh with, she thought as tears blurred her eyes.

  She shook her head and refused to live in Might Have Been Land because it was such a dangerous place to be that you could forget it was not real if you were not careful. She needed to get up and do whatever came next instead of sitting about regretting a future denied her by Daniel’s death. The sneaky idea that she now had to regret the one she could never have with a nobleman like Alaric, Lord Stratford, as well crept into her head and made her frown. She only met him this time yesterday; that idea was not only sneaky, it was downright impo
ssible.

  Darius surprised her by coming back outside and sitting next to her with a very serious expression, as if he had tried to leave her in peace but whatever he had to say was too urgent to put off. ‘We want you to stay, Nan. Fliss and I agree we cannot live without you and, before you say no to me without even thinking about it, she asked me to tell you she has always wanted a sister and will be very hurt if you refuse to stay at Owlet Manor because she will be living here as well.’

  ‘Oh, well, that clinches the matter,’ she said with a wry smile.

  ‘I am serious and so is she, Marianne. We need you and this was never about finding work for you until the house was its proper self again. It was built for a family and we have always mattered to one another, you and I, but we do so even more after everything we saw and did in Portugal and Spain. I want this to be your home and Viola’s as well, when we can finally persuade her to stop working for that rogue Marbeck and join us.’

  ‘Even if she did she would rather find another post than become an idle lady paying calls and fascinating all the local beaux. It is your dream for all three of us to live under the same roof again, Darius, but it is not going to come true. It is a wonderful one and shows what a good man you are under your annoying elder-brother ways, but you have a true love to share this lovely old place with now and must stop worrying about your sisters. Get on with living the life you can have with Fliss and I wish you so very happy, Darius, but sooner or later I must move on as well. Viola has her own road to travel and neither of us wants to intrude on your new lives as man and wife.’

  ‘I will never stop trying to change Viola’s mind while she is in Sir Harry Marbeck’s employ,’ Darius said grimly.

  Marianne wondered if he was thinking of galloping to Gloucestershire and demanding their little sister pack her bags and join them at Owlet Manor straight away. ‘The more you rant and rave about the man, the less she will do as you want, Darius,’ she warned. ‘You ought to know Viola is as obstinate as both of us put together by now.’