by Stacy Reid
Marianne had felt a very deep hunger to leave the town of Biddleton and to explore more of England, especially to experience town life. When their aunt on their father’s side, a baroness in her own right, had offered to take one of the Ashbrook girls to London to explore some of its charm and social events; Marianne had allowed Lucy’s pleading to sway her from insisting as the elder daughter living at home she should be the one to travel to town.
With a sigh, she pushed aside her regrets from allowing Lucy to leave. Ensuring she did not disturb Doris’s sleep, Marianne gently closed the door behind her and stepped into the hall.
The deceit she felt guilty about lying to her father as to where she was living and how she had disposed of Elizabeth weighed heavily on her heart, yet Marianne knew she could not take him into her full confidence. Papa had been very unwilling to allow her to spread her wings and leave Biddleton, he had struggled with his desire to keep her safely at home. Only the financial struggle of the family to cope on his tiny stipend had induced him to agree with her plans. She’d had to gently remind him that she was three and twenty, her dowry of one hundred pounds would not attract any eligible suitor, and she could not live forever with her parents in their charming cottage.
There was more to life than an idyllic existence in the tiny town of Biddleton. And the first step to discovering it had been to find a modicum of independence through employment befitting her station.
Hurrying down the hall, she entered the library happy to see that it was empty, and that a pleasant fire still blazed in the hearth. The clock on the mantle showed it to be three in the morning, and based on the previous nights’ experience, she did not expect the viscount to return home for another few hours.
From the shelves, she selected The Castle of Otranto and made her way back to her room. Her steps slowed when she noticed that one of the doors was slightly ajar, flames flickered and danced inside casting shadows, and there was a scratching sound. She glanced up and down the hallway, which now appeared menacingly dark. Gripping her candlestick even tighter, she made to move on to her room, but dreadful curiosity got the better of her. Marianne eased the ajar door open a bit more and peered inside the room.
She stared in astonishment at the viscount. He was in a state of dishevelment and seated on the floor, a knife and something wooden in his hand.
“Are you going to stay there and stare? Or will you come in.”
She gasped softly, wondering how he knew she was there. Marianne withdrew, and lowered her hand from the doorknob, hating how unsettled she suddenly felt. Yet her feet or her mind did not carry her away, and she hovered on the threshold.
“I know you are still there,” came a soft, amused murmur.
Marianne could feel a flush creeping up her cheeks, and she wished she could control her reaction. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open wider, careful to ensure it remained ajar. Not that it was much of a protection, but nonetheless it comforted her.
The walls of the room were decorated in a very pretty purple and silver wallpaper. No drapes had been put up as yet, and the beauty of the moonlight beamed into the room directly on the viscount. The floor was bare of carpeting, but the dark hardwood floor gleamed as if it had been recently polished and the scent of lemon wax was redolent on the air. A large and quite handsome peach crib trimmed with muslin and lace with a canopy to match was in the center of the room. And a few feet from it was a swinging cradle.
Her heart trembled. “You are preparing a nursery,” she whispered.
The viscount turned around. “Come and see.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the open doorway, before walking over to a small rosewood table where she rested the candlestick and book. Then she went over to him and lowered herself onto the floor, folding her legs beneath her in a similar fashion as the viscount.
There was an array of carved animals before her, eight in total. She took up one of the animals and peered at it. “What is this?”
“That is a lion,” he muttered, still fiercely concentrated on the image he was carving. He wielded that small knife with such dexterity she stared amazed as the trunk of an elephant made itself evident.
“You are making these for Lizzie?”
He grunted softly. “Yes. I know she will not be able to play with them now…but they will be here with her. I have been thinking to paint them, but my skills with the paintbrush are sadly lacking.”
He chose that moment to look up and smile in that lopsided fashion of his. An alarming sensation tumbled low in her stomach, and she lowered her gaze to the array of carved animals. It occurred to her he must have been in this room for hours. “I walked by earlier on my way to the library…and I did not notice someone was in here.”
“I opened the door slightly when I heard you padding by.”
Her gaze flew to his, and there was a very wicked glint in his silver gaze.
“You are outrageous,” she muttered, unsure what to do with that knowledge. It was as if a wolf had laid a trap and she had waltzed right into it with her inquisitiveness.
“And perhaps a little bit charming?”
“I wouldn’t dare ever say so,” she said with a sniff. “I will admit your carvings are exquisite.”
An odd silence fell between them, and they stared at each other.
“One day, I shall take her to see these animals in the flesh. I am sure she will find them of interest. When my father took my brother and me to the Menagerie at Exeter Change years’ ago, we did not wish to leave.”
Something warm and heady unfurled inside Marianne. The viscount spoke of Lizzie being in his life years from now. That meant he intended to keep her home with him and not banish her to some orphanage or boarding school. It spoke to the kindness of his character which she had not expected. Similar to the kindness he had shown in offering her the post of governess so she could be close to Lizzie.
“We could take Lizzie to the London Zoo in Regent’s Park. Many of the animals which had belonged to the Royal Menagerie were sent there—Lions, tigers, wolves, leopards, and monkeys. I believe she would like that.”
A giddy sense of happiness rushed through her. It was heartwarming that the viscount wanted her to be a part of Lizzie’s experiences. Marianne reached over and picked up a carved monkey. “I read the London Zoo is not opened to the public.”
“If you wish to attend, I will see it done.”
She supposed that meant he had the wealth and connections for her to gain admittance. Marianne wasn’t certain how she felt about such vaunting of privilege, but she was intrigued. “I’ve never seen any of the exotic animals,” she murmured. “I’ve read of them, but I shan’t like seeing such beautiful spirits caged.”
“Ah…a very similar feeling that my brother and I shared when we were taken to the menagerie. I recall some screams on my part about how cruel they were and being scolded most severely by our father for shaming the family with our odious display of vulgarity.”
His tone was mild, but deviltry danced in his eyes. “Would you like a drink, Miss Ashbrook?”
“A drink?” she parroted and then noticed the decanter of amber liquid and glass to his right on the floor. Her heart gave a patter in warning. “Of course not!” she said, hating that she flushed. How gauche and unworldly she must appear to a man of his experience.
His gaze kissed over her face in a too intimate fashion. “I detect a measure of guilt,” he drawled provocatively. “Could it be that the reverend’s daughter has been secretly indulging?”
Marianne laughed, startling herself. “Perhaps once or twice, my sisters and I have pilfered a taste of my Papa’s port. He would be aghast should he ever discover.”
“How shockingly improper,” he said drolly. “You have more than one sister, Miss Ashbrook.”
“Yes, there are six of us in total.”
“Six girls?”
“Papa wasn’t fortunate enough to be blessed with a son. But it was wonderful growing with sisters.”
“And you are the eldest?”
“I…no, Victoria has that honor. I am the second daughter.” She thought about her sister, who had left home over two years to travel the continent and was recently engaged. “Victoria is daring and hated being trapped in Biddleton. Papa’s younger brother and his wife decided to take a tour of Europe. They are childless and had been wanting to make that trip for some years. Victoria was old enough to decide on her own, and somehow, she convinced Uncle Walton and Aunt Lydia to take her with them. The last letter I received from her, they were living in Brussels, and she is engaged to Captain Warwick Spencer of the British navy and is having a wonderful time.”
“You sound envious.”
She lifted startled eyes to find him staring at her with astonishing intensity.
“I am most certainly not jealous!” Yet there was a part of her that wished she was with her sister, seeing more of the world. “Perhaps a smidgen,” she admitted with a smile. “Biddleton is a good home but also frightfully boring at times. There are so many long walks one can take…”
“I’ve heard from a few friends of late that marriage can be exhilarating,” he said with a good deal of skepticism.
“Are you asking me why I am unmarried, your lordship?”
“Yes,” he murmured with that slight crook of his lips. “You are young, perhaps about two and twenty and frightfully beautiful.”
“Three and twenty,” she said, staring at him, not liking the unexpected flutter in her stomach. Viscount Wicked, a connoisseur of pretty ladies, thought her beautiful. Nonsense, but deep inside, something purred.
“I’ve always thought I would only marry a man who complimented my character, temper, and understanding.”
“Ah, and such paragon of goodness might not be found in Biddleton?”
“Has your lordship assumed my character and temper is one of the loftiest of virtues?”
Interest gleamed in the dark silver of his gaze. “Pray tell, is there a smidgen of mischief there?”
There was an undercurrent of something decidedly wicked in his tone. A kiss of warning quivered down her spine, and her heart increased its tempo. “Perhaps, I shall hardly own to it to a man of your proclivities. Papa always said one should not admit a weakness aloud considering the devil might be listening.”
Amusement leaped into his eyes, and if she were not mistaken, admiration. She felt struck through by the sight of it.
“Of course, I am clearly Satan, that vile tempter.” Only the faintest tremor in his voice betrayed the humor he found in the situation.
“I know it was very poor-spirited of me to imply that you are the devil.”
“Think nothing of it,” he replied with admirable gravity.
She was now enjoying herself quite considerably, and acting on the impulse she leaned forward, grabbed the decanter, and poured some of the amber liquid into a glass. Then she took a careful sip. A wave of fire engulfed her entire body, and she sucked in a harsh breath. “What vile drink is this?”
His lips moved, not quite a smile. “Brandy.”
“It is dreadful,” she said, handing him the glass.
Her heart tripped alarmingly when he tipped it to his mouth, his lips edging the rim of the glass exactly where hers had been. It suddenly looked and felt shockingly intimate. The soft warning exploded into distressing alarm. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, an awful nervous gesture, and his predatory gaze lingered on her lips. A frown marred his brow, and he looked away from her. With a single swallow, he downed the contents of the glass and placed it on the floor with a decided click.
Marianne stood, uncertain about the sudden tension in the room. “It is a beautiful nursery, my lord,” she said. “I shall now retire to bed.”
“Thank you for the company, Miss Ashbrook,” he replied, his tone carefully blank. “The interlude was delightful.”
She dipped into a quick curtsy, collected her book and the candlestick and hurried from the room, entirely conscious that his eyes followed. Once in the hallway, Marianne released a deep breath. She had been in his presence for at least thirty minutes, and not once had she recalled to mind he was the dishonorable bounder who had ruined her sister. Silently berating herself for her foolishness, she entered her room and set down the book and candlestick on the small vanity. Marianne shrugged from her robe and climbed into bed all thoughts of reading gone from her mind.
“Of course, snakes will be charming,” she muttered to herself. “That is how they can trick people into ruin.” Except the viscount had only presented himself as kind, quite thoughtful of her needs, and just a little bit wicked and charming.
Settling among her pillows and tugging the sheets to her chin, a peculiar disquiet filled Marianne’s heart. I mustn’t like him beyond what is polite and proper, she silently reminded herself as she fell into a deep slumber.
Except for the first time in her life, Marianne dreamed of kissing a man, and of course, it was the wicked viscount.
Chapter 7
Dearest Marianne,
I do hope you are well, and Lizzie too. I’ve thought of her often, and my heart breaks each day she is away from me. I also received your letter, and I am even happier to know she will be raised with the privilege of being the daughter of Lord Worsley. This gives me hope that I might see her in the future, even if it will be painful to see her father. A solicitor, Mr. Archibald Turner, on behalf of Lord Worsley, visited us in Biddleton. At first, Papa was angry at his unannounced visit and his intentions, but Mama calmed Father’s anger, and we were all able to meet civilly. Mr. Turner provided me with this new location to write to you, and I am astonished it is not the previous address of Lord Sanderson which you provided. I do hope everything is well, and I trust in time you will inform me why you are at a different house. I know you are safe because you were always so sensible, as Papa often praised you for your common sense.
Now onto my news, Mr. Turner has informed me that a house will be purchased for me, and I am to receive a sum of one thousand pounds yearly until I am married. Papa at first refused but then came around after a couple hours. I cannot credit what changed his mind, but I am forever grateful. I was given the choice of where to live, and I picked Bath where I will move by next week and assume widowhood. I have decided to call myself Mrs. Lucy Elliot. I will be able to hire a cook, a housekeeper, a lady’s maid, and still live in comfort. I promise I shall be very circumspect in my behavior and the society I keep company with. I am no longer interested in love or any gentleman! For the first time in months, I feel so hopeful that my future might not be so dreary. I daresay I will try my hand at writing a gothic novel as I have always wanted to, and the best place to do that is Bath.
I will send my address to you soon, and I do hope you will visit. I look forward to hearing from you.
Your sister, Lucy.
Marianne folded the letter, opening the drawer of the small writing desk in her room and slipped it inside. “Oh Lucy, I am so very grateful you seem happy,” she whispered, then smiled.
Deep melancholy had gripped her sister after the birth of Lizzie, and nothing her sisters had done had been able to rouse Lucy’s spirits. She had spent days abed crying, unable to even walk the baby in the woods for a breath of fresh air. Papa’s continual disappointment and unforgiving attitude had not helped the situation. No doubt Papa had changed his mind because of their mother’s influence, and surely, he would see that this was a chance to secure Lucy’s future even if he hated the way it had come about. Marianne could picture her father on his knees, praying and trying to justify the decision of allowing Lucy to take some restitution from her debaucher. It would wrack his conscience dearly.
Marianne pushed back her chair, looking down on her clothing as she stood. She had made herself some plain gowns when she had been planning to go as a governess, and although she longed for the prettier clothes that society ladies could afford, she knew they fitted her station. She smoothed down the drab skirts of the dress she had chosen to we
ar that day and made her way from her room toward the nursery. Lizzie slept peacefully, no doubt sated from her recent feeding, and her walk in the park. For the last eight days since they had moved into the viscount’s home, they had developed a routine. After Doris attended to the baby each morning, Marianne would take Lizzie for a walk in the perambulator, sometimes pushing her all the way to the small but quaint and elegant bookstore nearby. They would return home for her next feeding, and then afterward, Marianne would sit with her in the nursery and read to her before putting her down for her sleep. This allowed Doris to spend some time with her own children, who were now living with her sister.
The viscount was often absent from the townhouse, and when he was present, he stayed in his study. Their paths had crossed a few times, and he was very polite, warm even, but there had been no repeat of how they had conversed that night in the nursery.
Marianne enjoyed her days of walking and reading with Lizzie, but at times she felt awfully bored. For the last few nights, she would peer from her window as the viscount left the house in his elegant and well-sprung carriage dressed in the first stare of fashion. She supposed he went to his club or some societal event or perhaps to a mistress. Marianne had no notion of when he returned home, and would only chance upon him in the days, sometimes in the nursery with Lizzie in his arms.
The nursery turned out to be a bright, cheerful room, sunny and airy, and tastefully decorated and furnished. Truly a room fit for a little princess, and it had all been done by the viscount in a few days. His caring for Lizzie and attention to details warmed Marianne to him as nothing else could. The very sight of them together always filled Marianne’s heart with a peculiar longing, and she would always melt away whenever he spied her.
