The Viscount's Victress (Scandalous Nobility Book 1)

by Madeline St. James

  She quickly removed her borrowed apparel, safely placing it within a small trunk at the foot of her bed, and dressed into something more comfortable to clean in. Somewhere in London, a clock signaled the midnight hour as Marina hummed to herself. She lifted the heavy pail from the floor; her arms struggled against the sloshing weight of the water as she dumped it out the broken window.

  Her cheeks reddened when an irritable shout rang into the night. She looked down sadly at the windowsill and noticed the telltale signs of termites and other pests that had decided to make themselves at home.

  As if the holes in the walls and the gaps in the roof were not enough, she lived in an over-crowded multileveled shelter that reeked of factory pollution and musty ale. The summer breeze was tinged with sweat and toxins along with the smells of the London Port. One day she wished to live somewhere she could watch the ships sail in.

  Marina tried her best to keep her home clean and neat despite its many defects. She had a small sweets tin hidden beneath the floor that she kept her funds in, reserves in hope for a better future for herself. Quite a lot of money had accumulated over the years, thanks to the meager but honest wages of her work in the dressmaker’s shop. Marina never dared to use the money unless there was an emergency.

  Some would argue that the frail state of her appearance was reason enough to make essential purchases. But aside from her frightful decline in weight and the random spells of fatigue over the past week, Marina felt healthy. She simply summed it up to exhaustion from work and maintaining her household.

  The pain in her knees rattled her bones when she knelt on the floor to mop up the excess water that had spilled. Her back hurt and her shoulders tingled with the overexertion of her muscles, but a smile never faltered on her raspberry lips. Marina continued to hum a shapeless tune with thoughts of the Viscount. She had not expected him to give chase when she abandoned the ball in favor of kindling gossip.

  Lady Guinevere Lockhart had extended an invitation to accompany her and the other ladies of aristocracy to the next social hosted at the assembly rooms. Get it together, Marina. You cannot be deliberating on attending another social. It was a completely ridiculous notion. She would be foolish to return after all of the chatter and speculations surrounding her fictitious persona.

  No doubt someone other than the Marchioness would see her as an imposter. But with the added support of the other ladies, it would be easier to…enough! Marina could not believe that she would even contemplate trying to see the Viscount again. He most likely wanted nothing more to do with her and her childish antics, especially after nearly humiliating herself by tripping over her own feet during their dance. Still, Marina would cherish the feel of his strength as he kept her from falling onto the floor.

  Marina lived inside of her mind, reminiscing about the ball when a knock sounded at the door. She pushed herself up to her feet, dusted her hand off onto the rag, and opened the door. The upturned nose, chestnut hair, and big green eyes of Beatrice came into sight.

  The young girl pushed past the door to pace around the small room, a worried look cemented on her face. With a gesture towards the beaten down mattress that sat atop an iron frame, Marina and Beatrice settled beside one another. “Tell me everything. Were you suspected?”

  “I am sure they suspected a lot of things about me, but not that I attended the ball as an imposter,” Marina explained, unable to contain the passionate smile that overwhelmed her. “I danced with Lord Percival Knight, Viscount of Greenwood, gossiped among the wealthy, and sampled exquisite wines. I even made a fool of myself by tasting brandy although it is a gentleman’s drink. At some point, the Marquess and Dowager Marchioness of Northampton rescued my reputation from Lady Belfour’s scrutiny. She has an intolerably difficult disposition.”

  “You mean Lady Gray’s reputation?” Beatrice countered.

  Marina bowed blushingly at being corrected. “Yes, Madam Juliana Turner came to my aid after it became noticed that I had arrived without a chaperone.”

  “Saints above! Stop speaking like that! It has only been one night and already you are an entirely different person!” She waited for Beatrice’s anger to subside, pausing for the young woman to continue. “Marina, you must understand that this cannot go on beyond the ball. There is too much at risk for you to continue this act.”

  “I understand, Beatrice. But I wish you could have been there to see it all. The lights, the music, the dancing, and the game – it was all like something out of a dream.”

  “It was supposed to be a dream,” Beatrice mumbled sadly. “You were expecting to go to the ball to attest that anyone was worthy of the life of aristocracy and that common, working-class folk like you and I could play the same part in society as they. It was not supposed to be a game.”

  “Yes, I know! But that was before I realized what it all meant. Everything is so much more complicated than we ever expected, Beatrice. Wealth and power are only a few of many reasons why they live differently than we do. And yes, it is a game,” Marina huffed. “A game that can ruin lives as quickly as it can shape one’s reputation. It is deadly and complicated, beautiful and treacherous. But most of all, it is survival for them.”

  “I care for you as I would if you were my sister, Marina. But I cannot watch you put yourself in harms way. Along with hearing about your evening, I came here to say goodbye. I am leaving London.” Beatrice reached into the tattered bag that slug across her shoulder and landed at her hip. She handed Marina two fistfuls of money. “Everything that I owe you is there. My father needs me at his side as he returns to sea,” Beatrice admitted. “We leave at noon.”

  “Beatrice…” Tears burned behind her eyes, and Marina lunged forward to wrap her arms around Beatrice. It was hard to say goodbye to the young woman she had mentored over the years, especially so abruptly. She felt partially responsible for pushing her friend away. Something had shifted in their companionship, and the roles had been reversed. She watched Beatrice leave, pondering her words of advice.

  ***

  The week following the ball, Percival stared out past the rolling hills and lush green forests that surrounded his estate. He squinted his eyes against the sunlight that filtered through the graying clouds that spoke of a coming rain, surrounded by an endless blue sky. He could smell the storm on the wind and wondered if somewhere in London, Lady Gray was looking up at the same sky.

  His thoughts had turned obsessive since the ball. Lady Gray consumed his every thought; he was useless to resist.

  Of course, the Marquess pointed out that Percival hardly knew her. But every nerve of his being crackled like lightning and spurred the rapturous beat of his heart. Percival was barely capable of contributing to a conversation, much less able to concentrate on matters of business.

  His position had responsibilities, sometimes they were pointless while others were substantial, but they were his burden to bear nonetheless. He looked down at his gloved hands that loosely held the reigns that steered his mount. Much like the tamed beast in which he sat astride, Percival was stout and pacified.

  Often he thought of himself as nothing more than a broken man, a shell of who he had once been before accepting the title Viscount. But the pressure of society and that of his family had given him no other choice. His mother could pretend she pleased, but Percival knew the truth. While she may wish to one day see him father a child, there was still that pestering demand that he marry someone of her standards instead of his own. Percival, for all of his strutting about and haughtiness, wanted nothing more than to marry a lady of respectability in which he was compatible. Someone he could love.

  He was indeed infatuated with the thought of Lady Gray, but he was not a simple man who was easily tempted, despite rumors that insinuated otherwise. Percival like the idea of a brilliant, ambitious, and audacious woman, but he was under no illusions where love was concerned. True love and companionship took time to cultivate.

  Even as he debated with himself, Percival knew he would do wh
atever that was required to see Lady Gray again. No matter the risks or the secrecy required, he was determined to hear her laughter. Dreams of her exquisite smile and the impish smirk she had worn the night of the ball did little to settle his thoughts.

  Pure though his musings may be, he felt shameful. There were standards in place and practices that demanded obedience in the public eye. He could have no contact with her outside of a social gathering until a marriage agreement could be…Faith! Percival shook his head uncouthly to clear his rambling mind of all thoughts of marriage. It was much too soon, and only after one encounter.

  Clearly, he was on the verge of madness. He needed something to divert his course, which was what originally had inspired his impromptu horse ride through the country. Within an hour’s time, he dismounted and stood upon a hill overlooking his land. Ownership of land was an indication of wealth; it was a statement that commanded respect even if the landowner was someone of ill repute.

  He had obtained ownership of the estate only months before his rise to the status of Viscount. At least if he failed to appease his mother and society by refusing to marry out of convenience, he would have his home.

  “Percy.”Percival peered over his shoulder at the Marquess. Some of his anger had dissipated after the ball, but he still held his convictions to heart over what had taken place. Pure, foul embarrassment tinted Percival’s face as the other nobleman stepped toward him. “If we truly are more than associates and in fact, are friends, then I need to trust that you will not endanger our venture by behaving like an amateur.”

  “I would not intentionally do anything to-”

  “Are you certain? Because I have watched you manipulate our world for years with a superior artistry that perplexes me at times, but I saw nothing of that man at the ball.”

  “Elias, you can trust me.”

  The Marquess did not correct his impropriety, but instead hung his head low and tucked his hands into his pockets. “I trust that you and I can bring about some desperately needed change in our lifetime by using our influence for the wellbeing of the people, but I cannot and will not trust your judgment on the matters of Lady Gray.”

  “There is nothing to concern yourself with,” Percival insisted pathetically. “Nothing that I will act upon.”

  “Do extend the courtesy of not insulting my intelligence.”

  Chapter Seven

  Ruteledge Estate

  Winchester, England

  Charity Belfour turned toward the doors as Lady Leliana Gray strolled into the room with an ethereal glow about her. Charity instinctively flicked her gaze toward the Viscount, who sat playing a game of cards with his associates.

  Drinks flowed and the space filled with cigar smoke, but chatter came to an abrupt halt once all eyes turned to Lady Gray. She arrived to the revelry alongside Lady Guinevere Lockhart as planned. Charity opened her fan and waved it in front of her face as she laughed just a bit too loudly at one of the gentleman’s jests.

  Lady Lockhart and Lady Gray joined Charity and the others at their personal table. She could not help but notice how often the Viscount turned his attention toward the woman to her right as though Charity herself did not exist within his universe. The somewhat informal gathering of colleagues at the Earl of Winchester’s estate had been a spontaneous request from the Viscount himself, much to the congregation's astonishment.

  Charity sipped her wine and leaned toward the lady’s at her table. “Good evening, Lady Gray. It is a pleasure to see you again, my dear. Pity we made such poor impressions upon each other when we first met.”

  “Good evening to you as well, Lady Belfour.” Lady Gray nodded her greeting with surprising grace. Charity smiled in return, even though her anger seethed at the opposition.

  “It would appear as though we will see more of each other during these socials. Let us start anew, shall we?”

  There was a moment of hesitance as something unknown flashed through the depths of Lady Gray’s eyes, but her smile returned in an instant to accept Charity’s offer. Once the pleasantries were exchanged, the ladies of Charity’s circle began to gossip among themselves. They discussed their favorite subjects of aristocracy, fashion, and the prospects of marriage during the coming Season.

  Lady Lockhart shared a positively wicked story about a fleeting affair with a Baron before her impending arranged marriage. It was of no surprise to many of the ladies at the table. The story was told for the sheer amusement of Lady Gray. It was a test of sorts to see if she could hold their words in confidence. They also hoped that she would tell a story of her own.

  Lady Gray did not disappoint. “As a girl, I pined over a gentleman who never even knew I existed,” she giggled; the wine had begun relax her. “While staying with relatives along the Irish seashore, I watched him work from afar up in the lighthouse just past the border of the estate. He was a ship captain on a trade vessel who had fought beside my eldest cousin in the war. After I began traveling, I never saw him again.”

  Charity smiled encouragingly before imperceptibly peeking at the Viscount over her fan. Of course, he was lost in his game of cards. For a moment, and only for a moment, Charity allowed her sights to fall upon Elias Turner. The Marquess had been a dear friend since the days of their youth, oft causing trouble.

  “Do you have any stories, Lady Belfour?” asked Lady Gray.

  “Oh, Charity Belfour has many stories to tell,” Miss Victoria Hamilton snickered. “Don’t you, dearest?”

  “I will not mention specifics…however, there is currently an undisclosed rivalry between not one, not two, but three noblemen who wish to petition my mother for a nuptial arrangement.” Taking a moment of opportunity, Charity looked purposely toward the table where the Viscount of Greenwood, Marquess of Northampton, and Earl of Winchester sat chatting idly over their cards. She barely bit back her laughter at the rose-colored cheeks of Lady Gray.

  “Intriguing,” she stated simply.

  “Precisely. Which is the very reason I must be on my best behavior, lest mother decides to take matters into her own hands. So, no more talk of scandals and affairs.”

  Charity folded her fan and placed it in her lap. She would have loathed confessing to anyone that Lady Gray was a delight to have in a conversation. Honestly, she handled every question and every statement with elegance and poise. Had she not been the only other woman in England to catch the attention of the Viscount, Charity would have been honored to call her a friend.

  But the surreptitious glances and smiles from across the room between her competitor and the nobleman who held the interest of her heart meant that Lady Gray was her unwitting enemy. Her true intent would hide behind civility and etiquette, but Charity welcomed no rival.

  ***

  The conversation flowed effortlessly, swirling through the air, illustrating to Marina the very different worlds of the gentlewomen and gentlemen of aristocracy. While the ladies chatted idly about books, art, and music, the gentlemen bantered playfully and discussed business ventures. Marina lost count on how many times she had locked eyes with the Viscount. Those intense, intelligent eyes…

  She imagined this night for weeks after receiving Lady Lockhart’s invitation. Marina had nearly fallen into an early grave after Guinevere and her abigail had strolled into the dressmaker’s shop on a Saturday afternoon.

  The day before, Marina had used the money returned by Beatrice and purchased materials to make several dresses that she could wear to upcoming social events. Lady Lockhart had not suspected that Marina had been an employee of the shop, but a patron like herself. Once again, she prayed to the divine source that had inspired Mrs. Winslow to take the day off. Marina scuffed along with Lady Lockhart and pretended to be amused at the lack of service. The shop may have lost a sale, but her subterfuge had successfully warded off any suspicions.

  At these social gatherings, Marina found herself lying more often than not. Hopefully the author of her favorite book would not mind that she borrowed her story of the unrequite
d love of the ship captain and the Irish maiden. Suddenly, an invisible spell had been weaved between Marina and the Viscount. When he was near, her pulse quickened. They were unable to look away from one another, a confident smirk on his face and a pink bloom on her freckled cheeks.

  During one particular evening, Elias Turner, Marquess of Northampton, turned in his seat to see where the Viscounts attention had wandered. There was no way of mistaking the resentment in his eyes. They looked cold, and swirled like liquid metal. Marina swallowed her sip of wine nervously and looked down at her pale fingers as they brushed imaginary wrinkles from her dress. She wondered what she had done to elicit such malice from the Marquess, but decided she was better off not knowing.

  “Do you enjoy poetry, Lady Gray?” Lady Belfour inquired, a genuine interest in her expression. Perhaps their shared love for literature was more important than whatever animosity had grown between them.

  “I adore the poetry of eras long past.”

  Lady Belfour leaned a bit closer and placed her hand atop of Marina’s eagerly. “Do you have a favorite?”

  “Although he has many controversial philosophies and his work has fallen out of fashion, I simply worship the works of Dante Alighieri. My mother was a collector of sorts and she taught me both the Italian and English translations of his pieces.” Marina was happy to finally have the possibility of speaking the truth. The importance of the written word was something her parents fought to teach her. She had been a willing student.

  “Would you care to recite a few lines?”

  Marina took another sip from her glass before she set it on the table and closed her eyes. The words leapt from her memory and dripped from her wine-stained lips. Her voice husky as she said, “So perfect is the beauty of her face. That is begets in no wise any sigh…” Marina continued to speak the undying, alluring, lyrical words of Dante with a confidence she had not felt in years. When Marina opened her eyes at the end of the sonnet, the entire room had gone quiet to hear her recital. The Viscount’s eyes hooked on to her unyieldingly.