In Love with the Viscount (American Heiress Trilogy Book 3)

by Julianne MacLean

  “Explode?”

  “Yes. Though you have never shown any signs of discontent. That is why I’ve tried to tell myself that you’re not like me, and I shouldn’t expect you to want to ‘let go’ like I must do occasionally. We’re different, that’s all, and I’ve learned to accept that.”

  Adele thought about the way she had felt in bed with Damien. She had definitely been repressing her passions during the night—passions she hadn’t even known she was capable of.

  “Yet, on the ship,” Adele said, “you wanted me to have a proper London Season.”

  Clara shrugged apologetically. “Old habits are hard to break.”

  Adele faced the mirror on her dressing table and pulled the pins out of her hair. “Maybe you still believe I’m repressed.”

  Clara didn’t say anything.

  “I’ve begun to wonder,” Adele said, “why I have always been so well behaved, and so different from you and Sophia. Was I born this way, or did something make me this way?”

  “Maybe you should ask Mother that question.” Clara leaned back on the bed and put her hand on something. “What’s this?” She picked up a note that lay on Adele’s pillow and handed it to Adele.

  It was written on the Osulton stationery.

  Miss Wilson,

  I took the liberty of arranging for the Osulton family physician to visit you tomorrow at ten in the morning.

  D.

  Adele’s pulse began to beat erratically, all because of a simple note. A note from him. “Oh my.”

  Clara slipped it out from between Adele’s fingers. “Someone’s coming to examine your leg,” she said cheerfully. “That’s very wise. You don’t want to risk an infection. Wait—who’s D.?” She stared at the note for a few seconds. “That must be Lord Alcester.”

  Adele felt a little breathless, which made no sense. It was just a note about a doctor’s visit—a visit she had been readily anticipating.

  But the note had been private, meant only for her, and it had been written in the finest hand, laid on her pillow....

  “Oh,” Clara said softly. “You were on a first name basis.”

  Adele knew that somehow, without her ever saying a word about Damien to her sister, she understood everything.

  “I see.” Clara gave the note back and stood up, pacing behind Adele. “I must admit, I was surprised when I met him this evening.”

  “Why?” Adele asked.

  “Because he’s so handsome. Why didn’t you mention that?”

  “Because I’m engaged to Harold. I don’t notice whether or not other men are handsome.”

  Clara gave her a look, and Adele wasn’t sure why she was denying something obvious when Clara wasn’t blind. Perhaps it was because every instinct Adele possessed was telling her to deny it to herself as well. And she was so used to being good.

  She continued to stand before her dressing table, slowly removing her earrings, until Clara stopped pacing behind her. “You don’t have to be that way with me, Adele. I’m your sister.”

  Adele crossed the room to fetch her nightgown. “I’m not being that way. Honestly, I care nothing about what Lord Alcester looks like. Don’t you remember what Sophia said about him? That he keeps mistresses with scandalous reputations? I certainly remembered, and I could hardly find a man like that attractive, no matter what he looks like. You know me better than that.”

  “But he rescued you,” Clara argued, “quite heroically. Then he tended to a wound on your thigh.”

  “I’d been shot,” Adele explained. “We had no choice about the thigh. Although it was just a small graze. But it still hurt. Believe me, I didn’t feel a thing except for the pain.”

  Too late, she realized how defensive she was sounding. She faced her sister, who was watching her with a look of sympathy. Perhaps the “discontent” Clara had mentioned and feared was finally revealing itself. Perhaps this was a small spark before an explosion. Adele felt a sudden wave of apprehension move through her.

  “Don’t, Clara,” she said firmly, holding up a hand. “I’m fine. I am in love with Harold, and he’s the one I want to marry.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I know you have very romantic notions about passion and adventure—and I will be the first to admit that Damien is a handsome man—but we’ve had this conversation before. Damien might have come to my rescue, but he is not my knight in shining armor. Harold is. Harold sent him, after all.”

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  “No buts!” she said again. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Damien helped me, and I am grateful for that, but he’s not the kind of man I would ever want to marry. That’s the end of the story.”

  Clara—quite surprisingly—gave in. “All right. I won’t mention it again.”

  “Thank you.”

  Clara yawned. “I think I’ll check on Anne now, then go to bed.”

  She walked to the door but paused and glanced uncertainly at Adele before she left. As soon as she was gone, Adele picked up the note and read it again, then thought about Damien arranging for the doctor. He had spent some time thinking of her and her needs, in particular about her worries regarding a most intimate, personal matter. She imagined him taking the time to make the arrangements—riding to see the doctor, explaining things as discreetly as possible. He had not forgotten about her.

  Warmth swelled inside her. She wondered curiously if he had told Harold about the examination. A part of her—a part that she didn’t want to face—hoped he had not. She liked knowing it was a secret they shared, just between the two of them. And she couldn’t imagine discussing something like that with Harold.

  Chapter 11

  Down by the lake—which was dead calm in the early morning, reflecting the trees and sky with astounding clarity—Damien slowed his horse from a gallop to a walk.

  He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed time alone in the woods to breathe the fresh air and the scents of new spring growth. It calmed him, it always had, and that morning, he had needed to ease some tension.

  Two letters had arrived for him yesterday. One had come from Henderson, his steward at Essence House, informing him that one of the tenant farmers had packed up and left without so much as a note explaining why, and something had to be done because the rent was due and the estate couldn’t weather another loss in income.

  Damien had written back to Henderson, instructing him to manage the finances as best he could for a little while longer. Things would improve soon, Damien promised. He didn’t say how, but he did ask Henderson to discontinue the search for a family to lease the house because Damien planned to return after the London Season. He assumed his steward would guess that he intended to bring home a bride.

  As he wrote the reply, however, Damien envisioned himself wearing a stiff bow tie every night during the Season, attending dull London balls and assemblies, and bowing politely to dozens of simpering, bejeweled debutantes.

  He had not enjoyed penning the note.

  The other letter, doused in perfume, had come from Frances. She wanted Damien to return to London as soon as he could manage it, because she was “utterly bored” with her current theater production. She wanted a distraction.

  Damien headed back to the house and spotted his grandmother’s open carriage on the lane. She was out for her usual morning drive. He trotted up beside her.

  “Damien!” she said. “I was hoping I would meet you. I have a bone to pick with you, young man.”

  “A bone, Grandmama?” he replied over the clatter of hooves and carriage wheels.

  “Yes. You kept a secret from me yesterday. About your adventure.”

  Damien glanced uneasily at the driver of the carriage.

  His grandmother tapped her cane. “Stop here, Regan. Would you fetch me some daisies? Just over there, that’s right.” The driver set the brake,
hopped down, and left them alone. “Why didn’t you tell me about the kidnapping?” the dowager asked.

  Damien’s horse took a few restless steps sideways. “Who let it slip?”

  “Adele’s mother, Beatrice. She can’t keep a secret, that one. Delightful sense of humor, though.”

  They both looked up at the house on top of the hill.

  “It was nothing,” Damien replied.

  “Please, you needn’t pretend it hasn’t been intriguing for you, rescuing Harold’s fiancée from a kidnapper and bringing her home like a hero to deliver her into the arms of her betrothed. Very romantic, don’t you think?”

  He shook his head at her.

  She smiled mischievously. “I heard she was shot, too. Truly, it’s the stuff of novels. And you were so good to bandage her leg. Her thigh, I should say. Good heavens, if you weren’t future cousins, one might go so far as to call it scandalous.”

  “It was nothing, Grandmama.”

  “Of course. I’m sure you kept your eyes closed the entire time.”

  Damien grinned at her. “You know you’re a thorn, Grandmama?”

  “I do,” she replied with a wink. “But you need a good painful prick every once in a while, Damien, to remind you that you’re still alive.” She turned toward her driver, still picking daisies. “Call him back, will you? He’ll get stung by a bee.”

  “Regan!” Damien shouted, waving him back. He returned and handed the bouquet to the dowager, who patted him on the arm.

  “Thank you. You’re such a dear.”

  The carriage lurched forward, and they started back toward the house. “All right,” she said, “let’s change the subject. I had a good time last night.”

  “I heard you were up until two,” Damien replied.

  “Yes. We played charades and Violet sang and received a tremendous round of applause. She loved it, of course. It’s a shame you missed it.”

  “I had things to do.”

  “Did you now?”

  “I did.”

  He felt his grandmother’s intrusive gaze digging into him.

  “She is certainly lovely,” she said.

  “Who?”

  His grandmother gave him a knowing, sidelong glance. “Adele, of course. I like her demeanor. She has no pretensions. She was nervous meeting us, but she didn’t try to hide it under an aloofness that’s so common among some people. She was very warm and friendly. I can see why the American girls are snatching up all our young men. Clara, her sister, was just as lovely.”

  “I suppose,” he replied.

  The dowager leaned over the side of the carriage to tap Damien’s knee with her cane. “Oh, stop, will you? Didn’t you get to know her?”

  “Not really.”

  They looked up at a blackbird soaring, then rode in silence for a few more minutes.

  “Do you think she’ll be happy with Harold?” the dowager asked.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “She mentioned she loves to ride.”

  “Did she?”

  “Harold hates it.”

  Damien shook his head again. “There are more important things in a marriage than a shared interest in horses and a love of the outdoors. People connect in many different ways.”

  “I didn’t mention a love of the outdoors,” his grandmother said. “I think you know her better than you let on.”

  Damien pulled his horse to a stop. “Have a pleasant morning, Grandmama.”

  She waved a hand and continued.

  On any other day, he would have ridden the rest of the way back to the house with his grandmother. But today—given the subject matter of their conversation—he preferred to stay behind.

  Adele sat up on her bed and watched the physician close his black leather bag. He must be a very skilled man, she thought, feeling more than a little impressed. After he’d checked her bullet wound and changed the bandage, he’d taken one brief look at her down there and said simply, “All is well.” He hadn’t even touched her.

  “Thank you, Dr. Lidden,” she said.

  She escorted him to the door but could not let him leave without learning something first. “This is certainly good news. May I ask if you will report the results to Lord Osulton?”

  The doctor paused and looked down at her. He had very kind eyes. “Lord Alcester requested the strictest confidentiality on my part. You are the only person to whom I am responsible, Miss Wilson. Unless, of course, you wish me to inform Lord Osulton.”

  Damien had indeed been discreet.

  Adele gazed up at the doctor. Should she tell him to go and speak to Harold? Dear sweet Harold hadn’t mentioned any concerns about this sort of thing, but how could he possibly initiate such an intimate topic of discussion?

  He must be wondering, though. The whole family must be concerned....

  “I believe, Dr. Lidden, I would prefer that Lord Osulton know all the particulars of my condition. We are to be husband and wife, after all. Please tell him why I was concerned—because I had been unconscious during a part of my abduction. If you could assure him that all is well?”

  The doctor smiled. She sensed he was relieved to be spared the necessity of keeping a secret from the family. “I will go and speak to him right away.” He bowed to her before he walked out.

  “I beg your pardon?” Harold said, straightening from his bent-over position at his lab table and pushing his protective glasses onto the top of his head. “What did you say?”

  Dr. Lidden cleared his throat. “I said, my lord, that Miss Wilson was not compromised during her abduction. I have just examined her, and you can be confident that there will be no questions regarding a male heir, if one were to be a product of your marriage in the near future. Do you understand my meaning?”

  Harold laughed nervously. He pulled off his glasses, dropped them onto the stool behind him, and moved around the long table to screw a lid onto a jar. He closed it tight, then laughed again.

  “You can actually diagnose these things?” he asked. “I say, it’s quite a science, isn’t it? Though not a science I would likely enjoy.” He gestured toward the bottles behind him, stacked on shelves against the glass wall of the conservatory. “Are you a man of science, Doctor?” Harold blushed and laughed again. “Of course you are. What a dimwitted question.” He paused and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So… you say she is healthy? Well, that is good news, isn’t it? Good news indeed.”

  Harold turned around to face the opposite wall, as if looking for something to do, then faced the doctor again and lowered his voice to sound more like the lord he was supposed to be. “That will be all, Lidden. Thank you for your time.”

  Dr. Lidden bowed and walked out, shaking his head as he climbed the steps that led back into the main part of the house.

  Damien sat back in the saddle and watched the doctor’s carriage roll by on the lane. It was done. He had examined Adele.

  Bloody hell. Damien could not contain his curiosity, which was completely inappropriate. He had instructed the doctor to keep the matter private, but now Damien wished he had told the man to report back. Damien wanted the assurance that she had not been harmed when she had been unconscious, and it was killing him now—absolutely killing him—to leave the matter alone and stay away.

  Chapter 12

  From her window on the second floor, Adele watched Dr. Lidden walk out of the house, climb into his carriage, and drive away. She turned and looked at her door, expecting to hear a knock at any moment. Surely, Harold had been relieved to hear the news that she had not been violated during her kidnapping.

  She waited, and waited, and waited some more. Still, Harold did not come. Perhaps he was afraid to. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable discussing such things.

  Adele sighed, remembering what a sensitive gentleman he was. She remembered how he had rescued a
spider in her Newport drawing room once, while the ladies were screaming, and had set him free out the window. That was the moment she had decided that Harold was the one for her. He had not squished the poor creature under his boot. He was a sweet, nonthreatening man.

  She decided to seek him out instead. She wanted to share her happiness with someone. Who better than her husband-to-be?

  She met the butler in the main hall and asked where Lord Osulton might be.

  “He is in the conservatory, Miss Wilson,” the butler replied.

  What a perfect place, she thought. She had been looking forward to seeing the plants and flowers.

  She made her way through the gallery and down a long corridor, then finally found the entrance to the conservatory, flanked by graceful statues of the human form. She didn’t let herself stop to look at them. She did stop, however, rather abruptly, at the top of the conservatory steps.

  There were no plants. The entire room had been converted to a laboratory. There were five or six tables covered with bottles, scales, funnels, and flasks, and papers strewn about. Tall bookcases filled with reports and journals stood in front of the glass windows, blocking the view of the garden. It was not what she had expected—which characterized her life in general over the past week.

  Slowly, feeling almost heartbroken, she descended the steps, looking around at the jars and bottles full of liquids and powders, all with hand-written labels. Adele cleared her throat. “Harold, I’m so sorry to disturb you, but could we have a word?”

  His smile seemed strained. “What about, my darling?”

  Adele tried to keep her voice casual when, in actuality, she felt very ill at ease. “Did Dr. Lidden come to see you?”

  He raised his protective glasses to rest on top of his head. “Dr. Lidden? Why yes, he did.”

  “And he told you that everything was fine?”

  The smile disappeared from Harold’s lips as he stared at her for a few awkward seconds. Then he picked up a crucible and moved it to a new spot on another table, keeping his back to her. “Everything is fine. Yes. That is good news indeed.”