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

by Julianne MacLean

  Violet raised an arched eyebrow and smirked. “Lord Whitby—charming as usual.”

  His appealing, blue-eyed gaze drifted languidly to Violet’s face. The corner of her mouth curled up, and they gazed at each other for a few heated seconds.

  Adele wondered why she couldn’t manage to achieve that sort of exchange with Harold. Everyone else seemed capable of it. What was she doing wrong?

  “May I inquire about your card, Lady Violet?” Whitby asked, his smoldering gaze never veering from hers.

  “You most certainly may.” She inclined her head enticingly.

  The next thing Adele knew, Eustacia was penciling in his name for later in the evening, and he was walking off, leaving the entire group of them flicking open their fans to cool themselves.

  Adele looked around at everyone uncertainly. She had much to learn. Or maybe it was Harold who had something to learn. Perhaps it was he who needed to be awakened—as Lord Whitby undoubtedly was.

  Adele glanced at Lily, who was staring after Lord Whitby. He had not inquired about her dance card. In fact, he had not barely noticed her. He had been too busy responding to Violet’s brazen flirtations. Adele glanced discreetly down at Lily’s card. There were no names written in for any more dances that evening. Lily’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh, and she consulted her timepiece.

  Adele was dressing for Sophia’s At Home—the one day during the week when the duchess was always available to receive callers—when a knock sounded at her door. “Come in.”

  The door opened slowly, and Lady Lily walked in. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose bun on top of her head, and she wore a simple gown of gray silk. Pale skinned, with a tiny nose and full lips, she was an extraordinarily pretty girl. Adele often thought Lily would look striking in brighter colors, but for some reason, she preferred not to stand out.

  Lily stood for a few seconds, glancing around nervously before she finally spoke. “Adele, may I ask you a question?”

  “Of course. Please sit down.”

  Lily sat on the sofa, and Adele joined her.

  “Last night,” Lily said, Lady Osulton mentioned her nephew, Lord Alcester. Do you know him very well?”

  Adele stiffened, wondering where this was going. “I met him at my fiancé’s home when I arrived there. I know him a little.”

  “The reason I’m asking is because I met him a few nights ago at a ball, and I danced with him. From what I understand, he is looking for a bride this Season.”

  The room seemed to become very warm all of a sudden. Adele shifted in her seat. “Oh?”

  “Yes, and, well...it’s no secret that he has a reputation, but I wondered if you could tell me anything about him, since you know him personally.”

  Adele stared blankly at Lily. “What would you like to know?”

  “Are the rumors true? The ones about his mother, and the ones about his former mistress, the actress? They say he used to go to her dressing room after all her performances, and that he was the first man to ever break her famous, unbreakable heart.”

  “He broke her heart?” Adele asked.

  Lily spoke quietly. “Yes, didn’t you hear? Some people are saying that he wishes to redeem himself. He broke off his relationship with Miss Fairbanks two weeks ago, the very day he returned to London after being away at Osulton Manor. And meeting you and your mother, I believe. He told Frances he didn’t love her anymore, and she had to cancel her performance the following night because she couldn’t stop crying. He hasn’t seen her since.” Lily lowered her gaze again. “Well, that’s what the gossips say, anyway. Who knows how much of it is true?”

  The very day he returned to London? That was the day he had kissed Adele in the teahouse. Was that why he had told Frances he didn’t love her anymore?

  The thought that Damien was no longer making love to his mistress made Adele far, far happier than it should. She had to mentally shake herself, however, and force herself to remember all the reasons that she needed to forget him—like the fact that he was on the hunt for a rich wife.

  “I-I don’t know anything about Miss Fairbanks,” Adele said. “Regarding the other matter you mentioned—about his mother—I have heard that she led a scandalous life, but obviously, you’ve heard that, too.”

  “Yes, but may I ask, do you believe him to be redeemable? Do you think he is seriously looking to settle down and live decently?”

  Adele felt her blood rushing to her head. “Are you in love with him, Lily?”

  Lily squeezed her hands together in her lap again. “I don’t know him well enough to be in love with him. But he certainly is the most handsome man I’ve danced with in a very long time. I would like to fall in love with someone. But of course, that someone has to be respectable and trustworthy.”

  Adele suddenly envisioned Lily dancing with Damien. Smiling up at him. Lily loved to ride. She preferred the country over the superficial glitter of the Season. She was very beautiful. Her brother was rich and would no doubt provide a very generous dowry. She was a perfect match for Damien.

  “Would you like me to speak to James or Sophia about him?” Adele asked, secretly hoping that Lily would say no.

  Her eyes brightened. “What I was really hoping was that you could tell me what your fiancé Lord Osulton and his sister Violet think of him. They would know him better than anyone, I should guess.”

  Remembering the conversation that she’d had with Violet in the carriage, Adele strove to remain objective about the information Lily was seeking. “I am afraid that Violet has not described her cousin in the most flattering terms. She told me that he was looking rather desperately for a wealthy bride this Season. But in my family, we believe that each person must make up his or her own mind about people and not judge them by what others say. Perhaps Lord Alcester does want to redeem himself. My advice would be to get to know him yourself and follow your instincts.”

  There. That was objective. Well done, Adele.

  Lily’s expression changed, as if she were disappointed in Adele’s response. She gazed out the window behind the sofa. “I’m afraid I don’t completely trust my instincts, so I’ve surrendered to the conclusion that I must listen to what others say and allow myself to be guided by those I trust.” She stood up to leave.

  Adele wished she knew why Lily was so withdrawn around men, why she didn’t trust her instincts. Adele knew that Lily’s father had been a cruel man. Perhaps that was the reason?

  “Don’t be discouraged by Violet’s opinions,” Adele heard herself saying firmly, with no small amount of surprise. “Lord Alcester might very well wish to change the way he has lived his life. I would recommend that you keep an open mind.”

  Lily smiled down at Adele, but the smile seemed weighed down with a slight melancholy. “Thank you, Adele. You are very kind, and I daresay very sensible.”

  Adele hardly felt sensible lately. She couldn’t even manage to fall in love with her own fiancé. She set her elbow on the armrest and bit down on her thumbnail. She was beginning to think she should just give up on this whole engagement and return to New York and resign herself to spinsterhood for the rest of her life. Wouldn’t that be a relief?

  While Lily was sitting in Adele’s bedchamber asking questions about Damien, her brother, the Duke of Wentworth, was asking similar questions on the other side of town.

  “Tell me something,” James said to Whitby as they sat in front of the fireplace at his club. “You met Alcester recently when you were at Osulton Manor. What did you make of him?”

  Whitby raised his eyebrows and sat forward, intrigued by the question. “Why do you ask?”

  “For one thing, Lily danced with him the other night.”

  Whitby leaned back again and downed the last of his brandy. “That’s all? They just danced?”

  James inclined his head. “Odd question.”

  Whitby slowly b
linked. “You know that she’s like a sister to me, James. The simple fact that you are asking made me wonder.”

  “Ah. Well, I am indeed wondering a few things myself, mostly because I witnessed some wagering yesterday. Bets are being placed on whether or not Alcester will return to Miss Fairbanks’s dressing room after he slips a ring on the finger of a rich wife.”

  Whitby laughed. “You don’t say. Which way did the bets go?”

  “Most wager that Alcester will be supporting the arts again very soon.”

  Whitby nodded, seeming not the least bit surprised. “So, you think he’s after Lily’s dowry?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Whitby waved a finger at James and smirked playfully. “You brought this on yourself, you know, marrying an heiress and making yourself one of the richest men in England.”

  “I’m quite aware of that. Fortunately, Lily has a good head on her shoulders.”

  “Yes.” Whitby gazed down into his glass. “She does indeed. What do you want to know?”

  James crossed one leg over the other. “I want to know if you think the man is trustworthy. I won’t fault him for looking for money. I was looking for it myself when I married Sophia. But I do need to know if he intends to behave as a gentleman after he gets it.”

  “I really don’t know, James. I spoke to him only a few times.”

  “But you’ve been getting to know his cousin Violet. What’s she like?”

  Whitby grinned. “Enchanting.”

  James narrowed his eyes knowingly. “She’s rich. At least she will be, once Harold and Adele join hands at St. Georges. Has she ever spoken of Alcester?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to propose to her?”

  Whitby considered the question. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  With a resigned sigh, James smiled. “And I was so sure you’d come home from America with a Yankee bride on your arm and American dollars in your bank account.”

  Whitby set his empty glass on the table beside his chair. “In the end, it will still be American dollars. Straight from Adele to Lord Osulton to his sister, Violet. No offense, James.”

  James regarded his old friend directly. “None taken. It’s the way of the world these days. I’ll see you at the Wilkshire ball tonight, assuming you’re going, of course.”

  “I am.”

  “Very good.” He stood up to leave. “It should prove to be a lively affair.”

  Chapter 19

  That evening at the Wilkshire ball, all agreed that Adele’s gown was the most spectacular—the pinnacle of high fashion. It was a satin, cream-colored gown by Worth, with purple velvet roses woven into the fabric, and an off-the-shoulder neckline, ornamented with lace and velvet trimming. The form-fitting bodice displayed her tiny waistline to full advantage, and the entire ensemble, studded with pearls and gemstones, complemented her thick, upswept golden hair.

  On any other occasion, she would not have cared a whit about her appearance, but she had wanted to look her best that night. She had wanted to stand out among the other London beauties, and she could not pretend there was no explanation for it.

  She had not been at the ball long when she spotted Damien on the opposite side of the room. Earlier that evening, before dressing, she had promised herself she would not overreact at the sight of him, but she hadn’t seen him for more than two weeks, and now that he was within view, she was, quite frankly, paralyzed.

  He wore a black suit with white waistcoat and white bow tie, and his wild mane of hair was slicked back. He wandered around the perimeter of the room with grace and charisma, talking and laughing with other gentlemen, attracting the gaze of every woman who looked his way.

  It was impossible not to stare, Adele realized miserably. He was breathtaking in every way a man could be—handsome, charming, and most importantly, he was her beautiful black knight. He had saved her life and become her protector. She had touched him and kissed him and been held by him, and despite the fact that their last conversation had broken her heart, she had spent countless hours conjuring him in her thoughts. She could not even try to let this opportunity to steal a look at him pass her by.

  Just then, he turned, and their gazes locked and held from clear across the room. He started toward her. Adele sucked in a breath. She turned her back on him, and with a sudden tremor of panic, glanced at her mother and the others. Eustacia was laughing and talking. Violet was looking around the room with a hopeful, searching gaze. Lily was listening politely to whatever Eustacia was talking about. No one seemed to know that Adele was screaming inside.

  She felt him approach behind her. The others glanced at him and smiled, and their circle opened for him. Adele had no choice but to turn and face him and say hello. He inclined his head in return, then he immediately directed his attention to someone else.

  “Lady Lily,” he said with an appealing, heart-stopping smile, “how wonderful to see you again.” He made small talk for a moment, then said, “Perhaps I may have the honor of a spot on your card?”

  Naturally, the honor was granted, and he bowed politely and went away.

  Adele calmly sipped her champagne and nodded at the conversation that had now resumed, while she struggled to come to terms with the fact that she would like to spit. She hated herself for it, because she knew she had no hold over Damien. She was engaged to Harold, and they had both agreed that what happened between them should be forgotten.

  Yet she felt jealous. Jealous of Lily, whom she liked very much.

  None of her emotions made any sense to her. Evidently she was not as composed about this as she’d thought she could be.

  She remembered Clara’s advice—that if her feelings didn’t go away after a week, there might be a problem. Well, there was most definitely a problem.

  At that moment, Harold appeared beside her with a bright smile. “Ladies! What a crush this is! Three hundred people at least! I just counted them, and there are still others coming in!”

  Adele—still feeling heat in her cheeks and knowing her face was flushed—turned to her fiancé. She needed to talk to him. She could not go on like this. She needed to resolve her future. “Harold, it is indeed a crush. Will you take me outside for a walk on the veranda?”

  “Oh.” His smile became strained, and he glanced around at the other ladies, looking as if he didn’t want to be rude. Adele wished he could have sensed that she needed to be alone with him right now, and had made that his first concern, instead of worrying what others might think.

  Damien would not have given the others a second thought. He would have looked into her eyes, and he would have known.

  “All right,” Harold reluctantly agreed, his smile fading further as he offered his arm.

  Adele walked with him onto the flagstone veranda and moved to the far end, where a large oak tree stood close to the house and served as a cozy canopy.

  “There now,” Harold said. “Feel the cool air. You’ll be refreshed and ready to go back inside before you know it.”

  Adele closed her eyes and turned her face upward toward the dark sky, inhaling deeply and letting it out. “Yes, it is indeed refreshing.”

  After a few more deep, cleansing breaths, she began to feel better. She slowly opened her eyes. Harold smiled, then he seemed to take a moment to admire her lips.

  “You’re a very pretty girl, Adele,” he said.

  All at once, hope and euphoria coursed through her, because she had been waiting so long for some sign of affection from Harold, and he had finally found it in himself to express it. Grasping at what felt like the last shred of hope for a happy future with him, Adele turned to see if there were any others on the veranda. There weren’t. She and Harold were alone. She gazed at him in the evening light and took his gloved hand in hers. Then she took a tentative step closer to him, needing to test the waters of her future, and rose slowly
up on her toes to touch her lips to his. The breeze whispered gently through the tall oak beside them.

  “Adele!” Harold put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down. Her heels clicked on the flagstones. “What are you doing?” he whispered heatedly.

  Adele opened her eyes. “I wanted to kiss you,” she explained. “We’ve never really kissed before.”

  “Yes, we have!”

  “Not on the lips.” While a part of her felt humiliated and mortified having to explain the subtle degrees of a kiss, another part of her wanted to shake Harold. Shake him violently and tell him to wake up.

  “We’re in a public place, Adele. It’s hardly the right time.”

  Staring up at her fiancé in the dim light, she realized with a sad, sinking feeling, that there would probably never be a right time. Harold was not in love with her, nor was she in love with him.

  “And perhaps this is acceptable behavior in America,” Harold continued, “but we are not in America, and young ladies do not kiss gentlemen at balls. You’re in England now, and you’re going to have to change a number of things about yourself.”

  Adele stared blankly at him. There was no point trying to talk herself into this any longer. She could not marry him.

  “Good heavens, Adele. You need to get some color back into your cheeks. You’ll feel better if you dance.” He reached for her dance card and pencil. “I’ll write Damien’s name in. He’s free for the next few.”

  She pulled her wrist away. “No, Harold, really, I don’t need—”

  “Yes, you do, Adele.” He grabbed for the card again. He was not trying to be difficult, she realized. He actually thought he was being helpful.

  But how could he not see that she didn’t want to dance with other men right now, especially his cousin, whom she had spent three intimate days and nights with?

  “You just need a lively dance,” Harold said.