by Emma Evans
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
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The Reluctant Viscount
Lords of London
Book 2
By: Emma Evans
Chapter One
Viscount Simon Thackery shook out the society papers and began to read, unaware that his tea was growing steadily colder. He had always liked to break his fast with the morning paper and, even though society news was not something he appreciated, he could not help but read through the various notices of engagements and the like. It did, at least, allow him a little bit of insight into what was going on with his acquaintances.
“My goodness!”
His cup of tea was pushed out of the way as he set the paper down flat on the table, reading over the notice again and again. His eyes widened as he read the news, his lips stretching into a smile.
“Lord Morton married,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head. “Well, well, well. Who would have thought it?”
His voice echoed around the room, reminding him of his current lonely state. Ignoring the pang of longing in his chest, Simon folded up the paper and sat back in his chair, choosing to drink his rather cold tea before filling it up again from the teapot.
Lord Morton had been in something of a dire situation last Season, having only just discovered that most of the ton found him a figure of amusement. The poor man had found out that there were bets in Whites based solely on his behavior, realizing that he was not as single-minded in his affections as he had thought. Of course, Simon himself had always found Lord Morton to be something of a romantic, falling in love with one lady and then the next, without ever really knowing what love truly felt like, but had never had the urge to speak to him about it. And now, it seemed, Lord Morton had found himself a wife—and a good one at that. He hoped that he was now exceedingly happy, finally settling into married life.
Sighing heavily to himself, Simon turned to the stack of letters on the table, each waiting for his perusal. Being a single gentleman of good title, it meant that he had a great deal of responsibilities to his estate and to his family line, but he had not quite found it in his heart to go in search of a bride of his own. He did not want a wife, not yet. There was something about being alone that he was growing quite comfortable with, fearing that a companion would take away his comfortable solitude.
He had never been one for the Season, even though duty pressed on him to attend at least a few balls. However, he never enjoyed them, his heart slowly sinking into his chest with each dance that passed. What was the cause of such melancholy? It was the fact that so many of the eligible young ladies that attended such things simply sought out a gentleman for nothing more than his fortune and, given that he had a rather large fortune, Simon found himself growing weary of their constant attentions.
On top of which, he found most of his dancing partners to be rather insipid. They did not have particularly interesting conversation, they cared far too much about their looks and seemed to talk constantly about themselves. He did not like that. He was just another stepping stone to their hopes of furthering themselves. No, Simon did not care for such a thing as that.
It was just as well, then, that he had chosen to remain at home this year, telling himself that the estate—whilst profitable—could do with a little more guidance. His steward was reliable and completely responsible, so it was not as though he could not leave matters in his very capable hands, but the truth was that Simon did not want to return to London. As much as he knew he needed a wife in order to produce the required heir, he thought he would put it off for another year. It was not as though he intended to die between this summer and next, so the search for a wife could easily wait.
Turning over the letter in his hand, Simon frowned heavily as he recognized the seal of his uncle. They lived in Scotland—which could be the other side of the world as far as he was concerned—and they had never been close as a family. Uncle Roderick, Lord Musgrove, was the brother of Simon’s late mother and a baron in his own right. From what he could recall, the man had produced his own heir, as well as another son and daughter, all of whom he had never met. Why the man was writing to him now, he could not imagine!
Breaking the seal, Simon unfolded the letter and shook it out, frowning slightly as he began to read it aloud to himself.
“‘Lord Thackery, I am writing in the hope that you might be obliging enough to assist me in a difficult family matter,’” he read, his frown deepening. “My wife, as you may know, passed away last year, leaving me in charge of our home and children.’” Simon paused, wondering if he had known about such a thing. Such a piece of information would not have passed his notice, surely? And yet he could not quite recall hearing it before. A trace of guilt rattled through him, aware that he had been rather wrapped up in his own situation for some time.
“‘My daughter, Miss Sophia Newton, was due to have her come out this year. I obviously cannot take her now, due to my responsibilities here. All the arrangements have been made but, as yet, we have been unable to find a suitable chaperone for her. I know you often attend London for a short time and I must beg of you to take my daughter with you and chaperone her whilst she is there. She will have her own companion, of course, and, being family, no one could suggest anything untoward. If she is to make a good match, she must have her chance in London.’”
Slamming the letter down on the table, Simon rubbed his forehead with his fingers, his eyes closing in frustration. He did not want to chaperone any such girl, even if she was family. This was not his responsibility! He was not simply to run around after a young lady in order to try and help her find a suitable husband! He had responsibilities here, duties that he had to attend to. No, the baron was asking far too much of him.
And then, the trace of guilt he had felt grew into a heavy weight. London was so far removed from Scotland and, as he began to think on the matter a little more, it was quite true that the baron’s daughter would find it much more difficult to make a suitable match when she lived so far away. The loss of a parent was a difficult one, the grief he felt over his own dear father’s death still haunting him even though it had been some years ago now. He could not imagine what it must be like for the girl to have so many of her hopes and dreams dashed, as well as dealing with the death of her mother. His heart filled with sorrow for her, his sympathy and compassion rising within him.
“But no!” he exclaimed, loudly, picking up the letter and running his eyes over it again. “This is not my responsibility. She is not my responsibility.”
He did not want to go back to London. He had no intention of joining the rest of the beau monde in all their parties and soirees, hating the very thought o
f it. And yet, despite his firm intentions, he could not get the letter from his mind.
His father had always been a kind and compassionate man, raising Simon to be the same. Over the many years they had spent together, Simon had learned what it meant to care for others more than yourself. There had been a distinct lack of selfishness in his father’s character and that was something he had always wanted to emulate. Having wealth and title meant nothing if you could not aid those less fortunate, could not assist those who needed help. That did not mean just those who had no title, but those within his own family who required his aid.
“It would only be three months at best,” he muttered to himself, still feeling that strong urge of unwillingness.
Could he really now turn his back on his family, albeit distant family? What would his father have done?
The question did not linger in his mind. Simon knew precisely what his father would have done, and, with a loud groan, he pushed his chair back and got up from the table, making his way towards the study.
He would write back to the baron at once, informing him that he would be in touch again soon with all the arrangements and that, within a month, he would be in London prepared to chaperone Miss Sophia Newton.
Chapter Two
“It is very good of you to take me in.”
Baron Musgrove smiled and shook his head. “You need not continually thank me, Miss Dynes. It is a blessing to me and to Sophia that you are able to come as her companion.”
Miss Clara Dynes smiled and nodded, her heart so filled with gratitude that she could not quite express it. “Then has all been arranged?”
“Indeed, it has!” the baron replied with a broad smile. “Lord Thackery has agreed to be her guardian whilst she is in London, with you as her main chaperone, of course.”
“Of course,” Clara murmured, thinking quickly. “Then when do we leave?”
“Tomorrow morning!” the baron exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Of course, the journey to London will be a rather arduous one but I am inclined to think it will be worth it.”
Clara gave him a slightly rueful smile, having already made the journey once before and being more than aware of just how long it took.
“Sophia will be the belle of London, I am quite sure,” the baron continued, with a slightly sad smile. “How sorry I am that her dear mother could not be around to see this day.”
Her heart wrenched for him, seeing the grief written on his features. She had never known the lady but it was clear that the baron had loved her dearly.
“And what will you do once your duties in London end?” he asked, with a small sniff. “Not that I mean to pry but I understand that your situation with your brother is a rather curious one.”
Clara closed her eyes for a moment, her anxiety rising at the mention of her brother. “Yes, indeed,” she said softly. “He took on the title of Viscount Crawford when my father died, of course, and married soon after that. He and his wife now reside in the estate, as well as her younger sister.”
“Her younger sister?” the baron echoed, frowning a little. “Why, that is most unusual, is it not?”
“It is,” Clara replied softly, her cheeks heating from embarrassment. “However, I believe that the lady in question might have an inclination towards my younger brother.” She did not mention that she had been trying quietly to put a stop to such an attachment, nor what she had found that had driven her to do such a thing, thinking it best that such details be kept entirely to herself.
The baron nodded slowly. “I see.”
“My brother is glad of my absence for a time,” Clara finished, ignoring the pain that rifled through her. “A spinster sister is, after all, not particularly of use any longer when one is married, I suppose.” She tried not to think about how her sister-in-law had railed at her, practically snatching the keys for the house from her in a fit of angst. It was quite clear that she was no longer wanted at the estate and, given that her brother was utterly besotted with his wife, Clara had been glad for the opportunity to leave for a time. Seeing the baron look at her steadily, she sighed and gave a slight shrug. “In truth, Baron Musgrove, my future is somewhat unclear.”
“Then I am more than glad that you were able to accept my invitation to chaperone Sophia,” he said quietly. “Your father and I were very dear friends and I know he would be deeply hurt over how you have been treated, Miss Dynes. Should Sophia not find herself a husband this Season, then I insist that you remain with us and continue to chaperone her next year as well. And,” he continued with a quick smile, “should she find a husband this Season, then I promise to find you another situation of a similar kind—not one that is below your station, of course, but one that will continue to alleviate your current difficult situation.”
A deep gratitude welled up in her chest, making it difficult to speak for a moment. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked up at the baron, recalling just how dear a friend he had been to her father, Viscount Crawford. How kind he was being to her now!
“I am truly grateful for all of your aid,” Clara managed to say, her voice a little hoarse. “It means more to me than I can say.”
The baron smiled and walked to the door, gesturing for her to walk through it. “Very good, Miss Dynes. Now, shall we go through and tell Sophia the news that she is to leave for London tomorrow? I am quite sure she will be utterly delighted.”
Clara smiled, her heart lifting, as they made their way towards the drawing room. She laughed as Miss Sophia Newton squealed and began to dance around the drawing room, having evidently been waiting for news of what Lord Thackery had said in response to her father’s letter.
Happiness and sorrow wound their way into her soul, settling there. She was filled with a strange mixture of joy and pain, recalling how her own Season had been cut short by her mother’s death, only to be followed by the loss of her father a year later. Coming out of mourning three years after her come out had meant that she was already beginning to be considered somewhat on the shelf and, since her brother was somewhat tight-fisted, he had not allowed her to go to London for any other Season since. He, of course, cared greatly about himself and his own happiness and had, therefore, taken himself to London whenever he pleased and had found himself a suitable wife within a few months. Clara had tried her best to like Miss Angelica Hawthorn but had struggled to believe that the lady had any kind of true affection for her brother—particularly when she had stumbled across the lady and one of the footmen in a rather delicate situation in the library one morning.
That had been the start of what had been a very difficult time for Clara. Lady Angelica had brought with her a younger sister who, it appeared, was caught up with love and adoration for Clara’s younger brother, who was only a year Clara’s junior. Apparently, they had met in London when both of Clara’s brothers had gone to town for a few weeks—leaving Clara behind to run the estate—and an attachment had formed. There was no talk of matrimony yet but why the younger sister should now be practically living with the newlywed couple as well as Clara’s brother made the whole situation both delicate and quite improper. What was worse was that Clara had heard from her friend in London that Miss Jessica was well known as a flirt and had been chased from London by the suggestion of a scandal, but this, of course, had never been brought up in conversation by either of her brothers. In fact, they both seemed quite happy with the situation, whilst Clara fended off constant verbal attacks from both Lady Angelica and Miss Jessica. It had been a terribly difficult situation and, given that she had to give up the running of the estate to Lady Angelica—as was quite proper—she had struggled to find herself contented with her life. There was nothing for her to do, nothing for her to engage herself in and certainly no one to keep her company. It had been both lonely and trying and it had been a great relief to have received the letter from the baron.
Her brothers had not cared whether she came or went and, given that she was of age, Clara had accepted at once, packed her meagre things a
nd travelled up to Scotland. It had been a relief to leave the house she had once called home, trying to push way the knowledge that her future was not particularly bright nor hopeful. At least, for a few months, she could find purpose and joy in what she was doing, and to return to London—albeit as a chaperone—was quite a delightful prospect. She would have people to talk to, music to listen to and recitals to enjoy. They might even go to the theatre, which was a pleasure she had long been denied. She only hoped that Lord Thackery was as kind and as amiable a gentleman as the Baron had made him out to be.
“And so we leave tomorrow?” Sophia exclaimed, catching Clara’s hands and twirling her about. “I can hardly wait!”
Clara laughed, caught up in Sophia’s excitement. “I expect you shall have something of a sleepless night as you wait for us to depart,” she chuckled, as Sophia let out another squeal of delight. “It will be a wonderful few months, I am quite sure.”
“I know it will,” Sophia replied, with all the dreaminess of a young debutante ready to embark on her next great adventure. “I do not think I shall sleep a wink!” She clasped Clara’s hand, her eyes bright. “You must come and help me pack at once!”
“Sophia,” the baron interrupted, his brows furrowing and tone firm. “Miss Dynes is not your maid, she is your companion and, even more than that, your equal if not your better, within society.”
Sophia’s shoulders slumped at once, her excitement visibly fading.
“She is to be treated with all the respect due her,” the baron continued, quelling his daughter’s frantic enthusiasm. “Who knows? She herself may be lucky enough to find a suitor, and then where will you be?”
Clara blushed as the baron smiled at them both, his tone and expression now warm. “I hardly think so, Baron Musgrove. I will not be looking to my own interests at all, not when I have Miss Sophia to look out for.”
