The Virtuous Viscount

by Susan M. Baganz

  He earned some relief from his financial straits with the use of his property for smuggling from France. Being a traitor didn’t bother him at all. What had England done for him anyway? Soon, Miss Storm. Soon you will be mine. He grinned as he tapped his cane and ascended the steps to Madame’s establishment. It was only a matter of time.

  9

  The next morning, Josie was out of sorts and picked at her breakfast.

  Molly came to announce Lord Remington was there, with his aunt.

  In frustration, she slammed her fork down. I don’t want to meet anyone right now. I’m in no mood for company. Unless it’s Marcus alone… She took a deep breath. Lord, help me through this. She exhaled slowly. “Thank you, Molly. Would you take my tray and send them in?”

  Josie pushed back fickle strands of hair as she turned her head toward the sounds of footsteps. “Good morning,” Josie said calmly, hiding her inner turmoil. The scent of gardenias wafted in the air.

  A woman’s voice responded, filled with warmth and acceptance. “Thank you for receiving us, Miss Storm. It is a delight to finally meet the woman who has put my nephew at sixes and sevens.” A chair moved across the carpet, and someone sat and rustled clothing. “I am Lady Dorothea Grey, Lord Remington’s aunt. I have assured Lady Widmore I will be in residence to protect your reputation while you recover. They removed themselves to London this morning.” With a de soto voice she added, “We will be far more comfortable here without them underfoot.”

  Josie’s emotions tumbled together. Anger. Relief. Fear. Grief. “My aunt has gone on to London? With Hetty?”

  “Yes, dear. Did I not say so?” Lady Dorothea’s voice sounded concerned.

  “I’m stunned they would abandon me so easily.”

  “Miss Storm, consider instead they abandoned the hunting grounds here, and be glad for the sake of me and my friends, who can now relax.”

  Josie heard the smile in Marcus’s voice. “Was Hetty pursuing you all?”

  “As much as we would permit.”

  Molly returned. “Dr. Miller is here.”

  Dr. Miller entered. “Good morning, Lord Remington, Lady Grey. I’m here to tend to our patient. If you would excuse us?”

  “Certainly,” Marcus replied. “I hope to visit you another time, Miss Storm.”

  Marcus and Dorothea rose to leave.

  “I’ll return later when we can get better acquainted, Miss Storm.” Lady Grey said as the sound of feet moved away, and a door opened and closed.

  ~*~

  Marcus grinned through dinner as his aunt employed her talents as hostess. Before she left them to enjoy their after dinner socialization, she told them she would retire for the evening.

  “Well, your aunt has done what we couldn’t. She vanquished the dragon.” Theodore smiled as he raised his glass. “Cheers!”

  “Cheers!” the rest of the men joined in.

  “Miss Storm’s father has not responded to the letter I had posted. I expected him on my doorstep by now.” Marcus’s brow furrowed. “It’s been six days.”

  “Who addressed the letter?” asked Michael.

  “Lady Widmore. Miss Storm was not conscious at the time.”

  Phillip gazed into the purple liquid in his glass. “I wonder if she misdirected the correspondence?”

  “Why would she do that?” Theo asked.

  “Why would she possess no desire to connect with Miss Storm but be accompanying her to London for the season?” Marcus set his glass down. “In spite of her injuries, Miss Storm may have had a fortunate escape from Lady Widmore.”

  “I’ve heard Lord Widmore is under the hatches,” Michael offered.

  Marcus shook his head. “Why would that matter? I despise gossip, Michael. It still wouldn’t explain any disregard for Miss Storm’s well-being.”

  “Sorry, Marcus, but it might be worth bearing in mind. In this day and age of war and untold evils, even men of the peerage do underhanded things to maintain a lifestyle they cannot afford.” Sir Tidley sipped his glass of wine. “I eagerly anticipate meeting the fair lady upstairs. You cannot hide her away forever. You need to share.” He winked.

  Avoiding looking at Michael, Marcus set his glass down and sighed. “Miss Storm’s social life is not mine to determine. That will be up to her, my aunt, and the doctor.”

  Lord Phillip took a sip of his drink and with a twinkle in his blue eyes and a smirk, proclaimed, “I suggest we make our first attempt on the morrow, gentlemen.”

  Marcus fidgeted and longed to escape to visit the very woman the men were eager to see.

  The men sat with their thoughts for a moment.

  Lord Harrow broke the silence. “Have you had any letters from your brother recently?”

  Marcus startled at the change of subject. “Jared is a poor correspondent, which makes it ironic that he serves as an aide de camp for Wellington. I had a letter a while ago, which contained some ominous warnings about traitors on our shores. He had previously been more light-hearted and would talk about local beauties he encountered. I anticipated he would find himself leg-shackled before the war was over. This letter contained a darker tone, and he seemed afraid. He asked me to pray…”

  “You must miss him,” Phillip stated, his voice low.

  Marcus nodded. “In some ways, I envy him. He experiences adventure, travel, and does something to help change the world, while I go to Almack’s, balls, soirées, picnics, and return here to rusticate in comfort. By comparison, my activities seem of little value.”

  “Has the wine made you buffle-headed?” exclaimed Theodore. “You saved Miss Storm’s life, and you have been on hand to help out every one of us at some time or another. Your staff and tenants thrive under you stewardship, and your estates prosper. You use your voice in Parliament to good effect. To think your life is more protected because of the faithful services of people like your brother does not mean it is any less valuable.”

  “You kept me from financial ruin, the shame of which would have harmed my entire family,” Phillip said thoughtfully. “You never used that to make me feel guilty or obliged to you in any way.”

  “I wasn’t searching for praise. I’m sorry, friends, I’ve been overly reflective since arriving home and a poor host.” Marcus rose. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to turn in for the evening.” Marcus experienced guilt at leaving his friends. He needed escape from being the center of their speculations. He strode up the stairs and, without realizing it, found himself outside the yellow suite. He dropped his head and took a deep breath. Did he dare? He knocked.

  “Who is it?”

  “Lord Remington.”

  “Please, come in.”

  Marcus entered to find Josie propped up in bed absent-mindedly petting Charlie. She smiled as she turned her head toward him.

  Molly sewed in the corner.

  “How are you this evening, Josie?”

  “I am able to move my legs more, and the doctor is optimistic about my recovery.”

  “Wonderful.” He pulled the chair up near the bed and sat down. “Are you still in pain?”

  “It lingers, but my headaches are improving. I hope to sleep tonight without the medication. I dislike being muddled the next day.”

  “That is good news, Josie.”

  Her facial features were not as pinched as they had been. Her cheeks held a rosy glow, and her gray eyes twinkled.

  It saddened him they didn’t twinkle because she could see him. She likely never would. His heart grew heavy.

  “Would you do me a favor, Marcus?”

  “If I can.”

  “Would you read something from my Bible? I asked Molly to leave it on the bedside table.”

  “I would be glad to.” Marcus reached for the book and came back to sit down. “Any preference? Surely not the story of Job.”

  Josie gave a wry grin, but it faded quickly. “I suppose Job wouldn’t be bad. It would make my momentary troubles pale in comparison to what he suffered. But I think I would prefer som
ething from the book of Psalms. You choose.”

  Marcus paged through the Bible. Psalms was one of his favorite books to read. “Here’s one, Psalm. A Song of degrees. ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.’” Marcus stopped and cringed. “I’m sorry, Josie. Perhaps a different one?”

  “No, please keep reading.”

  “My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; he that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD is thy keeper: the LORD is thy shade on thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth and even for evermore.”

  Marcus started at the words. Would Josie ever gaze upon hills again? Would her feet truly ever move? All evil? Had God protected her, or did he read too much into these words meant for Israel? Was it wrong to want them to be true for the young woman in front of him?

  “Thank you, Marcus. That was beautiful.”

  Marcus searched for words and failed. He swallowed and blinked back the moisture in his eyes as he closed the book and placed it on the table.

  “Will you visit again tomorrow?” Her voice held uncertainty.

  “I will try to come to visit you. I must warn you my friends are eager to make your acquaintance as well.”

  Josie gave him a small smile. “I would enjoy meeting them.”

  But will you like them better than me? And why should that matter? “I will let you rest.” Marcus rose and pushed the chair back. “Pleasant dreams, Josie,” he said as he headed for the door.

  “Pleasant dreams to you as well, Marcus.”

  ~*~

  The next morning, the sun seemed to shine brighter. Marcus smiled and felt lightness in his step as he moved about his morning ablutions. His commitments for the day were relatively minor, and he hoped he would get to spend more time with Josie.

  As he headed out the door to his suite, he paused to gaze out the window again at the sun as it emerged over the horizon. What was it Josie said? Like a bridegroom emerging from his chambers. Why did he remember those words? Would he ever emerge from this chamber to go meet the bride of his dreams? And what would she look like? Who might she be? He could only imagine her as Josie. He shook his head as if to clear out the questions rattling around inside, closed the door behind him, and entered the shadowed hallway to proceed to the breakfast parlour.

  At breakfast, Marcus’s friends surrounded him, all dressed with a bit more care than normal for a country retreat.

  Phillip, always dressed to the nines, surprised Marcus the most with his purple waistcoat under his gray jacket and his cravat tied in an intricate and unusual way. “What do you think, Remy? Will Miss Storm like this? I created it in her honor and call it The Storm.”

  Marcus swallowed a surge of jealousy that his friend would try to woo Josie. “I think it is wasted on a woman who is blind.” Marcus’s reply was dry as he sipped his coffee.

  “Remy scowls like a dog afraid someone is taking away his prized bone,” Michael commented with a smirk on his face.

  Marcus glared at his friend but remained silent.

  “Come on, Remy, Miss Storm has to be something special to tie you up in knots. At some point, we will meet her. Regardless of what you think, you cannot keep her locked in that room forever.” Lord Harrow also dressed as if he were in London about to make the rounds and do the pretty to all the misses of the ton. He even wore a daisy in his lapel.

  Michael set down his cup of coffee and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. Even he had a superbly tied neck cloth. “Regardless of your sensibilities, my dear friend, Lady Dorothea informed us this morning that we may visit the mysterious Miss Storm at half past ten, and we accepted.”

  Marcus shook his head and rose without speaking to visit his study, shutting the door loudly, yet firmly, behind him. Once inside, he strode to his desk and started sorting through his mail to distract his mind with something other than the breakfast room conversation. The letter he sought was not there.

  Why had Mr. Storm failed to reply to his correspondence about his daughter’s injuries? What kind of parent would not rush posthaste to his daughter’s bedside?

  He opened a drawer, extracted a piece of stationery, picked up his pen, and inscribed another missive. He looked back at his scribbled pages of the address Lady Widmore had put on the previous correspondence, for he had copied it down before the letter had gone out in the post. He shook his head. With his scrambled brain that evening, he’d scribbled it down in so sloppy a manner the ink had smudged. He couldn’t make out all the information. Later, he would seek Josie for directions to her family home. This letter would have more positive news to share.

  ~*~

  Josie awoke anticipating the new day. There was movement in the room. “Molly?”

  The maid’s quick movement came toward her bed. “Lady Grey has decided you shall have a bath and your hair washed. The bed linens will be cleaned today, and you will sit in a comfortable chair by the fireplace so the gentlemen can come to visit with you.” The excitement in Molly’s voice was infectious.

  Josie chuckled but grew cynical about these plans. “How does she propose to move me around to accomplish all of this?”

  Another body moving toward her and the scent of gardenias told her it was Marcus’s aunt. Lady Dorothea spoke. “The servants here are hardy and strong, and between us women, we will manage to make sure you are comfortable without causing you any discomfort.”

  Josie sighed. Obviously, her days of lazing around bored were ending. She had some misgivings about the upcoming agenda. Would Marcus’s friends like her? Would she like them? What more would she learn about the master of the house, who seemed to occupy a more than inordinate share of her heart? Setting those thoughts aside, she gave into the agenda with grace.

  “I leave myself in your capable hands.”

  Soon she soaked in the soapy water of a rose scented bath. Contentment wrapped around her, along with a little bit of hope that her days of loneliness and isolation would be over for good.

  ~*~

  The hot water had done wonders for Josie’s back, and her pain level had decreased. Her hair was damp and left long to dry instead of putting it up as would be normal for a miss receiving gentlemen callers. Josie occupied a comfortable chair, and her legs perched on a footstool. Her favorite slippers peeked out from under the blanket. She had donned a simple walking dress made of lightweight cotton. She felt more human, being dressed for the day.

  A knock echoed from the sitting room door.

  “Half past ten. Right on time,” Lady Grey said.

  Molly’s distinctive footsteps walked to the door.

  “Come in, gentlemen,” the older woman called. She proceeded to introduce Lord Phillip Westcombe, Lord Theodore Harrow, and Sir Michael Tidley.

  Josie grew suddenly shy. Three gentlemen of the beau monde sat across or near her, and she could not see them. These were men more exalted in station than her family. With her humble origins, they might never have asked her for a dance in a London ballroom. Had the bruising on her forehead gone away? What would they think of her? Insecurity gnawed at her insides. She wished she had not eaten so much for breakfast.

  “What a pleasure it is to finally meet you. I hear you were present and a part of my rescue. Thank you.”

  Lord Phillip was to the right of her. He had a confident tone to his speech. “It was an awful night, but it is not often we get to play knight errant to a damsel in distress. While not enjoyable at the time, I am pleased to observe how far you have come since then.”

  “Well spoken, Lord Westcombe. Lord Remington told me you managed to ride through the storm for help and navigate back with a skittish horse and carriage to transport me safely here. I’m guessing you were drenched in the process.” Josie of
fered a smile.

  “We all were. I think you, my lady, were the only one who remained dry, as Theo sacrificed his coat to the cause.”

  “It’s remarkable you survived. Lord Remington was inventive in affecting your rescue. We followed orders and only did whatever he asked of us. He did the hard work.”

  Josie thought this was Sir Tidley speaking, sitting across from her.

  “True, Michael, it was a cold and miserable evening. But there was nothing more that men of honor could choose to do but lend a hand. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” Lord Harrow’s voice came from the left.

  More conversation and laughter followed, but soon Lady Dorothea shooed the men out of the room, amidst dramatic protests from them, which made Josie smile. Why had she been afraid? Marcus had chosen well when he had selected these men as his friends, and she found herself wondering more about the one gentleman who was conspicuously absent. When would the man she longed to be with most come to her? Time weighed heavy in the waiting. Josie picked at her lunch. She lacked an appetite, and her back began to throb.

  Dr. Miller came and carried her back to bed. ”I’m pleased you were able to sit up and enjoy company. I can tell the gentlemen helped the color return to your cheeks.”

  Josie bit her lip.

  “Your legs are starting to gain more movement. Tomorrow I want to see if we can have you take a few steps with some support so you can regain some strength.”

  “I would love to try.” Hope surged within. She tamped it down as doubts assailed her. Would she walk again?

  “I cannot guarantee you will be able to walk, but we won’t know unless we make the attempt.”

  Josie nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Rest well, Miss Storm. You still have much healing to do.”