To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst)

by Frances Fowlkes

  “The same earl who has sentenced me here. Without the company of my sisters.” Or Edmund.

  “Yes, the very same,” her mother said with an agitated air.

  Albina touched a finger to her forehead. “I fear the headache remains, and I am un—”

  “You will see the gift the earl has sent you, and you will send your profuse gratitude to Plumburn.” Her mother wrenched Albina’s arm, pulling her toward the door.

  “I am more likely to offer my appreciation if I do not require medical assistance reattaching my limb to my torso.”

  “You exaggerate, Albina.”

  “I do many things, Mother, but exaggerate is not one of them.”

  Her mother’s grip loosened as she propelled Albina toward the entrance to the side yard. “Well then, perhaps forgiveness can be one of those things.”

  With another shove, Albina was out on the lawn and staring at her bay mare. Or rather, the earl’s bay mare. The same beast she had ridden to victory—and her banishment. What the devil was going on? Only three people were allowed to ride the mare. Had the earl ridden the beast to relay his message himself?

  Or had…had someone else ridden the mare to Rosehurst? She spun around to find herself alone, her mother gone, the side door to the house closed.

  “Albina.”

  The familiar voice came from behind her, its low, husky notes prickling her skin and sending her heart racing.

  She turned, slowly, not believing her ears, not wanting to trust them for fear they might have deceived her…

  Deep-blue eyes met hers.

  “Edmund.”

  He clutched his hat to his chest. “I come bearing news from the earl.”

  Albina’s heart sank. He had only come on behalf of the earl. Not to see her. She straightened her shoulders. “And?”

  “He wishes for you to have his mare, your winning mare, Calpurnia—”

  “Calpurnia?”

  Edmund cleared his throat. “You once asked the mare’s name. Truth be told, she did not have one until you rode her. I then knew of only one name that suited such a headstrong creature.”

  “And Calpurnia was your selection?” Albina asked. “Julius Caesar’s fearful wife of Shakespearean fame?” She didn’t know if she should be irritated or insulted by the poor choice of name for such a noble and dependable beast. The mare had led her to victory. There was nothing timid about her.

  “True, Shakespeare’s character was anxious, but her name is not. It is Latin. For ‘a woman of power.’ Much like her new owner, to whom she is given in a way of an apology from the earl.”

  “An apology.” Albina blinked, still taken aback that Edmund would think her powerful. She certainly didn’t have control over the rush of emotions warring inside of her at Edmund’s presence.

  “For his misguided but noble intentions.”

  “Which are…?” she asked, unable to believe there was anything noble in her banishment.

  “He wished you a good match and sought to enable its conception.”

  “A good match? With whom?” What the devil was the man on about? Who could the earl possibly wish for her to court… Oh, dear. Her cheeks burned as realization dawned. “Lord Satterfield.”

  Edmund licked his lips and nodded. “I knew of the earl’s plans, Albina. I was but a servant, a head groom in your family’s house and unable to compete with the likes of a marquess. I still cannot promise you the wealth or title Lord Satterfield possesses, but I—”

  “You knew,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry. “You knew of the earl’s plans.”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Were you aware of them at Emberton?”

  “I was.” He took a step toward her. “I saw you standing close to the marquess, his arm around your shoulders, and I truly believed he was the better man for you.”

  “Oh, Edmund—”

  “I beg your forgiveness, Albina. I am so very proud of you, of your power and strength, of your courage and boldness, and in my stupidity and pride, I did not offer my sincere congratulations on your accomplishment. You did what I believed you would. You showed them all, darling.”

  Her heart swelled as she attempted to blink away the tears spilling down her cheeks. He reached for her, his arms outstretched, waiting. Albina ran to him, burrowing her head in his solid chest. He wrapped his thick arms around her, their comfort the balm to her suffering.

  “You must know,” he said, whispering into her hair, “I would have come sooner, but I had to speak with both the earl and my great-uncle—Lord Bonham.”

  Albina pulled back her head and peered up at Edmund. “Your relation is a gentleman?”

  Edmund offered her a warm smile. “Indeed. A viscount, to be precise. Who wishes to bequeath me the title.” He gripped her upper arms as his eyes bored into hers. “Even with the viscountcy, I am beneath you in both title and wealth, as I am also beneath the Marquess of Satterfield. But I promise, should you choose to marry me, I will endeavor to love you with all my heart and soul. You have made me whole, Albina. And I cannot imagine my life without you.”

  “Then I must implore you not to dwell on the impossible—my lord.” Wiping away a tear, she pushed up on her tiptoes and placed a salty kiss on his lips. Murmuring against his mouth, she added, “For I do not intend to spend my days with anyone but you.”

  He brought his hands to her face, gently cupping her jaw, and kissed her into their happily ever after.

  Epilogue

  Seven months later…

  Albina clutched Edmund’s arm as she waddled into the freshly constructed stables, the impressive building more than double the size of the prior structure on the new Lord Bonham’s estate.

  The recently titled lord peered at her, excitement sparking in the never-ending blue depths of his eyes. “Three foals have been born to us this fall, with another two on the way.”

  Sarah swept past them, followed closely by her dear friend Miss Olivia Annesley and her brother Mr. Jonathon Annesley, both of whom were now Albina’s neighbors, their residence at Covenan Court but an hour’s ride away by horseback.

  “You didn’t tell me you had a true black, Mr. Wh— Forgive me. My lord.” Sarah’s cheeks flushed at her mistake.

  Edmund squeezed Albina’s elbow before departing her side and heading toward the feisty black foal munching hay inside her stall. “I did not know you had a particular interest in horses, Lady Sarah.”

  “Oh, I do not. I do, however, have a particular interest in black foals. I find them enchanting.” She nodded toward Albina. “Much like my sister in her altered state.”

  Albina’s hand instinctively rubbed the rounded mound of her belly as she flushed.

  “Indeed,” said Miss Annesley. “Lady Bonham practically glows. I am quite envious of your complexion, my lady.” She touched Albina’s arm and smiled.

  “You flatter me, Miss Annesley.” But Albina returned her smile nonetheless. She lifted her gaze to her husband, who stared at her with open admiration. Her heart fluttered.

  “Black foals?” Mr. Annesley asked, striding past Albina on her left. He stood next to Sarah, his hands clasped behind his back. “I would have thought you more interested in a cream or a chestnut.”

  “Because they are fair in color?” Sarah shook her head, her nose scrunching. “Black is the rarest, Mr. Annesley. The hardest color to achieve and therefore the most interesting to view.”

  “Is that so?” His slight shift in his posture, the subtle lean toward Sarah, further deepened Albina’s smile. It appeared her sister had an admirer of whom she was all too unaware.

  Albina made her way toward the pair and rested a hand on the stable’s ledge. “Would you like to see her walk? She does well, though Edmund has yet to train her.”

  Edmund rushed toward her, placing himself between her and the horse. “You are too close, Lady Bonham. I would not have you injured.”

  “I know my way around a horse,” she countered, though her lips lifted at his concern. �
�I assure you the foal will not do any harm.”

  “Be that as it may, I will see her out.”

  “Before you do,” said Miss Annesley, “I wondered if I might have your permission, my lord, to take Lady Sarah off your hands for a short visit to Covenan Court. Nothing too extensive, I promise to return her before Lady Bonham begins her lying in. But I find I am quite lonesome for female company since our mother’s passing the year prior. Brothers make fine conversation but lack a certain…understanding.”

  Quirking a brow, Mr. Annesley peered at his sister. “I am not certain if I should take offense, or if I should offer my apologies for not being a better companion.”

  “Rubbish, Jonathon,” said Miss Annesley with a dismissive wave of her hand. You have been an excellent brother. I simply wish for some time with my dear friend.”

  Edmund adjusted the bit in the foal’s mouth. “If Lady Bonham and Lady Sarah are not opposed to the idea, I do not see any reason to withhold Lady Sarah’s company.”

  Albina glanced at Mr. Annesley, his stance beside her sister one of interest…and possession. “I don’t mind at all.”

  “Are you certain?” Sarah asked. “I do not wish to leave you—”

  “I am well tended here. Enjoy a change of scenery and”—Albina’s gaze drifted toward Mr. Annesley—“conversation.”

  Sarah lifted her brows, but Albina merely shrugged.

  “Very well then. It seems decided,” Sarah said. “I shall return with the Annesleys to Covenan Court.”

  Miss Annesley clasped her hands together. “Excellent. I do so look forward to our time together, Lady Sarah.”

  Albina did not miss the appearance of a smile ghosting over Mr. Annesley’s mouth. Though she would miss her sister dearly, Sarah’s departure would not be in vain. Her hands on her stomach, Albina gave her husband a wink and reveled in the sheer perfection of the proposed plans.

  Yes, with any luck, there would be more than foals and her own child’s birth to celebrate this winter. If Albina had anything to do with it, the last daughter of Amhurst would be married before Yuletide.

  She’d bet the black foal on it.

  And Albina always won her wagers.

  Don’t miss Frances Fowlkes’ next book.

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  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks go out to my incredible network of friends and readers. This book almost didn’t get written and it is only because of your steadfast encouragement and support that the words once again found their way to the pages.

  I am beyond indebted to my fabulous editor, Robin Haseltine, whose words of comfort, praise, and consolation renewed my passion for storytelling and the written word. Thank you for never losing faith in me or my abilities.

  And lastly, my endearing gratitude goes out to my husband, Adam, for always loving me, even though I buy slices of chocolate cake and eat them all by myself. You’re the best.

  About the Author

  Frances Fowlkes lives in South Carolina with her high school sweetheart, three red-headed sons, and a spoiled standard poodle. When not writing about ardent heroes or strong-willed heroines, she enjoys spending time with her family, fangirling, and planning her next vacation.

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