Tales of a Viscount

by Eleanor Meyers

  He’d returned home a hero. Everyone said he’d tracked Napoleon, found him, and brought him to justice. He’d been pinned with the Garter Star, a special commendation that made him one of His Majesty’s personal advisors, and finally was handed a title, by power of letters patent. Viscount of Eastridge. The title had fallen into disuse after the family’s lineage died, many years ago. Now, Reuben’s family would carry it, and more than one blue-blooded daughter wanted to be the one to carry that seed.

  And not for the title alone.

  He may have started life as a commoner, but there was absolutely nothing common about the man’s looks. Dark thick brows and lashes, golden skin, and a flash of perfect porcelain white teeth, whenever one managed to get him to smile. She couldn’t see his eyes at this distance, but she’d memorized them, long ago. They were a green so brilliant, it was as if God had mixed colors and proclaimed the dynamic hue would be used for nothing but the most vibrant summer fields and Reuben’s eyes. She’d never seen the color before, or since.

  “One should blink to avoid drying out their eyes,” her father murmured.

  Rachel closed her eyes and laughed. Then she shook her head. It was her own fault that Woodley now had the tools to tease her whenever he felt the need. She’d confessed her growing feelings for the man, much like she told him everything.

  But more than anything, she knew her father was simply happy that Rachel was once again thinking of placing herself on the marriage market.

  “Rachel.”

  She looked up to find Rose staring down at her, her blue eyes wide with excitement. Blond curls slid down her cheek from her position, framing her pretty face. “Come. It’s time.”

  Time? Rose hadn’t forgotten, then.

  Rachel looked around and noticed more than a few eyes on them, which made sense, since Rose was the bride, and the day was about her. Such facts would not be missed by the wealth of gems she wore, or the jewels that made her dress glitter like the sun. Rachel had been with her when the dress had been created. Lord Stonewhire had spared no expense.

  A glance around the room showed Obenshire speaking to a group of men, and drawing his own attention.

  “Good luck,” her father whispered.

  Rachel smiled at him and stood, but her heart fell to her stomach and made her uneasy. Perhaps her father had been right, and it would have been better for her to have allowed him to do the introductions. Reuben had been their footman at one point, anyway, and at times, they’d treated him like family.

  “You won’t need luck.” Rose took her arm. “You look quite adorable in that dress.”

  Adorable!

  Rachel knew Rose was not trying to offend, but that didn’t stop her from feeling vexed. The blue gown with its high collar and puffed sleeves was one of her favorites, fitting her well, and making her look taller. She took the anger and let it wash away her fear, as they started in the opposite direction of Reuben.

  Rose explained, “We’ll circle the room, so that it won’t be too obvious who our destination is.”

  Rachel breathed easier, liking that idea very much. The two linked arms and nodded their heads to a few people who caught their eye.

  “I envy your relationship with your father,” Rose said, as though her own father didn’t treasure her.

  Rachel rubbed her arm, knowing what her friend meant. While Rose was very much adored by the man who’d given life to her, she had only come to know Stonewhire to be her father, for less than a year.

  A letter that had been written by Rose’s caretaker had found its way to the papers, and exposed the truth. But while Rose hadn’t known who her father was, she had known Stonewhire. He’d been the one to secure Rose a position at one of his circulating libraries’ many locations, and had ensured she never went hungry while at the orphanage. He’d cared for her from afar, but only when the secret was revealed, was their bond truly formed.

  “Look at your father,” Rachel said. “He’s quite proud of you.”

  Rose looked to where her father flirted shamelessly with an older and very attractive widow, who seemed to be very much invested in whatever their conversation was about. Rose looked at Rachel. “He can’t help himself. He’s far too attractive for his own good.” Then she changed the subject. “What are the guests saying about me?” she asked, never worried for herself, but for her husband.

  Rachel sighed. “Oh, well, you and Obenshire are likely the most handsome couple in the room. They speculate if your sons will get your fair hair or his dark locks. And your dress…” She paused for affect. “It lights up the room and is very becoming for a future duchess. I say, it is something that will never be forgotten. Girls will be comparing their wedding gowns to yours for at least the next decade. It may be a good option to think of framing such a creation and placing it inside a museum.”

  Rose narrowed her eyes, though her mouth had split into a grin. “I didn’t ask what you were saying. I asked what ‘they’ were saying.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Well, since I am partially a ‘they,’ I think my comments count.” Rose didn’t need to think a moment on the ugliness of the ton. It was a happy day, and Rachel would only do that which would help brighten the occassion.

  Rose laughed, and then sighed. “Thank you. You are a wonderful friend.” She whispered her next words, “But you’d make a better sister.”

  Rachel’s heart stuttered in her chest. Reuben, like Alex, was Rose’s brother, and they, along with their other brothers, Nash and Christmas, had all grown up together at the Mary Elizabeth Best Home in Paddington, which was just north of Hyde Park, and east of Mayfair.

  One of the young earls Rachel knew waved at her from across the room, and she smiled in reply.

  Rose whispered in her ear, “If you don’t marry my brother, you’ve many options.”

  True, but Rachel’s heart was set.

  Rose suddenly came to a stop. “Reuben!”

  Rachel lifted her gaze, until she met Reuben’s. His smile was genuine. She struggled to breathe as she stared up into the most handsome face she’d ever seen. Reuben had such hard masculine beauty, that comparing him to Stacy’s rather boyish looks didn’t seem fair. She had no clue what her own face was doing, but prayed she didn’t embarrass herself.

  This was it. After six years of war and one year of Rachel avoiding him out of pure fear, they were to meet again at last. She was no longer that little girl he’d known. She was twenty-two. He was thirty-two. Sure, there was quite a division in age, but that made little difference to most of Society. He was a lord. She was a lady, and for the first time in a very long time, her blood rushed with one sensation after another.

  Rose went on. “Reuben, I’d like you to meet—”

  “I know exactly who she is, Rose.” Reuben’s smile grew, and he took Rachel’s hand without her offering it, engulfing her small one in his own. His lips didn’t touch her hand, but his breath warmed her through the fabric. “Little Rachel,” he said, using the name he’d once called her. “You’ve grown into quite a pretty young lady.”

  Rachel smiled so wide that her face slightly ached, but there was nothing she could do about it. She’d lost all control of her body since the moment she met his eyes. That green gaze held the power to command soldiers, the attention of kings, and her very breath.

  She felt ready to faint, or burst from the inside out. It felt like a million butterflies had broken out underneath her skin and she would fly to the sky. Yes, fainting sound very pleasant at the moment, so long as Reuben was there to catch her.

  Had there ever been a man with a more pleasant smile? He wore a black jacket, and she wondered if he knew what it did to his hair. His locks were black, but in just the right light, they could appear blue, and gleam like a clear country night’s sky. He styled it without bounce or wave, sweeping it back and away from his forehead. That would have made him look quite severe, were it not for his smile.

  Earthy golden skin, field-green eyes, and midnight hair. Had God used ever
y brilliant color in creation on this man? It was as though she’d never seen a man before, even though she’d been surrounded by them for years.

  Compared to Reuben, there were few other gentlemen who could compete with his virility.

  Rose nudged her arm. Once. Twice. Rachel looked at her in confusion. Her friend was smiling, but it was tight, and her eyes flickered to her brother.

  Rachel was still confused… and slightly irritated that her friend would distract her. Couldn’t she tell that Rachel and Reuben were having a moment of complete oneness?

  “How is your father?” Reuben asked, his smile fading, but still just as beautiful. It likely didn’t matter what he did, he would always remain perfect.

  “Rachel,” Rose whispered. “How is your father?”

  Why was Rose repeating her brother?

  Oh, dear! He’d asked her a question.

  Rachel laughed. “He’s fine. He’s right over there.” She pointed to her father, who waved at her. She waved in reply, and then turned to Reuben. “Come say hello.” She grabbed his arm. Really, she’d wanted desperately to grab his arm, and now she’d found the opportunity.

  She squeezed the tight muscles underneath her fingers and had to hold back a groan. His arm felt splendid. Heavy and strong. He should have joined the navy. He’d have made a fine anchor. He was so solid.

  Rose backed away. “I better go see to my other guests.” Then she left. She was such a good friend.

  Rachel started forward, and Reuben walked at her side.

  He chuckled.

  She looked at him. “What?”

  He shook his head. “I was just remembering when you were a little girl. You often took me where you wished for me to go, without asking if I wished to join you.”

  She froze, and her skin went cold. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. Did you not wish to…?”

  He smiled slowly at her, which had the effect of making Rachel’s head feel funny, as though she’d drank too much wine on an empty stomach. “I wish to see your father. It has been some time since I’ve said hello.”

  She nodded but didn’t move, not quite ready to share him, and needing her heart to slow down so she could think.

  “Lady Rachel,” he called gently, yet at such a deep pitch, it dominated her senses.

  She looked up at him. “Yes, Reuben? I mean… you’re a lord now. I should call you Lord Eastridge.”

  He shook his head. “Reuben is fine. We share a history, after all.”

  Rachel couldn’t think of many lords who would lend such a privilege so easily. They often liked people remembering the authority they could wield at any given moment. “Lord Eastridge,” she decided. “You’ve more than earned it.” More than any titled man she knew.

  Her comment surprised him. “You think so?”

  She frowned. “Doesn’t everyone? You helped win a war.”

  “As did many others,” he countered. The thought of death quickly reminded her of Stacy, but she pushed that aside and focused on the living man before her.

  That he would belittle himself, and his achievements, angered her. “You were willing to die for the realm. There are not many in here who would do the same.”

  He would not be persuaded. “Yet, there were many with me who were willing to die, and did die for the realm.”

  She would not be swayed, either. “Yet it seems none were as impressive as you, or achieved what you did in so little time. Had I been in charge, you’d have been given more than one title. You deserve a dukedom.”

  He lifted a brow. “Careful. There are a few dukes in here who would assume we plot against them.”

  “Then have me locked away, but my stance remains.” So long as he was with her, she’d go anywhere. His mere presence made her feel protected, as though he were a wall that blocked all enemies and danger. She was still more than a little irritated that he would question all he’d been given. He was an advisor to the king. He had a title. That title came with land, envied property from the Crown, itself.

  She would give him the world if she could, yet she also knew in her heart, that none of her words had been biased. He deserved everything he’d gained.

  He stared at her for a moment, and then his face began to relax until he was smiling once more, but she noticed it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s go see your father.”

  They were silent as they approached.

  Her father looked between them, and then smiled at Reuben. “It’s good to see you, Reuben.” He reached out for Reuben’s hand, taking hold of it in a way that said they were beyond formalities. And then, Woodley pulled Reuben into a hug.

  Rachel’s cheeks grew hot, and she prayed her father did not embarrass her.

  “Lord Woodley.” Reuben’s smile became real once more. “It has been some time.”

  “Yes, it has. You always said you wanted to join the army. Now look at you. You should come to the house for dinner. Don’t you think so, Rachel?”

  Rachel’s stomach felt as though it had caught fire and she nodded.

  “I would enjoy that,” Reuben said. He spoke to Rachel’s father for a few more minutes about how he was finding London after being gone for so long, before excusing himself to go speak to a group of men who were calling him away.

  He bowed to them both.

  Rachel bent into a curtsey, but when she rose, she found Reuben’s hand stretched out.

  And then he proceeded to pat her on the head. “Little Rachel.” And with one last grin, he departed.

  Rachel remained silent for what felt like forever, as mortification set her skin to flames.

  “Well,” her father said some time later. “At least, he’s coming to dinner.”

  Yes. But what was point, since Reuben most definitely still saw her as a child.

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  1

  CHAPTER

  ONE

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  Reuben stood before the mirror tying his cravat, and then spoke the name he’d avoided, since seeing her again at Rose’s wedding last week. “Lady Rachel Lush.”

  “Lady Lush?” his valet, George, asked. The old man stood by the door, with Reuben’s dark jacket in his hands. George had been given to Reuben, along with the house he’d procured in the city, after his former gentleman had died. Reuben was slowly coming to understand just how useful a valet could be. George seemed to know everything there was to know about Society, its rules and the people who made it was it was, but more importantly, he was willing to share all of it with Reuben.

  He saw Reuben as a project, of sorts, a way to prove his skills. It was the reason George had given Reuben, when asked if he would stay, a few months ago.

  “Lady Rachel is a very good choice for a wife.” George was not tall, but his posture seemed to add inches. “It is likely that if you married her, you’d be the envy of many in Society.”

  He met George’s eyes through the looking glass. “Envy?”

  George nodded. “She’s very wise, but doesn’t make a show of it. I’ve heard this from quite a few servants. She’s young enough that a lord should have plenty of time to procure an heir from her, and is quiet in nature. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the lady shout in public, much less given into boisterous laughter.”

  Boisterous laughter? Was that something one should frown upon? Where Reuben came from, one was glad when there was an occasion to laugh. There’d been so much sorrow in the home. It annoyed him that the ton would think to shun displays of happiness.

  But this was the world he’d entered, and he had better learn the rules quickly.

  “Perhaps, I should stay in tonight,” Reuben said, asking more than anything.

  George didn’t frown, but lifted the jacket slightly. “Oh, no, my lord. You must go. An invite to dinner at the Earl of Woodley’s home will spread. This is the way you gain acceptance into Society, and, if given permission, Lady Lush would suit the role of visc
ountess well. She’s a fine lady with an abundance of kindness.”

  That’s what Reuben had thought. Feared even. He didn’t want to see Rachel any differently than he had in the past. “All right,” he said. “I’ve had enough of his exercise. We’ll revisit the idea of marriage at a later date.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  Reuben finished tying the cravat and then turned to George.

  The room’s emptiness seemed to echo loudly across the space. Save for the bed and wardrobe, the room had been stripped of whatever life it had previously had. The wallpaper had been taken down, since it had been peeling anyway, and Reuben had yet to add anything, because he wasn’t sure what would look right. These were the duties of a wife, George had said, but while Reuben would discuss various ladies, he had no plan to commit to one at the moment.

  The other man looked at his throat and nodded. “Very good. You’re getting better at the task every day, though as I’ve said before, there’s little need for you to do it, when I am around.”

  “I know.” Reuben crossed the room and let George put the jacket on. “But I like knowing how to do these things on my own.”

  “I understand.” George brushed invisible lint from the shoulders, and Reuben turned around to be buttoned in the front. “It will take time for a man like you to adjust.”

  It would, indeed.

  Dressed, he left the house and went out to the carriage that had cost him more than he had wished to pay. Keeping a team of horses was yet another expense, but one George said he could not do without. His home could be bare— and it was a beautiful home to be sure— but the life of a gentleman was all about appearances.

  Reuben settled into the carriage, and debated once again if he’d made the right decision when he accepted Woodley’s invitation to dinner. He would hate to embarrass himself. Usually, he ate with his family, but even Rose had commented that his conversational skills could use work. He had the tendency to mention things that no civilized man of Society would; scenes from war, and the gore and savagery a soldier could face in times of crisis.