Annie Burrows

by Reforming the Viscount

  A little sob escaped her throat. Pressing her hand to her mouth, she positively ran the last few yards to her bedroom door.

  It had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do—to stifle her revulsion at the prospect of having to allow a man of that age access to her body whenever the fancy took him.

  And now he was telling her she needn’t have done!

  She stood on the threshold of her room, panting. If only he’d...convinced her that he was in earnest she needn’t have gone through...any of this! With a strangled cry, she advanced on the bed, seized the filmy hangings and tore them from their moorings.

  Then dropped to her knees on the mound of shredded silk and buried her face in her hands.

  And remembered Cissy. What would have happened to Cissy if she’d put her own preferences first? She’d only just learned that Nicholas wouldn’t have wanted to remove her from that asylum at all. Oh, yes, she might have had a young, handsome husband, and a roof over her head, but at what cost to her poor sister?

  And then there was Michael. If she hadn’t married Colonel Morgan, Michael would never have been born. Pain lanced through her so sharply she could hardly draw breath for a moment.

  She could never wish for any kind of life in which Michael did not exist.

  She lifted her head and gazed blindly round the room.

  She’d made the right decision back then. Even though she hadn’t really been aware there was a choice. Her life since then might not have been easy, but the alternative... She shook her head.

  And as for marrying him now...oh, what was the use of even thinking about it? She could never marry a man who regarded Cissy as a burden. A distasteful burden.

  It was no use, she told herself furiously, giving him credit for being willing to take on another man’s son and vowing to be a father to him. Michael was the kind of boy it was easy to love—sunny tempered, intelligent and full of pluck.

  She got unsteadily to her feet and flung herself face down on the bed.

  Why had he had to go and ruin everything? She’d just about reconciled herself to the advantages of having a lover, had cast aside a lifetime’s values to indulge herself in a pleasurable, temporary liaison with a man she couldn’t help wanting even though she knew she could never really rely on him. She’d just wanted to enjoy what little they could have, for the short time they could have it. But she couldn’t sleep with him ever again. Or it might encourage him to think she would accept his proposal.

  And she couldn’t. She didn’t want to marry him! She didn’t. She didn’t.

  And having come to that decision, she buried her face in the pillows and burst into tears.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The first person she saw at breakfast the next morning was Lord Rothersthorpe looking annoyingly cheerful as he tucked into a plate of sirloin.

  She stalked across to the sideboard and picked up a plate. How could he look so disgustingly healthy, when she’d hardly had a wink of sleep after she’d left his room, reviewing a continuous parade of what-might-have beens, followed by a whole troop of if-onlys?

  ‘Are you quite well, Mama Lyddy?’ Robert was looking at her with concern. She knew her face was pale and her eyes red from weeping on and off all night. But she hadn’t thought anyone would notice. Rose was the centre of attention, or ought to be.

  ‘This house party isn’t getting too much for you, is it?’

  ‘I do wish you would stop treating me as though I am made of porcelain,’ she snapped, slamming the lid down on the dish of scrambled eggs.

  ‘I used to cater for more guests than this, at a moment’s notice, for your father and he never questioned my capability. And they were more often than not plant collectors, trudging mud through the house.’

  A silence fell as she shut her eyes and drew a deep breath. When she opened them, her family were gaping at her in astonishment, the guests looking determinedly anywhere else.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘I admit, I am feeling a little out of sorts this morning.’

  ‘It is not like you to get so cross,’ said Rose. ‘I think Robert might be in the right of it—’ she darted him a saucy look ‘—just this once. You might benefit from spending the morning quietly in your room.’

  Lord Rothersthorpe looked up from his plate and gave her a searching frown.

  Lydia gritted her teeth. If he made some clever remark about looking as though she wasn’t sleeping very well, she might well launch the plate of eggs at his head. From the moment he’d come back into her life, she hadn’t known whether she was on her head or her heels.

  Why couldn’t he have put off searching for a wife another year? Or three? Then their paths might never have crossed. She might not have abandoned every principle she’d ever lived by and taken him as a lover.

  She might never have known the pain of having her first love held up to the light and discovered it was a threadbare thing, unable to withstand the scrutiny.

  She could have...

  ‘I think perhaps you are right, Rose,’ she said, bowing her head. She could not face him this morning. She wasn’t ready to tell him that, though it was going to break her heart all over again, she simply couldn’t marry him. And she didn’t have the energy to duck and weave and hide from confrontation the way she’d done yesterday. ‘I think I shall return to my room.’

  At least she would be safe from him there. He wouldn’t dare trespass, not in broad daylight, surely?

  * * *

  She had had some breakfast sent up on a tray, which she ate at the writing desk under one of her windows. She didn’t feel all that hungry, but she probably would later on. And it would be selfish to send for food when the staff were already stretched to the limit by the demands of this house party.

  She had actually felt a little better after eating a slice of toast and downing an entire pot of tea, and begun to take notice of what was going on around her. From her window, she had observed Robert leading a party of the men out on horseback. Some time later, those who had not brought mounts began to drift into the garden in ones and twos.

  Then she heard a soft knock on her door.

  If he’d had the temerity to come here and pester her, she would...well, she didn’t know what she would do. She strode across the room and yanked the door open, only to come face to face with three anxious faces. Michael, Cissy and Marigold had taken a detour on their way to the schoolroom to find out how she was.

  ‘Have you got the headache, Lyddy?’ Cissy’s eyes were swimming with the start of tears.

  Which she’d put there. That scene at the breakfast table must have worried her so much that both Michael and Marigold had brought her here to reassure her, for they were each of them holding one of her hands.

  ‘No, I haven’t got the headache,’ she said, stepping forwards and sweeping her into a hug. She would never, ever, let Cissy suspect she wasn’t completely happy to care for her. Any more than she could contemplate abandoning her. It just wasn’t possible.

  ‘You shouted at Robber.’

  ‘Well, sometimes he deserves it,’ she said, although it had not been Robert who’d put her in a bad mood at all. Lord Rothersthorpe had been the one to make her feel as though she was being stretched out on a rack.

  But how could she ever have chosen the man she’d once loved with her whole heart over her sister? Cissy needed her. He only wanted her.

  And it wasn’t Cissy’s fault she was the way she was. If anyone was at fault in all this, it was Lord Rothersthorpe, for not being the man she needed him to be.

  Yes, that was better. If she couldn’t completely stifle her resentment, she could at least aim it squarely in his direction, which wouldn’t hurt him anyway, because once she explained about Cissy, he would show a clean pair of heels. Just as he would have done if she’d garnered the courage to put his so-called proposal to the test last time.

  ‘Come in, you three,’ she said, standing aside and waving her hand to her room.

  With a whoop,
Michael charged in and bounced on to the bed, swiftly followed by Cissy.

  ‘Where have your curtains gone, Lyddy?’

  Lydia gave the puzzled Cissy the same reply she’d already had to give Betsy earlier. ‘I decided it was time for a change.’

  Marigold meanwhile had slouched across the room and flung herself down on the window seat.

  ‘It isn’t fair.’ She sighed, gazing longingly out of the window. ‘Everyone else is outside enjoying themselves, while we are condemned to another morning with Mr Thomsett and his abominable grammar books.’

  ‘We cannot always have what we want,’ Lydia began, then realised that she was doing more or less exactly what her stepdaughter was doing—pouting and sulking because life wasn’t giving her exactly what she wanted.

  ‘Oh, dear, how strict I sound.’ If she wasn’t careful, she was going to end up turning into a bitter and twisted old harridan, making everyone else’s lives a misery because she was nursing her own disappointment.

  It was the height of irony that at that very moment, she caught a glimpse of Lord Rothersthorpe strolling along one of the gravelled walks with Rose on his arm. Rose was looking particularly fetching as she laughed up into his face. She could not see the expression on his, as he was bending his head to speak right into her ear, but she could imagine it. It would be the one he’d shown yesterday, when he’d been flirting with everyone left, right and centre. When she’d thought that if he was really her suitor, she would have reason to feel aggrieved.

  Lord, what an awful husband he would make, if she were stupid enough to accept his proposal! In fact, she really couldn’t understand why she was in such a dither about turning him down. Or why she should still yearn for him, even when she knew how bad he would be for her.

  For she did. She craved him, just like an addict craved opium.

  Her only hope would be to break the habit now, before it got its claws into her too deeply. She must never go to his room again, that was certain. Not even to tell him it was over. For she didn’t think she was strong enough to resist the temptation to make love with him, one last time. Which would make her hate herself.

  She whirled back to the room, a determined smile fixed to her lips.

  ‘Do you know, I think it would do us all good to take a nice brisk walk.’ Sitting around doing nothing was only making things worse. She needed some distraction from thinking about him and how bad he was for her, how he tempted her to be utterly selfish and how he was making her hate him, and herself, more with every passing day.

  Marigold brightened up at once. Michael cheered and Cissy, sensing something good was about to happen, smiled too.

  Slipper’s ears had pricked up at the word walk. He trotted over to the door and lifted a paw to scratch at it.

  ‘Marigold,’ said Lydia, ‘would you mind going up to the schoolroom and telling Mr Thomsett he may have a holiday today? I should think he will be only too glad to get back to the vicarage and resume studying for his own examinations.’

  Marigold did not need telling twice. For once, she shot off on her errand without uttering a single complaint.

  * * *

  It took a matter of only minutes to get them all ready for their impromptu outing. Soon they were strolling across the lawn, but not in the same direction she’d seen Rose and Lord Rothersthorpe take. The last thing she wanted was to come across them and have him suspect she was pursuing him, or checking up on what he was doing with Rose.

  Instead, they skirted the formal Persian Pools, heading for the woodland terraces that led right down to the river. It was deliciously cool in the shade of the trees. In spite of saying she did not have a headache, she had no intention of wandering about in the kind of glaring light that would induce one.

  They saw that some of Rose’s guests were already seeking shade in the pavilion. Lord Beagle’s sister was sitting on one of the stone benches gently fanning herself, while Lieutenant Tancred and the Prince of Pickles stood by the balustrade, making desultory attempts to engage her in conversation.

  Both Marigold and Cissy pulled faces, letting her know the last thing they wanted was to stop and exchange pleasantries, even though, given half a chance, Lieutenant Tancred would have joined them.

  So, as quietly as they could, given there was a dog and a six-year-old boy in their party, they ducked into the woodland and out of sight.

  Because they’d veered from the main path and wanted to avoid being spotted by anyone in the temple, they ended up squeezing round the back of the grotto—a small cave Colonel Morgan had constructed to conceal some of the machinery required to keep the fountains and waterfalls going.

  Suddenly Lydia heard the sound of Rose, giggling, with a slight echo that told her she was inside the grotto.

  Then a man’s voice, though the words were indistinct.

  And then silence.

  No footfall, no sign they had just peeped in and were emerging.

  ‘Is that Rose?’ Marigold came to a halt next to her and only then did she realise she’d frozen in place. ‘Whatever can she be doing in the grotto? It’s so cold and damp in there.’

  And dark. And utterly private.

  There was a low murmur. The distinctive sound of a man...groaning with pleasure.

  Marigold gasped, then clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her own giggles.

  ‘Oh! She’s with a man. Which of them do you think it is?’

  She knew exactly who it was. She’d seen her walk this way with Lord Rothersthorpe not an hour since.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mama?’ Michael had come panting back up the hill to see why she’d stopped. ‘You’ve gone white.’

  It was hardly surprising. She was chilled to the marrow. There was a numbness about her lips and a roaring sound in her ears.

  She took a deep breath. She was not going to faint. Because then she wouldn’t be able to give that lying, cheating...toad a piece of her mind!

  How could he speak of marrying her, then turn round and start making love to her stepdaughter?

  Her wealthy, beautiful, young stepdaughter.

  She’d known, deep down, that he hadn’t meant what he’d said last night. That he would move on to some other woman without a qualm when she turned him down. But she hadn’t thought it would be this soon. Or this woman.

  Or before she’d had a chance to inform him she wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Marigold, looking down at her hands. And she discovered she’d clenched her fists. ‘Rose is in big trouble, isn’t she?’

  ‘Marigold,’ she said grimly. ‘I would like you to take charge of Michael and Cissy, if you please.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, backing away hastily. Lydia watched until she and Michael reached the steps that led back to the main path, where Cissy was waiting, before making her way round to the edge of the temple pool and the concealed entrance to the grotto.

  ‘Why is Lyddy so cross?’ she heard Cissy asking.

  ‘Because Rose is being very naughty,’ she heard Marigold answer. ‘She’s kissing some man in the grotto...’

  Their voices trailed away as Lydia ducked under the overhanging boulders, pushing aside the trailing ferns and creepers as she went.

  They knew she would want them to make themselves scarce. She had made a point of never scolding any of them in public. It was bad enough for them when the Colonel lost his temper and gave them a savage dressing down no matter who was watching. So she’d done her reprimanding in private and with as much calm as she could muster.

  Calm. She had to calm down. She couldn’t go storming into the grotto and tear rose from Lord Rothersthorpe’s arms.

  And it wasn’t because it would be undignified to give in to jealous rage.

  It wasn’t. If she actually saw them, Rose would be effectively compromised. She would have to marry Lord Rothersthorpe.

  She took a step back, biting down on her lower lip.

  In some ways it would be better to p
retend she didn’t know this was happening. Once she confronted them, Rose would have no option but to marry Lord Rothersthorpe.

  And she couldn’t bear to see Rose married to him. Because...

  Well, what kind of scoundrel seduced the stepmother into bed, made her think he had marriage in mind, only to callously lure an innocent young girl into the grotto so that he could toy with her as well?

  Then something else occurred to her. He’d talked about how the last eight years had been hell because she’d chosen Colonel Morgan. Was this his idea of getting revenge? Proposing to her again, only to cast her aside this time, the way he’d thought she’d cast him aside, to marry a wealthy, more appealing person?

  He was...he was... Something inside her shattered. It felt as though all her emotions were draining out through the gaping wound in her chest, leaving her dead on her feet.

  He was the worst sort of villain.

  But the way he’d used and deceived her didn’t matter. She had to do what she could to extricate Rose from his schemes. She couldn’t permit Rose to be condemned to a lifetime of misery with a man who was...

  Oh, God...

  She couldn’t stand here all day. She had to put a stop to whatever was going on in the grotto right now, before it went too far. The giggles had stopped. All she could hear now was heavy breathing and the rustling of fabric. The sound of two people straining together...

  ‘Rose!’

  There was a shocked gasp, a muttered imprecation. Then stillness.

  ‘Rose, I know you’re in there,’ she said, stepping up to the entrance, so they would be able to see her silhouette. ‘And that you’re not alone. Come out, the pair of you, right this minute!’

  There was some more muttering, some scuffling, then Rose emerged, red-faced and with her hair and clothing somewhat disordered.

  And right behind her...

  ‘Lieutenant Smollet!’

  Grim-faced, he was buttoning up his jacket.

  Rose stretched out her hands as though imploring her to understand. ‘Mama Lyddy, please, do not be cross—’

  Lieutenant Smollet cut her off. ‘Of course she is angry, Rose.’