The Viscount’s Bride
Ann Elizabeth Cree
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter One
Chloe glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and jumped up from the chair. She should have met the others in the drawing room five minutes ago. Her attention had strayed from the article concerning the scarcity of grain in Europe to an article about Madame de Staël’s death and she had found it so interesting she forgot to watch the clock.
“Does Justin know you hide away in his study to read his journals?”
She whirled around, heat rising to her cheeks. Brandt, Viscount Salcombe, stood in the doorway of the study, an amused smile at his mouth. She stifled a groan. Of all the people to find her, why must it be him? “I am not hiding away. I had something I…I needed to read.”
“From the Gentleman’s Magazine? Could it not wait until after the assembly or did you hope to bring up one of the topics during the evening?”
Since that was exactly what she intended, her flush only increased. “How ridiculous!” Why must he always plague her? And make her feel so young and silly? “Is it not time to leave for the assembly?” she asked pointedly.
“Yes, which is why Belle sent me to find you. It was fortunate Mrs Keith noticed you were here as Belle failed to inform me that you might be in the study reading Justin’s journals.”
“There is no need to mention that.” What if Belle or worse, her husband, the Duke of Westmore, questioned why she had developed such an interest in agriculture?
“Very well, I will keep your secret on one condition.”
“What is that?” she asked cautiously.
“That you agree to stand up with me tonight.”
Stand up with him? “I…”
His mouth curved. “Or I will mention to my cousin or Belle your interest in farming.”
He would probably do so just to annoy her. “Very well,” she said ungraciously.
“Then I suggest you put it back in its place. Unless you plan to bring it with you.”
“You may tell Belle that I will join you in the drawing room very shortly.” She was behaving childishly, not at all as a proper young lady should towards someone she disliked, but she did not seem to be able to treat him with the cool politeness she desired. That he seemed to find her a source of amusement only irked her more.
She set the journal on the pile of magazines on the desk. She prayed Brandt would keep his word and say nothing. What if Belle or Justin should guess that she intended to marry Sir Preston? They would need to know some time, but she preferred that to be after Sir Preston had…
“By now, Belle will undoubtedly think I’ve abducted you.”
She marched to the door and cast him a cold look as she passed him into the hall. Her mood was not improved as she climbed into the carriage and seated herself next to Belle, only to find Brandt seated next to Justin and across from her. Her time at Falconcliff visiting Belle, who was now the Duchess of Westmore, had been marred by this man’s arrival yesterday.
The month and a half she had been in Devon had been idyllic. For the first time in ages, she had felt a sense of freedom; her guardian, Arthur, the Earl of Ralston, and his plans to marry her to the highest bidder far away. She had been recovering from a severe bout of influenza when she first arrived but the sea air and her increasingly longer walks had helped recover her strength. As had her happiness at being with Belle, Belle’s husband, Justin, and baby Julian, now nearly six months old. Their neighbours had welcomed her. And she had decided to fall in love with Sir Preston Kentworth, whom she was certain was beginning to return her regard.
Everything was perfect. Until yesterday.
She cast a dark look at Brandt as he talked easily with Justin and Belle. He was Justin’s cousin and certainly there was a resemblance. Both were tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired men possessing an arrogant confidence. Justin, with his cool reserve, was considered the more handsome, but she knew from the London gossip that many women considered Brandt, with his disarming charm, equally attractive. His father’s scandalous death two years ago only added to his desirability. His lack of wealth did not seem to deter them one whit as there were rumours he was well on his way to recovering the fortune his father had lost.
He would undoubtedly charm all of the ladies in the neighbourhood just as he had charmed the London women during the Season. She only hoped he would not leave a trail of broken hearts behind him since he was unlikely to stay in a village as slow as Weyham for very long. At least she was immune to him. She supposed he was handsome, but she did not like overly handsome men. And he was too tall as well. She preferred men who did not hover over her, making her feel helpless as if they might overpower her. Another point in Sir Preston’s favour, for she could actually have a conversation with him without straining her neck.
Chloe glanced out of the carraige window and saw they had arrived at the assembly rooms. An assortment of carriages already stood outside the square building.
The rooms had been built half a century ago when Weyham had been a modestly popular seaside resort. Only a few visitors frequented its pleasant beaches now, but the weekly assemblies continued to be popular, often attracting guests from the neighbouring towns.
Inside the small entry hall, Belle allowed the men to go on ahead. She halted and turned to Chloe. “I know you do not particularly like Brandt,” she said in a low voice, “but please try not to allow your feelings to show so clearly on your face.”
“I am sorry. It was just that he always teases me so. Was it really so obvious?”
Belle smiled rather ruefully. “Yes, I fear so. At one point you were fixing him with a most fierce look.”
“Oh, dear.” She knew Belle’s fondness for the cousin Justin considered a brother. “I promise I will try to be very civil. I am to stand up with him tonight.” She hoped that would make Belle feel better.
“I will not ask how that came about.”
She should probably not mention blackmail. She gave Belle a vague smile. “I suppose we should join the others. But do not worry.”
“I know you have a kind heart, but I hope you will consider extending it to Brandt. He is really not so terrible. And he will not be leaving very soon.”
How disappointing. “I will.” She followed Belle in, intending to put Brandt completely from her mind. They were joined by Mrs Heyburn, the local squire’s wife. Chloe only half-listened to the conversation as she looked around the room, hoping to find Sir Preston. She finally spotted him standing with a group of men in one corner.
She excused herself from Belle and Mrs Heyburn and started across the room, then hesitated as the men burst into loud laughter, most probably over one of the Squire’s boisterous hunting jokes. It was one thing to approach Sir Preston when he was alone, but quite another when he was with friends. It was just that he needed rather a lot of encouragement. He was shy about dancing and did not seem comfortable asking anyone to stand up with him.
Before she decided what to do, Lydia Sutton bounded up to her. “Chloe! Why did you not tell me Lord Salcombe was coming!”
“I did not know until last night, when he arrived unexpectedly,” Chloe said without much enthusiasm. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss him.
“He is so dashing. And a rak
e, is he not? My friend, Harriet—she is Lady Harriet Pumphries, the Marquis of Lawton’s daughter—wrote he was nearly called out by Lord Bixby for trifling with his wife.”
“It was only a rumour as Lord Bixby does not seem to care who flirts with his wife. If anything, Lady Bixby was flirting with him. Or attempting to,” she said, distracted by the sight of Sir Preston leaving the ballroom. She hoped he was not going to the card room.
“Chloe! How could you say such a thing!”
Lydia’s squeal of enjoyable horror brought Chloe back to the conversation. “I should not have repeated such gossip. I pray you will not say a thing to anyone.”
“Of course I will not.” Lydia fanned herself as she looked about the room. “Do you know if he plans to dance at all?”
“I really cannot say. He did not dance very often in London.” Or engage in any of the scandalous behaviours his reputation warranted. Instead, he had been rather aloof, which only added to his overall attraction.
“I hope he will.” Lydia’s attention had strayed again. “I see Mrs Clifton is wearing her new London gown. How I wish I could persuade Mama to take us to town for some new gowns. But she says there is nothing in London that we cannot procure from Madame Dupré. And there is Emily. Really! One would think she would realise how atrocious lemon is for her complexion. But then she never knows how to go on.”
Chloe glanced in Emily Coltrane’s direction. She stood in one corner of the room, her broad face wearing its habitual scowl as if she wished to warn everyone away. Lydia was right, her yellow gown only emphasized her sallow skin and mousy hair. Despite Emily’s evident and puzzling dislike for her, Chloe could not help but feel sorry for her.
Lydia shut her fan. “Lord Salcombe is dancing with Lady Haversham. He dances very well, does he not?”
Chloe glanced in his direction just as he held out his hand to Marguerite, Lady Haversham, who was the wife of their nearby neighbour. She smiled at something he said and Chloe looked away. She really must escape from Lydia, not only to find Sir Preston, but because she did not want to spend the evening discussing Brandt. “I suppose so. Lydia—” she began, but before she could say more Gilbert Rushton sauntered up.
He grinned. “Good evening, Lady Chloe, Lydia. I saw you over here looking out at the crowd and then chatting madly and wondered who was the subject of such animated speculation.”
“We were merely commenting on how well Lord Salcombe dances,” Lydia said.
Mr Rushton glanced at the dancers. “He does indeed. Certainly Weyham is much enlivened by his presence. Should I add to the speculations concerning Lord Salcombe?”
“I must…” Chloe began. She was beginning to think she would never escape.
“I never pay the least attention to gossip,” Lydia said primly.
“But this concerns all of us.” Mr Rushton paused for effect. “There are rumours he is Waverly’s mysterious benefactor.”
“How splendid!” Lydia said.
Chloe’s stomach lurched, all thoughts of Sir Preston gone. “That is impossible!”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because…” Because she could not fathom where he would find the funds. But more than that, he was the last person she wanted in the old stone house she had fallen in love with the first time she saw it. As forlorn as it was, with its overgrown gardens and crumbling stone walls, the house still maintained an air of solid dignity. Its old neglected chapel with a tiny walled garden was the most romantic thing imaginable, along with rumours of secret passages that led from the house to the chapel and even to the sea below. She had been delighted when, shortly after her arrival in Devon, workmen began repairs to the roof and walls. The identity of the buyer remained unknown, although conjecture as to whom he might be ran rampant in the village. “It is not the sort of house he would like at all. I am certain you are wrong.”
“You appear quite adamant that he should not live there.”
“I am certain it is not that! Chloe just does not want to know that we have guessed. But do not worry, we will not say a thing!” Lydia beamed at her.
“I do not know anything at all.” What if Lydia decided to repeat the rumours and mentioned Chloe? “I really must find Belle.”
“But you are coming to my house tomorrow, are you not? Remember, we are to practise the dances for the Haversham ball. Sir Preston will be there and Tom and Emily Coltrane as well as Mr Rushton,” Lydia added, looking hard at Mr Rushton.
“I fully intend to be there. But for now I must keep my appointment at the card tables,” Mr Rushton said. He executed a neat bow and sauntered off.
“So, you will be there, will you not, Chloe? Do you not recall that you promised to show Sir Preston the waltz?”
“Oh, yes.” How could she possibly forget when she spent as much time as possible reading about farming so that she might impress Sir Preston with her newly acquired knowledge? In fact, she planned to take the opportunity tomorrow to discuss a new breed of sheep she had read about. “I must go.” She started to edge away.
“Do you think Lord Salcombe would come?”
“Lord Salcombe?” She stopped and stared at Lydia. “Most certainly not. I am sure he would find such entertainments too dull.”
“But he might not. We could ask him. Or perhaps you could ask him since you are related and you must know him very well.”
“I really do not know him well at all. And we are only related through marriage and hardly even that.” For Belle was only her sister-in-law through her first marriage to Chloe’s half-brother, Lucien, although she thought of Belle as her sister.
“But will you ask him?”
“Perhaps,” Chloe said vaguely. The image of him among the young people of the neighbourhood practising dances boggled her mind. And most certainly she did not want him watching her with his sardonic gleam while she attempted to discuss sheep with Sir Preston. “I really must go.”
She was thankful that, at that moment, Henry Ashton appeared to solicit Lydia’s hand for the next dance. After promising she would most certainly be in the Sutton drawing room tomorrow, Chloe finally made her escape.
Sir Preston still had not reappeared. He was probably in the card room. She had just reached the edge of the assembly room when she heard her name. She turned and found Lady Kentworth, Sir Preston’s mother, at her side. Her heavy face creased in a smile. “My dear Lady Chloe! How delightful it is to see you. How charming you look? Is that a new gown? You had it made up in London, I have no doubt. There is nothing quite as stylish here in Weyham.”
“Yes, it is from London.” She managed a smile. Lady Kentworth’s effusiveness always overwhelmed her. Although she was all that was friendly, something about her small eyes and thin mouth made Chloe cautious. But perhaps it was only a natural desire on her part to avoid offending a potential mother-in-law.
“Have you seen my son? I believe he is in the card room. I do hope he can be persuaded to dance at least one of the dances. Perhaps with you, since you and he have become such particular friends.” She did not give Chloe a chance to reply and chatted on for a few more minutes in her loud voice before finally declaring that she thought she might play a hand of cards. Somehow, Chloe found herself entering the card room with Lady Kentworth, who insisted she must greet Sir Preston. Chloe wanted to cringe. She only hoped Lady Kentworth would say nothing about a dance.
The card room was small and stuffy, the tables crowded together, and her embarrassment increased as Lady Kent-worth marched her across the room. Several people glanced up as they passed, including Lady Haversham, whose look of sympathy rendered Chloe even more mortified. Then she wanted to run when they stopped by Sir Preston’s table. Two other men sat with him. And one of them was Brandt.
But it was too late. Lady Kentworth was already speaking. “Ah, Preston, here is Lady Chloe.”
The men looked up. Heat stained her cheeks when Brandt’s gaze fell on her. “Lady Chloe. Have you come to join us? Or did you wish to remind me of
our dance?”
The dance? She had completely forgotten about it. “I merely came to…to watch the games. I must be going.”
“Perhaps Lady Chloe might like to play a hand. Sir Preston has been instructing her, you know,” Lady Kentworth announced.
“No, I really must go.”
Sir Preston turned around to look at her. His pleasant, square face lit with a smile. He stood. “No need to hurry off. Be glad to have you play a hand. Blanton, here, has to do his duty on the dance floor.”
Blanton rose and bowed in her direction. “My wife won’t give me a moment of peace until I do the pretty with her.” He pulled the chair out. “The chair is now yours.”
He walked off. Chloe restrained herself from following. “I do not think…”
Mr Rushton smiled at her. “No need to be shy, Lady Chloe. Kentworth claims you are a most promising pupil.”
“Most certainly is,” Sir Preston said kindly. “Promise we won’t ride roughshod over you.”
“But…”
“See, you have no need to worry,” Lady Kentworth said. “Sit down, Lady Chloe.” She gestured to the chair, her tone brooking no argument. Chloe sat in the vacated seat to Brandt’s right. Lady Kentworth beamed. “Very good. I see Sylvie Compton in the corner. I promised I would play a game with her.” She bustled away.
Chloe hardly knew where to look. “I really do not wish to play.”
“Afraid you’ll be badly trounced?” Brandt inquired with a wicked gleam.
“Of course not,” she snapped and then remembered she was supposed to be a novice. “That is, I expect to be badly trounced.” That did not sound any better and the open amusement in his face only flustered her more.
“Whist, then. Salcombe can partner you,” Mr Rushton offered. “Even up the odds.”
Brandt? She glanced at him. He returned her regard, his expression bland. “Lady Chloe would undoubtedly prefer someone else.”
He didn’t need to make it so obvious he didn’t want her. She lifted her chin. “I rather thought Sir Preston could be my partner.”
Sir Preston looked startled. “Er, honoured, of course, but may not be the best partner. Salcombe is more skilled.”
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