The Viscount's Bride

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  Chloe turned to Sir Preston. “Do you wish to try, Sir Preston? I should be quite happy to show you the steps. Miss Coltrane did such a splendid job of playing I am certain she would be glad to play again.”

  “Oh, most certainly,” Miss Coltrane said with a cool smile.

  This time she played the waltz as if it were a requiem. However, Brandt was distracted from speculating why by Chloe’s efforts to teach Sir Preston the finer points of waltzing. The sight of her guiding Sir Preston’s hand in the appropriate position and the warm colour in her cheeks made him wish he were in need of instruction. The only gratification was that Sir Preston didn’t appear to be nearly as affected by Chloe’s efforts as Brandt was by watching them. The baronet’s sole concentration centred on executing the steps correctly.

  When Sir Preston finally danced without a misstep, she smiled at him in such a way that Brandt was pierced with jealousy.

  Mrs Sutton insisted on playing so that everyone might dance. After another country dance and a cotillion, Miss Coltrane announced it was time for her to leave.

  The others followed suit and the party broke up. Brandt took his leave of Mrs Sutton and she smiled up at him. “How delighted we were to have you today! I hope you will not find our little corner of England too dull. We have the assemblies and sometimes there is a dinner party, but I dare say they are nothing compared to the splendid entertainments of London. Except for Lady Haversham’s summer ball. I imagine you will be here for that?”

  At that moment he heard Rushton say, “Perhaps I could escort you home, Lady Chloe.”

  Brandt realised Mrs Sutton was waiting for his reply so he pulled his attention back away from Chloe, irritated that he could be so easily distracted. “Yes, I will be here.”

  Mrs Sutton beamed. “Splendid. It is always the most elaborate affair…”

  He finally managed to escape, but once outside he saw no sign of Chloe. Rushton was conversing with Tom Coltrane, so at least Chloe had possessed the sense to refuse his offer. Of course, what she did was none of his concern. He’d best remind himself of that.

  —

  Chloe walked slowly up the lane, feeling curiously disgruntled. She had no idea whether today could be counted as a success or not. Certainly she had spent some time sitting with Sir Preston before the others arrived. But once Emily and Tom came, the conversation turned to racing, a topic Chloe knew little about. Brandt’s unexpected arrival had only thrown the afternoon off even more, particularly when Lydia made the remark about him not finding the entertainment dull. Chloe had wanted to sink.

  As the afternoon progressed, she realised that, for some reason, Emily was determined to keep her away from Sir Preston. At least Chloe had managed to thwart Emily in the end when she showed Sir Preston the waltz. For some reason, however, it had felt rather flat after waltzing with Brandt. Of course, Brandt was very experienced and had undoubtedly danced dozens of waltzes so naturally it would be more interesting. But that did not explain why, when Brandt took her hand and then rested the other on her back, a peculiar tingle raced through her. And why, when Sir Preston did the same thing, she felt nothing at all. Or why the look in Brandt’s eyes when they finished made her heart skip a beat.

  The only reason she had agreed to waltz with him was because of her promise last night. And because he had looked at her in that knowing way as if he was just waiting for her to cry off. She had wanted to prove him wrong.

  Which was idiotic. As was thinking about him when she should be thinking of Sir Preston instead. He was the sort of safe, trustworthy man she wished to marry. A man she would be comfortable with. A man who did not overpower her, treat her as if she were incapable of thinking for herself. Not the way her father had. Or the way Lucien had. Or the way Arthur still did.

  A cool, confident, overbearing man such as Brandt would be no different.

  She heard her name. She turned to see Emily hurrying after her. She bit back a groan. Emily was the last person she wanted to see at this moment.

  She caught up to Chloe. “You certainly waltzed very well with Lord Salcombe. How kind of you to take the time to show Sir Preston the steps, although I doubt your expert instruction will have quite the same results for him as his expert instruction in cards has had for you. Particularly after last night.”

  “I was merely lucky last night. As you pointed out.”

  “I don’t suggest it was luck for you. In fact, I think you are quite talented. But such talents run in your family, do they not?”

  She was no doubt referring to Lucien. Chloe felt as if she had been struck, but she managed to keep her voice calm. “Such talents seem to run in most people’s families.”

  “Perhaps. Lord Salcombe did not seem at all dismayed that he was bested by a mere female.”

  “The game was not between Lord Salcombe and me. Sir Preston and Mr Rushton also played.”

  “Poor Sir Preston. Anyone could see that you carried the game. I would imagine that must have been very humiliating.”

  “I hardly think of Sir Preston as “’poor’”! He played very well and sometimes it is merely a matter of which cards are drawn. I should be happy to have him for a partner any time.”

  Emily gave a little laugh. “How quickly you come to his defence. One would almost think you have a tendre for him.”

  Her manner indicated no woman in her right mind would ever consider such a thing. “I can imagine any number of women developing a tendre for Sir Preston,” Chloe said.

  “So you do! I would think you would prefer a man such as Lord Salcombe to someone as dull as Sir Preston.”

  “I never said I had a tendre for Sir Preston.” Chloe’s cheeks heated. “I do not consider him dull, at any rate. I have no idea why you think I would prefer Lord Salcombe.”

  “He is more sophisticated and has more address and I cannot imagine him thinking only of his land. Or his horses and dogs, and shooting. One must have something in common with the object of one’s affection after all. I do not suppose you are interested in farming and dogs and sheep?”

  “Of course I am.” She was beginning to resent this line of questioning very much. “Not that it is any of your concern.”

  Emily gave her a superior smile. “Poor Sir Preston. Does he suspect? No, of course not. He is too thick.”

  Chloe wanted to hit her. “I do not have a tendre for anyone. If you must know, I have no intention of falling in love. I like Sir Preston because he is kind.” Thank goodness, they had reached the path Chloe needed to take to reach Falconcliff. “I must go this way. I pray you will not repeat such speculations to anyone. They are quite untrue.”

  “Oh, I shan’t say a thing,” Emily said breezily. “But I think you would do better to set your sights on Lord Salcombe. Good day, Lady Chloe.” She walked away, her head high.

  Chloe stared after her. Oh, heavens! What if Emily said something? She would die of humiliation if anyone else thought she was setting her cap at Sir Preston.

  Particularly Brandt. She could only imagine his amusement. No, she did not want anyone to know until she and Sir Preston were betrothed.

  If, indeed, that happened.

  —

  Chloe’s disgruntled feeling only increased when she entered her bedchamber and found a letter on her dressing table from Arthur. She tore off her gloves and picked up the missive. He never wrote unless he wished to admonish her for spending all of her pin-money. In her present mood, she looked forward to his certain lecture even less than usual.

  Her first impulse was to put the letter off until later. On the other hand, she might as well open it and put it out of her mind. She broke the seal and spread open the paper. “Oh, no,” she whispered. Surely, she had misread what he wrote.

  But another read of his neat, precise handwriting left no doubt. The Marquis of Denbigh and his sister, Lady Barbara, have most graciously invited us to a house party at Denbigh Hall. I will arrive at Falconcliff ten days after Lady Haversham’s ball, but rather than going to Dutton Cott
age we will leave directly for Denbigh Hall the following day.

  Not Lord Denbigh, who reminded her of a large frog with his great bulk, bulging eyes and clammy hands! She had met him this past Season and had hardly thought of him at all when he was first presented to her, except that he was the sort of man she disliked for he reminded her of Lucien’s acquaintances. She had been puzzled as to why his widowed sister, the sophisticated Lady Barbara Grant, took an interest in her, inviting Chloe to the theatre, seeking her out at assemblies, taking her for drives in her stylish barouche. Chloe began to notice that Lord Denbigh was almost always present as well. She tried to avoid him; the expression in his eyes when he looked at her made her uneasy. But one evening, when she and Mama were invited to Lady Barbara’s home for dinner, Lady Barbara left Chloe and Denbigh alone in the small garden behind the Denbigh town house. He suddenly declared that she was the sweetest creature alive and had pulled her into his arms and kissed her with his wet, thick mouth. His breath and odour had nearly made her gag and only when she had started to retch did he draw back. He had called for Lady Barbara.

  Lady Barbara accepted his explanation that Chloe had suddenly taken ill while strolling in the garden. Maria had fussed over her, insisting she must stay in bed the next day. Horrified and ashamed, Chloe could not tell her mother about the kiss. Just as she had not told her mother about an earlier, even more brutal kiss. Chloe ended up ill anyway, for the day after that, she developed a fever and her body ached everywhere. After several weeks, she had still remained weak. The physician finally suggested that the air of London might be responsible and that the fresh air of the seaside would undoubtedly prove beneficial. By then she was eager to escape London and the fact that Belle had invited her to Falconcliff for an indeterminate amount of time pleased her even more. Thus her Season had ended, and, with it, she had thought, the attentions of Lord Denbigh, too.

  What was she to do? The thought of facing Lord Denbigh again filled her with panic. If only Sir Preston would make her an offer! She turned from the window, still clutching the letter. If they were betrothed, then surely she would not be expected to go to house parties at Denbigh Hall or anywhere else. She could stay at Falconcliff until the marriage and then after that she would be here in Devon for ever.

  She sat down on the bed. Certainly Sir Preston had been all that was kind and attentive, but he was not particularly polished in matters concerning females. He rather reminded her of Serena’s betrothed, Charles Hampton. Serena, who was her dearest friend, had written that she had been forced to bring her Charles up to the mark.

  How had she done it? Chloe rose and rummaged through the small wooden box where she stored her letters until she found Serena’s letter.

  I will own I was forced to take matters into my own hands, for I fear Charles would never come up to scratch if I did not. You would probably be shocked at my boldness, for I know how proper you like to be! During last night’s assembly I asked him to escort me to the garden under the pretext that the room was far too warm. There was a nicely secluded bench and we sat. Then I told him I was rather cold and moved very close to him. I then smiled at him, but instead of looking away I held his gaze. In a most bold fashion! And then he kissed me, very nicely I must add, and after that he felt most obliged to make me an offer, which I modestly accepted.

  The kissing aspect made her feel slightly ill, but if she married Sir Preston there would need to be kisses—as well as other more intimate contacts she shied away from thinking of. Perhaps one grew used to such things after a while.

  Certainly Belle had, if the dreamy look in Belle’s eyes when Justin regarded her in a particular way was any indication. But then she was in love with Justin and he was in love with her, so that undoubtedly made the difference. At such times, Chloe was uncomfortable, almost as if she had intruded on their privacy, but at least she had not felt repulsed by their mutual desire. Unlike the revulsion she experienced when Denbigh looked at her. Or when Lucien’s acquaintances had stared at her so long ago.

  Which was another reason, she felt safe with Sir Preston. He never looked at her in such a repugnant way. At least, she cared very much for Sir Preston, so perhaps she would not mind his kisses. And she wanted children, soft, rounded babies who would grow into lovable children, which meant she must learn not to mind such intimacies.

  Could she possibly force Sir Preston’s hand? She cringed at the thought, but she could see no other way to approach him before she was forced to leave with Arthur.

  Arthur would arrive in less than a fortnight. She must think of something before then.

  Chapter Three

  Brandt looked down at the child who sat on his knee and wondered how he had managed to end up again with another human under the age of one. This time he held Lady Emma Peyton, the youngest daughter of Lord and Lady Haversham. Her wide blue eyes were fixed on him and when he tentatively smiled at her, her little rosebud mouth curved in an irresistible smile. No doubt she’d charm every man in sight in a few years. She had already charmed him.

  “So we will have the picnic at Waverly two days after the ball,” Marguerite said. She sat across from him on one of the sofas in her drawing room.

  He pulled his gaze away from Lady Emma. “As long as it does not rain. The drawing room is still covered with plaster dust.”

  “In that case we will just move the picnic here.”

  Emma wriggled a little and he obligingly bounced her. She giggled.

  “I think it is time you set up your own nursery,” Marguerite said.

  “Why, when I can play uncle to your children and Belle’s?”

  “That is not quite the same as having children of your own. What do you think, Giles? I think he would make a splendid papa.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Giles grinned at Brandt from his position near the mantelpiece. “You’d best be careful when she gets an idea into her head. You’ll end up with a passel of urchins in no time.”

  “But he’ll need a wife first,” Marguerite said. She eyed Brandt. “Is there not some woman who interests you? Someone respectable, that is.”

  “I fear all the respectable, interesting women are either married or…” he glanced at Emma “…far too young.”

  Marguerite rolled her eyes. “Really, Brandt, can you not be serious for a moment? You cannot tell me there is no one who has caught your attention.”

  He had visions of methodically looking at each eligible woman and tallying up her good and bad points. The thought was not appealing. “So how does one go about, er…searching for the right wife?”

  “Much like choosing a horse,” Giles said. “The right breeding, fine lines, the right amount of spirit, and preferably an easy keeper.”

  “You are not helping the matter. Brandt needs a wife, not a horse.” She rose and held her arms out to Emma, who had started to fuss. She pressed the baby close to her and planted a kiss on the soft cheek before looking up. “Waverly needs to be filled with children, which means you must find someone who suits you. Someone you like.”

  “At this point, I can hardly afford a new horse, much less a wife.”

  “Certainly they cost as much to keep,” Giles added. “You will need to find an heiress.”

  Marguerite stared at her husband as if he’d said something brilliant. “Of course. Chloe. She would be perfect! She adores children and she adores Waverly! You could not find someone who would suit you more!”

  Had Marguerite gone mad? “I think you’d better suggest someone else. She would rather see one of us pole-axed before she’d accompany me to the altar.”

  He realised Giles was watching them, a grin tugging at his lips. “Well?” Brandt asked. “What is it?”

  “I am trying to imagine a marriage between you and Chloe. Rather like a Shakespeare comedy, I would think. Perhaps The Taming of the Shrew or Much Ado about Nothing.”

  For some reason, Brandt was irritated. “Since it is not likely to happen, I would save your imaginings.”

  Giles only lo
oked more amused. “Why not? I doubt you’d be bored.”

  “No. Only worried I’d wake up with a dagger at my throat.”

  “You are both impossible!” Marguerite said with a look of disgust. “Perhaps if you would cease to tease her in such an appalling fashion she would cease to be so cross with you,” she told Brandt and rose. “I must return Emma to Nurse and then see to it the guest chambers have been properly readied. Our first guests will arrive today. As much as I look forward to the ball I am always relieved when it is over. Thank goodness it’s the day after next.” She marched to the door and turned. “If you do not consider Chloe, then I will be forced to find someone for you at the ball,” she challenged him as she left the room.

  Giles laughed. “Chloe is not that dangerous. In fact, she is quite kind and generous. Today she has taken Caroline and Will for a picnic. I do not know many young ladies who would be willing to spend so much time with two children who are not her relations. They adore her. You could do worse.”

  “She is an heiress, that’s true, although I’ve no intention of marrying anyone who brings more than a few thousand pounds to the marriage.”

  “No?”

  “No. In fact, I am not in the market for a wife.”

  “You are now.” He laughed at Brandt’s expression. “If Marguerite has anything to say about it.”

  —

  Brandt rode along the path that ran across the top of the cliff towards Waverly. Below him lay the sparkling water of the sea. He paid scant heed to the scenery. Instead he was thinking of children. His children. At Waverly.

  He must be mad. Surely he had not been so bewitched by first Julian and then Emma that he wanted to set up a nursery as soon as possible. If he had ever considered children, they had always appeared vague and faceless.

  They were not faceless now. They had round cheeks and chubby little hands. And smiles that tugged at his heart. Despite the sense of rightness he felt at Waverly, it seemed lacking somehow, as if there was something else he wanted. Now he knew. The same things Justin and Giles had: warm, loving families.