The Reluctant Viscount

by Lara Temple

  ‘For a rake, you’re a timid old lady sometimes, Nick. If you’re so worried, you can stay and keep an eye on me.’

  ‘London society is a bit thin during the summer months, so I just might linger for a while. And I’ll try not to cut you out with the beauty.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Adam pulled on the reins gently and halted the curricle just outside an old Tudor-style building on the High Street where a large sign announcing Milsom’s Bookshop and Circulating Library hung above two large bay windows. This had been one of his favourite places in Mowbray ten years ago and it had not changed at all—the sign was even still very slightly crooked. In fact, it was amazing how little had changed, at least outwardly, in the ten years since he had left.

  He handed the reins to Jem, his head groom and the only man amongst his staff whom he trusted with his horses, and jumped out of the curricle. A passing matron with a child hanging on to either hand shot him a look of alarm and hurried ahead, dragging her offspring with her, and Adam sighed. He was beginning to understand what it felt like to be a freak in a travelling fair. Mowbray might not be as large as nearby Oxford, but he would have thought it was large enough to ensure that not everyone had nothing better to do than either stare at him or look uncomfortably away. So far the only people who had treated him as a human being rather than an object of curiosity or a source of possible moral corruption were his servants and tenants, and that had taken a week of cautious interaction. It was as if the whole town had taken a leaf out of his mother’s book and erased all memory of the serious young man who had lived there before the scandal. Now he was merely a caricature of a debauched rake.

  He headed into Milsom’s. None of the previous Lord Delacorts had been avid readers and this was one deficiency he wanted to right as soon as possible. He had no intention of spending too much time in Mowbray and he didn’t particularly mind being a social pariah, but if there was no other entertainment to be had while immured in Oxfordshire, he might as well have some good books to read. A bell jangled faintly as he entered and two men on either side of a long counter turned towards him.

  ‘Adam!’ The younger man straightened abruptly from his lounging position and the ornate silver-rimmed quizzing glass he had been twirling slid from his fingers and hit the counter with a dull thud. He had a boyish face and very pale flaxen hair which demanded all of his valet’s considerable skill to whip into the current au coup de vent fashion of artlessly disordered curls.

  ‘Lord Delacort,’ said the older man, much more pleasantly, and Adam nodded to him first.

  ‘Good day, Mr Milsom. Hello, Percy. Mr Milsom, I was hoping you might assist me in purchasing some books. I brought a list…’ He produced the folded list and handed it to the older man, who spread it out on the counter, his eyes brightening as he scanned its length.

  ‘Yes, indeed…’ he murmured absently, nodding to himself. ‘We have some volumes here, but most I will have to request from London, My Lord.’

  ‘I understand. There is no hurry, Mr Milsom. Whatever you can provide me with today, I would be grateful.’

  ‘Of course, My Lord. Right way, My Lord.’ Without a glance at Percy he turned and disappeared into a back room, leaving the cousins together.

  Percy’s gaze flickered towards the door and then back to Adam; he raised his quizzing glass and viewed Adam’s riding clothes and caped greatcoat with a slightly derisive twist to his generous mouth.

  ‘You know, Adam, you really should have Libbet give your valet some advice on tailoring now that you’re settled. Stultz, my fellow. I can see you favour Weston and I can’t fault his fabrics and his stitching, but really, that coat is quite commonplace.’

  Adam surveyed Percy’s nipped-waist coat, pale primrose-coloured pantaloons, the carefully arranged cravat secured with a ruby pin and the uncomfortably high shirt points. But the most impressive article of clothing was a waistcoat elaborately embroidered with what looked like tulips and long-tailed parrots, shot through with silver and gold thread.

  ‘Stultz, you say? I don’t think I could quite carry it off with the same panache as you, Percy. Did I pay for that pin or was it poor Ivor?’

  Percy’s hand rose towards the gleaming jewel, then dropped. He straightened, pushing away from the counter.

  ‘It’s not enough to cut off my allowance. You want to dun me now?’ he asked bitterly.

  ‘Not unless I have to, Percy. Just try not to annoy me too much while I’m here, will you? I’ll be gone in a couple of weeks and you should have the field back to yourself. At your own expense, though, of course.’

  ‘Blast it, man, you made your point—I told Libbet we need to scale back, but you can’t cut me off completely, Adam. I’m your heir! I’m a Delacort!’

  ‘Precisely, you’re another in a long line of useless wastrels, myself included. And right now I happen to be in charge, which means you will have to make do with what you have.’

  ‘Blast you, Adam, you have no right…’

  ‘But I have every right, Percy. At least for the moment. Keep that in mind and keep your hand out of my pocket.’

  Percy took a step forward.

  ‘I wish you had—’ He broke off, his face unappealingly crimson.

  ‘What? Got myself killed and saved everyone the bother of dealing with me? Probably, but the fact is that I didn’t. This is the reality. Deal with it. I am sure Libbet can keep you looking respectable even on your income. Though you might have to forgo these…entertaining waistcoats.’

  The ugly look on Percy’s face cleared with such rapidity Adam turned around even before the bells on Milsom’s doors announced new customers. Three ladies entered. The first was a sweet-looking young woman in a bright jonquil pelisse over a white dress with several finely embroidered flounces, whose eyes lit up the moment they settled on Percy. She was followed by a plump woman of indeterminate age and unconvincing bright coppery hair tucked under an impressive high poke bonnet decorated with a spray of scarlet mock cherries. The last to enter was Miss Drake, dressed in a simple rose-coloured pelisse over a white muslin frock. Her gaze narrowed as it settled on the two men and Adam tried not to smile at the evident annoyance in her remarkable eyes.

  ‘Mr Somerton…’ Miss Aldridge breathed and Percy took a step forward.

  ‘Miss Aldridge! Mrs Aldridge! Miss Drake! How fortuitous! Would it be too much to hope you might join me for a walk along the garden promenade? It would be such a pity to insult the sun by remaining indoors on such a beautiful day! I promise to escort you back to Milsom’s at the first hint of a cloud.’

  Adam watched the expressions on each of the women’s faces appreciatively. Miss Drake’s stony look did nothing to daunt Percy or the young Miss Aldridge, who continued to stare at him with a fatuously blissful look. And since Mrs Aldridge happily assented to the change in their plans, Miss Drake had nothing more to do than announce she would join them once she’d collected the book she had ordered. Percy bowed graciously, tucked Miss Aldridge’s hand about his arm and beckoned Mrs Aldridge to precede him.

  Adam watched as the party stepped outside, Percy’s fair hair gleaming halo-like in the summer shine before the doors closed behind them. He felt Alyssa hesitate beside him. He could already anticipate the repeat of her appeal and he cut her off before she could speak.

  ‘It looks like the die is cast, Miss Drake. She could do worse, you know. He may be a selfish fortune hunter, but he is, as he reminded me, next in line for the Delacort spoils once I cash in my chips. She might even like being a dandy’s wife. At least Percy has Libbet to keep him in good form. And the more I think about it, Charlie has no business thinking he is in love with anyone at his age, or frankly at any age. But certainly not until he has had a chance to enjoy life a little.’

  She stiffened as he spoke and her eyes took on the hard glint of emeralds. Her eyes were not pure green,
but encased a golden ring, like a sun settling into a lake. It was a strange contrast, both hot and cold, a physical manifestation of her contradictory character, he thought. It was a pity, then, that the cold should prevail.

  ‘You made yourself quite clear when we last spoke, Lord Delacort. I can’t force you to take your responsibilities seriously, but I can refuse to listen to your opinion as to what might constitute the future happiness of two people I care about.’

  ‘That puts me in my place. You could always complete the effect by sweeping out.’

  ‘I am sure that would gratify you, but I am waiting for my book. Why don’t you sweep out, instead?’

  Adam’s grin deepened.

  ‘Careful now. You’ve done a good job becoming a proper Mowbray Miss, but your tree-climbing ways tend to show under pressure.’

  ‘I wonder if anything of what you once were would show under pressure,’ she shot back. ‘Or have you done too good a job at becoming what everyone thinks you are? I use to think most of the tales about you were the exaggerations of tattle-mongers, but quite frankly I think they weren’t doing you justice. I am not surprised you are so sympathetic to Percy. Useless fribbles must stand by each other, no?’

  Adam inspected her approvingly. The exotic slant of her green eyes elevated her face from merely pretty to fascinating. He had no idea why her attack amused rather than annoyed him. It was rather like being growled at by a kitten.

  ‘That’s better. It is so much more comfortable with gloves off, isn’t it? Unless you are going to try hitting me,’ he added, indicating her clenched fists. ‘In which case, keep your gloves on, it’s less painful.’

  She forced open her fisted hands and took a deep breath, stepping back. It was fascinating to see the almost physical transformation as she tucked herself back inside.

  ‘Are you so bored here in Mowbray you have to resort to squabbling with me? Can you find no better sport?’

  ‘I am perfectly willing if you are,’ Adam offered. She remained suspended for a moment; then her slightly confused look gave way to a frown even as a flush swept up her cheeks.

  ‘You cannot just go around saying things like that… Oh, for heaven’s sake, I don’t know why I am even arguing with you. It only seems to encourage you. You are determined to live up to everyone’s expectations of the debauched rake, aren’t you? If this is an example of how you mean to conduct yourself, your reception is unlikely to get any more inviting than what you have witnessed these last few days.’

  She turned away resolutely, planting her hands on the counter, her gaze fixed on the closed door behind which Milsom had disappeared. Adam laughed slightly and leaned back against the surface, crossing his arms.

  ‘Is that what all this anxious staring is all about? Is everyone waiting for me to commit my first act of iniquity? And here I thought it was my past, not my potential future that had everyone scurrying for cover. What on earth do they expect me to do? Set up a harem at the Hall? Hold orgies? Do you all gather to lay odds on the possibilities?’

  ‘Believe it or not, but you are not the only topic of conversation in Mowbray, Lord Delacort. What on earth is keeping Mr Milsom?’

  ‘He is busy gathering books for me. Are you in a hurry or are you concerned that too much time spent in my noxious presence will sway you from the true and narrow? Shall I leave? Or would that be presuming too much?’

  Her lips pressed together firmly, but he saw a dimple waver. Then she laughed suddenly, her shoulders relaxing, and turned to him with a much friendlier smile, again reminding him of the young girl of ten years ago.

  ‘I concede defeat. You are far better at provoking than I am at disapproving. Is all this to convince me not to bother you about Percy? I have learned my lesson—I assure you I expect nothing of you.’

  Adam told himself his return to Mowbray had made him unnecessarily sensitive to nuance. Her eyes were still warm with amusement and there was nothing to indicate that the bite he felt at her words was intentional. And even if it was, it should make no difference if her opinion of him was as low as everyone else’s in Mowbray. He had long ago stopped caring about other people’s opinions. If there was one thing he was used to, it was being weighed and found wanting. He was not about to pick up that bad habit again simply because he was in the one place he’d told himself he would never come back to.

  ‘That is a relief,’ he said drily.

  She cocked her head to one side, her eyebrows lowering with concern.

  ‘Have I offended you? I did not mean to, at least not this time.’

  ‘I am not that easily offended. Being informed I arouse no expectations is hardly offensive. Expectations, like principles, are exceedingly tiresome. A great deal too much effort is spent either trying to live up to them or explaining why one has failed to do so.’

  The disconcerting anxiety in her eyes faded, replaced once again by mischievous amusement.

  ‘You have developed a whole philosophy on the subject, it seems. I am glad your studies have not gone completely to waste.’

  ‘Who’s being provoking now? And I have made very good use of my studies. The classics set the ground for most challenges one encounters in life, and where they fall short, there are several very useful Sanskrit texts that fill the gaps.’

  ‘From your tone I gather I should probably not ask which texts,’ she said suspiciously.

  ‘Not in public at least.’

  Her eyes, intent and curious, searched his for a moment, but then her long lashes veiled her eyes and she sighed.

  ‘And so, once again, we circle back to you trying to shock me. I’m afraid you can’t outdo the moment ten years ago when I realised what Oedipus was really about and you didn’t even mean to shock me then.’

  ‘I was probably misled by your name. Anyone named after the founder of Carthage should be able to deal with Greek tragedy.’

  She smiled, but there was a sharp edge to her expression.

  ‘Queen Alissa? Nothing so grand. I believe my father suggested my name in one of his very few contributions to our upbringing—I am named after alyssum, the Greek word for sanity. Perhaps he feared having children might threaten his. Now I really should go and keep an eye on Mary and Percy. Aunt Adele is not a very effective chaperon. Could you please tell Mr Milsom I will return later for my book? Good day, Lord Delacort.’

  She turned towards the door, not waiting for him to respond. He watched the door close behind her, turning as Mr Milsom stepped hurriedly out of the back room.

  ‘I was quite certain I heard Miss Drake,’ he said in a puzzled tone as he placed a wrapped stack of books on the counter and pulled a single book from beneath it, brandishing it at the closed door.

  ‘You did, but she was in a bit of a hurry, I’m afraid,’ Adam informed him.

  ‘But her book!’

  Adam glanced at the book Mr Milsom held and raised his brows as he recognised the title. He had once read part of The Treasure of Orvieto on a voyage between Cape Town and Zanzibar, but it had been lost along with some of his belongings when they had run aground on the African coast. Still, he had read enough to know it was hardly standard reading fare for young women. Perhaps she was collecting it for her father. He had not expected that the reclusive and very annoyingly moralistic poet William Drake would indulge in popular tales of adventure. Still, he had long since learned people were rarely what they appeared.

  ‘I will deliver it to her, if you like,’ he said and held out his hand imperatively.

  Mr Milsom hesitated, looking rather worried, but in the end he handed it over. Authority had its advantages, Adam realised. He rather thought that however diffident people were around him, there was little he could not demand in Mowbray.

  Adam added the book to the wrapped stack of books on the counter and stepped outside, heading towards his curricle. He knew he shoul
d probably go and deliver her book as promised, but he did not head towards the garden promenade. He wouldn’t mind glancing at the novel again. The aggravating Miss Drake could wait until the next day for her book.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Adam glanced up at the tree, now devoid of toys and looking somewhat smaller than he remembered. It stood just at the edge of the Drakes’ cottage garden, its extensive roots creeping down the bank and into a small stream that ran alongside the lane towards Mowbray. The cottage was strategically situated at a fork in the lane that connected Mowbray with both Delacort Hall and Rowena’s old home, Nesbit House. Adam had passed it more times than he could remember.

  It was rather peculiarly proportioned, with the bottom half rather long and sprawling and the upper storey built on only half the cottage. That was, if he remembered correctly, where the poet was rumoured to live and work, often not appearing for days or even weeks on end. The children had all slept, cooked, eaten and played downstairs, in a world separate both from their parent and often from the outside world. Years ago the cottage had been surrounded by an unkempt wilderness which had been extremely useful for games of hide-and-seek. Now the lawn was trimmed and a profusion of vivid summer flowers crowded neat flower beds along the short gravel path to the house and under the front windows. Despite its small size, the garden looked lush and cheerful and the cottage itself had lost its ramshackle air. It seemed Miss Drake had tamed more than her own appearance and behaviour.

  This was the first time since his arrival that he had ventured off Delacort land aside from his trip into Mowbray the previous day. He planned to go riding with Nicholas later, but for the moment he just wanted to walk down the familiar lanes. When his family had first moved to the town he had found every excuse to remain in his students’ lodgings in Oxford, but from the moment he had laid eyes on Rowena, his dedication to the classics had melted under the heat of his infatuation for the local beauty. That last summer he had spent every available moment in Mowbray, vying with her many admirers for the privilege of a smile.