The Viscount's Bride (Love's Pride Book 2)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  How long had she been out? How far had he carried her? Why didn’t he put her down? While she could admit it to herself, she didn’t want to be anywhere else. Really, he should put her down. But he continued to march on.

  They approached a large house. A very large house. She couldn’t get a good view. Her angle was wrong and she worried about twisting and moving, afraid she might make him stumble again.

  The big workman stopped before a wooden door. She could tell it was the back of the house by the scratching chickens in the yard. Where were they?

  Leaning back he kicked the door, slamming it open.

  “Nanny,” he yelled as he turned and backed into the room.

  “What are you doing you oaf,” An old voice said. The kind of voice that held a mountain of love. “You’re soaking my kitchen.”

  The man above her smiled and turned to expose his catch. It was a beautiful smile. He should do it more often. She much preferred the smile to his normal scowl.

  A large country kitchen greeted her. Copper pots hung from a rail. A strong, savory smell of roasting meat washed over Caroline making her mouth water.

  A small, old woman in a gray cap stood before them. Her eyes as large as hen’s eggs.

  “What have you done now?” she asked the man.

  “She fell in the river,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

  The old woman looked as if she doubted him for a moment then looked at the water all over her floor. Without missing a beat, she turned to two young women in gray dresses.

  “Jane, stoke the stove. Another log. Jeanne, blankets. Get some blankets.” Turning back to the man she pointed to a chair by the stove. “Over there, now.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” he answered. Caroline noticed the return of the scowl.

  He immediately turned to the chair. Each wet step slapping on the stone floor. Leaning down he gently placed Caroline onto a wooden chair. The loss of his arms around her sent a small chill through her body. Even with the warmth of the stove she felt the loss.

  He stepped back and looked down at her. She felt herself melt inside. He was so handsome. A wet lock of hair had fallen across his face. His crystal light blue eyes were intense and sparkled with intelligence.

  “You,” The old woman said as she slapped his shoulder with the wooden spoon. “Get dressed before you catch your death. And what do you mean walking around without a shirt. It isn’t civilized. I taught you better.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” he said.

  “And you,” the old woman, Nanny, she assumed, said to Jane. “What are you looking at?”

  Caroline noticed that the young woman’s cheeks had turned red with a deep blush, but her gaze remained locked on the big man’s chest. She couldn’t really blame her. It was a beautiful sight.

  “Go on,” Nanny said again to the man.

  “Yes Ma’am,” he said again then gave Caroline one last look as if trying to ensure she would be all right. Coming to an internal decision, he turned and stepped out of the kitchen.

  She hadn’t said thank you. Her heart lurched when the door closed behind him. How do you thank a person for saving your life? Really, for saving Alice and Beatrice’s life also.

  Should she give him money? Did a person do that? What is the right protocol in this type of situation she wondered as her body began to shake.

  Would she see him again? Surely she would get a chance to thank him. She didn’t even know his name. How would she ask to speak to him? She couldn’t call him Mr. Perfect Specimen. Not without blushing.

  “Here,” the old woman said. “Let’s get you out of those wet things before you come down with the croup.”

  Caroline let the old woman and her two assistants help her out of her wet dresses and into several warm blankets. They wrapped her up tighter than a baby and kept the stove blaring heat.

  “I … I … Tttthank you,” she stuttered as her body continued to shake from the cold and the lingering fear at the bottom of her stomach. She was going to live. Her world might be ruined, but at least she would be alive.

  The old woman smiled. “Don’t worry dear.”

  A warm, welcoming feeling flowed through Caroline. She could trust this woman. Nothing would dare go wrong around her.

  “Jeanie, go tell Mr. Evers to have a room made up. Tell him I want a roaring fire and to let us know when it is ready. And to use extra warming pans on the bed.”

  The young kitchen maid scurried from the room.

  Caroline clasped the blanket around her shoulders and scooted closer to the warm stove. So cold, she wondered if she’d ever be warm again.

  The warmth began to seep into her body. Her eyelids began to droop. All she wanted to do was curl up in a warm bed and sleep. Sleep for days.

  “How is she?” a strong male voice said from the opening door.

  Caroline’s breath hitched as her rescuer stepped into the kitchen. Only he no longer appeared as a simple workman. Her perfect specimen was now dressed in a very expensive black coat. A starch white shirt with a perfect and complex cravat. The man looked like he had stepped out of a London drawing room.

  Who, what? She shook her head to try and clear her confusion.

  The large man frowned down at her. What, she didn’t rate one of those special smiles.

  “Hello,” he said. “I don’t believe we were properly introduced. I am Viscount Beachmont. At your service.” The slight bow at the waist was the perfect touch.

  Caroline’s jaw dropped as she struggled to grasp reality. A Viscount? Not a simple workman?

  Chapter Four

  Alexander Vessey. The seventh Viscount Beachmont’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the tumbler of whiskey. The murky swirling liquid reminded him of the river.

  What had she been thinking? Well, he couldn’t really blame her. It had been his bridge that had failed. But she should have stopped when he signaled.

  He had been so sure he’d pull a dead body from the river. One more death. One more lost innocent.

  She had been so beautiful, so pure. Her looking out of the coach had made his heart jump. Their eyes had locked and he’d forgotten for a moment where he was and the danger she was in. He had hesitated. Maybe he could have stopped her if he’d reacted quicker.

  So close.

  Dozens of faces and names flashed through his mind. Men and boys he had led to their death. Men and boys he had killed.

  An innocent young face haunted him in particular. The boy couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Like a good soldier, he’d charged the British line along with his French comrades. Somehow making it past the fixed bayonets. The boy had turned and pulled his musket back to stab Corporal Johnson from behind.

  The Viscount had killed the lad with a pistol ball to the chest.

  The look of shock on the boy’s white pasty face would stalk his dreams for the rest of his life. In that instant, the young soldier realized that he was dead. There would be no first love. No long lazy summers. No laughing grandchildren. Nothing but dark eternity.

  Swallowing a large portion of his drink the Viscount turned to pace. He had long ago given up on ever sitting quietly. He had to move. Action was his only release.

  The girl had come so close. He could still feel the fear and dread that had overcome him as he‘d searched. His hands grasping at empty water. It had taken forever to find her.

  Stepping from the river with her in his arms had filled him a sense of responsibility along with a new worry.

  The fever had killed his mother. A winter cold that progressed to a hacking cough and then a sudden death. One of the few deaths that couldn’t be laid at his feet. But still, the death that hurt the most.

  He had rushed this woman to the one person who would know what to do. Nanny would take care of her. Between her and Thomas, the young woman was in the best of hands. He could do no more for her.

  Finishing his drink he turned to pour another. The whiskey wouldn’t ease his anger. Nothing would. He had too much to be angry abou
t.

  It was as if the weight of the world rubbed against his spine. At times, it seemed his life revolved around his anger. He embraced it. He held on to it as it was the only thing he had left.

  A mind filled with memories of lost friends. A young sister already a widow. A nephew without a father. A half-brother locked inside his own particular hell. All of it filled him with a self-loathing because he had failed to protect the ones he loved.

  The Viscount looked up at the click of the study door.

  “Do you have a particular death wish? Or will any catastrophe do?” the Viscount’s best friend Dr. Thomas Chase asked. The doctor’s ever present smile took away the sting of his words.

  Alexander Vessey didn’t return the smile. This was an old conversation and he had no desire to go into it again.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “Miss Jennings?” The Doctor asked. “She will be fine. Or will be if we can keep the fever away. At least her lungs are clear. We should know more in the morning. I left her with her maid and Nanny.”

  “If anyone can keep the fever away it will be Nanny.”

  The doctor nodded in agreement but then frowned.

  “I agree, she is an excellent nurse. But even Nanny isn’t always successful. The girl was sneezing as I left. Not a good sign.”

  Alexander felt his stomach lurch to the side. It was not over. It was never over.

  He poured his friend a drink then turned to stoke the fire.

  “You didn’t answer my question, Alexander,” the doctor said as he reached up to twist his friends head so that he could examine the bruise on his face. “You didn’t get this in the river. You’ve been boxing again.”

  The Viscount shrugged his shoulders. “Last night. With Dawson, at the Inn.”

  The doctor shook his head. “Men of your standing are not supposed to be fighting with the lower classes. It just isn’t done.”

  “The men of my class do a lot of things they aren’t supposed to do,” Alexander said. “Or do I need to remind you of my father.”

  “And the bridge?” the doctor asked.

  “I needed to inspect the foundation before we started work.”

  “I understand that the foundation needed to be inspected but why did you have to be the one to do it. That is why you pay a bevy of workmen.”

  “If you want something done right then do it yourself.”

  The doctor once again shook his head. “I also heard you were thrown from your horse the other day. Something about jumping fences in a storm.”

  The Viscount smiled for the first time. “Well, you might be right. That probably wasn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Alexander, you can’t keep doing this. You have too many responsibilities. What would happen to James? Ann? Little Jules. They need you.”

  The Viscount studied his drink for a moment. “Ann has more money than she will ever need. Her husband left her well taken care of and the mother of a young, rather wealthy, Earl. My sister will be fine.”

  “And James,” the doctor asked with a lifted eyebrow.

  “My half-brother will be taken care of.”

  The doctor harrumphed, obviously not accepting his answer.

  The Viscount poured his friend a drink and turned to continue pacing. “If you heard about the tumble from my horse did you hear about young Miss Anderson at last week’s house party?”

  “No I didn’t,” Thomas said. “Why did you have a house party anyway? It’s not your normal style. A debauched weekend at the pub I could see. A country house party. No.”

  “Have you ever tried to tell my sister no? Especially now,” Alexander answered. “The woman just emerged from two years of mourning. It was the least I could do.”

  His friend frowned for a moment and mumbled something about avoiding arguments with Countess Ann Southwell ne’ Vessey.

  The two men settled into comfortable chairs by the fire. Each pondering life lost in their own thoughts.

  “So Miss Anderson?” Thomas asked.

  Viscount Beachmont sighed heavily and said, “It’s getting worse Tom. I can’t even relax in my own home without some young chit trying to compromise me. Catch me alone and yell seduction.”

  Doctor Thomas Chase laughed at his friend. “Oh, you poor, troubled man. Women throw themselves at your feet. We should all have such problems.”

  Alexander glanced at his best friend and shook his head. The man would never understand.

  “On the last night of the party, Miss Anderson stepped into this very room while I was reviewing my Lake District reports. Alone, unescorted. She acted surprised to find me here. Of course the lie had no sooner been expressed before she was batting her eyelids and simpering like a lost kitten.”

  “What did you do?”

  “The only thing I could do. I stepped out into the garden. Telling her I would return in a moment. I had barely cleared the door when her mother burst into the room as if expecting to find us locked in an embrace before the fire. I do believe she was rather disappointed to find out I had been able to control my baser instincts. I’m sure she had already planned the wedding.”

  The soft, slow chuckle from the other chair didn’t help ease his worry.

  “What do you expect,” his friend said. “You are one of the richest men in England, maybe all of Britain. Relatively healthy. I am told that you are rather good looking. Money will do that to a man. You, my good sir, are what is known as a good catch.”

  “It is all just so tiring, especially in my own home,” The Viscount said. “The day before, Lady Marbry tried to lure me into the woods. I swear her father was prepared to let her do so if it meant a chance at my fortune.

  “Alexander, I think you doth protest too much. You’ve bedded half the women between here and London. Surely you can handle a young woman’s attention.”

  The Viscount rose to start pacing again. “Their attention is one thing. It’s their relative’s expectations that bother me.”

  The doctor threw back his head and laughed. A big belly laugh. The kind that shook the furniture. It always amazed Alexander that his friend could remain so hopeful about life. He seemed to enjoy each day. A momentary pang of envy coursed through his veins.

  “There is a solution you know?” The doctor said after a moment.

  “What might that be?” Alexander asked as he continued to pace.

  “Get married. They stop fishing once the salmon has been caught.”

  Alexander froze in place then slowly turned to face the doctor. “Thomas,” he said with a scowl. “You are my best friend. You have treated my wounds on the battlefield. Hell, you probably saved my life in Portugal …”

  “More than once,” the doctor said under his breath.

  “But,” Alexander continued, ignoring his friend’s remark. “If you ever say that again I will throw you out so hard you’ll bounce for days. What’s more? I will inform Ann that you are in need of a wife. Let you deal with her matchmaking for a while.”

  The doctor’s face blanched and hands immediately went up in surrender. “All right, whatever you say.”

  Alexander returned to pacing. The social concept of marriage made him shudder. He thought of how his mother had cried each time she learned of his father’s infidelities. She had accepted his proposal of marriage expecting a fairy tale happy ever after. Instead she had lived a life of rumors and whispers behind her back.

  The idea of disappointing someone sent a shiver down his spine. At the same time, the concept of being subject to a demanding shrew. Was terrifying. Being expected to meet social expectations, family obligations.

  No. Never.

  “I’m just saying,” the doctor continued. “Better to select one to your liking before one is selected for you.”

  The Seventh Viscount Beachmont growled under his breath. No wonder he was angry all the time.

  “Besides,” Thomas said, refusing to let the matter drop. “I thought you needed an heir. Don’t titled men set sto
re by such things?”

  “That is why God invented cousins. Alastair will do just fine as a Viscount. And with three sons the line is secure.”

  “What about James, who will take care of him?”

  Alexander’s scowl deepened for a moment. He hated thinking about his brother. His biggest fear in life was the idea of anything making James unhappy. The boy deserved eternal happiness. If there was a God, - and Alexander desperately hoped there was so he could give him a piece of his mind. - Then God would ensure James had a happy life.

  But Thomas was correct. It was a concern.

  “James will be taken care of,” he said simply.

  “I don’t mean financially. I mean emotionally. Who will see that he is safe and well treated,” Thomas asked?

  “Ann.”

  “Doesn’t the woman have enough burdens? You’d add this to the list. Besides. Your sister is a wonderful woman. But she and James get along like a goose and a gander. You’ve seen how he gets whenever she is here.”

  “He doesn’t like change. And to tell you the truth. I don’t think Ann has forgiven my father for siring a bastard. I think she believes James affliction is punishment for my father’s sins.”

  “And you. What do you think?”

  Alexander, Viscount Beachmont hesitated for a moment then said, “I think it has been a long day and I am off to bed. Will I see you in the morning?”

  “I’ll return to check on Miss Jennings.”

  “Good, well, I will see you then. And Thomas. No more talk of marriage. You are getting to be as annoying as my sister.”

  Thomas laughed and clapped his friend on the arm. “All right Alexander. I’ll be quiet. At least for now. But you be careful. You are not indestructible, despite what you think.”

  “Believe me, Tom, I know. If I had forgotten, that little swim in the river reminded me.”

  Chapter Five

  Caroline woke with a start. Her throat felt like it was coated in brick dust and her head pounded relentlessly.

  The river. Him. All of it flooded back into her memories.

  Oh, my god. She had almost died. It hadn’t been a nightmare. Everything about the prior day’s events was true.