Waking Up With a Viscount

by Tess Byrnes

  Priscilla’s innate honesty compelled her to say, “Or mine, my lord.”

  Jasper only frowned more, brushing his unruly curls away from his forehead.

  “To whom should I address my request for your hand, Miss Hawksworth?”

  “Lord Hillaire, there is no need. You do not wish to marry me, and I do not want a marriage of convenience.”

  Jasper eyed her coldly. “You fail to realize that we have no choice. I will pay my debts, and you will have the protection of my name.”

  “I don’t require it, Lord Hillaire,” Priscilla said coldly. She found that her hands were trembling slightly, and clenched them together. “I am no man’s debt to be paid. Please call for your carriage sir, and Lucy and I will leave immediately.” Her voice trembled, and she turned to look out the window.

  Jasper sighed in frustration. He was getting nowhere. “We are not finished discussing this, Miss Hawksworth, but I agree that it would be best for you to return to Hartfield Manor and think well about our situation. You may announce our engagement as soon as you like, and I would prefer to be married before the month is out.” His tone was implacable as he reached for the bell pull.

  He requested the footman who responded to prepare his carriage. Lucy reappeared and after returning to the bedchamber to change into their dry clothing, was seated once again in Lord Hillaire’s well sprung carriage. Jasper tooled the rested team skillfully down the rough road of the short cut through his estate and onto the main road back to Hartfield Manor.

  Lucy had returned to the small salon hoping to witness a blossoming of the understanding she was trying to foster between the handsome Lord Hillaire and her beloved governess. She had instead found her Hawkie cool and controlled, and the Viscount seething with a barely suppressed emotion that Lucy could not identify. Conversation on the ride home consisted of polite gambits thrown out by the ever hopeful lucy, and monosyllabic responses from her companions.

  As they neared Hartfield Manor, Lucy began trying to devise a plot to get the handsome nobleman and her Hawkie together again soon. This had not been the most successful outing, and Lucy could see that her governess was less than pleased. Whatever had occurred when she had left the two alone she couldn’t imagine, but in her naiveté she supposed that where there were strong feelings, there were bound to be the odd misunderstanding.

  She glanced across to peer up at the Viscount’s face. He looked troubled, and his gaze when it rested on Priscilla’s face was at once tender and angry. Lucy felt that this was a most hopeful sign. He was certainly not indifferent to Priscilla, and Lucy felt that, with the right person, namely herself, there to nudge him along, he would make the right decisions where her Hawkie was concerned.

  “I say, Lord Hillaire,” Lucy broke into the stillness that had descended on the threesome. “Until I precipitated us all into the lake, I really was having a lovely time.”

  Two sets of unbelieving eyes were turned upon her, and she continued stumblingly. “That is, I never really had my picnic, which you did promise me.” Her voice held a plaintive note which Priscilla, governess or not, could not let pass.

  “Lucy, you mustn’t bother his Lordship, when he has been very accommodating, as you must realize.” She bent a menacing eye upon Lucy, before turning in her seat and saying in a much different tone to his lordship, “You must not listen to the child,” she continued, ignoring the gasp of outrage Lucy uttered at this appellation. “She is tired out from a very long and unusual afternoon. I’m sure your lordship must have many engagements that will keep you very busy.” The carriage was pulling up the front steps of Hartfield manor as she spoke, and the footmen hurried to hand the two ladies down.

  Priscilla held her hand out to Lord Hillaire. “I hope we will meet again in London during the Season, My lord,” she said brightly, yet obviously dismissively.

  “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find the time to pay a call before I leave the area,” Jasper responded coolly.

  “That would be most enjoyable, my lord,” Lucy interrupted with a bright smile. “In fact, Mama instructed me to invite you for luncheon on the terrace tomorrow. It is unseasonably warm and there will be so few days left where we can eat al fresco. Do say you’ll join us,” she smiled winningly at lord Jasper. “And your cousin as well, of course.”

  Looking down at her, Jasper felt a twinge of remorse. He had invited her out as a pretext to see priscilla, and then, after dropping her in the lake, he had totally ignored her, while he had proposed marriage to her governess.

  “We would be delighted,” he replied with a smile so exceptionally sweet that it almost caused Lucy’s resolve to waiver. She looked into his warm blue-green eyes, noting how his thick dark hair still curled despite the careful combing it had received after his dunking in the lake. His face was tanned, and his teeth seemed whiter than pearls as he smiled.

  “Maybe it isn’t a case between them,” Lucy thought hopefully, smiling back at the handsome Viscount. She glanced over to Priscilla, who stood, hands clenched, her lower lip caught between her teeth thoughtfully. Reading this as a genteel expression of jealousy, Lucy hardened her heart against the handsome Lord Hillaire.

  He watched Lucy in bewilderment as her expression changed to one of complete indifference. She held out her hand briskly, and his lordship took it in his own. Lucy gave it a sharp tug, and turned abruptly on her heel to enter the house.

  “We’ll see you, then, tomorrow for luncheon at one,” she called over her shoulder, in a subconscious, but uncanny, imitation of her mother.

  “I shall be delighted, of course,” Jasper uttered, a puzzled frown ruffling his brow. Priscilla bestowed a small, cold smile upon Jasper, and followed Lucy up the steps.

  “This has been a decidedly odd afternoon,” Lord Jasper commented to his groom, as the young man sprang agilely up onto the back of the carriage. Sir Jasper turned the beautiful chestnuts toward the drive, and casting one more glance at hartfield manor, drove smartly off in a swirl of dust.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Priscilla performed her evening’s duties mechanically, her demeanor distracted. She ate sparingly at the dinner table, causing Lucy to cherish hopes that love was abating her appetite, and Mrs. Hartfield to fear that she would be left unsupported to sustain luncheon with the Viscount on the next day.

  “If you are feeling unwell, my dear, do get yourself between the sheets at once,” she said in concern to Priscilla. “For I cannot and will not be left alone to entertain Lord Hillaire tomorrow. You must make a speedy recovery, my dear.”

  Priscilla was touched by her concern, even knowing that it was occasioned, in part, by her employer’s desire to have her healthy for the proposed luncheon tomorrow. Back at Pleasance, her lack of appetite would have gone unnoticed, unless Carolyn feared it was caused by an infectious complaint. She would have then been requested to take her meals in her room until any danger of communicating her complaint to Carolyn was past. Priscilla was quick to reassure Mrs. Hartfield.

  “Indeed, I am just a little tired from the activities of this day,” she said with a friendly smile. “I shall be fine after a good night’s rest, and won’t fail you tomorrow.” The faint glimmer of a mischievous smile lit her eyes as they rested on her distraught employer.

  Mrs. Hartfield had been overjoyed to hear that Lucy had invited Lord Hillaire to Hartfield Manor on the morrow, until she had learned that the invitation was for luncheon.

  “Luncheon!” the matron had repeated, horrified, when Lucy revealed the nature of the invitation. “Whoever heard of inviting a person for luncheon?” she asked the younger girl. “And whatever will I serve him? I cannot very well have a coddled egg, and buttered toast, which as you know is my usual luncheon. Lucy, whatever were you thinking, and why on earth did you not request him to join us at dinner? Even an invitation for an al fresco breakfast would have been better!”

  Priscilla could not help laughing at the consternation on Mrs. Hartfield’s plump face, and felt it behooved her to intervene. �
�I think it will be charming, Ma’am, and probably set a new fashion,” she laughed. “We can have pastries, and fruits from the garden, oh, a whole cold collation. Lucy and I shall choose the menu with Cook’s help.” She saw a lightening of the gloom on her employer’s face, and a look of pure gratitude sent her way by Lucy. She felt her own gloom lifting slightly as she realized that these two really depended on her, and valued her. It had been a long time since she had felt valued and wanted. At the conclusion of the meal, Priscilla and Lucy escaped to the kitchen to confer with Cook and plan the luncheon menu.

  The next day dawned clear and crisp. The luncheon would certainly not be canceled for bad weather. Priscilla was awakened, as she was each morning, by one of the housemaids, bearing a tray with a cup of chocolate, and a few biscuits. Priscilla knew that this was not a custom usually afforded to the governess. But Mrs. Hartfield’s affection for her employee, along with her natural horror at the thought of anyone rising before breaking their fast, had caused her to give the order. It was another instance of the older woman’s generosity, and another reason that Priscilla felt it incumbent upon herself not to repay the lady by marrying the parti she so desired for her daughter.

  Priscilla rose, and once again found herself hesitating in her choice of gown. in sudden exasperation at herself, she chose the only truly unflattering gown she possessed. It had been bestowed upon her by Carolyn shortly after she and richard had been wed. Purchased during their wedding trip to Brighton, it was made of a dull green kerseymere, with dark brown trimmings at the severe neck and cuffs. Priscilla wasn’t exactly sure why she had chosen to pack this dress, but felt that it was a perfect weapon in her armory against the handsome Viscount. For Priscilla had spent the night tossing and turning in her comfortable bed, her mind entirely occupied by the tall, dark, Viscount.

  “If I wouldn’t accept a marriage of convenience with Sir Harry Greenwood, what would make me want to accept the same compromise with him?” she asked herself. A vision of the handsome peer swam before her eyes, as he informed her that he always repaid his debts. “Yes, well I’m not denying that he’s a very handsome man, but I will not be an encumbrance to anyone,” she had told herself. “After all, didn’t you begin this whole adventure in order not to be pushed into a marriage with someone you did not love, and who had reasons for marrying you that had nothing to do with affection?”

  She thought reflectively of the few conversations she had had with the Viscount. How easy she found him to talk to, how humorous and strong, yet self-deprecating he was. She thought back to the kisses they had exchanged, the way her body responded to his touch. She had never experienced anything like that, and had tried, without much success, to banish it entirely from her thoughts. She hadn’t any idea that such feelings existed. But the feeling of his lips on her own seemed to be burned into her memory. “But I know that I could never marry him because he pitied me, or considered me a debt!” she told herself.

  Trying to hold on to this feeling of anger, Priscilla donned the green kerseymere dress. She pulled her hair into a severe knot, and viewed the result in her mirror. The reflection she saw caused her to giggle. The dingy green of the dress seemed to pull all the color from her face, and without her dusky curls felt that she would indeed look like the Viscount’s idea of a governess. She only wished she had a pair of wire spectacles to add to the costume.

  When Lucy entered the room a few minutes later she exclaimed with horror at the change Priscilla had wrought in her appearance.

  “But you look like a governess!” Lucy had cried out in horror. “Please, Hawkie, put on that lovely blue lustring dress you wore the other day, when we went shopping for my new dancing sandals. You will ruin my luncheon if you wear that awful thing.”

  Priscilla just laughed at her pupil, content that her dress was such a success.

  “This will show his Lordship just how much I value his offer of marriage,” she thought with satisfaction. She was in the uncomfortable position of entertaining completely conflicting emotions. Part of her was anticipating the Viscount’s arrival keenly, eager to match wits with him once more. The more sensible part felt that the sooner the Viscount left the vicinity, the better it would be for her peace of mind.

  If she had been privy to Jasper’s thoughts when he first caught sight of her on the terrace later that morning, Priscilla would have been sadly disappointed. He mentally contrasted the prim, almost priggish, vision in front of him, with the enchanting girl he had met at the ball.

  “Does she think to dissuade me with these tactics?” he thought with a gleam. “Well, the girl has mettle,” he admitted to himself with a chuckle. “And if she wants to cross swords with me, I will be more than happy to comply.”

  “My dear Lord Hillaire,” Mrs. Hartfield called out, holding out her hand to the Viscount as the footman showed him out onto the terrace. “Mr. Davenport. How good of you to join us for this little al fresco, uh, treat. Lucy has chosen the entire menu, which I think you will find quite delightful.” The complete lack of conviction with which she uttered these words caused the look of amusement to deepen on the Viscount’s face.

  One deep dimple appeared in his cheek, and he murmured wickedly, “Ma’am, I’m sure you were born to take the ton by storm. I predict that Al Fresco luncheons will soon be all the rage.” He held her hand in his as he spoke, and now pressed a kiss onto the chubby be-ringed fingers.

  “Oh dear,” sighed the distracted matron. “I mean, of course, thank you, my lord.” She cast an agonized glance at Priscilla, who, despite her resolve to stay in the background, could not leave her employer to the Viscount’s mercy.

  “I think it will be delightful indeed, Mrs. Hartfield,” Julian said brightly, with an admonishing frown directed toward Lord Jasper. He crossed the patio to take Lucy’s hand. “You seem to have survived your adventure in the lake, Miss Lucy,”

  “Yes, indeed,” Lucy gave him a friendly smile. Her attention was so firmly focused on propagating the romance between her beloved governess and Sir Jasper that she had had

  no time to be intimidated by the attentions of his handsome cousin.

  “And you, Ma’am,” Julian inquired of Priscilla.

  “Fine, Sir,” she turned and addressed Jasper coldly. “Won’t you be seated?” The request sounded more like an order, but the Viscount merely bowed solemnly, and moved to take a seat. The look of mischievous enjoyment on his face caused Priscilla’s frown to deepen, but to Lucy, it was a confirmation that she had been right about the feelings between the two.

  “For he never looked at me with such a smile,” Lucy thought to herself rather self pityingly.

  The handsome Viscount turned to Lucy. “I don’t think I thanked you properly for such a lovely invitation, Miss Lucy,” he said sincerely. “It promises to be a lovely day, and I cannot wait to sample the menu you have chosen.”

  He handed her into a seat, taking care that she should have her back to the sun. The other ladies joined her, and as Jasper sat, a series of footmen carrying trays of fruits, tartlets, pastries, and succulent pork pies presented themselves to the foursome.

  “Tell me, my dear Lord Hillaire, how your Mama is. I haven’t heard from her this age.” Mrs. Hartfield complained gently. “The country is so restful, of course, but I am anticipating the season keenly, I must admit,” she added.

  “She is very well, ma’am, and is as eager as yourself for a change from quiet country life,” Jasper replied with rueful smile. “Mama does not adapt well away from London.” He paused for a moment as if conceived of an idea. “She is staying at Hillaire currently, but is already planning a house party over Christmas.” He continued, “You should be receiving an invitation soon, and I do hope you will all be attending.” He smiled artlessly a Priscilla’s quick frown.

  “A Christmas party at Hillaire,” Mrs. Hartfield repeated happily. “It will be delightful! Just the thing. We shall be delighted, my lord, and shall look eagerly for that invitation. I had thought to spend the time wi
th my sister in Harrogate, but she will understand entirely.”

  As she rattled on in blissful anticipation, the minds of her companions whirled. Sir Jasper wondered how long it would take his mother, once she was informed that she was supposedly planning a large house party, to make his story a fact. Lucy started to spin plans for furthering her matchmaking once the two objects of her work were under the same roof. Priscilla, shrewdly suspecting that Jasper had invented the house party in order to pursue his matrimonial plans, was once again in conflict. Warring with her desire to match wits with the Viscount was the knowledge that the best defense would be to stay away. A governess was not required on a house party, after all. She glanced over at Lucy, who seemed preoccupied, and wavered. Julian was trying to engage her in polite conversation, and she was completely ignoring him. “That girl certainly could use a guiding hand during her first house party, and Mrs. Hartfield will be busy catching up with her own set.”

  The lady in question broke in on her thoughts. “But I wouldn’t think of going without my right hand,” Mrs. Hartfield gave Priscilla a warm smile. “You will of course accompany us, won’t you, my dear Miss Hawksworth?” Priscilla was touched by the genuine affection apparent in her employer’s eyes. A smile lit Priscilla’s own blue eyes as they rested on the matron’s plump face. She glanced over to Lord Jasper, and at the sight of the self-satisfied smile on his handsome face, a martial light entered her eye.

  “I am of course at your disposal,” Priscilla replied, presenting her trump card. “But I believe I will be needed here to watch over Amabel if you are to be away for Christmas.” She smiled with satisfaction as the Viscount’s brows snapped together in a frown.

  “Not at all,” Mrs. Hartfield replied. “Amabel has even now accepted an invitation to spend Christmas with her dear friend Jessica at the Abbey. So you will come and support us, Miss Hawksworth. We depend on you so,” she ended somewhat breathlessly.