Capturing the Viscount (Rakes and Roses Book 1)

by Win Hollows

  His smile kind. “Just because an orchid is uprooted from its native land and transplanted into a household doesn’t mean that the orchid is any less valuable where it has ended up. And perhaps the orchid will come to love the comings and goings of a place where it is beheld as rare and beautiful, treated with delicacy and care as something of its nature deserves.”

  Laura blinked, taking in his calm features, his expression both open and enigmatic at the same time. She now saw there were depths to this man that she could see herself exploring if she so wished. “That might be the loveliest thing I’ve heard in quite some time, Mr. Fennimore,” she murmured, feeling more aware of his hand still atop hers.

  “Grayson, if you feel comfortable,” he said in his low voice, his finger stroking her knuckle once more.

  Shivers made their way down her neck. “I’d like that. Grayson,” she replied, smiling.

  They continued to hold eye contact for another few seconds, Laura’s mind whirling with both trepidation and something like joy.

  “Laura, don’t you think so?” Gia’s voice penetrated the bubble that had formed around their conversation

  She turned to face her friend, raising her hand from under Grayson’s to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight facing her. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Gia’s eyes caught the movement, but didn’t indicate any judgement of it. Laura suddenly wondered if she had hurt her friend’s feelings by accepting attention from the man that Gia had indicated was a good catch for herself. It felt terrible, as if she had told a lie or landed someone in trouble.

  As they devoured the picnic of cold sausage with mellow cheese, mulled pears in wine, and crusty bread washed down with crisp apple cider, it became clear that Gia bore no ill will towards her, although Laura resolved to ask her about it later. The rest of the afternoon passed by in blur of pleasant conversation and leisure in the sun, but eventually, Laura’s body protested at the prolonged activity and began to ache in the familiar places- ribs, shins, feet. Grayson noticed her fatigue and hidden grimaces first and suggested they conclude their outing, accompanying Gia and Laura back to the entrance of the park on their content horses.

  As they said their goodbyes, Laura felt Grayson’s eyes linger on her back and felt a shoot of nerves traverse her spine. It felt both wrong and good to have felt a connection with someone other than “The Weasel,” as she was now calling him in her mind.

  Gia dropped Laura at her front door and sent for her footman, whom she had given most of the day off while she and Laura had been in the park. Gia didn’t much like supervision, so she regularly arranged for her staff to accompany her out and then told them to go get lost for awhile.

  After Gia had departed, Laura changed into a dress that allowed for her to eschew her corset and let her ribs expand. Gingerly, she curled up on the couch with the book she had been reading recently, grateful for the reprieve from the soreness that had plagued her during most of the afternoon. When Jonathan came in to see if she needed anything, she asked him the question which she’d been asking every day for the past three weeks:

  “Any news of the investigation?”

  “No, Miss, I’m afraid not.”

  Laura nodded. Two days after returning from Honeymoore, a note had been sent round from a detective at Scotland Yard informing them that an investigation into the incident was ongoing, but that there were no suspects yet. Since then, there had been no developments, though Lord Parrington kept putting pressure on, demanding information.

  But there were just no clues as to who had committed the atrocities that had occurred, save for a single button that hadn’t belonged to any of the deceased. It had been found in the clenched hand of one of the horsemen, so it was assumed that it had been torn from the killer’s garments during the scuffle. The detective had brought the object to the Parrington’s town house to show to them, asking if they recognized it or knew anyone who wore such buttons. But it had been like asking if she remembered a particular flower in a field of flowers. The button wasn’t anything especially notable, although it was clearly custom-made. Round, inlaid with silver filigree in the shape of a generic coat-of-arms- two swords crossed diagonally, the detail exquisite. Laura cursed herself for not having been more aware of buttons in the past, although she knew it wasn’t reasonable to remember every person’s accessories.

  She just felt responsible in some way for what had happened, though she hadn’t had any part of it. Dreams of corpses and silver buttons had tortured her sleep several nights, and, truth be told, her days as well, but as the weeks wore on and no news came, Laura’s mind began to relax and loosen its hold on the gruesome images. Her sleep grew peaceful again, and the worst part of her existence grew to be the silence on a certain gentleman’s part, but her day in the park with good people had cheered her, making her feel a little more optimistic about the future.

  And then two very bad things happened the very next day.

  The first occurred while Laura was at breakfast, trying her keep Reginald from repeatedly leaping onto the table and devouring her sausages before she could. Her mother and father were in the middle of a lively conversation regarding the merits of dogs versus cats, Reginald’s current behavior factoring in heavily. Cranston, the butler, arrived with the daily news sheets freshly ironed, depositing the business and political sections with Lord Parrington and the society pages with Lady Parrington.

  “Henry would never resort to such measures,” Lord Parrington argued, eyeing Reginald, who was biding his time in the seat next to Laura’s, presumably waiting for another opportunity.

  “You’re quite right,” Astoria agreed, arranging her news sheet comfortably in front of her. “- Because Henry is tall enough to simply reach his head up and pull the food off the plate. You know he’s done it before,” she said pointedly, taking a sip of her tea with a raised brow.

  “Yes, but the frequency of such incidences should be taken into acc-“

  Astoria gasped, the teacup slipping from her fingers to shatter on the floor beside her chair. Her face was white as a sheet, eyes fixed to the paper she held with a shaking hand.

  “Tory?”

  “Mother?”

  Laura’s father put his hand over his wife’s forearm as the footman attending the sideboard came forward to clean the pieces of china from the floor and soaking up the tea that had spilled.

  “Mother, what’s wrong?” Laura demanded.

  Astoria swallowed and set the paper down on the table. “Thank you, Forest,” she said automatically, patting the footman on the back as he patted the last of the liquid from the rug. She cleared her throat and looked directly up at Laura, seated across from her. “We might have to move to America.”

  “What?” Laura and her father both said together.

  Lord Parrington grabbed the society sheet from the table and, upon reading the headline, also turned pale. He began reading aloud:

  July 17, 1840- Bell of the Ball’s Balloon Bursts

  Current society darling and smash hit of the season Lady Laura Parrington has been conspicuously absent from the public eye lately. Despite claims of an extended infirmity put about by another out-of-favor Miss, Lady Georgiana Hammond, it has recently been confirmed that the actual reason for Miss Parrington’s absence is related to a scandalous night alone with one Lord Remington Rothstone that occurred in the village of Lorenberry three weeks past. The pair was reported to have taken an unchaperoned hot air balloon excursion, which led to a romantic interlude in the forest lasting all night, the pair only emerging the next morning with evidence of intense exertion. This correspondent can only assume that Miss Parrington (I hesitate to call her a “Lady” at this juncture) has been hiding away to conceal another burgeoning problem resulting from her time with Lord Rothstone. And if the debutante does arrange a hasty marriage with the illustrious young Lord, twill be proof indeed of the state of her dubious virtue. One can only hope that the gel will have the decency to spare those in society with high moral sensi
bilities from her presence in the future, lest she contaminate others with her degeneration.

  Laura sat back in her chair, stunned. Her throat closed up and tears formed in her eyes. It hurt. She didn’t particularly care about her shattered status in society, but the vicious words aimed at her by someone who didn’t even know her character were like stabs in her heart. Why did this anonymous person hate her so much? What had she done to deserve such immediate and eviscerating judgement? And now others might think the same of her. People who had smiled and complimented and called on her in the past might flee her presence as if she were the proverbial plague based this person’s words. It wasn’t fair. Or nice or kind or even decent. She understood that society had its ways of discouraging promiscuity, but this… For one thing, it wasn’t true! And even if it was, one mistake shouldn’t cause one’s friends to abandon you and act as if you’re tainted somehow, should it?

  “Laura, dear, this isn’t your fault,” her mother said firmly, pushing back from the table to come to Laura’s side of the table. “We will figure this out.” She put her arms around her daughter’s shoulders as Laura continued to stare blankly at the wall opposite her.

  Laura saw only two possible paths for herself, neither of which appealed to her. Number one, she could hastily marry someone who was willing to overlook her current status as a pariah to stave off the scandal and hopefully be viewed as respectable again once the shock to the ton wore off. Or, number two, she could retire to the country and eschew polite society altogether, with the assumption being she would remain unwed and become a spinster for the rest of her life.

  Neither possibility seemed particularly pleasant in the long run.

  And while Laura’s parents began to plan damage control, with travel arrangements to America still being bandied about as a possibility, the second terrible announcement lay forgotten until later that day when Lord Parrington finally got around to reading his portion of the paper. Even then, it did not register as significant to the Parrington family in comparison to their current situation. The body of Lord Daniel Craigerton had been discovered early the previous morning in the woods to the east of London- or, more accurately, his skeleton had. In an unfortunate incident, a textile factory manager’s dog had trotted in the front door of his owner’s cottage with a distinctly human arm bone, which had led to the discovery of the rest of the remains. Laying in a shallow grave, Lord Craigerton had been identified by what was left of the clothes he was wearing and the signet ring on his right hand. Animals had fed on his corpse, which hadn’t been buried deeply enough in the soil to prevent such an occurrence. The cause of death was yet unknown, as there was so little left of him to examine. Lord Parrington had, of course, sent out a letter of condolence and a large bouquet of peace lilies to his parents, both of whom he had met during the course of his parliamentary duties. He informed his wife and daughter of the news, not knowing that Laura had actually met the gentlemen.

  “Oh, how terrible. He was quite nice to me on several occasions,” Laura commented, her mood souring even further since the morning’s development. “He had even mentioned asking permission to court me. I hope his death-that is, I hope...he didn’t suffer,” she trailed off, images of ripped flesh and skull fragments strewn heedlessly across a forest path flashing in her mind. Another person, dead. Was death to be so pervasive, then? How had she gone her entire life not being affected by the phenomenon and then suddenly encounter it at every turn? She knew people died every day, but it seemed as though one didn’t normally come across it so often as this.

  She was aware more than ever of the finality of her childhood’s end. She hadn’t realized that she would note its loss so painfully or that there was even a point at which the transition happened consciously. But there was. And this was it. Her reputation was in ruins, real people were dying right and left, and she would very soon have to make a decision that would decide the course of the rest of her life. She wanted to scream into her pillow and not think about any of it. She wished she had never come here, to a city whose glitter had turned out to be nothing but coal dust and whose sophisticated people were nothing but cruel.

  Gia arrived at the Parrington townhouse just as Laura had decided that screaming into her pillow was, indeed, the most appropriate response to the day’s events.

  “Oh, love, don’t cry. Everything will be alright,” Gia soothed, coming to pat Laura on the back as muffled sobs escaped the vicinity of the pillows in which her head was buried. “Now you’re like me. We can both be pariahs together!”

  The sobs came louder.

  “Well, maybe that’s not the best thing, but I survived, and so will you. You’re brave,” Gia declared stoutly, drawing up her legs underneath her on the bed.

  “But-but I have to get married!” Laura wailed, pausing to blow her nose into a handkerchief, which she then promptly threw across the room.

  “Alright, that might be true. But marriage isn’t the worst thing to happen to someone. What about Rothstone? I thought he offered for you.”

  Laura sat up and glared at Gia. “According to the article, if I marry him, then I really am a tart. And that toad hasn’t even called on me in three weeks. Not since the proposal.” she huffed, leaning back against the pile of pillows she had made for herself.

  “But didn’t you turn him down?” Gia asked tentatively.

  “That’s beside the point. He was an ogre” she sniffled.

  “I thought he was a toad.”

  “That too. And a weasel. All of them,” she gestured widely to the room at large.

  “Certainly a handsome one, though. You could do worse, dear,” she said pointedly.

  “But Gia, he… He proposed like it was a business arrangement. Like I had no choice in the matter anyways, so I should be perfectly happy.”

  “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care for you. It takes a lot to put that kind of sentiment out there, and he probably felt like he needn’t take the risk at that point. He might have been afraid.”

  Though Gia’s arguments sounded reasonable, Laura scoffed. “I don’t think Remington Rothstone has ever been afraid in his life. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever been told no either.”

  “That’s as may be, but he’s the best chance you’ve got at controlling a colossal scandal. May I have one of these?” Gia asked, not waiting for an answer as she reached for the tin of chocolates on Laura’s bedside table.

  Laura put a hand across her eyes, the swelling around them from crying beginning to subside. “What if I just go back to Parrington Manor and never show my face again? That could work too.”

  “You could,” Gia replied around her mouthful of chocolate. “But then,” she swallowed, her words becoming clearer. “-you’d probably never marry and never have children, and even if you did, your children wouldn’t be accepted into society. Your whole family would be outcasts.”

  Laura sighed gustily. “I know.”

  “I’d still come visit though.”

  “Oh, well, in that case…”

  “You really are quite sarcastic when you want to be.”

  “Is that a debilitating flaw?”

  “No, I like it,” Gia stated, popping another candy into her mouth, which already had chocolate stains around it. “When you’re sarcastic, you’re more honest than when most are being sincere.”

  “I’m not sure that makes sense, but I appreciate it. I suppose I have to take my compliments where I can get them now.” She sat up further on the bed.

  “My compliments are the best, anyways. Loads better than some toadying gentleman who only wants to get under your skirts or into your pocketbook.”

  “Gia!” Laura slapped her friend’s hand, which was rummaging around in the chocolate tin again.

  Gia didn’t even blink. “What? You know it’s true.”

  “When did we become such cynics?” Laura pondered aloud.

  “When everyone else decided it was more beneficial to take down those around them to feed their own pomposi
ty than to be decent human beings.” Gia’s weary tone indicated the wealth of experience she had in that area.

  “I don’t understand how people who don’t even know me can say such terrible things,” she groaned.

  “Oh, just you wait,” Gia warned. “It’s only just begun.”

  Chapter 12

  It had begun. Rem knew the repercussions would be grave, but his mother didn’t pull any punches when it came to the conduct of her son. He didn’t receive too many dressing-downs from his parents nowadays, but his mother after she had read the gossip rag that morning was something to behold. Lady Rothstone had called her son into her personal upstairs drawing room, and Rem had practically seen the steam coming from her ears. She had been going for about ten minutes now and didn’t seem to be running out of choice words anytime soon. He hadn’t yet tried to interject, but her accusations were growing in severity.

  “Assaulting a women’s virtue in the woods, Remington?” Lady Rothstone paced the rug in front of the chair she had insisted her son take. “A virginal girl, the daughter of one of my closest friends! Heaven knows how traumatized the poor girl is from your rutting in the outdoors, but then to not marry her? And she’s pregnant?” Her volume growing with each sentence, she finally threw her arms in the air in defeat. “How did I raise a son so completely without morals? Without a shred of decorum or sensitivity for a woman’s good name, not to mention the callousness of taking a lady’s virginity without the benefit of marriage. You cannot be my son! Not my son, the one who would never in a thousand years dream of having relations with a gentlewoman outside of holy matrimony.

  “Well, maybe I’d dream it,” Rem muttered under his breath, slouching further down in his seat.