Loved by the Viscount

by Ellie St. Clair

  She laughed. “I would not want to entice you with a view of my ankles, my lord.”

  She colored suddenly, realizing what she had said. “That is—”

  “I can assure you, Rosalind, that the sight of your ankles will do nothing to change my opinion of you.”

  Rosalind slowly walked toward him, taking a seat beside him. She took off her shoes as he had, and reached up under her dress to roll down her stockings. He was true to his word, and did not lift an eyelid.

  When she finally slid her feet into the water, she realized he was right. It was rather glorious. She lay back beside him, closed her eyes herself, and soon enough found that between the calm of the air, the soft flow of the water, and the sun on her skin, she was lulled to sleep.

  William smiled as he watched the peace take over Rosalind’s face. She was always so tense, so concerned with everything going on around her. For once, she had allowed herself to simply feel, and when she let go of all that worry, she was truly beautiful, he realized.

  She woke some time later, when William was still contentedly lying on the bank.

  “Oh!” he heard her exclaim, as she rose to a seated position. “Was I asleep?”

  “You were.”

  “For how long?”

  “Not long. Half an hour or so?”

  “My goodness!” she said. “I never sleep.”

  “What do you mean, you never sleep?” he asked, perplexed. “Everyone sleeps.”

  “Well, I do sleep, but I do not sleep many hours, and I never sleep during the day.” She looked so vexed that he wanted to laugh, but he realized that she was being entirely serious and therefore kept his mirth at bay.

  “Sleeping during the day, I must tell you, is rather wonderful,” he said with a smile.

  She rose to her feet suddenly, brushing her hands on her skirts. As she did so, she accidentally kicked one of her boots into the water. “Oh no!” she said, kneeling in the grass as she desperately made to retrieve it before it sank to the bottom of the pond. Her action must have put her off balance, for before William could react, she tumbled into the pond with a yelp.

  Before he could think the situation through, William jumped in after her. It was only when his feet suddenly hit the bottom with a thud that he realized there had been no need — the pond came only up to his waist.

  “William!” came her cry, partly in anguish and partly … laughter?

  He looked down at her where she sat in the water. Her hair had come loose and was trailing around her shoulders, but perhaps not in the most becoming way. It was sopping wet, hanging limply around her face. She pushed back a soaked lock from her eyes so she could see better. She looked around, at her gray skirts floating around her, and at William standing beside her.

  She lifted her face and gave him an incredulous look.

  Their eyes locked, and before they could help themselves, they both dissolved into laughter.

  “What were you thinking?” she finally managed.

  “I thought perhaps you couldn’t swim!” he said with a shrug.

  “I cannot,” she said with a grin. “But I can walk.”

  “I somehow forgot how shallow this part of the pond was,” he said with a rueful shrug. “You must admit, however, that the water feels fine, does it not?”

  “It does,” she nodded.

  “Now, come,” he said moving toward her and wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her and help her stand. “At the very least, allow me to help you to the bank. You must give me the satisfaction of doing something to feel like a gentleman here to rescue you.”

  “Very well,” she agreed, and placed a hand on his chest to brace herself. She looked up at him, her mouth open as if to say something, but suddenly his breath caught in his throat. She was so very near, her face just inches from his. Her lips slowly came together, her words lost, and they stared at one another, drinking each other in. He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but suddenly their lips were locked tightly together. Everything else seemed to disappear, and soon she was not just standing in front of him, but had her arms wrapped tightly around him, pulling him in closer as if she could hardly get enough of him. He understood, for he felt the same. Her lips were soft under his, her body, though sopping wet, warm and pliant. She leaned in to him, and he groaned as his manhood strained against the tight fabric of his pants. He had never made love in the water, he thought, and then tried to push the idea out of his mind as quickly as it had entered it. This was a lady, for goodness sake — he was not going to take her in the middle of his fishing hole!

  Nor take her at all, he told himself. She was a widow, true, but he knew enough of her to understand that she was not that kind of woman.

  Yet, still, he could not stop himself from wanting more of her. He reached his hand behind her back to loosen the tight, wet laces, and then let the dress fall from her shoulders. His hands moved of their own accord, roving over her soft skin. He groaned into her mouth, his tongue finding hers and beginning a love play that coaxed forward a moan from her as well.

  She was so small, so slender, and yet when his hands found her breasts, he reveled in the shape of them, the small, soft mounds that were so lovely. He rubbed her nipples through the thin fabric of her chemise, and she leaned further into him, nearly breaking all the self-control he had managed to hold on to thus far.

  “William,” she murmured, and it was enough to make him realize that if he didn’t pull back now, before it went any further, he wasn’t sure if he ever could.

  He lifted his head from hers, hearing their rapid breath mingle, and he raised a hand to push back a lock of damp hair from her eye.

  She looked at him then, full on in the eye, and he wondered how he had ever overlooked this woman, who wore all her emotion in the storm of her sea green eyes. She didn’t say much, no, but then when she did speak, it always meant something, and left him wanting more.

  He let his forehead rest on hers as they came back to the moment. They stood there, arms still around one another standing in the waist-deep water of the pond, with only the song of nature around them breaking through the silence. It wasn’t until Friday gave a bark, as if he were tired of waiting for them to come out of their reverie, that William finally lowered his hands and stepped back from her.

  He gave Rosalind what he hoped was a convincing smile then said, “Come, let us get you back to the house and into some dry clothing.”

  He reached out a hand and led her back to the bank, climbing out himself before crouching and lifting her out. She didn’t weigh much, true, but her skirts were heavy as soaked through as they were.

  “Oof,” he said, when she came out of the water with more force than he had anticipated, and he found himself on his back gazing up at her. She looked at him, then down at herself in all of her dishevelment, and she let out a tinkling laugh once more. This time, she helped him up, and he suggested they walk their horses back to the house. He figured it might be a bit more comfortable for her.

  Rosalind readily agreed, and as they slowly returned, she teased him a bit. Between that and the little glances she stole when she thought he wasn’t looking, he was overcome with a sense of contentment that he had not felt in a very, very long time.

  13

  “Southam, my good man!”

  Rosalind snapped her book shut as she heard a voice echo down the long corridor which extended from the front vestibule and into the library, which occupied the southeast corner of the house. She had become used to spending much of her time in this room. It was comfortable, with its dark wood and rich colors. She had also come to enjoy the fact that William spent a great deal of time here himself. He had his own small office upstairs, but he seemed to prefer this room. This corner had, through unspoken agreement, become hers, while William preferred the chair across from it.

  While they found themselves often in deep conversation, they had also become comfortable in companionable silence, Rosalind with her books or her journal. She had writ
ten quite a lot since she had found herself a guest of William Elliot’s. Not an invited guest, true, but they had seemed to find an ease with one another, and she dreaded the fact that she would soon have to leave.

  She had been equally uneasy about the house party, but it was not as if she had any say in the matter as plans for it had been well underway before her arrival and it, in fact, provided her a reason to stay.

  She should be pleased about it for William, she told herself. He had always been a man who thrived on being part of a social gathering, and she should be happy he was having this opportunity to spend time with his acquaintances and enjoy himself.

  It was difficult, however, when she knew the underlying purpose of the party — to find William a wife. Lady Southam hadn’t actually said it, but had continued to imply it often enough, although with an underlying message that Rosalind was not considered a candidate. Rosalind did her best to avoid the woman, but when she did find herself in the same room, as she had at breakfast that morning, Lady Southam had talked on and on quite animatedly about the many beautiful young ladies who would be arriving over the next day, and how fortunate it was that William would have the opportunity to meet them before, hopefully, any of the other young gentlemen.

  As Rosalind’s stomach had turned, she had found herself having to make a concerted effort to force down the rest of her breakfast.

  Now, she heard William greet the new arrival, but it did not sound to be the arrival of a young lady, as Lady Southam had so hoped.

  “Lord Merryweather!” she heard William call out in greeting, and she smiled slightly. She had, of course, met Lord Merryweather on many previous occasions, and he had always seemed to be a pleasant sort of man. She was pleased he was one of the house party attendees. In fact, she didn’t know for certain who all would be arriving. She had yearned to ask, but knew it was not particularly polite to do so.

  She heard the two talk spiritedly, and Rosalind returned to her book, although she found she could no longer become engrossed in it as she previously had been. She was now too distracted. She piled her books in her hands, deciding she would take them to her own, quiet room for the remainder of the day.

  She was making her way down the corridor to the staircase when she heard a peal of laughter from the entrance hall beyond. She stopped still, frozen. She recognized that laughter. She had heard it far too often, and it usually did not bode glad tidings.

  Rosalind shook her head, clearing it, trying not to let this affect her. She did, however, quicken her pace to the stairwell, trying to reach it before the woman saw her. Almost there, she thought, and had one foot on the bottom step when she heard a voice cry out her name and she groaned inwardly.

  “Do tell me that is not Lady Templeton?”

  Rosalind took a deep breath and turned.

  “Lady Hester Montgomery,” Rosalind said with a forced smile. “How lovely to see you.”

  “And you as well,” said Hester, a catlike smile forming on her lips.

  It was certainly not lovely to see Lady Hester. She looked the same as she always had, her dark hair piled on her head over a pale face and ruby lips. She had the look of a doll, and yet the soul of a nasty witch. She had tried her best to ruin Olivia prior to her marriage, and then destroy it once she was happy. Olivia had forgiven her, but Rosalind had never forgotten the woman’s actions. Hester’s friend, Lady Frances Davenport, was close behind her, as always, though said nothing but simply nodded at Rosalind.

  Of all the women in England, did the two of them really have to be in attendance?

  “Ah, I see you are acquainted,” said William, walking up to them, his arms behind his back, a look of concern passing over his face.

  Of course William knew they were acquainted, thought Rosalind. Did he not know how much Olivia despised the woman?

  “We are,” said Hester, looking up at him with a coy smile. “I had no idea you would be here, however, Lady Templeton, being a new widow and all. Is it not slightly … unfashionable to be in attendance at a house party so soon? You would not want people to have the wrong impression of your sentiments toward your late husband, now would you?”

  Anger simmered in Rosalind’s belly, but she kept an outward calm. It was moments like this that she wished she had Olivia’s wit and disregard for what anyone might think, but no, she instead became dim-witted, her thoughts jumbled as she was unsure of exactly what to say.

  “It has been over a year since my husband passed,” she finally said, though why she felt the need to defend herself, she wasn’t sure. “And, in any case, I was simply passing through and Wil— Lord Southam was kind enough to invite me to stay on for the house party.”

  “I see,” Hester said, raising an eyebrow, clearly seeing more than Rosalind had intended. “You are as studious as ever, are you not, Lady Templeton? That is quite the pile of books you carry. An interesting pastime for a house party.”

  Rosalind felt her face grow warm.

  “Yes, Lord Southam has quite a deep library that he has been generous enough to allow me to avail myself of.”

  “Well how kind of him. Do not let us keep you. Your arms must be simply aching!” With a gleam in her eye, Hester turned, placed her arm on William’s, and looked back over her shoulder at Rosalind with a smirk on her face.

  Steeling her heart, Rosalind turned and practically raced to her room before William could say a word.

  By dinner that evening, all of the guests had arrived. Rosalind had spent most of the day within her own chambers, not wanting to have to make appropriate, painful, conversation with each arriving guest. If she was being truthful, she was also hiding from Hester Montgomery. She had never had to face the woman on her own, but had always had a friend at her side. This time was quite different.

  Rosalind looked through the meagre assortment of dresses she had brought with her, unsure of what she should wear. Could she wear color? Or should she settle for a lavender, the gray now near ruin from the pond. Would one be sending the wrong message, as Hester had suggested? She had finally decided on the pale lavender that was somewhat fashionable while still following the procedures of half-mourning.

  She had laid it across the bed when she heard a soft scratch on the door. She opened it to find a young maid standing outside of it with a smile on her face. “Good evening, my lady,” she said. “Lord Southam requested that I make myself available to you, as your lady’s maid was unable to accompany you on your journey.”

  “Oh, thank you,” said Rosalind. “Though I am sure you are quite busy with other responsibilities regarding the house party. I can manage on my own.”

  She made to close the door, but the maid didn’t move.

  “My apologies, my lady, but Lord Southam insisted. He said you would decline but I was to not take no for an answer.” The girl chewed at her bottom lip, seemingly uncertain of how to continue, and Rosalind took pity on her and opened the door to let her in.

  “And what would your name be?” she asked her.

  “Patty, my lady,” said the girl as she tucked a stray blonde ringlet back up under her cap.

  “Well I must thank you, Patty,” Rosalind said with a soft smile as she took a seat on the bed. “I am sure that you will make preparing for the festivities quite easier and more enjoyable for me.”

  “I do hope so,” said the girl with an eager grin. “I must confess that I have never been a lady’s maid before, though in my employment previous to this I was trained in all of the responsibilities in case I was ever needed.”

  “Well, then, Patty, I hope I shall be worthy as the first lady you will have served,” said Rosalind with a bit of a laugh. “I suppose we best get started.”

  It quickly became apparent that while Patty was certainly not experienced in the role of lady’s maid, she was enthusiastic, and with some guidance, Rosalind was soon dressed in her simple gown, her usual chignon slightly more styled with Patty’s ministrations. Rosalind had been a bit apprehensive when the maid approached with the
curling iron, but she managed to keep from flinching as the girl fixed a few curls around her temple. Rosalind hadn’t the heart to tell her that her stubbornly straight hair would soon be limp locks around her face as the curl wouldn’t hold for long.

  When she joined the party in the drawing room, she was surprised at the number of people who had arrived. Lord Merryweather instantly greeted her, as cheerfully polite as ever. Alfred leered at her before adopting a smile when his brother gave him a bit of a glare. She determinately ignored him and his stubborn friend who refused to leave, Richard Abbottsford.

  Rosalind was surprised to find there were two younger married couples taking part in the party, including Lord Benjamin Harrington and his wife, Lady Sophie. Rosalind had met Lord Benjamin in the past, and had always thought him to be somewhat of a rogue, but his wife seemed delightful and it appeared that he was rather settled now. There was also the Duke and Duchess of Barre, with whom Rosalind had not yet become acquainted.

  Then there were the young women. Of course Lady Hester and Lady Frances were dressed in their finest, Hester doing all she could to receive the attention of the eligible young men. Lady Hester’s mother was in attendance as her chaperone, as were the parents of Lady Frances. There was a beautiful young blonde woman, Lady Diana Watson and her parents, Lord and Lady Huntington, and Rosalind was delighted that Olivia’s sister-in-law, Lady Anne Finchley, was in attendance with her mother.

  Rosalind was looking around the room, feeling a bit overwhelmed, when William appeared at her elbow.

  “Quite the crowd, is it not?” he asked, and the back of her neck tingled where his breath touched it while she felt an odd patter to her heart that he had chosen to speak to her when there were so many others who wished for the company of their host.

  “It is,” she agreed, trying to ignore some of the stares of curiosity. She realized that there may be some questions as to why she was here at this particular house party when she had not been amongst Society for some time, and her being only so recently out of her full mourning period. In fact, Hester had been correct, though she was being malicious — it was slightly early for her to be in attendance at a full house party, but there was nothing she could currently do about the situation.