If You Give A Girl A Viscount ib-4

by Kieran Kramer

  Some of the concern came back. What would Cassandra and Perdita do to her after that scene in the drawing room? She’d gone a bit far, hadn’t she?

  But it had felt good. It had felt right.

  Still. She’d never done it before. It had been the letter that had given her courage.

  Pushing down her worry, Daisy closed the door behind her, broke the wax seal on the paper, and unfolded it, all the while wondering what the man in the letter would want of her.

  After she finished reading, she folded the long-awaited note back up and stared into space. “I’ve been given a viscount,” she murmured, testing out the words.

  But she hadn’t asked for a viscount. She’d asked for a godmother.

  He’d be here any day now. His name was Charles Thorpe, Viscount Lumley, and he was Lady Pinckney’s grandson.

  What in God’s name was Daisy to do with him?

  CHAPTER TWO

  A month earlier

  Charles Thorpe, Viscount Lumley, held up a missive written in a feminine hand to show his three best friends, all of them Impossible Bachelors, who’d been designated by Prinny as experts at both charming women and avoiding the marriage altar. They were seated in a private room at their club in London.

  “As you know, I’m taking care of Grandmother’s business while she’s gone,” Charlie said in his best leading fashion, which really wasn’t very leading at all.

  Not known for nuance, he was now the most physically imposing of the Bachelors—and rumor had it the most menacing when his ire was up. All the amateur boxing matches he’d trained for and won under the tutelage of Gentleman Jackson the past several years attested to that.

  Harry Traemore, second son of the Duke of Mallan and the first of the Bachelors to get leg-shackled, barely glanced at the letter. He even let out a tremendous yawn and settled deeper into his club chair. “Lady Pinckney’s a spitfire, but it can’t be too taxing looking after an elderly woman’s affairs, can it? At least in comparison to your usual endeavors.”

  “Wining and dining widows and actresses, and making money hand over fist, you mean,” interjected Stephen Arrow, a captain in the Royal Navy who was now on a new adventure as a landlubber—a married one, at that.

  In the old days, Charlie would have chuckled at Stephen’s comment. But he was far too cynical and jaded these days to do that. “You must admit it takes some skill to do either.” He paused. “Especially at the same time.”

  “Is that possible?” Nicholas Staunton, the Duke of Drummond, who’d also succumbed to marital bliss, lofted an enigmatic brow. Being mysterious was a passion of his.

  “No doubt with Lord Lumley, it’s doable,” Harry said.

  “I won’t deny it.” Charlie shrugged. “But now my greatest task is to send round nos to all Grandmother’s invitations.”

  “Feed her canary,” Stephen added.

  “Walk her poodle,” Nicholas said.

  Charlie acknowledged their repartee with a tip of his head. “But this is Lady Pinckney, not your typical elderly female. Did you know she has seven goddaughters?”

  “Seven?” Harry stirred himself. “That does seem a bit excessive.”

  “She collects them the way you collect boats, Arrow,” Charlie said, “or you accrue your horses, Drummond.” He snorted. “Or you collect children, Harry.”

  Harry winced. “Three at the moment. I suppose that is considered a collection, eh?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “I’m fast on your heels, old man, with my twins.”

  “And don’t forget, I’m just getting started with my little sailor,” Stephen said. “I’ll catch up soon enough.”

  “You forgot to boast that they all have me as their adventurous uncle,” Charlie reminded them, “the one with no rules. Speaking of which, I’ve got a fresh situation on my hands, a rather awkward one. Before I take action, I could use your counsel.”

  “Here’s mine,” said Harry. “Take a moment to recover from the last situation before you move on to this one.”

  “Nursemaid’s advice,” Charlie promptly told him. “Is that what comes with settling down?”

  “Point taken, old friend.” Harry’s tone was dry. “Please. Go on chasing the wrong women as long as you like while I remain settled down, as you say, with a lovely, loyal wife who doesn’t pocket the expensive baubles I give her and then walk away.”

  “Touché.” Charlie considered his most recent romantic folly. “At least you’re the only ones who know. Outside my family, that is.”

  “Are they speaking to you yet?” asked Stephen.

  Charlie shook his head. “Only Grandmother.”

  “Perhaps her heart was broken once,” suggested Nicholas.

  “Or more than once,” added Stephen, no doubt alluding to the fact that in the past two years, Charlie had had lengthy affairs with three women.

  “Rest assured,” Charlie said, “I may have been involved with more than my fair share of grasping females, but my heart’s never been broken.” Dented, maybe, but that had only made it more impervious to hurt. “At the moment, I’ve got a bigger problem on my plate.”

  “What’s that?” Harry asked.

  Charlie was loath to tell them. “I’ve been completely cut off from the family coffers.” He felt quite bitter about it, too. “My parents believe that as the heir, I need to stop throwing money about carelessly.”

  “Interesting.” Harry nodded, quite as if he understood.

  Which rather riled Charlie. “I excel at investing on the family’s behalf.”

  Harry and the other Bachelors exchanged neutral glances.

  What’s that about? Charlie wondered.

  “Lord and Lady Frampton”—he referred to his parents testily—“say that no matter how rich I make the family, thoughtless spending will eventually lead to my ruin.” He waited for someone to say such a claim was ridiculous. “Can you believe that?”

  The ensuing silence enveloped him like a heavy cloak.

  Charlie leaped from his chair, almost toppling it backward. “What the devil is going on here?” He stared at his friends. “What aren’t you saying?”

  “Is there more?” Harry asked quietly.

  Charlie looked into the fire, remembering that excruciatingly uncomfortable moment with his parents. “They also said”—his voice was a bit raspy at this point—“that buying a ruby and diamond pendant … for a wench who turned right around and absconded with it to America … was the last straw.”

  The flames flickered higher, mocking him with their brightness.

  Good God. Where had his head been?

  Firmly in the ground, that’s where.

  “My parents are right, aren’t they?” he said calmly. “They’re absolutely right.”

  No one disagreed.

  It had been the last straw.

  He’d been a fool.

  Looking round at his friends, he saw that no one excused his behavior, yet their gazes were sympathetic.

  Slowly, Nicholas stood and joined Charlie at the hearth. “Well, then,” was all he said.

  Charlie glared at him. It was better than showing his embarrassment. But of course his friends understood. They’d made fools of themselves, too, on occasion, and every one of them had had a devil of a time admitting it.

  Harry gestured to Stephen, who generously refilled their glasses from a second bottle of fine brandy.

  “Let’s raise a toast to your new adventure, shall we?” Stephen passed round the drinks, and everyone raised them.

  “To living within new, limited means at Lady Pinckney’s,” Nicholas announced.

  “For the nonce,” Stephen clarified.

  “And here’s to sharpening your skills when it comes to choosing female companionship,” added Harry.

  “A challenge for any man,” Nicholas said.

  Truer words had never been spoken.

  Stephen leaned against the mantel, a grin on his tanned face. “It’s often the bon vivants of this world who have the highest
standards and are most often disappointed,” he philosophized. “It’s why we become bon vivants in the first place.”

  “There’s something to that,” Harry agreed.

  Nicholas raised his brandy higher. “To Impossible Bachelors.”

  “Here, here,” came a chorus of assents.

  The foursome clinked glasses and drained them.

  “Every woman I meet from now on,” Charlie said, “will have to jump through proverbial hoops of fire to even be considered an acquaintance. Not only that, my heart is firmly locked up, and I’ve thrown away the key.”

  “Don’t go that far,” said Harry. “We’ll hold the key for you for a bit. Someday you’ll want it back.”

  “I doubt it.” Charlie’s tone was dry. “I think I’m the Impossible Bachelor destined to remain so. But let’s get back to Grandmother. How plebeian you must think me, to be satisfied with walking poodles and feeding canaries. I’ve got loyal friends willing to take over those tasks for me—your wives.”

  “Our wives?” Harry drew in his chin.

  Nicholas and Stephen exchanged wary but amused glances.

  “Indeed,” said Charlie. “I’ve already contacted them, and they’ve assured me they’d be delighted to turn down Grandmother’s invitations and tend to her pets on my behalf. They even suggested they might get their husbands to perform those chores for them.”

  “No!” all three of his friends cried at once, and then chose their own favorite curses to heap upon his head.

  Charlie laughed. “You’ll be more amenable to the idea once you hear about the important mission I’ve got to do on Grandmother’s behalf. I refer you once more to a letter from one of her goddaughters.”

  He held the missive in the air again.

  Nicholas sat up higher in his chair. “Where is this goddaughter?”

  “The north of Scotland,” replied Charlie. “Somewhere near a village called Glen Dewey.”

  “Ah,” said Harry. “Yes.”

  “You’ve heard of it?” Charlie was curious to know more.

  “Of course not.” Harry barely flinched at Charlie’s punch to the upper arm. “When was the last time I left London?”

  “Sounds as if it’s at the back of beyond,” Stephen commented.

  “It is,” Charlie agreed. “But I’m going there.”

  “What for?” Nicholas swirled his brandy in his glass and waited.

  “She needs help.” Charlie looked around at all three of them. “She doesn’t say what’s wrong, exactly. Only that she’s in dire straits.”

  “Poor girl,” Stephen murmured.

  “You know what that means.” Charlie sighed. “The odds are good she needs money.”

  “If she does, you’ll give it to her,” said Nicholas.

  Charlie’s brow shot up.

  “Oh, right.” Nicholas winced. “You’re impoverished at the moment.”

  “We can fund your trip,” said Harry.

  “Right,” said Stephen.

  “How much do you need?” Nicholas was already reaching into his coat.

  Charlie drew in a deep breath. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got to do this on my own. I may have only severely limited funds to throw at the problem, but I’ll find a way to sort it out.”

  “I like that attitude.” Stephen, a self-made man himself, nodded his approval. “In fact, take it a step further. See if you can survive on this journey north—and thrive while there—without even a tuppence to your name. That will show your parents—and remind you—that you’re worthy of access to the family fortune.”

  Charlie didn’t know what to say. Life with no money at all seemed unfathomable, really.

  “Maybe you’ll learn what you’re made of,” Harry suggested.

  “Stern stuff.” Nicholas thumped a fist on his chest.

  “We’re best friends with a viscount of tremendous character,” Stephen pronounced.

  “A man who can solve problems using his own ingenuity,” added Nicholas.

  “What’s his name?” Charlie said with a little chuckle.

  Everyone had a comfortable laugh with him. But not for long.

  “Perhaps my parents are right.” Charlie felt very serious as he gazed round at his friends. “All that money has made things too easy for me.” He thought of his life, one of supreme comfort with very little accountability—to anyone, to anything.

  What was he passionate about these days? When had he become a man with very little resolve?

  “I’ve lost something,” he admitted. “And I need to get it back.”

  “Right.” Harry gave him a stern look. “Starting now—till after you’ve solved the girl’s problem—you can’t spend a penny of your own money or borrow from anyone else.”

  “You might as well leave for Scotland tonight,” said Nicholas.

  “We’re serious,” Arrow added.

  For a moment, no one stirred.

  Then Charlie said, “Zeus take it, so am I.”

  A feeling of excitement gripped him. Without hesitation, he reached into his coat pocket and removed a leather pouch full of coins. “It’s barely enough to get me to Scotland and back, and only if I stay at modest inns.”

  “That’s still too much,” said Harry. “Hand it over. And don’t go back to your grandmother’s. You probably have banknotes stashed in your pockets there.”

  “I do.” Charlie slapped the purse into Harry’s palm.

  “Next time you see us, you’ll be a different man,” said Stephen.

  “Who knows what adventures you’ll have meanwhile?” asked Nicholas.

  “I wish I could go.” Harry sounded a bit wistful.

  “Huh,” said Charlie. “I’ll be sleeping in haystacks while the three of you go back to your wives and the cozy beds they’re keeping warm for you.”

  Harry and Stephen were quick to shake his hand, but when Charlie came to Nicholas, his friend said: “Let’s make this even more interesting. What will you forfeit—besides your honor—if you don’t follow through to the very end?”

  “You’re setting high stakes, are you?” Charlie thought for a moment. “How about the prime goer I bought last week? You can draw straws for him.”

  Nicholas waved a hand. “Much as I admire his bloodlines, it’s not enough.”

  “It’s got to be something you truly can’t replace when your bank accounts open again,” Harry said, “as I’m sure they will.”

  “His freedom,” Stephen said flatly.

  “What?” Charlie felt like pulling at his cravat, but he restrained himself.

  Nicholas let out a whoop of glee. “Exactly. You’ll enter the Marriage Mart, once and for all.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Please, no.”

  “Yes!” said Harry.

  Charlie felt slightly ill. “If your wives get wind of this, they’ll start lining up all sorts of dull, proper ladies well in advance. I’ll feel them encroaching—even when I’m far away in Scotland.” He shuddered. “I can feel them already.”

  “Poor sod.” Harry’s eyes gleamed with amusement.

  Charlie narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be so quick to pity me. I plan to win. And when I do, what will I receive from you?”

  Stephen chuckled. “You mean, in addition to our undying admiration?”

  “Yes.” Charlie noted that none of the three immediately came up with an answer.

  “We’ll ponder it while you’re gone,” Nicholas finally said.

  “It will be … a surprise,” Harry added.

  “All right, then.” Charlie grinned. “But make it good,” he warned. “Because I intend to claim it.”

  And with that, he saluted them and left the cozy chamber within their club. It was the same room in which they’d encountered Prinny and his mistress, who’d appeared from behind a panel in the wall a long while ago. So much had happened to the other Bachelors since then—namely, new adventures in uncharted territory. Marriage to women they loved. A certain wisdom and maturity. And children.

&nb
sp; Now Charlie was ready for something to happen to him, even if it was only an escapade to the far north.

  He shivered in his coat when he opened the club door to the dark London night and trotted down the steps. He’d done it thousands of times before. But this time, when his right boot hit the pavement, he made sure to note that it was his first step on a journey to Scotland—

  And what he dared to hope would be the adventure of a lifetime.

  CHAPTER THREE

  He was here. Daisy’s viscount. The one who’d told her in his commanding scrawl that he’d be at her beck and call when he arrived. After her initial disappointment that her godmother wasn’t available to assist her, she realized she’d never had anyone offer to be at her beck and call before.

  She couldn’t help but feel a bit excited. Although it probably wasn’t done to be excited about receiving a viscount as a temporary gift—

  Was it?

  She wore a dress of faded strawberry-red striped chintz she’d sewn from the least faded cushions and the back of the old settee that had finally fallen apart in the sitting room. And she’d made sure that Mona, Cassandra, and Perdita were still tucked in their beds. It had been easy enough—the evening previous, Hester had told them the vicar needed them to wash altar cloths at the local kirk the following morning. And as Daisy knew they would, they all claimed colds and had yet to appear downstairs.

  Now there was a deep voice in the hall. Clipped. Cold. Very masculine. And then Hester’s thin, rabbity answer.

  Oh, dear. Couldn’t Hester work up a bit more nerve?

  Daisy clung to the sides of the chair, her palms sweating. The pleasant smile she’d fixed on her face was gone. She’d never been good at playing a part anyway.

  Daisy Alice Montgomery! Papa’s voice came to her. Be brave.

  Channeling brave with all her might, she loosened her grip, adjusted her curls, and wished for a sudden boost of radiance to infuse her person.

  It didn’t work. She didn’t feel radiant in the least.

  Not that she had time to worry about the matter. The next moment, Hester flung open the door and walked in, her eyes wide and blinking, her hand curled to her mouth. “Viscount Lumley of London,” she gasped.