Percy groaned and pushed his hands into Will’s hair, kissing him back with enormous zeal. When they parted a few minutes later, they were both flushed and showing obvious signs of arousal.
“If she does, we’ll keep looking,” Will insisted. It was all they could do, since he refused to contemplate the alternative. At least, no matter what happened tonight in regard to Miss Marsh, they would still have one another.
Chapter Five
“Whatever is the matter with you, Viola?” Aunt Clara observed her with a frown that made the crow’s feet around her eyes collapse in on one another. “You’re as twitchy as if you were to be presented to the Queen. I can’t believe you’re this nervous over a ball.”
“I’m merely concerned that people will stare,” she replied, not wanting to admit the real reason for her agitation. She’d been unable to get Mr. Gilling and Lord Ricborough, or William and Percy as she’d begun to think of them, out of her head since she’d arrived home. The taste of William’s lips, the heat of their bodies pressed so close to hers and the sheer exuberance of their smiles when they looked at her completely dominated her thoughts, and tempted her. Yes, tempted her to say “yes” to whatever they wanted.
“People’s opinions have never bothered you overly much before. The past three years you’ve been giddy with excitement over being allowed to mix. Why should you be so nervous on this occasion? Did something occur while you were out with Thomas? Did somebody say or do something?”
“No, of course not.” she said dismissing the notion with a little hah! of laughter. As if anyone ever spoke to her.
Aunt Clara wrenched the lacing of her stays tighter, causing Viola to forcefully exhale. “Don’t lie to me, child. I’ve known you since you were a wailing babe, and I know you think I’m an addle-brained crone, but I’ve still wits enough to see through you. I might add that I’m the only one willing to entertain the notion that you didn’t step into that cupboard willingly, so show some respect.” She proceeded to tug Viola’s dress over her head, and then to pin the front into place.
“I did enter it willingly,” Viola said, repositioning each pin her aunt jabbed into place. “I just wasn’t expecting to find two men inside, or for them to cosy up to me.” Having two men so close had been surprising on that occasion. It might even have been scary, if she’d had time to think about it, but the experience beneath the kissing bough had been quite, quite different. Exhilarating and…not delightful, that was too mundane and didn’t adequately describe the way it had made her feel inside. Oh, if there were words for it, she didn’t know them.
Meanwhile, her aunt sighed and shook her head. “Did some fool try to kiss you beneath the mistletoe?”
Viola fought to mask her surprise. How could she possibly know that? Had someone seen her and passed on word of her salaciousness already?
Aunt Clara tottered over to the chair by the fireside. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. Do you think I don’t know what you do while you’re supposed to be spreading Christmas cheer? I know everything you do, girl. And let me tell you, I’ve been on this Earth long enough to know that when a woman gets doe-eyed it’s generally due to a man. So you had better spit it out and tell me who it was. Sit,” she ordered Viola, then picked up her knitting and began to cast the woollen loops from one needle to the other.
Viola sat as instructed, perching on the very front of the rocking chair to prevent its motion. How much ought she to tell?
“There was a man,” she tentatively confessed.
“Aye, but did you grant his request. No, don’t answer. I know from your expression that you did. I think you had better tell me who it was, and what sort of promise you had from him.”
Viola slowly wetted her lips. She didn’t really want to admit any of it, but she knew her aunt well enough to realise she wasn’t going anywhere until she at least produced a name. “Lord Ricborough.” Even now, after battling her way home through the snow, and then a full hour of being powdered and laced, she could still feel the sensation of his kiss and the thrill that had shot through her body at his touch. “I told him I would consider what he asked.”
She kept her gaze firmly focussed upon the blaze in the hearth to avoid the penetrating stare levelled in her direction.
“Someone actually offered for you and you told him to wait on your answer. Aah, Viola, I’d laugh at the sheer absurdity of your actions if I wasn’t so concerned for your mental capacity. What in heaven’s name is there to consider? Accept him. Marry him. Go out and live your life.”
Her aunt shook her head. “Ricborough is from and old, old family. If ever a second chance was offered to somebody then here it is. He’ll inherit an earldom when his father passes on—interesting man, I knew him in my youth—all the tattle-tales that have spun tales about you these past years would be desperate to be your bosom friends again.”
“I know,” she said. She understood that, or at least that would be how things were if he had offered her an ordinary sort of marriage, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’d said right to her face that he loved someone else, and that he expected her to love his lover too.
However could that work?
Oh, she appreciated that Percy Gilling was smart and handsome, with his wild curls and beatific smile, and she was excited by his presence, but how could three people possibly live harmoniously? From all she’d heard and observed, it was difficult enough with two.
“He’s young, he’s handsome and titled, what reason could you have to turn him down, since one presumes he’s already aware of your unfortunate past. He would have had to have had his head buried somewhere exceedingly pretty not to be aware of it.”
“He knows,” she confirmed.
“Then why is he not right now speaking to your father?”
She shook her head, refusing to divulge her reasons. Aunt Clara wouldn’t understand. She’d be shocked to the tips of her knitted stockings. Also, how did one explain that you feared you’d be exchanging a prison for a gilded cage? Although, when she thought about it, one did sound a lot nicer than the other.
“You’re stubborn, girl. It’s ever been your undoing. You’ve an opportunity to make something good of yourself, take it before you’re compelled into accepting something far less agreeable.”
Foreboding tickled at the back of Viola’s neck. “Whatever do you mean?”
Aunt Clara’s attention remained focused on her knitting. “Your father has a match in mind for you too,” she said after a moment or two. “And it’s not to Lord Ricborough or even anyone of his standing.”
“Father has!” She sprang from the rocking chair and began to pace back and forth across the threadbare rug. “To whom?” Who could her father have possibly found that would marry her? Some impoverished distant cousin perhaps, or a man with “new money” and no pedigree? “Will he be here tonight?”
“Aye,” her aunt dipped her head in affirmation. “I imagine, unless he’s given a reason to do otherwise, your father will look to announcing the engagement at breakfast tomorrow. You know he does so enjoy having an audience to witness his triumphs, and you have to admit, finding a match for his sullied daughter is quite an accomplishment.”
“But…but…Don’t I have any say in this matter?”
“Of course,” her Aunt said, giving her head a little shake. “You get to say, “Yes” and do whatever you’re told. Beyond that, I’m sure he would listen if you were to present Lord Ricborough as an alternative match. Your father’s easily swayed by status. I don’t think he’d object to you marrying a future earl.”
“Yes, but…” She couldn’t possibly make such a momentous decision in one night. Gracious, she didn’t even have the first inkling of what loving William and Percy might entail, and she didn’t want to contemplate giving herself to whatever man her father had chosen. Suddenly, staying in the nursery didn’t seem so bad after all. At least she knew what was expected. It might be dreary dull, but at least she knew she could comply with minimal fuss.
�
�Do stop pouting,” Aunt Clara chastised. “Any young woman ought to be thrilled to be in your position.”
“Of course.” She smiled meekly. Whatever was she supposed to do? She needed time to think, to consider all possibilities and weigh them up. “Suppose you thought that someone was only interested in you because they thought you were something you weren’t.”
Aunt Clara immediately levelled her with a very shrewd stare. “Then I’d dispel them of the notion immediately. Lies are not a good foundation for a marriage. I advise stepping into it with both parties quite clear about their expectations.”
Oh damnation! Why hadn’t she admitted the truth? Dispelled them of the notion that she was experienced? She’d said it over and over to everyone else, but when it had really mattered, she’d kept silent, and now it would be excruciatingly awkward to bring up, not to mention a very real possibility that William would withdraw his offer. What a horrid, horrid mess.
“You ought to go down, girl.” Aunt Clara rose from her chair to shoo Viola toward the door. “Stop brooding and go and choose your future.”
Chapter Six
Knasebrook’s grand salon always looked its finest at Christmas. This year proved no exception. Great wreaths of holly and painted apples decorated the glittering bank of mirrors that graced the long wall, while mistletoe hung in loops from the chandeliers and a huge yule long burned on the fire. Outside, the gently falling snow provided a festive backdrop to the sextet of musicians.
Viola remained on the periphery of the room, watching the other guests dance and listening to the music. The only noise that ever disturbed the environs of the old nursery was the clack of Aunt Clara’s knitting needles, so the harmony of the stringed instruments was a true delight. Nobody spoke to her. Guests moved away from where she stood, and the women raised their fans so that they could whisper behind them.
It wasn’t long before she spotted William and Percy. Her heart stirred at the sight of them in their finery, and butterflies awakened in her stomach. She’d not truly appreciated them out in the cold, on the green, beneath the mistletoe. Percy’s slightly unkempt curls made him stand out and seem so very vital next to all the mincing dandies, while William was by far the handsomest man in the room in his blue tail-coat and white waistcoat, with the possible exception of Lawrence Bellshawe, an old macaroni who still favoured mouse-fur eyebrows and star-shaped patches. She’d always had a soft spot for Bellshawe, ever since she was a very small girl. He still spoke to her sometimes too, unlike everybody else, who treated her as though she had an infectious disease. Would William and Percy be prepared to talk to her she wondered? It was one thing to converse with her on a deserted green, another entirely to openly acknowledge her in a roomful of their peers. Maybe she could use this as a test of their worth, a way of discerning what kind of relationship they would truly have. She made the decision to go to them, only for Tom intercept her as she tacked across the room.
He scowled at her. “I’m to dance with you. Father says so.”
Every year her father insisted that each of her three brothers take a turn about the floor with her, and while Viola very much enjoyed dancing, none of her siblings ever made it a pleasant experience. The elder two inevitably used the occasion to berate her over her past conduct. Tonight they had so far left her alone, both seemingly preoccupied with pursuits of their own. Edward was wooing the imperious Lady Anne Claythorpe, while Samuel was chasing a pretty Scottish heiress.
Tom didn’t give a fig about any woman; his passion was reserved for lady luck.
“Do let us get this over with,” he complained, as he pushed her into the line of ladies that was forming for the next dance. He slotted himself into the line of gentlemen. “I suppose you think you were awfully clever running off earlier. Father has given me no end of grief about it. He even threatened to reduce my allowance.”
“Was I supposed to stand in the snow until I was completely frozen through? You vanished, Tom, and the snow was falling thicker. It would have been ridiculous to stand there. It wasn’t as if I was certain you were returning. You did leave without a word as to where you were going.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you. You seemed so happy standing there with your lips puckered. I sense however that your future husband didn’t fall from the sky.”
The dance required them to part ways and skip to the head of the line before reuniting again; else Viola might have said something she’d have regretted. The moment apart gave her time to squash her irritation. She was not going to let Tom goad her into a revelation; he would only use the information to spite her. Nor was she going to allow him to make her feel guilty. He had been the one in the wrong. He oughtn’t to have left her alone on the green, though she was jolly thankful that he had, else William and Percy would not have had the opportunity to approach her, and whatever choice she made tonight, she would never forget that kiss.
“Why are you here, Viola?” Tom demanded, as they looped arms and swung round in a circle. “A civilised gathering isn’t any place for your sort. You forfeited your right to belong here.”
She did so wish she knew some ribald phrase she could use to deride him with.
“This is the only engagement father permits me to attend. You’re a dolt if you can’t see why I’d choose to come.”
“And you’re a bigger dolt for not seeing why you shouldn’t.”
Viola deliberately stepped on his toes.
Tonight she had more reason to be here than on any previous occasion. “It’s not my fault you have to dance with me. It’s father’s rule, not mine.” As a matter of preference she would have willingly skipped being partnered by Tom, but she knew better than to argue with her father’s rules. “As none of you pay me a single thought the rest of the year, is it truly such a hardship to spare me a few minutes of your time on Christmas Eve?”
“What’s a pity is that you never spared any thoughts for us when you surrendered the only asset that you had.” He scowled.
Viola skipped away from him, wishing the dance would end. There was no point in wasting her breath defending her actions. She’d done so hundreds of times before to no avail. Not one of her brothers would acknowledge their role in what had happened. If they’d looked out for her, as elder brothers ought, then…then she would never have had to endure Sarah Walsingham’s abuse, and there need never have been a scar upon the family name.
The dance did finally come to an end. However, instead of releasing her to go about her own business, Tom held on tight to her wrist. “Father wants me to bring you to him.”
“He’s busy at present.” She could see he was talking to Sir Hutsby Mede.
“He said right away.”
“Oh, very well, but I’m sure he’d rather I didn’t intrude.”
“And I’m certain he wants you to.” Tom gave a malicious laugh that made her dig in her heels.
“No,” she protested, realising who her father was intent on matching her with. Not Hideous Hutsby. He couldn’t. Surely he couldn’t be so cruel. Didn’t he value her a little more than that? “He’s buried eight wives already.” Numerous rumours abounded as to how they’d met their various ends.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Viola. You should be honoured he’s even interested in you. He is after all a hero.”
She swallowed slowly, and tried to get her desire for flight under control. Sir Hutsby may well have returned from India a hero, but he’d left part of his nose behind, sliced from his visage during the Battle of Assaye. He wore an un-fetching silver one in its place.
There was no choice to make. Two men versus Sir Hutsby-Mede; her decision was already made.
She looked around frantically; desperate to spot Lord Ricborough, but she couldn’t see him. Nor Percy either.
Then somehow her father and Sir Hutsby were right before them. “You danced beautifully tonight, Viola. Don’t you agree, Sir Hutsby? Do allow me to present my daughter.”
“A delight.” Sir Hutsby bowed his head. “Miss Marsh, my
pleasure.”
Viola reluctantly offered him a curtsy.
“Perhaps the baronet would like to partner you for the next dance,” Tom suggested, a huge smile eating up his face.
Why the little weasel. She would’ve kicked him, had not the horror of a future spent with Sir Hutsby almost paralysed her.
“That would be—”
“No,” Viola blurted, before he could finish the sentence. “That is…What I mean is, I’d be honoured, but I can’t.”
Her father’s beetling brows furrowed. “Why not?”
“Because…” She dragged her teeth across her lower lip as she spotted William re-entering the room. “I’m already promised to someone else.”
Her father blinked in absolute astonishment. “You are?”
Tom shook his head, refusing to believe a word of it.
Viola plucked her dance card from her reticule and pretended to consult its blank surface. “Yes, sir. To Lord Ricborough.”
“Ridiculous! Ricborough—Lord Ricborough asked you to dance?” Tom near choked on his own incredulity.
“Yes,” she squeaked. “He did.”
“Then what the devil are you standing her for?” asked her father. “Don’t keep him waiting.” He gave her an encouraging shove in the right direction. “Ricborough, eh?” She heard him mutter. “Well there’s an interesting development.”
“You don’t believe her, do you father?” Tom probed. “She’s never even met the man. She’s not spoken to a soul since she set foot in this room.”
“Aye, well, all will be apparent soon enough.”
Viola sensed her father’s gaze burning a hole in her back as she crossed the room to reach Lord Ricborough. For once she was pleased when the folks surrounding him retreated as she approached.
“Miss Marsh.” His elegant brows lifted as he greeted her. Close to, he looked even more magnificent in his finery than he had done from across the room.
“You have to dance with me,” she blurted. “I told my father that you’d asked me, so that I wouldn’t have to dance with Sir Hutsby-Mede. You will, won’t you?” He’d asked for her hand in marriage, surely he wouldn’t balk at turning her about the salon.
The Kissing Bough Page 3
