To Wed A Viscount

by Adrienne Basso

  That was yet another reason why this was the perfect time to come calling. Above all else, she needed this meeting to be private.

  Screwing up her courage, Faith lifted the knocker. Her hasty knock was answered by a stiff-necked butler she did not recognize.

  “Yes, miss?”

  “I’ve come to see the viscount. Kindly inform him that Miss Faith Linden has arrived.”

  Faith used her best haughty aristocratic voice. It sounded horribly pretentious to her own ears, but succeeded in wiping the look of polite disdain from the butler’s pinched face.

  She waited until he vanished from the hall. Then, lifting her skirts to prevent any rustling, Faith followed stealthily behind the servant, far enough away so he did not hear her, yet close enough not to lose sight of him.

  When the butler opened the door to what she thought was the library, she hurried forward.

  “No need to announce me,” she said sweetly to the openmouthed servant, as she strode brazenly past him. “Lord Dewhurst and I are old friends.”

  “Miss, you cannot go in there,” the butler sputtered. But it was too late. She was already inside. Short of pulling her out by force, the butler had no recourse.

  “Gregory, is that you?” an annoyed male voice inquired. “What do you want now?”

  Faith’s eyes anxiously scanned the large, cavernous room, searching for the owner of the voice, but she was unable to locate the source.

  “Miss Linden is here to see you, my lord,” the butler called out tightly. “Apparently on a most urgent matter.”

  “Tell her to go away. I’m busy.”

  The butler smirked at Faith and backed out the door without uttering another word.

  Perhaps she should return at another time. She would not want to prejudice her case by broaching this most delicate subject at an inopportune time.

  Coward! There is no other time.

  “My lord?” Faith glanced up at the ornate ceiling and immediately noticed a large water stain marring the detailed plasterwork. The viscount’s voice appeared to be coming from somewhere above her head, but she could not see him anywhere. She cleared her throat. “I apologize for my poor timing, but I must speak with you on a matter of utmost urgency. I promise to be as brief as possible.”

  There was no reply. It was as if the disembodied voice had vanished. Only silence filled the air. Faith shivered slightly, not knowing whether to feel hopeful or frightened.

  Then suddenly he appeared from behind the floor-length draperies that concealed a tall ladder he must have been standing upon. His dark hair had a mussed appearance. He was dressed informally, wearing only tan breeches, black boots, and a white shirt. Yet despite his disheveled state, he was every inch the omnipotent male. Physically superior, with broad shoulders, long, muscular legs, and an expansive chest.

  He had been a cute lad, but his adult face was more than handsome, it was also mature and strong featured. His stance was commanding, as befitted a sea captain, and Faith realized that it was a natural progression to go from a mischievous youth to a domineering man.

  There was a distinct flicker of annoyance in his gray eyes, but not a hint of recognition. Even though it had been nearly eleven years since Faith had seen him, she knew Griffin Sainthill on first sight.

  “Do I know you?” he barked out rudely.

  “My lord.” Faith dipped a low, graceful curtsy. “It has been a long time since we last met.”

  Maybe it was her voice. Or her curtsy. Or perhaps he had not been paying attention when his butler announced her name, because something seemed to click into place inside his brain. “Faith?” A slight smile curved the edges of his mouth. “Is it really you?”

  “Yes.” A rush of giddy relief swamped her. He did remember her. “Forgive me for intruding, but I needed to see you.”

  “About the will?”

  Faith’s mind went blank. She had played this encounter over and over in her head for days, trying to anticipate every reaction, every question, every possible objection he might have so she would be prepared with a retort. Yet she had never even considered such a blunt, cut-to-the-heart opening.

  “Ye-yes. The will.”

  “I thought as much. I received your note, but I haven’t had an opportunity to reply.” His eyebrows rose fractionally. They were as elegant and finely shaped as the rest of his chiseled face. “I had not realized this was such an important matter or else I would have attended to it sooner.”

  Faith felt her cheeks grow hot. Caught under his glimmering gaze, the simple speech she had practiced for days promptly disappeared from her mind. She scrambled frantically for something, anything to say.

  “I’m sure I shocked your butler with my boorish behavior, but I expected Chambers to answer the door. Where is he?”

  “I retired him to the country. He was far too old to still be in service. Gregory is from the London house. I sold it before I came to Hampshire and brought as many of the servants here as I could afford. In hindsight, I’m not sure why I thought I needed a stiff-backed butler. He would be of far greater use to me if he could swing a hammer.”

  “Is that what you were doing up on the ladder? Hammering something?” Faith asked, impressed by the notion. She remembered her father supervising the workers, but she could not recall ever seeing him actually doing any of the physical labor.

  He smiled faintly. “I was inspecting the ceiling. The wood and shingles are completely rotted. It will take more than my limited skills to fix it properly.”

  “Then I shall send a crew of workers over from Mayfair Manor tomorrow. There are many skilled men on my estate who would be pleased to help.”

  She suspected he was a man who would not take charity. Even from an old family friend. But he surprised her by accepting her offer with a quiet nod of thanks.

  He indicated two blue-cushioned chairs set before the unlit fireplace. “Shall we sit?”

  She sank down into the chair, gingerly testing the springs. It was not as uncomfortable as it looked.

  Faith surveyed the rest of the room, and her confidence slowly trickled back into her. The front foyer had boasted a highly polished parquet floor, lovely vases of fresh flowers, and dust-free furniture. But back here it was a totally different matter.

  Faded carpets, water-stained ceiling and walls, mountains of dust. The house reminded Faith of a beautiful piece of fruit that appears so perfect and appetizing until it is cut open to find a brown, rotten mess inside.

  It was years since she had set foot inside this castle, but the rumors she had heard were apparently true. It had been badly neglected and needed major renovation. Faith smiled. She could provide both workers and funds to repair the house and would do so gladly, if she were married to the viscount.

  Faith swallowed hard as she tried to envision herself married to this powerful, virile man. The very notion made her suddenly relieved she was sitting down, because her knees started quivering. Although an unmarried woman, she knew something of what happened between a man and a woman.

  Neville had never been inclined to show her much affection, and she had not minded overmuch. Yet some rare feminine instinct told her that Griffin would be more forthcoming and earthy in his physical desires.

  As if reading her mind, he announced suddenly, “I have shown an abominable lack of courtesy in welcoming you to my home. Pray, permit me to remedy that at once.”

  Then he reached for her hand, bent low, and kissed her knuckles with all the courtly aplomb of a true dandy. She had removed her gloves before knocking on the door and could feel his warm breath stirring the fine hairs on the top of her hand. Her heart seemed to miss a beat.

  Raw panic seeped from a place deep inside her, but Faith conquered it. If she was bold enough to approach this man and ask him to consider marrying her, then she certainly needed to be bold enough to accept a polite kiss on the hand.

  Faith took a long, shuddering breath and told herself sternly to stop acting like a silly girl. True, she might be
considered intelligent for a woman, but she had grown up in the country, sheltered from the rakish antics of men like Griffin Sainthill. Yet that did not mean she was incapable of holding her own in his company.

  “Tell me what you know of the will,” she said breathlessly, feeling a need to steer the topic back to the purpose of her visit.

  He seemed confused for a moment but recovered quickly. “I understand in situations such as yours, when an intended groom dies before the wedding, it is customary to return the betrothal ring, especially if it is a family heirloom. However, Neville’s will specifically requested that you keep the ring, and I wanted to assure you that I have no objection.”

  “Neville’s will?” Faith was shocked. She was unaware that her fiance had even made a will. As for the ring, it was sitting at home in her jewel box, precisely where it always was, since she rarely wore it. “You misunderstand, my lord. When I spoke of a will, I was referring to my father’s will.”

  “Your father’s will? How could that possibly concern me?”

  “I need a husband before the year ends or else I shall lose ownership of Mayfair Manor. I was hoping you might consider it.”

  The viscount stared at her for a long moment, then broke into hearty laughter. “I always did enjoy your odd sense of humor, even when we were children. I’m pleased to find that you still possess it, in abundance I might add.”

  Faith squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, saying nothing. Gradually his laughter died away. The room became strangely silent.

  “You aren’t joking, are you?” The viscount raked a hand through his dark hair. “You really must marry within the year or lose Mayfair Manor?”

  Faith’s nerves tightened. “Not just marry, my lord. In order to comply with the dictates of the will, I must marry Viscount Dewhurst.”

  His mouth quirked again. “Me? You must marry me?”

  Faith struggled mightily to keep her gaze on his. “Well, you are Viscount Dewhurst.”

  “Surely not the one named in the will?”

  “Of course not.” Faith huffed and tried to ignore the growing tone of amusement in his speech and manner. How dare he think this was funny? “However, you are Viscount Dewhurst, and if we marry, Mayfair Manor shall be mine. Or, rather, ours.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Her strong, steady answer wiped the grin from his face. Quickly. “Have you consulted a lawyer? Surely there must be another solution to this predicament aside from marriage?”

  “I cannot afford a lengthy court battle. If I forfeit the manor I shall be given a modest income that is more than adequate for my needs. I will not be destitute.” Faith tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach and admonished herself to temper the look of anxious hope she felt certain was lighting her eyes.

  “If you must know the entire truth, ’tis more than just losing my home, which I dearly love, that rankles me. It is my cousin’s wife, Amelia. I’ve never cared for her. She lacks refinement, common sense, even basic kindness. She is a frightful woman and has been completely unbearable since her husband became a baron. The last time we met, she insisted that I address her as Lady Aston. I almost choked.

  “ ’Tis petty of me, I suppose, but I would do nearly anything so as not to give her the satisfaction of taking everything that is mine.”

  “Even marry a stranger?” Griffin remarked. His eyebrow lifted again. “She must be very frightful, indeed.”

  Faith blushed. Perhaps the horrid Amelia was not the only reason. Perhaps she wanted a chance at marriage, a family, maybe even children one day. She had wasted the better part of her youth waiting for Neville to make good on his promise of marriage. And now it was too late. Faith knew the harsh truth. She wasn’t rich enough, pretty enough, or young enough to find a husband any other way.

  “You are my last hope, my lord. My only hope.”

  She had said it. Spoken the words that revealed her greatest fears, her truest needs. It had been difficult but not as impossible as she’d imagined. In a strange way, Faith now felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her. No matter what happened from this point on, the knowledge that she had found the courage to do this would be a comfort.

  His eyes were sparkling silver jewels, revealing nothing of his thoughts. Was he completely shocked by her revelations? Or worse, repulsed by her proposition? Faith swallowed the impulse to turn and run and instead dredged up the courage to face him.

  “Tempting as your offer is, regrettably, I must refuse.”

  “You’re saying no?” Faith whispered, hardly believing all her carefully thought out plans were beginning to crumble.

  She struggled to find the right words, the ones that would force him to reconsider, to see the wisdom of her arguments. The words that would somehow miraculously make him change his mind. But they would not come.

  Faith lifted her chin and searched his handsome face for a sign, a hint of his emotions. He stared back at her without expression, but his eyes were narrow and speculative. They never seemed to blink.

  And then suddenly she imagined this conversation from his side. What could possibly be more pathetic than a plain, unimportant spinster begging a handsome, viral nobleman to marry her? For honor’s sake? Hardly.

  Faith abruptly stood up. Her heart seemed to stumble over a beat, but with effort she contained herself.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said softly.

  Disappoint me? Faith felt ill. His gently uttered apology was the final humiliation. She took three backward steps, praying her legs would support her.

  “The fault is mine, my lord.” She spoke through trembling lips. “I should never have asked you to consider honoring your brother’s commitments. If I had pushed harder for marriage while Neville was alive, I would not find myself ruined today.”

  “Ruined?”

  The puzzlement and sympathy in his face was her undoing. Never in her life had she felt so small. It suddenly became utterly impossible to stay in his company. “No need to ring for a servant to see me out,” Faith murmured. She turned and headed rapidly for the door. “I’ll send over a work crew tomorrow morning to help begin the roof repairs, as I promised.”

  Faith flushed at her choice of words. Promised. God help her, if she lived to be a hundred she would never again pin her hopes and dreams on the promises made to her by another.

  Three

  Griffin watched Faith flee the room, and his conscience pricked at him. She had been too proud, too willful to break down in front of him, but her emotions had been clearly visible in her face. Keen disappointment and total despair. Surprisingly, her stricken expression at his refusal to even consider her outrageous proposal had cut him deep. Far deeper than he’d expected.

  He hadn’t meant to be so blunt in his answer, so unsympathetic to her plight. But she had caught him unawares, on a decidedly bad day. Though as of late that appeared to be the only sort of day he experienced. Bad.

  With a heavy sigh Griffin turned to follow after her. As he strode quickly down the hallway, he heard a slight scuffling noise up ahead in the front foyer, along with the sound of several female voices.

  Perfect! His sisters had returned from their afternoon visit with the vicar. Griffin’s already grim mood soured further.

  Still, he lengthened his stride and arrived just in time to see the back of Faith’s skirts as she scrambled out the front door. Barging rudely past his sister Elizabeth, Griffin gave chase.

  “Miss Linden, wait. Miss Linden!”

  She did not pause, nor turn her head. Instead, she lifted her skirts and quickened her gait, shooting forward like an arrow. A sudden gust of wind blew her bonnet askew. Griffin saw her reach up and steady it with one hand, but she did not slow her step. Griffin suspected that even if the hat had flown from her head she would not have stopped to retrieve it.

  Griffin’s lips curled in disgust. As much as he felt obligated to clear the air between them, he was not about to go chasing after
Faith like some demented suitor. His earlier feelings of guilt dissolved into frustration. Now it appeared it would be necessary to call upon her in order to straighten out this misunderstanding.

  A strong hand grabbed his arm. Griffin looked down and realized his sister stood by his side.

  “What was she doing here?” Harriet demanded. She released her hold on Griffin and placed her hands on her hips. “I did not know she was planning to visit. Why did you receive her without a proper chaperon in attendance?”

  Griffin turned, then paused. “I assume you are referring to Miss Linden?” he countered, glaring down to give Harriet his full measure of attention, while hoping this powerful regard might temper her hostility.

  “Naturally I was referring to Miss Linden,” Harriet huffed. She shifted from one foot to the other. “What did she want?”

  Griffin grunted with a grudging respect. Many a hardened sailor had paled beneath a windblown tan when on the receiving end of his solid stare. But Harriet hadn’t even blinked. Instead, her chin had tipped higher in the air.

  “Miss Linden wanted to speak with me,” Griffin said.

  “About what?”

  “A personal matter.”

  “What sort of personal matter?”

  Griffin almost laughed. Harriet’s tenacity was unmatched. A dimple appeared in his cheek. She wrinkled her nose at him, and Griffin broke into a chuckle. “This matter does not concern you, sister. Please, give it no further thought.”

  Thinking the matter closed, Griffin turned on his heel and strolled to the drawing room. The slight sound of footsteps behind him alerted Griffin to the fact that both Harriet and Elizabeth were dogging his steps.

  Clearly Harriet had not been mollified by his answer. He had barely set foot inside the drawing room when his sister spoke.

  “I would like to know the purpose of Miss Linden’s visit and precisely what she said to you,” Harriet demanded, throwing out her words like a challenge she intended to win.