To Wed A Viscount

by Adrienne Basso

  Griffin crossed his arms across his chest. “That is rather unorthodox advice for a young lady of society, is it not?”

  “Yes,” Faith replied slowly. “But ’tis good, sound advice if you are going to spend the rest of your life with someone. Don’t you agree?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  Faith blew out her breath. “Well, I am certain. Yet here I sit, feeling timid and insecure, hesitating to offer you assistance with the estate accounts. Assistance, I might add, that you seem sorely in need of.”

  “I thought you were jesting.” Griffin’s face took on a look of great interest. “You enjoy doing accounts?”

  “Not really,” Faith replied honestly. “But I have a rather unique talent with counting and numbers. I find that with little effort I can easily add long columns of numbers in my head. My father was most amazed by this skill, for he always found ciphering a chore.”

  Griffin frowned. She could see that he wasn’t certain how to reply. He regarded her solemnly for a long time. To her great dismay, Faith began to feel nervous and regretful of making the bold offer.

  Then suddenly the viscount broke into a wide smile. “I shall expect you to report to my study tomorrow morning, directly after breakfast. If you are only half as good with numbers as you boast, my dear, then I anticipate that we shall be able to have a private, intimate rendezvous here beneath the trees directly after luncheon.”

  Seventeen

  Over the next fortnight Griffin found that his study was no longer a chamber of torture, a place where he needed to steel himself before entering and force himself to concentrate on the estate business he usually found so boring. He was now joined in his work by his wife, and her presence certainly livened his mornings.

  To his delight, Griffin quickly learned that Faith had not been exaggerating or boasting of her talent with numbers. Her skill was indeed impressive, though she modestly insisted it was a God-given gift.

  There had been a quick stab to his masculine pride when he realized what had taken him a full week to understand had taken his wife only a few hours to grasp. Yet Griffin was not a fool, and it soon became obvious that her able assistance made his life considerably easier.

  In addition to her skill with figures, Faith was also able to answer Griffin’s endless questions about the running of the estate. It was amazing to discover the depth of her knowledge of growing cycles, grain prices, livestock breeding, and other agricultural matters. Things that he had never had any interest in learning about, until the responsibility of the estate had been thrust upon him.

  At first the viscount established a small work space for his wife in a sunny corner of his study. This area gradually grew larger as she spent more and more time each morning poring through the vast number of bound leather account books. Before long, a dainty Queen Anne desk formerly stored in the attic made an appearance, along with other hints of a female presence.

  A vase of fresh flowers, an elegant chair with gracefully curving arms, the subtle scent of lavender water wafting through the air. All these feminine distractions played havoc with Griffin’s senses, making it difficult to concentrate on business.

  More and more the viscount found himself fantasizing about doing a variety of stimulating and erotic acts on the smooth wooden top of his wide, flat desk. None of which had anything remotely to do with the business at hand.

  More often than not, just when he would succeed in disciplining himself to ignore Faith for a few moments, she would inadvertently draw attention to herself, clucking her tongue and shaking her head in dismay as she found yet another discrepancy in their finances.

  “Nearly a thousand pounds missing,” Faith exclaimed in disgust, tossing down her quill. “ ’Tis the largest sum I’ve discovered so far, yet I fear that amount will be bested before the morning ends. This particular steward was a very greedy man. His actions were a disgrace, sullying the name of all the good men who work hard and honestly in this profession.”

  “Which steward are you referring to, my dear?”

  Faith shuffled the papers on her desk, looking for the answer. “Mr. White. He was employed here seven years ago and when he left, after working for three years, he took with him considerably more than he was entitled.”

  She sighed and stretched her neck. Griffin resisted the urge to reach over and massage the delicate nape, unsure if he could keep his hands from sliding lower.

  “Mr. White devised a rather clever scheme of extortion by manipulating the rents,” Faith continued. “I suppose when he realized that no one was paying any attention to his actions he got sloppy and entered the true amount of money he collected. He crossed it out, but did not obliterate the sum completely. All I had to do was speak with the tenant in question to discover the truth and uncover the duplicity.”

  “I’ve spoken with several of the men that run the larger farms and have gotten the same story,” Griffin said. “None of them are likely to forget how unpleasant and difficult it was working for Mr. White.” The viscount’s dark brows drew together. “Do you think it will be possible for us to make restitution to these families?”

  Faith scratched her forehead and once again consulted her papers. “That is certainly the fair and honorable course of action. However, it would probably be wisest to lower the current rents and gradually refund the difference. The farmers will certainly appreciate the extra income, and it will not leave our coffers dangerously low on funds.”

  The viscount nodded solemnly. “Once you have worked out all the figures, I will begin telling the farmers of their unexpected good fortune.”

  “That scoundrel Mr. White took great advantage of the tenants, as well as stealing from his employers,” Faith said passionately. “Honestly, the man should be shot.”

  Griffin paused in the act of stacking several papers on his desk. “I cannot condone the man’s actions, but isn’t an execution a rather bloodthirsty form of justice? Would not transportation to the Colonies satisfy your need for retribution?”

  “No.” Faith smiled thinly. “He stole from the estate and he stole from the tenants by inflating their rents, recording a far lower sum as payment and pocketing the difference. A most clever scheme for a man with no conscience.”

  “And this warrants a bullet through the heart?”

  “Yes. Or a hanging.” Faith steepled her hands in front of her. “Do not look so affronted, sir. I imagine there were times when you were forced to deal with less than honest individuals when running your shipping business. I cannot believe that you allowed yourself to be cheated, or that you let any sort of thievery go unpunished.”

  “Of course not. Anyone caught stealing was immediately forced to walk the plank.”

  Griffin sat back in his chair, enjoying the wide-eyed gaze his wife bestowed upon him.

  “You are joking,” she said after a slight hesitation.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.” A hint of rose appeared in her cheeks. “Pirates make their victims walk the plank. An honorable sea captain would never do anything so barbaric.”

  Griffin burst out laughing. “I’ve never known a pirate who would waste the time to set out a plank when he could quickly skewer his adversary with a sharp saber and then toss the poor fellow overboard.”

  Faith’s jaw sagged. “You have known pirates? Real pirates?”

  Griffin laughed again. “Faith, as a proper English noblewoman you are supposed to be shocked and horrified at the very thought of me speaking about those sorts of men, let alone knowing any.”

  Her brows arched up. “I do not shock easily, my lord.” She shifted her attention to the papers on her desk, feigning great interest in the documents for several moments. Finally she gave up the pretense, swirled around in her chair, and leaned forward eagerly. “What sort of pirates did you know?”

  Amusement flickered through Griffin. Her eager look reminded him of a curious child. Where was the staid, traditional gentlewoman he expected, the one who would be content with a
life of running the household and raising the children, who would look for additional stimulation in embroidery, watercolors, and gardening?

  Instead, his wife excelled at estate management and record keeping, knew more factual and practical methods of making the property successful and profitable than he did. And unconventional, dangerous men captured her imagination.

  It had taken Griffin a while to understand and accept that Faith was indeed different from any gently bred woman he had ever met. And that difference was continually intriguing him.

  “The men I knew were the type who would steal from their own mothers,” Griffin said. “And it wasn’t only the privateers. I tangled with more than one English captain who claimed a member of my crew was a deserter from the royal navy.”

  “Was it true?”

  Griffin snorted. “Of course not. Most of my crew were of mixed nationalities and had sailed with me for years. Not that it mattered. Impressing sailors is an acceptable and abhorrent practice in the British navy.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I learned quickly how to avoid those ships, or outrun them if we were spotted.” Griffin grimaced at the memory. “If we were boarded, there were usually cases of wine or brandy that could be used to persuade the good captain to look elsewhere for crew members. If that failed, I resorted to gold coins.”

  Faith blinked rapidly several times. “Goodness, they sound worse than the pirates.”

  Griffin smiled. “There were times I had difficulty telling them apart. Yet, the sense that there is glamour or honor among pirates is a notion clearly started by someone who has never met one. While trading on routes throughout the world I came across my share of unsavory characters. Men that would make our greedy stewards like Mr. White seem like amateurs.”

  “Really?” Faith shivered. “Still, it must have been a grand adventure, sailing to so many different ports of call, visiting places that were unusual and exotic.”

  “It had its moments.”

  Faith’s hand reached out. “Do you miss it so very much?” she asked quietly.

  “At times,” he replied honestly. He placed his hands over hers and began to idly stroke her long fingers. “Despite the danger, it was a good life, one I built entirely on my own. And I was successful at it.”

  “Unlike running the estate?” Faith said, giving voice to his unspoken thoughts.

  The viscount glanced away. “I was very proud of what I accomplished with my shipping business. We gained a reputation for being honest and reliable. My crew worked hard, but they were rewarded for their efforts because we consistently made a profit.”

  “And so has the estate.” Faith squeezed his hand. “You must not judge yourself too harshly. You stepped into a hornet’s nest and have managed for the most part to come away unscathed. I think that is remarkable.”

  “Perhaps,” he allowed. Griffin raked a hand through his hair, shoving it back from his forehead and glanced out the window.

  There was a small crew of gardeners digging around an ornamental fountain, carefully preparing the beds for the coming winter. Many of the leaves from the larger trees had fallen, covering the ground in a blanket of brown. Those few that did remain on the branches looked forlorn and lonely, twisting in the wind, helpless, as they awaited their fate.

  “ ’Tis not only your shipping business you miss, is it, Griffin?”

  He sighed heavily, pulling himself back into the conversation. A part of him rebelled at expressing his emotions, for fear they would hurt Faith. Yet deep down he knew he wanted to share this with her.

  “I have always been fascinated by the sea. Even as a young boy it was my dream to go exploring, to venture beyond this quiet, simple village. ’Tis not often that the reality surpasses the dream, but, Faith, that was how I felt when I was captaining my ship.

  “Alive with the excitement, the danger, the sheer beauty of open sea surrounding me. That, along with a boundless sense of freedom and a feeling of the unknown that embraced me each morning when I awoke is what I miss most of all.”

  He saw Faith’s shoulders begin to sag as she mulled over his words. “I had no idea that you had given up such a large part of yourself to return to England. To return here.”

  She stared at him, her eyes huge. Griffin trailed a finger along her jaw, feeling a slight tremor pass through her.

  “I came back of my own free will and have no plans to leave,” he said softly. “For in truth I cannot say that I’m sorry things turned out the way they did.”

  There was a brief pause, and then her delicate mouth curved into a faint smile. “Neither am I, my lord.”

  Light rain fell, enough to cause a darkening of the soil lining the bare flower beds as it hit the ground. Griffin, positioned comfortably behind his desk, watched it through his study window, his mind drifting as he listened to the hypnotic beat of water softly tapping against the tempered glass.

  Absently, he turned back to the papers piled on his desk, but they held little interest He was working alone this afternoon on various estate and financial matters and found himself missing his wife’s company.

  It seemed odd that dealing with myriad estate business over the past fortnight, along with the other everyday domestic decisions that needed to be made, had bound them together more closely as man and wife. He had mistakenly believed an intimate physical relationship would accomplish that task.

  In a fairly short time and without realizing it, Griffin had come to rely on Faith’s advice and trust her judgment. To his surprise, he found himself wanting to discuss even the most mundane decisions with her. It puzzled him, this need he was beginning to feel. Was it a sign of weakness? Or insanity?

  The simple truth was that he was starting to feel contented with this life he was so adamantly against accepting. Griffin had known from boyhood that it would be his older brother who would assume the title, along with all the family responsibilities, and he had always been glad about it.

  Griffin could never remember feeling any remorse or jealousy over the fact that Neville would receive all the family’s material wealth and possessions while he got a mere token. Except on his tenth birthday when Griffin had been given his brother’s old pony as a gift. And Neville had received the newly purchased hunter that Griffin had long coveted.

  They had scuffled over the horse, ending their verbal taunting with physical blows. Yet it had been Neville, the heir, who had received a sore rear from their father as punishment while Griffin had been given a stern lecture. Clearly, the expectations placed on the shoulders of the future viscount were far more burdensome than that of the younger son.

  He had grown to manhood with a freedom of choice his brother could only dream about, and Griffin was smart enough to realize that was worth far more than a dozen prized horses.

  Yet here he was, now living the life of a landed aristocrat, married to the woman chosen for his brother, struggling to make a success of the estate, and starting to find not only joy, but a sense of self in that life.

  With a sigh, Griffin pushed away from his desk, stretched out his legs in front of him, and thought about how peculiar these circumstances were.

  A commotion sounded in the hallway, interrupting his reflective thoughts. Griffin straightened and watched the door handle slowly turn. Since there had been no knock he knew it could not be a servant and assumed it was a family member. Probably one of his sisters.

  But when the heavy door swung open it was Georgie who stood uncertainly in the doorway. The viscount smiled at the boy, who immediately began fidgeting. He knew the decidedly masculine study held great interest for the child, for Georgie had told his father more than once that he thought it was the grandest room in the house.

  Apparently the boy especially liked the glass eyes of the stuffed boar’s head staring down from the walls, a confession that had both startled and impressed the viscount.

  Secretly he was proud of the child’s bravery, for Griffin had always thought the stuffed animal heads rather intimid
ating when he was Georgie’s age. Perhaps the child did not realize the heads had once been attached to large, living beasts.

  “I was looking for you,” Georgie said at last.

  “Is that so? I was unaware that I was lost.” Griffin grinned at his son, knowing the boy would not understand the subtlety of the humor but hoping to coax a smile.

  Georgie had been told not to disturb his father when he was working and the expression on the little boy’s face clearly stated that he knew he was doing something wrong.

  The child did not smile. He glanced down at his foot and rubbed the tip of his shoe into the fringe of the carpet. Then he lifted his face and shot Griffin a wary look.

  Puzzled, the viscount stood up and motioned for the child to come forward. With a strangled cry, Georgie eagerly raced toward him. Griffin caught the child in a hug and swung him up in the air. This action usually brought peals of laughter from the boy, but not today.

  Griffin noticed a slight trembling in the small body he held against his chest. A stab of fear shot through him as he slowly allowed Georgie to slide down to the floor.

  The boy gazed up at him with wide, troubled eyes, and Griffin’s suspicions were confirmed. This was not an impulsive visit, a chance to beg for a closer look at the impressive crossbow that was displayed in the glass gun cabinet or the dueling pistols locked inside a gleaming mahogany box. This was far more serious.

  “You must come to the drawing room right now,” Georgie announced solemnly. He placed his small hand in his father’s and held on tightly. “There is a bad man and a mean lady who came for tea and they made Faith cry.”

  “What? I was unaware that there would be company for tea. Are you certain?”

  “Yes.” Georgie nodded his head emphatically. “Faith wiped her face real fast, but I saw her eyes leaking tears. She looked so sad. The bad man was talking in a loud voice that hurt my ears and waving his hands all around. Like this.” Georgie flayed his arms wildly to demonstrate.

  “And the mean lady said that good little boys stay in the nursery not in the drawing room with the adults and told me to leave.” Georgie tilted his head. “Aren’t I a good boy, Papa?”