To Wed A Viscount

by Adrienne Basso

  Griffin stepped forward and took hold of Georgie’s arm. “You are the best behaved little boy I know and my very favorite son.”

  Georgie took a deep breath. “Please make the bad people go away, Papa. I don’t like them.”

  Griffin moved a little closer and focused on Georgie’s face. He had never seen the child look so miserable, not even after his beloved nursemaid had sailed back to the Colonies. Whoever these mysterious individuals were, they had certainly made a strong impression on his son.

  “By any chance, do you remember the names of this man and lady?” Griffin asked.

  Georgie shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

  “Is anyone else in the drawing room with Faith? Aunt Harriet or Aunt Elizabeth perhaps?” Griffin questioned.

  “No.” Georgie grabbed the edge of Griffin’s coat with his free hand and twisted the material nervously. “Will you send them away now, Papa? Please?”

  “If they are acting as you say, then they will be gone before you can say ‘Napoleon is a rat’ three times fast.”

  That final remark brought a weak smile to the boy’s lips. Though the child’s account of these odd events seemed sincere, Griffin could not help but think that Georgie had somehow misconstrued what he had seen and heard. Yet the boy was not prone to melodrama.

  Griffin left his study and strode quickly through the hall, with Georgie on his heels. The viscount scarcely noticed the sound of hammering, scraping, and banging being created by the various workmen he passed. Though the renovations to the first floor had been completed at the end of the summer, there was much additional work needed on the second and third floors, and the men hired to attend to those tasks were busy laboring.

  When he reached the closed doors of the drawing room, Griffin motioned for Georgie to remain outside. The child nodded in understanding and took up a position near a large potted palm.

  Griffin yanked open the door, entering unannounced, and indeed discovered two strangers having tea with his wife. A middle-aged man and woman, just as Georgie had said.

  At his entrance, all conversation ceased. Three sets of eyes swung his way, but Griffin’s main concern was his wife.

  The gray light of the rainy afternoon etched Faith’s features in a soft illumination that could not conceal their tautness. She sat unnaturally rigid, her mouth set in a grim line. Yet she was still the picture of grace and nobility. Under fire?

  There was certainly enough tension and undercurrents of distress in the room to suggest that might be possible.

  “Good afternoon, my dear,” Griffin said, going immediately to Faith’s side.

  He lifted the limp hand settled in her lap and kissed it in formal greeting. Her fingers were cold as ice. Griffin felt a twinge of irritation. If she was upset, she should have called for him. Or thrown these two upstarts out on their ear.

  “I was unaware that we had company,” the viscount continued in an even tone. “You should have summoned me.”

  Faith turned her head and gave him a valiant smile. “I did not wish to disturb you while you were working,” she replied softly. “My cousin and his wife have surprised me with a visit. They have come from London to discuss some family matters.”

  “Yes, family matters,” the man muttered hastily, his eyes shifting to the corner of the room.

  “Family matters? Well, then, I have arrived just in time.” Griffin replied smoothly, deciding he did not like Faith’s cousin. “However, I am not acquainted with your relations. Would you do the honors, my dear?”

  She hesitated, bit her lower lip, then inclined her head fractionally.

  “This is my cousin Cyril and his wife Amelia. Upon my father’s death Cyril inherited the title. He is the new Baron Aston.”

  Ah, now it made a bit more sense. Griffin remembered that one of the reasons Faith had been so adamant about marrying him was to keep her beloved Mayfair Manor out of her cousin’s clutches.

  Faith cleared her throat. “Lord Aston has expressed some concerns over the validity of our marriage. As it pertains to my father’s will.”

  “Has he now?” It was the most congenial, restrained response Griffin could force past his clenched teeth. “Then why did he not address these concerns directly to me?”

  “My solicitor advised against it,” Lord Aston replied. “However, I felt it was only fair to inform Faith of our intentions to have her father’s will overturned. After all, we are still family.”

  “How generous of you.” Griffin’s mouth curved up, but it really wasn’t a smile. “What precisely do you find objectionable about our marriage, Lord Aston?”

  “Everyone knows you aren’t the right Viscount Dewhurst. Her father wanted her to marry your brother. Not you.”

  “Well, since my brother is not here to object to the marriage, I see no reason that you should.” Griffin raised his brows with an exaggerated motion, as if a new thought had suddenly occurred to him. “Unless you are hoping to gain possession of Mayfair Manor by challenging our marriage?”

  “Are you daft, man?” Lord Aston snorted in disgust. “The title is useless without the property. I have bills to pay, a family to provide for, not to mention a higher standard of living to maintain now that I am a baron. The only way I can do that is by assuming ownership of what is rightfully mine. Mayfair Manor.”

  “Yes, the manor is rightfully ours,” Lady Aston chimed in. She moved closer to the edge of the lavender satin chair she sat upon to emphasize her point.

  Griffin noted that the fabric of the chair clashed horribly with the bright yellow day gown she wore and gave her severe features a pinched, sallow look. Her mouth was set at a mulish angle, her brow wrinkled in a scowl.

  Griffin immediately decided he liked her even less than her husband.

  “I suppose the fact that my wife has fulfilled all the legal requirements of her father’s will is to be ignored?”

  “Your marriage is a sham,” Lord Aston sneered. “There are servants employed at the Sign of the Dove Inn where you spent your wedding night who will swear that you didn’t stay together in the same room for more than an hour.”

  “Idle servant gossip? Is that what you are basing your case upon?” Griffin shrugged his shoulders expressively. “It shall be laughed out of court. If it even comes to trial.”

  Griffin saw Faith pause, her teacup halfway to her mouth. She took a huge gulp of air, set down the cup in its saucer, then picked up the teapot. She poured a fresh cup of the brew and added one lump of sugar.

  She extended the cup toward him, and he grabbed at it quickly, to hide the rattling of the china. Devil take the baron! Faith was obviously very upset, probably because the man had managed to uncover an unsavory bit of truth.

  Griffin immediately placed his tea on the table. He did not want his hands encumbered with delicate china if he felt the sudden need to put his hands upon Lord Aston and toss him from the room.

  “There are those among the beau monde who have unusual marriages, but once the true circumstances of yours becomes known, society will be vastly amused,” Lord Aston predicted in a dire tone. “I’m sure Faith would prefer to avoid the gossip and humiliation that—”

  “Have a care, sir,” Griffin interrupted with deadly calm, not allowing the baron to finish his sentence. “You are speaking of my wife. Anything you say about her reflects directly on me. I protect what is mine, with any means necessary.”

  The viscount advanced steadily on the baron as he spoke, coming close enough that he could smell the mutton and sour wine Cyril had consumed for lunch.

  Aston held his gaze and shrugged his shoulders, as if this were of little concern to him, but Griffin could see the tension creep into his adversary’s shoulders.

  “I must say,” Griffin continued in a droll tone, “that a man so enamored with the goings-on of another couple’s bedchamber activities must not have much of interest occurring in his own to keep him occupied.”

  There was a gasp of outrage from Lady Aston. Her red-faced husban
d’s nostrils flared as he tried to sputter a reply, but it was Faith who spoke.

  “My cousin has brought a document he wishes me to sign,” she said hesitantly. “Designed to save me from any sort of ridicule.”

  “Yes.” Lord Aston gasped for a moment, fumbled in his breast-coat pocket, and pulled forth a rumpled document. “My solicitor has drawn up the papers stating that you will not oppose my suit against the will.”

  Griffin drew an audible breath. “If you think that I would allow you to come into my home and bully my wife into signing over a property that is rightfully hers, then you are even more of an imbecile than I first thought,” he said.

  “Now, see here,” Lord Aston sputtered.

  But Griffin would not allow him to continue. “You should consider yourself most fortunate, sir, that I have been so excessively restrained this afternoon,” Griffin declared. “When I saw how much you distressed my wife and upset my son, my first inclination was to slam several hard blows to your face.”

  “Such savagery!” Lady Aston admonished.

  Griffin did not react to the comment. Instead, he strolled casually to the drawing-room door and placed his fingers on the polished brass handle. “I shall have my butler summon your driver immediately. Good day.”

  Lord Aston opened his mouth to protest, but Griffin held up a staying hand and looked from the baron to his wife with careful disdain.

  “I am certain that you do not wish to push my temper beyond its limit,” Griffin continued. “I can assure you, with no false modesty, that my reputation with both sword and pistol is accurate and well deserved.”

  Lord Aston turned a bit pale, but he puffed out his chest with a great show of bruised dignity. He held out his arm, and his pinch-faced wife attached herself to it. They stalked to the door, pausing briefly at the threshold to glare at Griffin.

  “This is far from over, Dewhurst.”

  “Oh, but it is, Aston.” Griffin looked assessingly at his opponent. “I suggest strongly that you enjoy your new title and status and content yourself knowing that it is all you shall be receiving.

  “For I give you fair and clear warning, though you hardly deserve it. If you pursue this matter in any way that upsets my wife, I shall take great delight in stripping from you all manner of luxuries you currently enjoy and do everything within my power to ensure that you are forced to live in the poverty you now claim to be experiencing.”

  Lord Aston’s eyes widened in astonishment, and he looked as if he might burst from indignation. Yet he gave no reply and escorted his wife from the room. Quickly.

  Griffin shut the door quietly when they departed, resisting mightily the urge to slam it with the full force of his anger. But he would not give Aston the satisfaction. And he did not want anything else disturbing his wife.

  There was no mistaking the expression of relief that washed over Faith’s face as the door shut. Something in Griffin’s stomach tightened. Clearly she had been far more upset by the encounter than he’d originally thought.

  “Thank you, Griffin. I was uncertain if I would ever be able to get them to leave,” Faith said quietly. “I know you will find it difficult to comprehend, but the moment Cyril began speaking of our marriage my mind and tongue froze.”

  “Yes, it is difficult for me to imagine you at a loss for words,” Griffin teased gently. But his remarks did not bring forth the desired smile from his wife’s lips.

  “Nevertheless, I am most grateful for your spirited intervention. I did rather enjoy watching all the bluster drain out of Cousin Cyril.”

  “An odious man.” Griffin shook his head. “Yet I cannot help but observe that you seemed almost surprised that I would come to your aid. Have I been so lacking in character that you believe I will allow you to be insulted in my own drawing room? By such a sniveling worm as your cousin?”

  “Of course I knew you would come to my defense.” She said the words, but it was clear she did not entirely believe them. Griffin was unsure if he should be flattered or insulted by this revelation.

  There was a lengthy silence between them as Griffin tried to formulate the words that would aptly demonstrate his feelings on this matter.

  “Let me assure you, Faith, that I shall never allow anyone to set foot in my home and proceed to verbally abuse my wife.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.” Griffin gave her a slow wink. “That is a privilege I retain exclusively for myself.”

  Only the viscount’s quick reflexes saved him from being hit square in the chest with the large pillow his viscountess hurled in his direction.

  Eighteen

  The days of autumn slipped past. There was no further word from the odious cousin, Cyril, nor his solicitor, and gradually Faith began to relax. She no longer haunted the post each day, dreading the news that might arrive, fearful of a lawsuit or some other challenge to her ownership of her childhood home.

  Apparently Griffin’s forceful handling of the situation had stopped Cyril dead in his tracks. Faith was grateful to her husband for his intervention, though she felt ashamed to have needed his help. She was embarrassed that her cousin would be so greedy, yet she felt even more guilty because there had been some truth in his claim.

  Her husband had come to her rescue, but knowing him as she did, Faith realized Griffin had had little choice. It was too much a part of his nature to deny anyone in need.

  She was his wife, his responsibility, in essence his possession. He would not allow anyone or anything to harm her, if it were in his power to prevent it. She fully believed he would protect her with his very life if it were necessary.

  Yet that did not mean he loved her. Did it?

  Their relationship had improved significantly over the past few months and she was grateful. There was a level of comfort and ease between them that she cherished, a meeting of mind and spirit. It was a respectful and mature partnership, flourishing in many ways.

  Yet they never spoke of love. She had revealed her heart but once to her husband and he had ignored her declaration. Completely. Faith took that to mean that he was uncomfortable with the emotions she felt for him and clearly did not wish to know about them.

  So she never again spoke her feelings aloud. It almost seemed boorish and insensitive to bombard Griffin with her love when apparently it did not interest him.

  Still her love grew, for she did not fight it. Faith allowed herself to be swept along with her emotions, to enjoy the novel feeling of being in love. The one concession she did make, for herself and her husband, was to never verbalize her feelings.

  She did worry about becoming too dependent on Griffin, too needy and clingy. Faith treasured the friendship and affection he bestowed upon her and knew it would be difficult to forsake. She felt a constant need not to overstep herself, not to push beyond the careful boundary they had somehow wordlessly erected.

  “Do you think we shall have afternoon callers today?” Elizabeth asked as the family gathered for breakfast in the sunny dining room one late fall morning.

  Faith eyed the platter of eggs the butler presented to her, then spooned a heaping serving onto her plate. “I imagine the usual group will converge upon us this afternoon. Geoffrey Barton, Mr. Huxtable, Baron Harndon, Squire Jordan.”

  Griffin’s newspaper rattled suddenly. He peered over the top, directing his hard gaze upon his younger sister. “Squire Jordan seems to be coming around fairly often. Doesn’t the man have anywhere else to spend his afternoons?”

  “We are all flattered that the squire chooses to come calling. He is a very likable gentleman,” Faith interceded, noticing the deep blush on Elizabeth’s cheeks. “I for one greatly enjoy his company.”

  “As do I,” Harriet added.

  Griffin scowled at the three female faces staring so innocently at him, snapped his paper crisply, then buried himself behind it, not emerging until his sisters had finished their meals and left the room.

  “I honestly do not understand how these gentlemen can spare so mu
ch time away from their estates,” Griffin grumbled to Faith. “They should be attending to business in the afternoon, not paying court to a child. Elizabeth is barely seventeen, yet Squire Jordan gazes at her like a lovesick puppy. Huxtable is usually pathetically tongue-tied whenever he draws within three feet of her. And Baron Harndon is nearly twice her age.”

  Faith did not look up from the hot chocolate she was pouring into her cup. “I believe Baron Harndon’s interest has been captured by a more mature woman. While he is always solicitous and attentive to Elizabeth, she is not the reason he comes to call.”

  Griffin nearly choked on the cup of coffee he was trying to swallow. “Mature woman? Do not tell me he is coming to see you, madame?”

  Faith lifted a brow and stared at her husband with perplexity. “Why would Baron Harndon wish to visit me?”

  “He was most attentive toward you during the harvest ball, taking far too much interest in your lovely shoulders and the daringly low-cut bodice of your gown.” Griffin carefully folded his newspaper and placed it beside his dish. “If memory serves me correctly, Hamdon has been in attendance at nearly all of the social gatherings we have graced these past few weeks. To see you?”

  Faith took a bite of her eggs and chewed slowly. The look of indignant suspicion on Griffin’s face was even more delicious than her food, and she wanted to savor every bite.

  “If you had been paying a bit more attention, you would have noticed that we always see the same people, no matter what the social occasion,” Faith said with a smug grin. She skewered a piece of ham with her fork and added it to her plate. “That is the very nature of country society. One sees the same faces at every event, and more often than not, dressed in the same clothing.”

  Confused, Griffin frowned, then asked, “If not you, then whom does Harndon come to visit?”

  Faith rolled her eyes. “Harriet, of course. I fear he is quite smitten with her.”

  “Harriet?” Griffin smiled softly. “Poor sod. He is no match for her high spirits and sharp tongue.”