The Impoverished Viscount

by Allison Lane

  Eyebrows rose. “You know Lady Lanyard?”

  “We’ve met. She agreed that I was probably like herself.”

  “Your mother was the same. As was I.” No emotion showed in her voice.

  “I did not know that.” Melissa shrugged. “Mother died when I was ten. There was no reason for her to mention it.”

  “Why did you leave home?” she asked.

  “I feared for my reputation and my virtue. Toby is weak, given to gaming and drinking. He has been entertaining a group friends that includes Lord Heflin. Despite my efforts to avoid him, his attentions were growing insistent. Toby owes him vast amounts of money and wants to use me to settle the debt.”

  “Just like his father,” muttered her ladyship.

  “Grandmama,” stated Melissa firmly, her own iron will showing. “My father may not have been the most upstanding gentleman of my acquaintance, but I will tolerate no aspersions on his character. I know that you disapproved of him and tried to separate him from my mother. You refused to help him financially and blamed him for her death. You are entitled to your opinions. But if you cannot refrain from expressing them in my presence, I must find some other shelter. He is dead and can no longer defend himself, nor can I be held responsible for his failings, for I had no influence over his behavior. I ask that you judge me on my own merits.”

  Lady Castleton stared piercingly at her granddaughter. “Well said, Melissa. You have inherited the best traits from your ancestors. We will speak no more of the past. But we must counter this threat from Tobias. Is he your guardian?”

  “Yes. Father’s will provided another guardian to both of us should Toby not be five-and-twenty, but he had just passed that milestone when Papa died. The wording left him in sole control of everything, including me.”

  “How do you know of his plans?”

  “When I went to his study to beg him to send Lord Heflin away, they were talking. Heflin was furious that I had again refused his advances. He offered to forgive Toby’s debts if he could have me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Unable to wait longer for a response to my letter, Beatrice and I left that night. I left a note for Toby denouncing Heflin and implying that I was going home with Beatrice. I am not usually quite this hideous, you know. We dyed my hair and used an old housekeeper’s gown to hide my identity, then traveled under assumed names. I feared that Toby would follow and drag me back.”

  Lady Castleton nodded. “Very resourceful. I will send my secretary to talk to the boy. Saunders will convey my horror that any member of my family could consider selling his sister. With sufficient pressure, he should drop the idea. Heflin is evil. Society has shunned him for years.”

  “Thank you.”

  And so Melissa had been able to relax at last, free from her fear of Lord Heflin. But new fears had quickly emerged. Lady Castleton was nothing like the elderly pauper Melissa had envisioned. She may have refused to help a worthless son-in-law, but not because of poverty. Nor was she a stay-at-home. She spent most Seasons in London and had just returned from successfully launching a goddaughter. Her credit was high, and she had the ear of every influential gossip and hostess in town.

  Her first pronouncement was that Melissa would come out the following Season.

  Melissa tried to protest, but she quickly discovered that Lady Castleton did not sway with the breeze as her own family had always done. And there was no way Melissa could voice her real objection – Lord Rathbone. Admitting an acquaintance would reveal her stay at Lanyard Manor, which she was loath to do.

  “Bea, what am I to do?” she’d begged her cousin a week after their arrival. “Grandmama insists on bringing me out. How can I go to town after everything that has happened?”

  “Are you afraid of seeing Heflin there?”

  “Yes, though I do not think Toby will involve himself again. But that will not stop Heflin. You know how he is.”

  “Yes, I do. But Lady Castleton is a formidable champion. I shouldn’t waste time fretting over him.”

  “But what about Lord Rathbone? He can ruin me with a word. I had not seriously feared it before, for I thought never to meet him again, but he is always in London.”

  “Why should he go to the trouble of ruining you?” asked Bea, veering away from the maze, where gardeners were trimming its hedges.

  “What if we are right that he failed a test set forth by Lady Lanyard?” demanded Melissa. “He would blame me instead of himself. Aside from his conceit, he was confined to his bed much of the time, while I saw her ladyship daily. We quarreled on that very subject just before we left. Our parting was anything but cordial.”

  Bea’s brows lifted. “Was that the only reason?”

  “No.” She blushed. “He wished me to be available to continue the charade. I refused. He then pressed attentions on me that forced me to slap him. His blood was up enough that he actually suggested marriage. I turned him down in unflattering terms and left. He may decide he has a grievance against me even if Lady Lanyard leaves him the money. At the very least, I have injured his pride.”

  Beatrice examined her cousin’s face with shrewd eyes. “You do not fear only injured pride, Missy. It is the man himself who intimidates you, is it not?”

  “Yes,” sighed Melissa. “He is dangerous, for he is so very attractive. I found his kiss too pleasant, yet he embodies too many traits that I abhor. You spoke once of a physical attraction that had nothing to do with love. I fear such a connection exists between myself and Lord Rathbone. Should he ever turn his wiles on me, there is little doubt that he would seduce me. So what am I to do? He can ruin me in multiple ways.”

  Bea was silent for several minutes, her forehead creased in thought. “I do not believe that he would,” she ventured at last. “His temper before we left was admittedly short, but you must remember that he was laboring under considerable stress. He had been ill for the better part of a fortnight, something few men handle with aplomb. The tension surrounding his suddenly uncertain future made it worse. Once he finds time to reflect, he will be grateful to you. After all, you carried off your role better than he had any right to expect.”

  “Do you really think so?” Her eyes lit.

  “Yes. If you do meet in London – and remember that he may be in mourning by then – let him set the tone. Mentioning the subject in public will hurt him just as badly as it would you.”

  “I had not considered that. He has violated the gentleman’s code of honor and may choose to forget it, regardless of his feelings for me.”

  “As to the other,” said Beatrice as they turned back toward the dower house. “I do not think you need worry unduly. Whatever you believe, Rathbone considers himself a gentleman. He may be selfishly immature – most British men are at his age – but he is not another Lord Heflin. Seducing the unwed daughter of an earl would never occur to him. I may not approve of the ridiculous rules you live by, but they will protect you. His parents sprang from a viscount and a baron. You are descended from an earl and a marquess. That puts you above him.”

  Melissa giggled. “Not by much, for I lose by being both female and common, while he is a lord. But you are right. He would not treat Lady Melissa the same way he treated Miss Sharpe.” She refused to identify a tug of regret at the words.

  Beatrice had left the next day.

  Melissa had found the following months both enjoyable and off-putting. Lady Castleton lived in the Castle Windcombe dower house, but Melissa had the run of the castle as well as the grounds. She was welcomed by her Uncle Howard, the current Marquess of Castleton, whose wife had died three years before. He was a quiet man, with little interest in socializing or government affairs. It took her a while to discover that he was nearly as stodgy as Lord Lanyard. Cousin Eleanor, now sixteen, and Cousin Clarissa, fourteen, lived at home. Melissa’s newfound relatives were absurdly correct in thought, word, and deed, making her feel hoydenish in their company, especially after they accepted the duty of correcting her behavior to prepa
re her for London.

  It was Lady Castleton who insisted on an improving regimen. Appalled at Melissa’s lack of training, she drilled the girl mercilessly, correcting her walk from a stride to an elegant glide, teaching her how to sit without sprawling, how to rise and move with grace, how to hold her hands primly in her lap instead of gesturing broadly, and how to speak with a voice that remained soft and silky rather than sharp with irritation. Most importantly, Lady Castleton banned all nail biting, so Melissa’s hands now bore the fingers of a lady.

  Melissa threw herself energetically into the lessons, surprising even her grandmother. Her mother had trained her well until her death, but since then Melissa had spent much of her time in the stables and had unconsciously patterned herself after Jake. Even her language and conversation had become vulgar.

  Mortified at what the inhabitants of Lanyard Manor must have thought, she vowed to never again embarrass herself in such a way. Every mistake increased her determination to mold herself into a pattern card of propriety.

  As her social skills improved, she felt less like an outsider. Each day she visited the castle for lessons in flirtation, court curtsies, and dancing. She also devoured much of her uncle’s library. After years of ignorance, she welcomed knowledge. Lady Castleton approved, even when that knowledge lay outside areas considered suitable. Lady Tanders’s influence overcame social convention in this one area, but Melissa knew better than to discuss such subjects outside the dower house.

  The winters at Castle Windcombe were milder than those of Lincolnshire, letting Melissa ride most days. The highlight of those months was the discovery that one of Uncle Howard’s friends had bought Firefly. Her grandmother repurchased the mare.

  Lady Castleton and Melissa had arrived in London in March, filling the first two weeks with fittings for an extensive wardrobe and with daily calls on society’s matrons. Melissa attended several carefully chosen events the third week, winning acclaim for her manners from everyone who mattered.

  With the official opening of the Season, her schedule overflowed. It started with her presentation at Court and the year’s first Almack’s assembly, followed immediately by Lady Jersey’s annual ball. Since then, they had attended as many as six events a day, from morning calls and promenades in the park, to breakfasts and museum visits, to balls, routs, soirees, and musical evenings. She rarely arrived home before two, and had only managed a morning ride twice.

  But her success in society could not banish Melissa’s fears. Eventually she must meet Lord Rathbone, who could hardly fail to recognize her. One word of their previous association and she would be ruined. So far he had not appeared at any function she attended. She couldn’t ask where he was, for there was no way to explain her interest. But somehow she must learn. Meeting unexpectedly in public could ruin them both. In the shock of the moment, he might reveal their association.

  She briefly considered writing him, but that would also ruin her if the slightest hint became known. Her only hope of making a suitable match was to adhere to every social stricture and avoid anyone who did not.

  Her worst fear was of meeting Lord Heflin, not that he would appear at marriage mart entertainments, for he would never be invited. Shocking tales of his escapades made the rounds of Mayfair drawing rooms whenever current scandals lagged.

  Recent speculation had centered on where he was. Not only had he eschewed London since the previous Season, a longer absence than ever before, but he had yet to appear this year. No one doubted that he would soon return, though, at which time he would certainly discover Melissa’s presence. Would he seek revenge for the pain she had caused him? He had ample complaints – refusing his advances, inflicting injury, Bea’s attack, Toby’s mountain of vowels…

  Shrugging aside her thoughts, Melissa grimaced and headed downstairs.

  * * * *

  Almack’s was crowded, as always. Lady Sefton and Princess Esterhazy were doing the honors in the receiving line. After passing their scrutiny, Melissa and Lady Castleton joined Lady Stokely, whose youngest daughter, Lady Helena, was also making bows this Season. She and Melissa had met at a winter house party and were now bosom bows.

  “Good evening, Helena,” murmured Melissa. “You look lovely tonight.” Helena’s blonde hair and blue eyes glowed above white muslin trimmed in pale pink.

  “As do you,” responded Helena.

  Melissa was wearing embroidered white silk over an amber slip, with pearls at her throat and in her hair.

  Helena’s smile slipped as an elegant gentleman entered the room. “I can’t believe they let Lord Thornhill through the doors tonight. You must cut him from your court, you know.”

  “Why?” Edwin Morris, Lord Thornhill, was heir to the Earl of Waite. He was still boyishly silly at times, but he had a way of twinkling his eyes that always raised shivers – probably due to one of those unfortunate physical attractions that Beatrice had warned her about, for it was rumored that all Morrises were rakes at heart.

  Helena suddenly flushed. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

  “Nonsense,” swore Melissa, her curiosity piqued by the words. “He’s too young to be interested in marriage, and I’d not accept him anyway. What did he do that might demand cutting?” She doubted it would be necessary. Helena was too proper to discuss anything really bad. Their mutual respect for society’s rules contributed to their friendship.

  “I’m not supposed to know,” admitted Helena, lowering her voice until Melissa could barely hear the words. “It’s amazing what people try to hide. You know how scandalous Lord Cavendish is.”

  Melissa nodded.

  “He held his annual ball last night – a fast affair that no one of propriety would dare attend. But not only was Thornhill there, he was discovered in an anteroom with two dancers, all of them unclothed. He forgot to lock the door, and Lord Dobson walked in, looking to entertain his own friend.”

  “Helena!” gasped Melissa. “Where did you hear such a lurid story?”

  “My brother and a friend were laughing about it in the library this afternoon. They actually sounded envious.”

  “No doubt,” hissed Melissa. “But don’t repeat the tale. You’ll ruin your reputation.”

  Helena nodded, her blue eyes blazing with offended propriety. “But how are we to find out which gentlemen are depraved when we cannot mention their excesses?”

  “That is what parents and guardians are for.” Or cousins like Bea, for Toby had certainly not cared about his sister’s sensibilities. But Melissa could hardly mention that without revealing her own knowledge of forbidden subjects. She quickly closed the door on such thoughts.

  Helena sighed. “Here comes Lord Rufton.”

  Melissa turned to her most persistent suitor and smiled. “Good evening, my lord.” George was a good-natured man whom she considered a friend. Whether their relationship would warm she could not yet decide.

  Only slightly taller than herself, his bright blue eyes glistened below a mop of reddish-brown hair. “My dear Lady Melissa.” He smiled as he led her out for a waltz. She had been approved for the dance the previous week.

  “I’ve not seen you since Monday, my lord. What have you been doing?”

  “Lord Hartford and his wife just returned to town. We have been close friends for many years. You will like them. Caroline is much like you.”

  “Will they be here tonight?”

  “Probably. Shall we visit Somerset House tomorrow?” They had already discovered a shared interest in art.

  “I would love to go, but not tomorrow. We are already committed to calling on Lady Covington. How about Friday?”

  “Excellent. I will speak to Lady Castleton. Perhaps the Hartfords can accompany us.”

  They finished the dance in amity, exchanging the latest gossip. Rufton appealed to her intellect, but nothing more. Would that missing spark ignite in time? Melissa wanted a husband who was more than just a friend.

  “You haven’t forgotten that we are to drive in Hyde Park tom
orrow, have you?” asked her next partner, Mr. Parkington, when they came together in a country dance. She had again mentioned Lady Covington.

  “Of course not, sir,” she protested with a smile. He was a handsome man, with black hair and gray eyes that could turn stormy in anger, or soft and seductive. At the moment they were soft. “How could I forget so delightful a treat? Will you be driving those marvelous bays I saw you with the other day?”

  “Yes. Beautiful animals, are they not? I still cannot believe I managed to buy them. They are just the sort that Hartford usually outbids me for.”

  “Is his stable so extensive?”

  “He breeds horses,” he informed her. “And his are the best to be had. But he was late to town this year, so missed the auction where Sir Henry Oglethorpe disposed of his stable.”

  She raised her brows.

  “The man is rolled up,” he explained. “Lost a bundle at White’s last month. He’s selling everything portable in an attempt to pay his creditors. Perhaps he will make it, though betting still favors him fleeing the country.”

  They shook their heads over such profligacy, and she smothered the reminder of her equally profligate brother. It was doubtful he could ever pay what he owed Heflin. “I hope he does not have a family dependent on him for support,” she commented.

  “Only an elderly mother, and I believe she has enough income of her own that his antics will hurt only himself. But enough of others. Are you attending Lady Barnsleigh’s Venetian breakfast next week?”

  “I think so, but I would have to check with my grandmother before I dared swear to it.”

  “Perhaps I can escort you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Lord Thornhill led her into a quadrille. She reacted more than usual to his twinkling blue eyes and crooked smile, but that doubtless arose from Helena’s scandalous tale. If she truly cared for him, she would have been furious over his misdeeds, but she was not. The tale was funny. And titillating, though she refused to admit that.

  Lord Rufton waltzed with her a second time, then introduced her to the Hartfords. Lady Hartford was an elegant matron in her mid-twenties, whose warmth struck an immediate chord. Lord Hartford was amazingly handsome, with black hair and vibrant green eyes that made Mr. Parkington’s gray ones seemed nondescript.