The Secrets of a Viscount

by Linda Rae Sande

  The Secrets of a Viscount

  Linda Rae Sande

  Contents

  Regency Romances by Linda Rae Sande

  1. Talk of a Marriage in a Library

  2. The Reminder of a Promise

  3. A Brother Finds a Sister in the Gardens

  4. A Daughter Contemplates a Dance

  5. An Unmarried Woman Contemplates Cupid

  6. About a Bow Window

  7. A Desperate Man’s Reasoning

  8. An Answer to a Proposal

  9. The Aftermath of an Announcement

  10. A Viscount Mourns

  11. Shopping with a Bounder

  12. A Countess Provides a Bit of Guidance

  13. A Conversation over Ices

  14. A Butler Knows Best

  15. Two Lovebirds Part Ways

  16. A Missive is Delivered

  17. A Son Confers with a Mother

  18. A Late Night Visitor

  19. A Son Confers with His Father

  20. A Sister Confronts a Brother

  21. Two Viscounts in Search of the Same

  22. A Teacher Considers Her Future

  23. An Afternoon in the Park

  24. A Sunday by the Serpentine

  25. A Daughter Regrets

  26. A Viscount Provides Advice

  27. An Explanation is in Order

  28. A Future Father-in-Law Steps Up

  29. Vows by the Numbers

  30. A Post-Wedding Conversation

  31. Anticipation

  32. Wedding Night Jitters

  33. Contemplating a Best Friend

  34. A Viscount Makes His Confession

  35. Wedding Night Wonders and Wonderings

  36. A Woman Awakened, a Man Emboldened

  37. Wedding Night Wonders

  38. Nine

  39. Ten

  40. Two?

  Epilogue — A Marchioness Wonders

  Also by Linda Rae Sande

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

  The Secrets of a Viscount

  ISBN: 978-1-946271-03-7

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2017 Linda Rae Sande

  V1.1

  Cover photograph © PeriodImages.com

  Background photograph © 123RF.com

  Cover art by KGee Designs.

  All rights reserved - used with permission.

  Edited by Katrina Teele

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN: 978-1-946271-03-7

  Created with Vellum

  To my best friend, Kate—she knows how to keep a secret

  Regency Romances by Linda Rae Sande

  The Daughters of the Aristocracy

  The Kiss of a Viscount

  The Grace of a Duke

  The Seduction of an Earl

  The Sons of the Aristocracy

  Tuesday Nights

  The Widowed Countess

  My Fair Groom

  The Sisters of the Aristocracy

  The Story of a Baron

  The Passion of a Marquess

  The Desire of a Lady

  The Brothers of the Aristocracy

  The Love of a Rake

  The Caress of a Commander

  The Epiphany of an Explorer

  The Widows of the Aristocracy

  The Gossip of a Earl

  The Enigma of a Widow

  The Secrets of a Viscount

  The Cousins of the Aristocracy

  The Promise of a Gentleman

  The Pride of a Gentleman

  Chapter 1

  Talk of a Marriage in a Library

  Late May 6, 1818, during Lord Weatherstone’s annual ball

  “Good God, man!” David Carlington, Marquess of Morganfield, shouted when he discovered he wasn’t alone in Lord Weatherstone’s library. “You nearly frightened me to death.”

  He hadn’t expected to be alone—he had arranged a liaison with his wife, after all—but he didn’t count on finding Godfrey Thorncastle seemingly deep in his cups and ensconced in the middle of the long divan David had planned to use as the basis for his liaison.

  The fellow aristocrat acknowledged the marquess’ entrance but didn’t get to his feet. “I suppose I should have put the ‘Occupied’ sign out on the door knob,” Godfrey replied, his voice devoid of the humor the comment deserved. The library at Weatherstone’s mansion in Park Lane may as well have been a brothel seeing as how many couples used it for assignations during the annual early Season ball. One of its frequent occupants had fashioned a rather elaborate shingle and carved the word ‘Occupied’ into its face. Hung by a drapery rope from the door knob, it prevented couples from inadvertently interrupting others who might already be busy with their dalliances.

  “Since you didn’t, and since my marchioness is probably still in the retiring room, tell me what has you looking so glum,” David encouraged as he moved to the sideboard and helped himself to the brandy. Lord Weatherstone had his servants restock the stuff several times during the ball, although they had to time their visit to coincide with when a couple took their leave of the room, usually between dance sets.

  Godfrey took a breath and let it out. “I have to get married,” he claimed.

  David took an experimental sip of his brandy just as the proclamation sounded. Frowning, he regarded the viscount for a moment. “Whom did you ruin?” he asked in shock, for Godfrey Thorncastle wasn’t known to have engaged in anything scandalous in his entire life.

  The man wasn’t a rake. He wasn’t a rogue. He probably hadn’t even set foot in a brothel in... well, David wasn’t sure when the viscount might have last visited such an establishment since it had been a very long time since he had frequented any of them. He was a happily married man with a marchioness who suited his carnal needs far better than any courtesan or high-flyer could do. Hearing Godfrey Thorncastle had to marry was completely unexpected.

  “Oh, no one, I assure you,” the viscount replied with a quick shake of his head. “But, I have been reminded that it is my duty to sire an heir, and I am on the cusp of yet another birthday. One of those milestone birthdays, no less.”

  David took another sip of the brandy, deciding it was rather good. He didn’t know Godfrey’s age, but he figured the man had to be verging on forty. At the moment, given his glum expression and eyes befitting a hound dog, the man could actually pass for fifty. “Have you a candidate for your viscountess?”

  Looking as if he were about to cry, Godfrey nodded. “Lady Elise Burroughs.”

  Having just taken another sip of his brandy, David nearly choked. “Ariley’s daughter?” he clarified. Elise Burroughs hadn’t been identified by that name in a very long time. Ever since she had married the Viscount Lancaster.

  And been left a widow upon his death.

  That had to have been at least a year ago, David reckoned. Probably two. She wasn’t exactly a young woman anymore, either. Why, the duke’s youngest daughter had to be at least...

  “She’s two-and
-thirty,” Godfrey stated, as if he already knew the marquess was doing the arithmetic in his head. “And I dearly love her.”

  Deciding he didn’t want to take another chance at being surprised, David set his brandy balloon on a side table and took a seat in a large winged-back chair adjacent to the divan. He was remembering more of what he knew of the former Elise Burroughs. The lady was a vivacious creature, ash blonde and blue-eyed and every bit as comely as her older sisters, Jane, Lady Reardon, and the late Lady Margaret.

  She looked, in fact, much like her mother, Margaret Merriweather, had looked when she was in her early thirties—probably an easy task given Margaret had given birth to five children by that time and Elise was still childless.

  The daughter of the Duke of Whyte, and said to have had a dowry of one-hundred thousand pounds, Margaret enjoyed a steady stream of suitors until Henry Burroughs, Sixth Duke of Ariley, appeared at her family’s country estate in Derbyshire and announced he would be making her his duchess. He didn’t even ask permission, but Margaret’s brother, John, agreed to the union since the man had his own fortune. As such, John was assured the duke wasn’t after his sister for her dowry.

  After only fifteen years of marriage, two sons and three daughters, the Duke of Ariley had died. His eldest son, James, was now the seventh duke. The younger son, Andrew, was a banker and a widower with three children (although given his disappearance earlier that evening with the widow, Jane Fitzpatrick, David thought perhaps another wedding was in his future). With Margaret having died in childbirth and middle daughter Jane having married nearly twenty years ago, that left Elise as the only currently unmarried Burroughs daughter.

  “Does Lady Lancaster know of your... affections?” David wondered, his brows furrowing when he realized Godfrey Thorncastle hadn’t yet proposed to Elise. If he had, David was sure it would have been the on-dit at that night’s ball.

  Godfrey allowed a sigh. “She won’t agree to a union if she doesn’t think I hold her in high esteem,” he said at first, but then added, “No. I have written her with my proposal, but I didn’t include all that...” He waved a hand in the air. “Flowery language of love.”

  David frowned, tempted to ask, Why not? “Have you posted said proposal?” he asked instead.

  “Aye. Sent it this morning.”

  Before he asked the next obvious question, David allowed a bit of time to pass. After he counted to ten with no input from Godfrey, he asked the obvious question. “And did the countess send a response?”

  Godfrey allowed a shrug. “Not yet, or if she has, I haven’t received it, which is why you find me in this pitiable state this evening.” He was about to say more. He was about to lament that he had expected to find the woman at the ball. He had hoped to at least dance with the lady. And he was about to confide in the marquess but realized Morganfield might not be the best person in which to tell his deepest, darkest secret.

  The rather personal situation in which he managed to find himself despite his age. Despite expectations. Despite his rank as a viscount.

  Rolling his eyes, the marquess finished off his brandy. He gave a quick glance in the direction of the fireplace and the clock on the mantle. “Do let me know how it goes, won’t you?” he ventured. “If I can be of any assistance, I’ll certainly do what I can,” he offered just as his marchioness breezed into the library.

  “So sorry to keep you and little David...” Adeline Carlington, Marchioness of Morganfield, stopped short when she realized there was another man in the library besides her husband. “Oh, hullo, Lord Thorncastle. Keeping my husband company for me, are you?” she asked as she moved to allow the marquess to kiss the back of her hand. Despite having lived in England for more than twenty years, she still spoke with the hint of her native Italian accent.

  Godfrey was up and out of the divan in an instant, as if the very presence of the Marchioness of Morganfield was akin to having the queen pay a visit. Her red satin ball gown displayed her rather generous bosom as a pair of rising moons. Godfrey figured the marquess looked forward to the evenings when they were full moons and unencumbered by any satin at all.

  It was at that point he realized he was the one who shouldn’t have been in the library. The Carlingtons were no doubt there for an assignation. An opportunity to continue what they had begun behind one of the potted palms in the back of the ballroom. Godfrey realized that if those potted palms could talk, why the gossip would be more than the space available in a weekly edition of The Tattler!

  “I was, my lady, but now that you are here, I shall say ‘good evening’ and take my leave.” He gave the deepest bow he could safely perform without pitching forward, turned to the marquess and, with a nod, hurried out of the library.

  David turned his attention to his wife, giving her a half-shrug. “Have I told you how positively gorgeous you look this evening?” he asked with an arched brow, openly admiring her red satin gown. And her rising moons. No self-respecting English lady would wear such a scandalous gown to a ball, which was exactly why David was so happy to see that she did.

  “At least twice this evening, but I don’t mind hearing it again,” Adeline replied with a shake of her head. She turned her attention to the library’s only door. “I do hope Thorncastle is well,” she commented, noting how the viscount had quietly shut the door behind him. She rather hoped he made sure the ‘Occupied’ shingle was left hanging from the doorknob. “He seemed out-of-sorts this evening. He didn’t even ask me for a dance, which is rather unusual for him when he’s in town,” she murmured. She turned her attention back to her husband. “I apologize for my tardiness. Lady Lancaster caught me in the hall and asked for a moment of my time.”

  David had already moved to take her into his arms, though, and her last words were nearly swallowed by his kiss. He suddenly pulled away, his head angling to one side. “Is she contemplating Thorncastle’s proposal?”

  Adeline blinked, rather surprised by the query. “She is contemplating a proposal, but she didn’t say from whom,” she answered, her bright eyes widening with the realization of just who had the other woman so discombobulated.

  David thought his wife’s expression so beautiful, he kissed her again, rather heartened when Adeline wrapped one arm around his shoulder and speared her fingers into his graying hair. His entire body shivered at the sensation her fingernails created beneath his scalp.

  When he finally pulled away, it was to whisper, “He says he has to get married,” at the same time he lifted the skirts of her gown to her hips and lowered her to the divan.

  “She knows. Which is why she...” The rest of her words were lost to a gasp.

  David rather liked her look of shock when he impaled her. Adored how her eyes darkened as she met his thrusts with her own. Thrilled at how pleasurable their mutual release felt, how exquisite oblivion could be in each other’s arms.

  But he really loved landing on her full moons the most, her breasts cushioning one of his cheeks as he settled in for a quick nap.

  When the last vestiges of her release had passed and the stars had finished dancing before her eyes, Lady Morganfield was left to wonder just why Elise hadn’t given Godfrey Thorncastle an answer right away. Didn’t the woman miss the pleasures of the marriage bed—and where ever else a couple could manage a quick tumble?

  Another thought struck her. Perhaps the widow had already lined up a lover. Perhaps she wasn’t missing anything at all.

  Or perhaps her late husband had been a poor lover and the poor woman had no idea of what she was missing! The thought had Adeline frowning despite what her husband’s tongue was doing to one of her moons, which was no longer eclipsed by the satin of her gown.

  “You will share what you know of that particular on-dit when you’re able, won’t you?” she whispered as she again speared her long fingers through her husband’s salt-and-pepper hair and scraped her fingers along his scalp. She allowed a mischievous grin when she felt his entire body shiver again.

  “Of course, my
lady,” the marquess replied in a whisper that suggested he might just remain right where he was for the rest of the night. One thing he knew he would be doing was placing a bet in the betting books at White’s. Who else would know Thorncastle was getting married? And soon? Because he had to?

  Adeline Carlington smiled, rather liking just how agreeable her satiated husband could be. Knowing the latest gossip was power, after all.

  That, and being able to render a husband speechless.

  Chapter 2

  The Reminder of a Promise

  Meanwhile, in the Weatherstone ballroom

  “You look as if you’re playing host this evening, rather than Lord Weatherstone,” a familiar voice said from behind Felix Turnbridge, Earl of Fennington. The tall man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his steady gaze on a couple dancing the waltz. Or many couples. The ball was a crush, and the floor was filled with whirling, colorfully gowned women and their partners.

  “And you had better greet your mother on this evening or risk my wrath,” Fennington replied, turning to find his best friend perusing the ballroom for familiar faces. “Did you just now get back to London?”

  Adam Comber, Viscount Breckenridge and heir to the Aimsley earldom, gave a slight shrug. “Oh, I’ve been in town a week at least, but your sage advice will be heeded at this very ball. I would have paid a call on Aimsley House earlier this week, but I’ve been told the countess has been engaged in something that required her full attention. Thought I might find her here.”

  Fennington gave a nod to his left, and Adam’s gaze followed until he spotted his mother dancing with... He blinked. “Is she dancing with my father?” he asked in surprise.

  “Waltzing, yes,” the earl replied with a nod. “Something I hoped to see you doing with your betrothed on this fine evening.”

  The words were said with a hint of disdain, their meaning at first not quite clear to the viscount. The man’s words dislodged a memory Adam had tucked away a long time ago, though. The memory of a bet made years ago, at White’s, and recorded in the betting book. Damnation! “I am not yet thirty, but I take your meaning, Fenn. I will not allow you to lose a sum of money you cannot afford. I promise I will find a suitable young lady and marry her before I turn thirty,” Adam said in a solemn voice.