The Secrets of a Viscount

by Linda Rae Sande

  Godfrey nodded, rather impressed a younger aristocrat would agree to give up his freedoms early and take on the responsibility of Parliament. “Can’t say as how I would expect you to be in need of a special license, though,” he said.

  Adam considered the comment. Given his reputation, he wondered if Thorncastle’s words were said in jest. “The same might be said for you,” he countered with an arched brow. “May I inquire as to the identity of the lucky woman?” Why, he hadn’t heard—or read—a bit of gossip mentioning Godfrey Thorncastle. But the viscount was a bit long in the tooth, and it was probably well past time the man saw to populating a nursery.

  “The widow, Lady Lancaster,” Godfrey offered carefully. “And the name of yours?” He half-expected Breckinridge to make some off-color remark, so he was rather surprised when the man gave him a look of appreciation.

  Although the younger viscount seemed ready to reply, he suddenly frowned. His brows furrowed deeper before he gave his head a shake. “Damnation!”

  That wasn’t quite what Godfrey was expecting to hear. He rather doubted any women were bestowed with such a name, although he supposed there were some unlucky men who used the term to describe their wives on a daily basis. “What is it?” the older viscount asked in alarm.

  Adam’s eyes darted to one side, as if he were trying to remember something. “She’s a... teacher. At Warwick’s,” he replied finally.

  Rather stunned by the reply—pleasantly so—Godfrey straightened in the squabs. “However did you meet her? Or is she a family friend, perhaps?”

  The younger viscount’s attention still seemed on his mind’s eye as he replied, “At White’s.” He shook his head. “Oh, this is not good. Not good at all. I cannot...” He looked up suddenly and stared at Godfrey. “I don’t...”

  “Good God, man, what has you looking as if the devil just walked over your grave?” the older man asked in concern.

  Adam stared at Godfrey for a long moment before finally admitting, “I don’t remember her name,” he whispered. “In fact, I don’t believe she ever offered it.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Do you suppose I can still obtain a license without knowing her name?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

  Godfrey shook his head, wondering if Breckinridge might have been deep in his cups when he proposed marriage to the finishing school teacher. “I rather doubt it,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Pray tell, may I inquire as to how you... came to propose marriage to a woman to whom you hadn’t been properly introduced?” Why, certainly a teacher at Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School would know the rules of polite Society!

  But did Lord Breckinridge?

  Now looking as if he might be sick, the younger viscount regarded Godfrey for a moment. “I don’t know that I exactly proposed marriage so much as that we came to an agreement to marry,” he explained sheepishly. “She knocked on the door at White’s...” He paused when Godfrey raised a gloved hand.

  “Forgive me, but now I know you were either foxed or have dreamt up this woman,” Godfrey stated with a shake of his head. Why, it was just like how he had conjured Elise into existence the night before. Although Elise had actually been a real woman—not a figment of his overactive imagination. But Lord Breckinridge’s woman? Knocking on the door of White’s? Why, there wasn’t a woman on the entire planet who would deign to do such a thing! “Women are not allowed...”

  “She didn’t try to get in,” Adam countered with some annoyance. “She merely wished to know...” He paused and allowed a short bark of laughter.

  “Wot?”

  Adam allowed a grin. “She wanted to know what number had been assigned to her. She paid witness to me standing in the bow window, you see, and thought to learn how I found her face and figure.”

  Godfrey rolled his eyes, never an advocate for the practice that ranked women in such a crass manner. There was only one woman on the entire planet for whom he would ever hold up all the fingers of both hands. “And how did you find her?” he wondered, deciding he was curious.

  “Oh, a ‘ten’, once I was out of White’s and escorting her to Jermyn Street,” Adam replied with a nod. One of his eyebrows dipped low. “Although, I am ashamed to admit I first thought her a mere ‘seven’. I cannot believe that I did not believe her to be a ‘ten’ from the start.”

  The words were said with such apology, Godfrey couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for his fellow viscount. “My Elise has always been a ‘ten’. I’ve thought of her as such since she was but... thirteen years old, I believe,” he said with a sigh.

  Adam regarded the older viscount for a moment, rather stunned to hear the man had held his affianced in such high regard for so many years. The man had to be in his mid-to-late thirties!

  Why hadn’t he married her when he was younger?

  Adam was about to put voice to the query when an idea struck him. “Would you be amendable to a quick stop in Jermyn Street? I’m quite sure I can discover my betrothed’s name from a clerk in one of the stores we visited,” he explained.

  Frowning, Godfrey pulled his chronometer from his waistcoat pocket. “I don’t suppose we could just stop at Warwick’s?” he suggested carefully. “Perhaps one of the students there...”

  “Capital idea!” Adam cried out, his face brightening. “I cannot believe I didn’t think of that first,” he said with a shake of his head. “She lives there, in fact,” he added with a nod, although he hadn’t been able to watch from the departing coach long enough to know in which building she lived.

  Not about to inform the younger viscount that Warwick’s was made up of at least a half-dozen separate buildings, Godfrey lifted his cane and tapped the trap door above their heads. When the driver’s head appeared, silhouetted against a cloudy sky, he said, “Glasshouse Street. Warwick’s.”

  The man frowned but gave a nod. “And then to Knightrider Street?” he queried.

  “Yes. We’ll pay for your time whilst you wait, of course,” Adam called up to the man. “I’ll pay,” he amended when the trap door shut and he noticed the expression on Godfrey’s face.

  “How is it a woman could agree to marry you when you didn’t even propose and you did not learn her name?” Godfrey asked then.

  Adam gave a shrug, deciding not to explain that he planned to more formally propose once he had the special license. His grandmother’s ring was in his pocket. “I admit I was a bit... predisposed to the idea of needing to find a wife post-haste,” he admitted with a shrug. “And she appeared, as if I had conjured her!”

  “Lost a bet, did you?” Godfrey asked, one of his bushy eyebrows lifting with the query.

  Shaking his head, Adam sighed. “I was reminded by my very best friend that I had agreed to the terms of a bet many years ago, although I myself don’t stand to gain anything but a wife from it. If I don’t marry, he stands to lose a great deal of blunt, and he cannot afford to do so,” he explained. “But I assure you, I really do wish to marry the woman I met yesterday. She’s... brilliant. Teaches arithmetic and dance to the daughters of the ton,” he said proudly.

  Frowning, Godfrey wondered who might have the unlucky aspect to be Lord Breckinridge’s best friend.

  And then he realized he knew just who held that honor.

  Or dishonor.

  “Fenn?” Godfrey said suddenly. “Why ever would you allow the Earl of Fennington to set such terms in a bet?” he wondered in dismay. He knew the earl wasn’t as bad off financially as some were led to believe. The man had income from some kind of concern, for his fortunes were nothing like they had been when he had first inherited the Fennington earldom. Godfrey knew this because the earldom had owed his viscountcy a rather large sum—a sum that had been paid in full just the year before.

  “He is my best friend!” Adam replied in surprise. “He has seen to rescuing me from any number of scrapes ever since we were at Eton,” he added then, remembering the times when Felix Turnbridge managed to get him out of trouble with school officials by taking the b
lame for Adam’s wrongdoing. Or the times his friend had seen to his safe return to their rooms despite how drunk he had been, or the time he had taken a punch for him when Adam’s debauchery with a high-flyer angered a particularly high-ranking city official—who was apparently married to the woman. “In fact, I do believe my mother holds him in higher regard than she does me,” Adam added as he considered his history with Felix. This last was said as if he were pleased, but his countenance soon sobered. “I’ve not been the best behaved heir,” he admitted suddenly.

  Jesus! Was it any wonder he’d overheard his mother praying—nay, begging—that his father, Mark Comber, Earl of Aimsley, be allowed to live to the ripe old age of sixty or beyond? She probably couldn’t countenance the idea of her oldest son inheriting the Aimsley earldom.

  The fact that Adam had agreed to a writ of acceleration probably had her confused, but she didn’t realize how truly interested he was in the politics of government. In the negotiations and the wrangling and the give and go.

  I really have to prove I can do better, he thought then. Marriage to a respectable woman would go a long way toward proving he was past his days of debauchery and disappointment. The young lady he sought wasn’t a member of the ton, it was true, but having taught the daughters of the ton at least meant she could pass for one. She certainly spoke like one. She acted like one. Why, she even looked like one, although Adam found her visage far more pleasing than he did those of the current crop of debutantes. Pleasing and perfect, her heart-shaped face the epitome of an English miss.

  He couldn’t help that he imagined that same face in a fit of ecstasy beneath his body. Couldn’t help that he had imagined her waking up next to him just that morning, her tousled hair resting over his bare chest and her large, beautiful eyes regarding him with the mischief she had displayed whilst they were shopping just the afternoon before. Damn, but she looked like an angel first thing in the morning!

  “I really have not been the best behaved son of an earl,” Adam remarked, attempting to tamp down the sudden arousal he felt at the thought of his true love. Of course, she hadn’t been with him that morning, but his imagination could certainly place her in his bed. Place her beneath him as he worshipped her body and brought her to ecstasy time and time again as proof she was the only woman for him. The only woman from now until the day he died.

  There was a moment when he thought he might wince at that last thought, but when he didn’t, his eyes widened and he allowed a brilliant smile.

  Godfrey scowled at the man who was suddenly smiling like some sort of idiot. Were any of the heirs to aristocratic titles ‘well-behaved’? “Which begs the question,” Godfrey said with some annoyance. “What does Aimsley think of you taking a wife?” he asked.

  Adam blinked and then glanced about the interior of the hackney. “I spoke with him last night. To let him know about my intentions to marry.”

  “And did you?”

  The younger viscount nodded his head. “I did. Like you, he was a bit surprised, but he was moved to help in the matter of my finding a larger townhouse for my betrothed.”

  “Why the hurry?” Godfrey asked, realizing it was really none of his business, but he was curious as to why the younger viscount seemed so determined to marry quickly. Marriages made in haste weren’t the most welcome of events.

  “I promised my betrothed I would see to a special license today,” Adam explained with a shake of his head. “I have no intention of disappointing her on our second day of acquaintance.”

  Second day?

  Well, they couldn’t be marrying because a babe was on the way, Godfrey realized. Perhaps Breckinridge had ruined the chit upon their first meeting, although it didn’t seem likely.

  The hackney turned a sharp corner, which had Godfrey daring a glance out the dirty window to his right. “Well, Lord Breckinridge, it seems you now have the chance to learn the name of your betrothed,” he said with an arched brow. “Ten minutes. No more,” he warned as he once again removed his chronometer and took note of the time. The more he thought of Elise, the more he wanted to be married—and without further delay.

  There was something to be said for quick weddings.

  He could suddenly understand the other viscount’s pursuit of his apparent true love. But what possessed a man to decide a certain woman was the one? The one to whom he could pledge undying love and affection? Pledge his life and protection?

  Pledge fidelity?

  If Elise could forgo a formal wedding in St. George’s or St. Peter’s, then Godfrey would see to marrying her on the morrow. But he couldn’t do so if he didn’t have the damned license!

  Adam nodded at the older viscount’s ultimatum. Ten minutes. “Understood.” He grabbed his hat and quickly took his leave of the hackney, the conveyance still moving a bit as he did so.

  Godfrey watched the ne’r do well as he raced to one of the buildings that made up the Warwick’s campus, wincing when he realized the man was headed not for a classroom building, but rather for one that housed those that boarded at the school. He half-expected to hear peals of giggles or blood-curdling screams when the door was answered, but all was quiet as he watched Adam Comber interact with the woman who answered the door. She was probably a house maid, he thought as he watched from where he sat.

  Well, of course, the house maid wouldn’t scream, Godfrey thought with a roll of his eyes. She was probably setting the time and date of an assignation with the viscount!

  Godfrey was about to return his attention to the interior of the hackney when he noticed Breckinridge giving the servant a deep bow. And then the man disappeared inside the building!

  What? Does Breckinridge intend to tumble the maid in exchange for the information? Godfrey wondered with some annoyance. Before he could form another uncharitable thought about Breckinridge, though, a young woman appeared from one of the other buildings followed by several younger women who walked behind her, their white gowns a testament to their youth. He was reminded of a mother swan and her string of goslings, although this mother swan didn’t seem to give those in her charge a backward glance to be sure all of them followed. Indeed, the one in the lead didn’t wear white, but rather a bright pink gown and an expression that suggested she was either a rather happy woman or very relieved.

  Definitely not a mother.

  On impulse, Godfrey opened the hackney door and called out to her. “Miss? Might I have a word? I’ll be quick,” he said, daring a glance up and down the street to be sure there weren’t any coaches that would run him over should he step out of the hackney. He used his cane to tap on the ceiling above. When the driver’s head appeared, he said, “I’ll be no more than ten minutes,” he said, tossing a sovereign up to the man.

  The startled driver caught the coin and gave him a nod. “Vera good, guv’nor,” the man replied.

  The woman in pink paused in mid-step and frowned. She urged those behind her to continue on their way. Although she didn’t step off the curb, she stayed where she was and waited for Godfrey to join her, apparently noticing the quality cut of his clothing and his aristocratic bearing despite his having stepped down from a hackney.

  Godfrey bowed, his top hat tucked under one arm, before he reached for her hand and bestowed a kiss on the back of it. “Forgive me, my lady, but I wondered if you might know the name of the woman who teaches arithmetic and dancing at this establishment?”

  The young woman’s eyes widened, and she suddenly took a step back. “Perhaps,” she hedged. “Might I be told who wishes to know?” she asked, her suspicion obvious.

  “Lord Thorncastle, at your service,” he said, giving his head a bob. “I ask on behalf of the man who wishes to marry her,” he added, mostly because he wanted to see how she reacted to such a claim.

  He wasn’t disappointed, for the young woman blinked several times.

  “Miss Diana Albright teaches those particular subjects,” she answered before daring a glance up and down the street. “May I ask how you came by such inf
ormation, my lord?”

  Something about her manner had Godfrey thinking she might just be Miss Diana Albright. Her manner of speech was impeccable. Her bearing was perfect. Why, the woman could pass for any daughter of the ton in her third or fourth Season. “Are you aware of a betrothal between Miss Albright and a viscount, perhaps?” he asked as he angled his head to one side.

  When the young woman took a step back and dipped her head, Godfrey knew he had her. “I was on my way to secure a special license so that I might marry the woman I have always wanted as my wife, you see,” he started to explain. He took a bit of delight in seeing how her large eyes widened and regarded him with a bit more respect than he deserved. “When a young viscount insisted he be allowed to share the hackney so that he, too, might secure such a license.”

  “Lord Breckinridge,” she breathed.

  Her head also angled to one side, and the expression of surprise coupled with embarrassment had Godfrey understanding why it was Adam Comber thought her a ‘ten’. Why, she was positively gorgeous in an elegant, youthful sort of way. She could have been Elise Burroughs if Elise wasn’t twenty years older and wiser. Why, this young woman had the same glow about her that Elise seemed to exhibit at that age, a sort of joie de vivre that suggested she took joy in the simple things.

  “He escorted me on a shopping trip in Jermyn Street yesterday, and then took me for an ice at Gunter’s,” she admitted, her cheeks pinking up as she made the admission.

  Godfrey prided himself on having guessed correctly. Now he only had to confirm a few details to ensure Adam Comber wasn’t the bounder he suspected he might be. “Did the viscount speak of... marriage?” Godfrey asked gently.

  Diana nodded, her eyes darting off to one side. “The entire time he was in my company, my lord. I didn’t do anything to encourage him, I assure you,” she said with a shake of her head, as if she thought he had been sent to break off any arrangement that might have been made. “At least, I don’t think I did,” she added in a worried whisper.