How to Train a Viscount (Wedding Trouble, #4)

by Blythe, Bianca

  “Please tell the groom to prepare my carriage,” Isla said. “We are leaving at once.”

  “Very well, My Lady.” The footman’s eyes widened, but then he managed to compose his expression, as if she’d never fainted, and as if he’d never come to her assistance.

  “You can’t be serious,” Miss Grant said. “We can’t follow him.”

  “We must,” Isla said.

  “I suppose I must pack your trunks?”

  She nodded.

  Miss Grant refrained from sighing audibly, though she did adopt a pained expression on her face. She disappeared through the door.

  Isla returned her gaze to the letter, as if she’d simply misread it, and the viscount had said he was not leaving.

  But she hadn’t misread the letter.

  Her heart ached, as if a Viking were taking a particularly creative weapon to her heart.

  She shook her head defiantly.

  They would catch him.

  She hurried to her bedroom. There was no alternative where Adam did not remain at her side for as long as they lived.

  She glanced at Miss Grant. Her companion’s movements seemed too slow, and Isla marched to her wardrobe, removed her gowns and placed them into the trunk.

  “But that’s not how we pack,” Miss Grant said.

  “That’s how to pack in a hurry,” Isla said.

  Miss Grant’s eyes softened. “I am sorry, Lady Isla.”

  Isla stiffened. She didn’t want her companion’s sympathy. She raised her chin. “There’s still hope.”

  There must be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE CARRIAGE STOPPED jostling.

  Miss Grant pushed aside the heavy curtains, revealing the Brighton seaside in all its glory.

  They were here. Perhaps she could stop him from leaving.

  I must.

  She dashed down the narrow metal of a steps, toward a shore boat. “Sir! Sir!”

  A sailor looked up from the shore boat.

  “Take me to The Princess Sapphire,” Isla said.

  The man laughed. “My wife tells me I have strong arms, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it there.”

  Oh.

  “Has it left?” she asked softly.

  The man nodded. “It sailed this morning.”

  Oh, no.

  No, no, no.

  The ship had been sitting in Brighton for a month, but now when it was essential for Isla to board it, it had left.

  To India.

  Her heartbeat quickened. “I don’t suppose you know when the next ship leaves?”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “Naturally. F-forgive me. I shouldn’t have inquired.”

  The man’s eyes softened. Perhaps her distress was evident in her face, despite her years of training to show no emotion at all. “It will be a while.”

  Weeks.

  The unspoken word shouted through her mind.

  They’d been too late.

  It had been foolish to hope they could ever catch up with him, and yet...Isla had allowed herself to hope.

  “It’s for the best. He wasn’t a good man,” Miss Grant said, in a surprisingly soothing voice.

  It wasn’t the first time her companion had said those words, and no doubt she would continue to repeat them.

  “He was a good man,” Isla said stiffly. “The very best.”

  Miss Grant was silent, and Isla blinked back tears.

  Isla was not supposed to have emotions.

  Emotions were for other people.

  And not for the best sorts of people.

  Isla didn’t cry. She’d cried when her mother had died, and then she’d cried when her father had died, but she’d never cried after. The servants had whispered, and their looks had seemed more amused than sympathetic, as if Isla were not intelligent enough to know how weak and ineffectual her mother had been, or how cruel her father had been.

  And yet, emotions seemed to be the only thing she had now.

  Her heart hurt, a sharp stabbing sensation no doctor could cure.

  She couldn’t stop sobbing. She couldn’t help herself, no matter how bewildered Miss Grant was.

  She’d never happen upon Adam at a ball or in Hyde Park.

  There would never be any hope for a second chance.

  Her heart tensed.

  Adam should be here, in England, with her.

  A thought occurred to her.

  Callum.

  Callum had mentioned he and his wife were sailing to Guernsey with the Duke and Duchess of Belmonte. Was it possible they could follow the ship Adam was on?

  She shook her head.

  The thought was impossible. Naturally they couldn’t chase down another ship, one that had so many hours’ advantage.

  And she couldn’t actually ask Callum.

  She couldn’t impose on him and his wife in that manner.

  But perhaps...

  She turned to her driver. “Please take us to the Duke of Vernon.”

  “Very well, My Lady,” the driver murmured.

  Soon they were traveling toward Callum’s town home. The carriage slowed, and then it stopped.

  Miss Grant glanced at her. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “I love him,” Isla said sharply. She forced herself to speak more softly. “Besides, probably nothing will come of it. It is an absurd thought.”

  The last time Isla and Callum had had a private conversation, he’d been berating her for being cruel to his wife. The time before that, she’d been pressing him to set a date for their wedding.

  No.

  They’d been friends once, but now they didn’t even have as good a relationship as acquaintances.

  She fought the temptation to tell Miss Grant she was correct, and that the carriage should proceed to her suite of rooms.

  Was Adam correct? Was she better without him?

  The thoughts felt foreign in her mind. She’d lived most of her life without him. Of course she knew that he was an improvement to it.

  Her heart ached, as if confused Adam was no longer nearby.

  Isla marched down the steps, and then she marched toward the entrance of the townhome, and then she stepped under the portico.

  She stared at the simple knocker.

  Perhaps they weren’t home.

  Or perhaps they were home, and then Callum would laugh at her, or scold her for the question, and then it would hang over them for the rest of their lives.

  The door opened.

  It wasn’t the butler.

  It was the Duchess of Vernon, Callum’s wife.

  “I thought I saw you from the window,” the duchess said.

  “You answered the door.”

  “I think the butler is training the footmen downstairs,” the duchess explained with a smile.

  Right.

  “Thank you,” Isla said. “Is your husband home?”

  The duchess’s eyes widened slightly, and Isla despised the duchess’s sudden withdrawal.

  For a moment, the duchess was simply Miss Charlotte Butterworth, second daughter of a vicar, clothed in an unfashionable gown far too large for her, and Isla was saying cruel things about her in her presence.

  “I never apologized to you,” Isla said. “I was cruel to you once. I’m sorry.”

  The duchess gave a soft, uncertain smile. “Did you come here to apologize?”

  “I—”

  The duchess was staring at her eyes. Or more likely, the red rims around her eyes, stained from tears and excessive rubbing.

  “No,” Isla said. “I wanted to see your husband about another matter.” She inhaled. “And you. You are welcome too.”

  Didn’t married couples tell each other everything? It was a state foreign to her.

  “Very well,” Charlotte said. “Your brother and his wife just arrived.”

  “Oh?” Isla’s voice came out too high-pitched.

  “My sister and her husband are here too.”

  “So many
people?” Isla’s voice squeaked. “How splendid.”

  She didn’t feel splendid.

  “And you would have been invited too, had we known you would be here. I thought you were still in Wiltshire.”

  The duchess opened the door. “I was right. It was Lady Isla.”

  The others murmured greetings.

  “You shouldn’t answer the door, dear,” Callum said.

  “Nonsense,” his wife said, smiling fondly at him. “I’m sturdier than you think.”

  Callum patted her stomach, and Isla’s heart panged at the marital familiarity between them.

  “What brings you here?” Hamish asked. “Come to join us for dinner? Your brother and his wife just arrived back.”

  “They did?” Isla raised her eyebrows, feeling guilty for her hasty departure.

  “Er—no,” Isla said. “I-I wasn’t planning to stay—”

  Her voice wobbled, and she forced herself to steel her features. She clasped hold of an armchair, lest her legs decide to feel similarly fragile.

  “What is it?” Callum asked, and his eyes narrowed somewhat.

  They all viewed her with suspicion.

  She didn’t blame them.

  They had all been together, doubtless happy and laughing. And then she’d arrived.

  “I need to tell you something,” she said abruptly. “You’ll probably laugh at me, and perhaps that’s fine.”

  Various eyebrows rose, and she inhaled deeply. The influx of air did not calm the rapid beating of her heart.

  “It’s—er—Lord Tremont.”

  “The viscount?” her brother asked, appearing from the adjoining room.

  “Er—yes. He’s gone.”

  The others blinked.

  “He’s still in Wiltshire?”

  “N-no.” She shook her head. “I mean, he’s truly gone.”

  “He passed away?” The duchess’s voice sounded horrified.

  “No, no,” Isla said hastily. “Nothing like that. That would more horrible. Devastating.”

  Her heart squeezed, as she pondered what it would be like if Adam were truly dead, and not simply on a ship, sailing away.

  “He joined the crew of The Princess Sapphire,” Isla said.

  “My old ship?” the Duke of Belmonte exclaimed.

  “He wants to visit India?” The Duchess of Belmonte smiled. “Certainly, an unconventional holiday destination, but it’s not without its charms.”

  “No. He’s with the crew,” Isla said. “He’s not really a viscount. He was just pretending to be.”

  No one spoke, but everyone stared at her, as if engaged in a competition of who could widen their eyes or drop their lower lips the most.

  “How terrible. You poor thing,” Hamish’s wife said finally, tossing her red hair. “You mustn’t blame yourself for him fooling you.”

  “And now we are all warned,” her husband finished. “Thank you for informing us.”

  “Yes, thank you,” the duchess said. “No wonder you appeared frazzled. You must stay for dinner.”

  Isla hesitated. She could leave it at that. She could tell them that, and they would show understanding, and she could enjoy dinner with them, and she could distract herself with fine food and wine instead of picturing Adam sailing farther and farther away.

  “He paid me to train him,” Isla said.

  “How unconventional,” Hamish said, frowning slightly.

  “I love him,” Isla said, even though the words fell with difficulty from her lips.

  Some women spoke easily of love. Poets certainly seemed very comfortable with the concept.

  Love was never a word Isla had spoken aloud. It hadn’t been a word her family had used, and it had seemed embarrassing to reveal the depths of one’s feelings in such a manner. Isla had never believed it was a state she would find herself in. After all, she’d never struggled to find flaws in a man.

  But Adam’s heart had been open.

  “I love him, and he left,” she said quickly, even though the words caused a tear in her heart.

  “I’m so sorry,” Wolfe said.

  “Do you want us to kill him?” Hamish growled. “I’m quite good with the sword.”

  Isla blinked. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “One slice,” Hamish said. “He’ll barely know it. Unless you want us to tell him all the reasons he’s going to die.”

  “He’s—er—under the impression he’s doing the correct thing.”

  “Leaving you is never the right thing,” Wolfe said.

  “That is sweet,” she said.

  She’d worried she was disturbing them, but they all took her sorrow with importance. They didn’t dismiss her feelings.

  “Explain what happened,” Callum said. “Why was he pretending to be a viscount?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything she can say that will make that fine.” Hamish crossed his arms and glared, as if Adam were in his presence.

  But Adam was on a ship, far away, and wouldn’t be intimidated by even Hamish’s sternest expressions.

  “The real viscount was murdered,” Isla said quickly.

  The others gasped.

  “And he witnessed it. He worked for the murdered man and fled England with his identity. He never intended to pretend to be him, but Captain Fergus insisted on showing him about. And since there was nobody else to inherit, and since he didn’t want to get in trouble for adopting a false identity, he decided he might as well be viscount...”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Someone recognized him. The murderer. And I-I tried to make the problem go away, I paid him off. It should have worked, but Adam left instead. H-he said he didn’t want to harm me.”

  “So he gave up being a viscount for you?” Callum glanced at his wife.

  “That is most romantic,” Hamish’s wife said, clapping her hands.

  “But he’s gone!” Isla said. “He left the country.”

  “Oh.” Hamish’s wife placed her hands on her side, as if she did not expect any more chances to applaud. Her eyes no longer crinkled on the side, and her lips were not only not smiling anymore, but they’d settled into a distinct downward curve. “I’m so sorry.”

  Tears rose in Isla’s eyes.

  I will not cry. I will absolutely not cry.

  “Anyway. You should know you should no longer expect Lord Tremont to fill your numbers.” She forced herself to stand upright, as if she were at finishing school again, and Mrs. Fitzgerald were placing a book on her head.

  “Isla,” Callum said softly. “It’s fine to be upset.”

  She shot him a wobbly smile.

  “Do you love him?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it does.”

  She wavered.

  Love. It was something she’d always scoffed at. She’d used men’s inclinations for sentimentality during the Napoleonic Wars. She’d fluttered her eyelashes, so a man would feel she was succumbing to his overall greatness.

  Did she love Adam?

  Sweet Adam. Dear Adam.

  Adam had known hardship, but he’d chosen to rejoin it...for her. Hardship wasn’t something theoretical to him, a term idealistic young boys of fifteen might scoff at when their mothers explained why they shouldn’t rush out and join the navy.

  Adam didn’t spend his days lounging in gentlemen’s clubs, his only exercise that of raising his brows when a new member inadvertently folded his broadsheet with too little adherence to the virtues of quietness.

  Adam cared for animals. He cared for Thabisa.

  Adam was intelligent, and he made her laugh.

  Of course I love him.

  She nodded. The movement was jerky, but everyone saw. “I love him.”

  “Then,” Callum said, “we must get him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  This was it.

  This was how he was going to spend the rest of his days: on a ship.

  The speed of the ship might be incre
dible, the hardworking, good-humored crew might be admirable, but Adam’s heart still ached.

  The rolling green hills, the chalky white cliffs, were long gone. There were no fluffy sheep to marvel at. His views would no longer be of ancient trees and the sloping countryside, and he would hear waves crashing against the hull of the ship instead of birdsong.

  It was just water.

  Endless water.

  And a ship that tilted and rocked incessantly.

  He swallowed back his slight nausea. He would get used to this. Eventually.

  The important thing was that he was no longer putting Isla in danger.

  “Ain’t that the Duke of Belmonte’s ship?” a sailor mused.

  Captain Fergus lifted his spyglass. “Well, I’ll be...”

  “I believe the Duke of Belmonte intended to go to Guernsey,” Adam said. “He’s probably sailing there.”

  “Well, he’s doing a bloody bad job of it,” Captain Fergus remarked. “That’s not the way.”

  “Ah, love,” the sailor said, and the men laughed.

  Something in Adam’s heart tightened, but he shifted his position, as if the action might dispel the thought from his mind.

  If the Duke of Belmonte was taking a way to Guernsey that involved more sightseeing, then that was his prerogative. His wife probably just wanted to inspect the fish in this area.

  There was nothing at all that should make him think of Isla.

  Naturally not.

  Thabisa scampered toward him. She was enjoying the variety of things to climb upon on the ship, and the sailors were amused by her.

  At least she was happy.

  That would have to suffice.

  He tried not to think that she also would have been happy in Wiltshire, with her easy access to the woodland. England would forever be in his past.

  Adam stared at the ship.

  It was growing larger.

  Yes, that was definitely the same ship.

  Most odd.

  Most, most odd.

  “Looks like the ship is coming nearer,” the sailor remarked.

  “Ah! He’ll be wanting to say hello,” Captain Fergus remarked cheerfully. “Old Brown Beard always was fond of impromptu inspections.”

  “Right.” The sailor straightened and adjusted his cap. “I—er—should warn the others below deck.”

  “Or he just be wanting a drink.”

  “Perhaps he forgot his alcohol,” the sailor said. “Can’t very well have a journey without a steady supply of rum.”