The Viscount's Wayward Son: A Regency Romance (Ladies of the North Book 2)

by Isabella Thorne

  “We have guests Anne,” her mother admonished. “For shame. Besides, Lord Amberleigh is looking for you.”

  Anne fixed her mettle, swallowed the rest of her sherry and traded the empty glass for another full one as she followed her mother back out to the formal garden and their guests.

  Within moments, Lord Amberleigh spotted her.

  “There is my bride,” he said loudly, as Anne approached.

  “Bride is a bit premature,” Anne muttered, unwilling to embarrass the man with an outright denial. He smiled at her and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as several ladies came up to congratulate them. Anne spent the rest of the party trying to fend off the well-wishers who had her already married to the man; while Amberleigh seemed to take all the feminine gushing as his due. The two of them made the rounds, and as the party started to wind down, Anne felt the exhaustion of the day envelope her.

  “When is the formal announcement?” asked yet another tittering group of girls.

  “Soon,” Lord Amberleigh replied, and Anne could not stand another moment of his perfunctory attitude.

  “Actually,” Anne said sweetly, “I have not yet agreed to the match.” That took the excitement out of the girls as if Anne had thrown cold lake water over the lot of them. They dissolved into the dwindling crowd leaving Anne relatively alone with Amberleigh.

  Amberleigh turned to her, clearly upset that Anne had contradicted him in front of the Northwickshire society that he was so interested in courting. “What do you mean, you have not agreed?” he said coldly. “It is all settled. I drove here from London. I talked to your father…”

  “You did,” Anne admitted, “But if you remember, I did not actually say yes. I do not recall you actually asking me to marry you at all, in fact.”

  “Of course I did,” he huffed, but for just a moment he looked uncertain.

  “You assume too much, my lord,” Anne said.

  He blinked rather owlishly at her, and then tightened his jaw. “Artifice does not become you, my dear,” he said stiffly.

  “Artifice? How so?”

  “Pretense,” he said as if explaining the word. “I did not take you as a coy miss,” he said, “To simper and play games of avoidance. You are a practical girl. Why are we revisiting this, when all has been decided?”

  “Decided?” Anne questioned, her voice rising. “Decided, by you and by my father you mean. Not by me. How is that?”

  His voice turned solicitous and decidedly patronizing. “We both have your best interests at heart, my dear. We care for you. Surely you can see that?”

  Anne’s chin shot up. Did he truly mean to sound so condescending? “I am rather more worried that you seem to have very little care for my feelings. Or what I want.”

  “I want only what is best for you, my dear,” he said.

  She opened her mouth to dissent, but he stepped in closer to her, covering her parted lips with his finger to forestall further protest. In that moment, she wanted to smack his hand away, but she did not want to make a scene.

  “My dear girl, you fuss too much over unimportant things.”

  “This is important,” she said. “A proposal of marriage is not something to be decided in a moment and then forgotten. Do you not understand that?”

  “Of course,” Amberleigh said at last, nodding. “I see. You wanted the grand moment. I understand. The rain did indeed; spoil the romance, did it not? Do not worry, my dear. All will be well. Come.”

  He took her arm and led her out to the now empty garden, beyond the roses to where the path ended in a patch of violets that bordered the walkway. Wood anemones opened their petals like fallen stars along the edge. Once there among the flowers, he turned to her and spoke. “The moment I saw you, my dear, I knew you were destined to be a lady of means…my lady. Why any man would be proud to have such an able partner, to manage his affairs. When I see how finely this household is run, the very peace and serenity that I find within these walls, with no bother or gossip from the servants, and all affairs so well-managed, I congratulate myself.”

  “You do?” Anne was not sure she was following his logic. Why, was he to be congratulated for the smooth running of her father’s household?

  “I congratulate myself,” he continued, “because after all, I have found the daughter of such a worthy house; trained in the execution of such matters. The meal we shared today was without flaw. The party tended to in every detail. The gardens are lovely and every branch is trimmed just so; exactly as I would wish to see my own estate.”

  Amberleigh reached out to grasp Anne’s hands. He brought them to his lips and planted a kiss upon her gloved fingertips. “Imagine it, my dear. How peaceable life would be? Whatever residence I inhabit, my wife by my side to smooth my way and make living tolerable. Creating a sanctuary for me behind closed doors. I knew, when I first saw you, that you would act as a balm to my soul. That you would drain the excitement from the day and give me a place of rest.”

  “Rest,” Anne said, staring at him. “I give you rest?”

  Amberleigh chuckled softly, stepping back and making a grand movement with his arm, he knelt before her with a single flowing gesture. Although Anne noted that he knelt carefully on the pebbled path, not in the dirt, so as not to soil his fawn colored trousers. He was still holding both of her hands in his as he continued his speech.

  “You have no idea how wearying it can be, for a man to be forever challenging the world, to fight for everything you own. Ah, so many young ladies prattle on, with so much distasteful energy. I watched the others at the balls, always in motion, forever chattering, dancing. When I first saw you standing there, calm and serene, as if you were above such things I knew you were the one for me.”

  “Because I was still?” Anne said.

  “Yes. Still as quiet water. Still as a picture. I said to myself, such a beauty must be mine. I must have her for my own, for my wife.”

  Amberleigh paused, expecting an answer, Anne realized, but she hesitated, and so still kneeling, he continued, “My dear Anne, you are just what I need.” He put his head against her then, low on her abdomen. It was an intimate gesture. Too intimate. She would have pulled away, but he held her close with his arms wrapped brazenly around her waist. “Truly my life cannot be complete without you,” he said, his words slightly muffled as he spoke against the fabric of her dress. “I want a house here in the country, a family and peace away from the noise of London. Here in Northwickshire. Here, near your friends and family. Do you not want that as well, my dear?” He looked up at her, entreating her.

  Flustered, uncertain and more than a little lost in his very torrent of words, Anne could only nod helplessly. She did want that. She always had. She wanted a family in Northwickshire. She wanted to raise her own children alongside Emily and Alexander’s.

  She wanted the life Amberleigh described: her own house and her own family. She did not want to be left upon the shelf. Like Mother said, she wanted a place of her own. Most of all she wanted a husband who loved her and cared for her. But Amberleigh had said he needed her. When had she ever been truly needed?

  “I do want that,” she said in a soft whisper, more to herself than to him, but he squeezed her hands, and beamed up at her.

  He rose then and drew her into his arms. His foot stepped off of the path crushing a little bunch of violets along the way, and immediately the delicate scent rose up. Anne was reminded of a poem she read once. Something about a flower crushed by a careless tread, giving up its scent to the one who crushed it. The line seemed important, and she tried to recall it.

  Then Amberleigh was kissing her, his mouth hard and demanding on hers, all poetry forgotten.

  15

  Edmund saw Amberleigh lead Anne out to the garden. He followed. He knew he was stalking her, but could not seem to help himself. It was getting late now, nearly dark. Most of the party guests had already departed, but Edmund still had not gotten the chance to speak with Anne.

  When Edmund turned
the corner, he saw Anne and Amberleigh talking softly and he felt a moment of unease at spying on what looked to be private moment, but he did not want Anne to have private moments with that ponce.

  Then Amberleigh was kissing her. Edmund had a moment of stunned horror. He felt the blood drain from his face only to rise again hot with rage. His immediate instinct was to yank the man away and thrash him for touching Anne, but Anne was not struggling. She did not push Amberleigh away.

  No. NO. Thoughts tumbled over themselves in Edmund’s head as he shook it. She cannot want to marry that man. Not Amberleigh! He cares not a whit for her. He is completely enraptured with himself. Can Anne not see that? There was no room in Amberleigh’s flat, black heart for someone as dear and sweet as Anne.

  Amberleigh drew back from the kiss and turned Anne to exit the garden. Towards him. Edmund realized how meddlesome he looked, spying on Anne and indeed nearly stalking her and Amberleigh. Anne would be livid at his interference, but he only wanted to protect her. And he could not. She did not want his protection. The thought shattered his heart.

  He fled back along the garden path, taking the route that led around the house to the herb garden and the kitchen, rather than the hall. He could not return to main house. Not yet.

  He felt like he was strangling on the very thought of Anne with Amberleigh. The image seemed burned into his mind. Yanking loose his cravat, Edmund stumbled along the narrow path that connected around back of the house to the walled herb garden. He yanked open the gate between the two gardens and stopped, wondering for a moment if he could vault over the back wall of the herb garden and escape, but the stone was smooth and the barrier was made high enough to deter a gentleman’s easy climb.

  He could re-enter the house through one of the back doors, he thought, and use the servants’ corridor around to the stable, he decided. He turned towards the nearest door which he knew led toward the stables. He pulled on it. It was locked. Locked! The message seemed clear. Fate had deliberately blocked him to keep him from interfering with the devil’s own work.

  “I cannot stay here,” he muttered to himself. The very path seemed to be closing in on him; restricting him further. The foundations of everything he had believed immutable began to crumble at his feet.

  Anne and Amberleigh? It could not be. Why could Anne not see that Amberleigh cared for nothing but himself? He tried to say as much to her barely an hour ago, but the words came out all wrong. Everything he said to Anne seemed to come out wrong. For a moment he felt strangely light-headed.

  Was that it, then? Had he driven her to the arms of that bounder by telling what not to do? Anne could be contrary when told what she could or could not do. Was it possible that Edmund was responsible for her impetuous act? If she married the sot Edmund was sure she would regret it all of her life…but it was her life. It was her decision.

  Anne’s long ago words taunted him. The lady decides when she shall allow a kiss.

  Edmund leaned his head against the garden gate. There was another way into the house that avoided the front hall. He took it. Edmund slipped in through another door and lurched through the darkened hallway choosing the narrow way that led through the servant’s area near the kitchen. He could not go past the ballroom right now. He could not see their smiling faces. Nor could he go into the kitchen. The servants would wonder what on earth he was about. He would not bring gossip upon Anne. The back servants’ corridor was unlit and a maze, but Edmund was familiar with the way. He and Anne had snuck in or out many a time. He and Anne. The thought brought a wave of despair. There would no longer be any adventures with him and Anne. He wondered if he would be welcome again here at Aldbrick Abbey at all. It seemed unlikely.

  He stood looking at the narrow way. Here at the cross roads between the two spaces, he felt truly trapped in a house where he’d always felt at home. True, Anne’s father never really approved of him, but his father was a viscount and Anne’s father was the same. The man could not really snub him. For all Edmund’s flippancy as a child, his family was beau monde ton and so was he. Edmund should hold his head high, go back to the ballroom and perhaps even congratulate Anne. That was what a gentleman would do, but he could not. The very thought made him want to cast up his accounts.

  Edmund turned and took the circuitous route that led to the front parlor and out. He could escape Aldbrick Abbey with only a small detour through a part of the house where guests might still linger. He would spend the night in Northwick, at the pub, and tomorrow ride over to Uncle Cecil’s home, Sandstowe Hill. Then what? Back to London? Back to his father and Parliament? Was that all his life was to be? Without Anne. The thought was abhorrent, but he could not think on that now. Right now, escape was paramount.

  Decision made, Edmund pushed through the door, and with his head down, made his way quickly through the parlor.

  The duke raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Edmund, what the devil-?”

  “I must go,” Edmund interrupted. “I…I just cannot stay here; not for another moment. Alex…Your Grace, I’m sorry.”

  The duke thought for a moment, regarding Edmund with a great deal of concern. He seemed to reach a decision. His hand clasped Edmund’s shoulder and gripped it hard. “Come with me.” There was no room for dissent in that command, although Edmund certainly did not want to re-enter the ballroom and risk running into Anne and Amberleigh just now. As it happened, they did not. The two gentlemen found Emily speaking to Eliza and the Dowager Mayberry. Eliza had the good sense to draw the dowager away.

  When Edmund saw his sister’s expression, he knew for certain that he must be a sight. He attempted to adjust his cravat, but knew it was no use. Only loosening it entirely and retying it would help, and even then, that was the least of his problems.

  “Edmund?” Emily started and came forward towards him.

  “I have to get out of here, Em,” he said, and she nodded, understanding his discomfort if not its cause. She threw a glance to her husband.

  “We are off to the pub,” Alexander told his wife. “We shall make our way home from there. I leave you the carriage. Edmund and I can make use of the horses here.”

  “Of course,” Emily said.

  “I …I just need to get away for a while,” Edmund said. He felt like he was babbling, but it was the best assurance he was able to give his sister at the moment. The words sounded hollow even to Edmund’s ears, but it was all he had to offer.

  “You have the footmen,” the duke told his wife. “I shall see you at Bramblewood tomorrow.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Alexander. I shall be fine. I think that perhaps under the circumstances, a night out would be very…therapeutic,” she finished. “But do try to behave yourself.”

  Alexander nodded.

  Emily crossed to her brother and straightened his jacket in a series of rough pulls that nearly took Edmund off of his feet. “You too, brother dear.”

  Unmindful of any societal censure, the duke leaned over and kissed his wife’s cheek before turning his attention back to Edmund. “I am going to retrieve my coat and hat. In the meantime, have the stable hands prepare two mounts. Tell them I will have a groom from Bramblewood return them in the morning.”

  Edmund found that having something to do, clarified his mind enough that he could think beyond the immediate disaster of Amberleigh kissing Anne. He moved to do as Alexander suggested.

  “I will meet you at the stables,” the duke called after him. Edmund threw a wave that he hoped would be reassuring as he hastened with some relief to remove himself from the house.

  This was Anne’s father’s house, where Edmund had spent so many happy days. It was as well-known to him as his own, and now, he felt unwelcome. The very thought rankled. The place had taken on the feel of a mausoleum in his eyes. The whole place felt cold, too large and at the same time, cramped and restrictive.

  Edmund gasped for air as he emerged and bent over with his hands on his knees trying to fill his lungs, as though he had been holding his breat
h. It was not far enough. Just being outside did not feel as though he was free of the oppressive feel of the house, not yet.

  Edmund needed to get as far away from this place as he could. He didn’t quite run to the stables; that would have seemed cowardly, but he might have hastened his steps. Once there, he took a moment to rub Sugar’s neck while the stableman saddled horses for Edmund and Alexander. Anne’s mare was the closest he was likely to get to Anne herself. Sugar lipped his hand seeking the sweet she was named for, but he had none to offer.

  It did not escape his notice, that without specific instructions to the contrary, the stable man had saddled the same horse he had ridden with Anne just days ago. It seemed a lifetime ago now.

  Edmund wondered if he would now order his life around this one tragic event? Would everything be tallied in his brain as: before he lost Anne and after? Happiness and not? He gave Sugar a final pat and turned to his own horse.

  Alexander had made haste, but Edmund was already mounted when his friend entered the stable. The ride to the pub was brief as it was silent. Edmund set the pace at a brisk trot. Once there, Edmund ordered a brandy, and Alexander ordered port.

  “Bring the bottles,” Edmund called after the man.

  “It won’t help,” Alexander said. “The pain will still be there at the bottom.”

  “It will be duller than it is right now,” Edmund retorted.

  They sat for a moment with the filled glasses before them, and sipped in silence.

  “I’ll tell you what I would like to do. I’d like to call the man out,” Edmund admitted. He lifted the glass. Drained it and sat it down with a clunk. “Run him through. Would you be my second?”

  Alexander sucked in his breath hesitating, taking the time to refill their glasses.

  “Never mind. You’re the duke now.” Edmund said, remembering his earlier thought on the matter. “I should ask Harry.”

  “You would call the man out? Truly? For what grievance?”