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

by Isabella Thorne

  Eliza only gave her sister a doleful smile. “I shall give you both a few minutes alone before I come down,” she said.

  “Amberleigh will not be staying!” Anne had exclaimed flustered, as Eliza rose to leave.

  Eliza lifted an eyebrow.

  Anne would have gone downstairs directly, but she realized she did not have her gloves. She paused to look for them. The longer she looked the more annoyed she became. She considered ringing the bell and sending a maid to tell Lord Amberleigh that she truly needed an afternoon with feminine companionship. After all, they would soon be married and much of her time would be spent in Amberleigh’s company. Change was happening too fast, but there were some things that she would insist upon remaining the same, even after her marriage.

  Anne would still have the company of her younger sisters Eliza and Suzanna, but Eliza would likely return to London to indulge in her own Season unless, of course, she married Adam. Her sister seemed quite taken with the soldier and she hoped that they worked things out between them. His infrequent letters had upset Eliza greatly, Anne thought, as she knelt and perused under the bed for her gloves. No matter what, Anne would always have her sisters…and Emily.

  Emily had returned to Bramblewood Park, but they would always be friends even if they could not be on each other’s doorsteps as they had done as children. Being a new duchess took much of her friend’s leisure time. Emily had much to do and had shared with Anne the many changes in her life. Anne’s life was changing too, although it quickly seemed to be spiraling out of control. Change was inevitable, she told herself. Lord Amberleigh was just a part of that change. No man would come without some alteration in her life. Becoming a wife would be a necessary adjustment. Why did the thought not thrill her as it once had? When she had gone to London, she had been excited about the prospect of finding a handsome and wealthy suitor. A suitor, she thought. An offer. But a husband? A husband was another thing altogether.

  Anne dug under the bed, still looking for her gloves. She found a fan, a stocking and a slipper she had misplaced months before. She did not find the gloves. Where were the dratted things? She resolved to tell her maid to better look after her things.

  Anne sat back on her heels, wrinkling her dress horribly. She wondered if she should just go downstairs without them. She only wished to tell Amberleigh to leave her be today. It was silly the importance that the man placed on such random things like gloves. She could not imagine Alexander berating Emily for the lack of such items and Alexander was a duke. Of course, Alexander was clearly was so besotted with his own wife, he would do whatever she asked. Alexander treated Emily as if the sun shone on her alone.

  Anne sighed. She always hoped one day someone would look at her that way too. Amberleigh doted on her, but it was not quite the same. The thought saddened Anne, despite her best attempt to quell the feeling.

  Anne resumed her search for her gloves, knowing that Amberleigh would comment if she were seen without them, as if she were going about half dressed, but they were not where she thought they should be. Perhaps she only wished to stall? Drat. Was that what she was doing? Why did she care so much what Amberleigh thought of her? She was suddenly angry with herself.

  Anne drew herself up, resolved. She would go downstairs without the gloves. Amberleigh would have to speak his piece and leave. She needed a day in relaxation with her sister and would tell him so. She truly did not have time for him today. She could not bear the stress of bowing to his notion of society’s expectation. She would not. She didn’t care. After all, she was in her own home, not at some grand ball.

  As particular as the man was, she wondered as she navigated the stairs, if he would require her to wear gloves to bed. The notion filled her with a fit of hilarity, but on the heels of that thought followed another. As Amberleigh’s wife, she would have to share certain intimacies with him. The idea was sobering and the laugh died in her throat.

  Anne hesitated at the door to the parlor, settling her face into a visage of calm ladylike stillness. She wiped at her eyes with her ungloved hand unsure if she dashed away tears of mirth or sorrow. She didn’t have her handkerchief either way. She set her shoulders and put her other hand upon the knob.

  Why did the thought of visiting with Amberleigh fill her with such a tired feeling? While she supposed it was natural to miss her closest friendships as she stepped into the role of wife and someday mother, should she not be more looking forward to time alone in the company of her husband? She found she didn’t look forward to the experience as much as she might have imagined. Cheeks flaming, at her untoward thoughts, she shook herself and entered the parlor.

  To Anne’s surprise, it was not Amberleigh come to call, but Edmund. He rose from the chair where he’d been waiting when she entered, and Anne nearly called out in surprise, but she caught herself just in time. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ingram,” she said calmly.

  “You used to call me Edmund,” he said, with a frown.

  “We also used to share biscuits under the arbor,” she reminded him sharply. She could not say why she was being so churlish, only that seeing Edmund had suddenly put her out of sorts.

  “If you desire sweets, I shall offer them.” He reached forward to take her naked hand in his own.

  Anne startled at the contact. His grip was firm, but not unpleasantly so. She forced herself to breath normally. “Tell me. Did you bribe the help to keep them from telling me who was here to call?” she asked abruptly changing the subject.

  Edmund grinned at her. He still held her hand. His palm was warm on hers and she was unwilling to pull from his grasp. He always had such a wonderful smile, Anne thought. It was so open and refreshing. There was no subterfuge to be found, but it most often held a hint of mischief in one upturned corner. Today, he seemed worn.

  “I have no need to bribe the help.” He replied. “They know me. Once, you did too.”

  Anne found herself unable to reply, for a long moment she only looked at him. His deep green gaze held her captured and she shifted on her feet. His very presence made her feel fluttery and unsettled. “What do you want, Edmund?” she asked finally, reclaiming her hand, but dropping any attempt to maintain the use of formal address.

  “To talk. Only to talk.” He gestured toward the settee. “Say you are not still angry with me, Anne.” His eyes were earnest and pleading.

  She found did not know this serious Edmund. Cautiously Anne sank down onto the proffered seat. “In truth Edmund, I am quite worn out. If this could possibly be delayed until a more opportune time.”

  His voice was suddenly more somber than she had ever heard from Edmund. “I fail to see what occasion would be more opportune than now. Especially when the matters we need to discuss are somewhat… personal in nature.”

  “Personal?” Anne’s head came up and she truly regarded Edmund for the first time since she entered the parlor. She noted the tired droop to his shoulders, and the way his eyes seemed darker than normal. They burned with an inner intensity she had never seen in him before. “Edmund, are you well? You seem…out of sorts.” She could not quite put her finger on the reason for the difference.

  “Yes. No. Oh, blast it.” Edmund ran an uncertain hand through his hair and turned to pace the room, circling it once before coming to sit heavily on the ottoman at Anne’s feet. “How am I to answer?” He asked, looking at her intently. “Pray Anne, listen to me, for I feel we need to be honest in what we are feeling now. I know no other way.”

  “Edmund, I have always been honest with you,” Anne said, drawing herself up defensively.

  “Have you?” Edmund reached for her hand again, cradling her fingers in his in a way that felt at once both intimate and familiar. He seemed about to say something else, but the words must have caught in his throat, for while his lips moved, but not a sound issued forth.

  “Ed, what are you on about. You are starting to frighten me.” Anne tugged at her hand. Regretfully, it seemed, he let go. “Speak plainly. Is there bad news? Has somet
hing happened?”

  “No. No, nothing like that.” Edmund assured her. He leaned forward speak to with her, his elbows resting on his thighs, as though they might be overheard. He was so close, her forehead was almost resting against his own.

  Uncertainly Anne, found herself leaning in to him.

  “Do you remember when we plotted things in just this way?” Edmund asked his tone unreadable. “Sitting on that large flat rock out in the garden, we would press our foreheads together just so.”

  Without thinking Anne closed the gap between them. Staring into his eyes, she could see herself reflected there. His hands came up to cup her face.

  “Anne…” He breathed her name, drawing it out until the single syllable so it became a caress. She felt his breath hot upon her cheek. “Anne, where did we go so wrong?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Anne sat up suddenly, her flesh feeling strangely cold when no longer pressed to his. “You still have not told me why you have come.”

  Without her hands to anchor him, it seemed Edmund would drift from her, but he sat as if frozen. It was Anne who felt the need to pace now. She stood on unsteady legs to wander toward the window. She put space between them lest he somehow hear the harsh rasp of her breathing or the rapid beat of her heart.

  “An apology. I wished to offer you an apology.” He said. He rose and approached slowly, keeping that a careful distance between them, as if Anne were a skittish horse. “I upset you last we spoke. That was not my intention. I fear that I was jealous.”

  “You? Jealous? Why?”

  His words shot a moment of alarm through her. Anne let the curtain fall at the window, turning fully to face him, feeling the surprise plain upon her face. Edmund was jealous? Was it possible that he cared for her? For a moment she couldn’t speak. Dare she hope? “Is this the reason why you are acting like one crazed?” she asked finally

  “Trust me, Anne; there is little need to act.” The corner of Edmund’s mouth lifted in a trace of his usual sardonic grin. “I feel crazed. I have been beside myself since I heard the news of your…arrangement with Lord Amberleigh.”

  Anne nodded. It seemed that Edmund did not want to say betrothal either. She herself had only let word pass her lips sparingly. Why was that? She wondered.

  Edmund shook his head. “You as a married woman. I could not imagine such a thing. Married to…” He grimaced, took a breath and started again. “I want to see you happy, Anne. I do, but…” He ran a hand through his hair. It was a habitual gesture, one that she had seen so many times she had to smile. “I always thought…” He ground to a halt looking at her with such intense green eyes that she had to speak.

  “What did you think?” Anne urged.

  Edmund blew out his breath and started over yet again, choosing his words carefully. “I always thought that…You have always been special to me, Anne. The most special of… friends.”

  Anne felt her hopes rise and fall in an instant. She had thought that he had come to declare himself, but now, it seemed she misunderstood. He thought of her as a friend. His best friend perhaps, but only a friend.

  “He won’t make you happy, Anne,” Edmund blurted.

  Anne saw now why Edmund had come. He wanted to be sure that Amberleigh would make her happy. He was here to see that she was pleased, with the… arrangement. Was all of this just brotherly affection? It was not the declaration she wanted from him.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said pacing.

  “I can hardly believe it myself.” Anne answered weakly. “It feels like a dream.”

  Edmund turned to look at her and she felt as if she could not breathe.

  “I know it is a good match,” she continued softly. “Everyone says so, and I should feel fortunate to have gotten to know Lord Amberleigh.”

  “Do you though?” Edmund seemed to seize upon her words.

  “Do I what?”

  “Know him? How can you possibly know anything of him when you have spent such a limited time together?”

  “It is an intense circumstance,” Anne answered hesitantly. “One becomes caught up in the whirlwind. In a strange way, things moved along so that, it was as if I never made a choice at all. Just that it was done, and already decided.” The admission left Anne feeling queer. “But there are plenty of ladies who have married with very little introduction to their intended bridegroom, save for perhaps a letter. I suppose, Amberleigh and I will come to know each other better after…” Anne swallowed. “After we are wed.”

  She was quoting her mother now and the words seemed cold and lifeless upon her lips.

  “So a dozen times in his company tells you all you need to know of him?” Edmund asked, sounding almost angry. “Why then, I can only imagine what you know of me… with whom you have spent a hundreds… nay, thousands of hours.”

  His voice was harsh. She had never seen Edmund like this.

  “I know enough to know you are acting unreasonably.” She pushed past him, heading for the door. She could not endure his concern. She knew Edmund cared for her, but not the way she wished, and to have him here asking after her like this was a torture she could not bear. “You are being ridiculous,” she argued. “I am about to be married.”

  “All the more reason to be ridiculous.” He teased.

  “Truly, Edmund, I have little time for your games today. Please go. You are upsetting me.” It hurt to be near him when she could not have him. Why could she not purge him from her thoughts? Why did she have to feel more deeply for him than she could ever admit?

  Edmund caught her hand, stopping her from leaving. He turned her towards him, a frenzied, intense look in his eyes. “Do not send me away, Anne. For the love we once bore each other, I beg you.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Or do I flatter myself that you once cared for me too?” Edmund asked.

  Anne froze. Her mouth went dry. Love, he had said. The sentiment struck her like lightning, but he could not mean it the way she wished. The idea was absurd.

  She could not meet his eyes. There was such fire there that she thought she would burst into flames if she only looked at him. He had meant only the love between friends. The same as she had for Emily and for Alexander.

  Edmund stepped closer. He put a finger under her chin as if he would tip her face up to his, but he did not force her gaze. He only waited. He was standing so close. If she only lifted her head, she would be looking in to his eyes. “Tell me only this,” he said. “What have I been to you, Anne?” His voice was low, hoarse and raspy with emotion. It resonated with something deep within her. For some reason Anne felt the pinprick of unshed tears caught in her lashes, but she knew what Edmund wanted.

  “My friend,” she admitted softly. “You are my closest friend. You have always been that, Edmund.”

  “Can he be that to you?” Edmund asked.

  Anne lifted her chin then, seeing though a sheen of tears the one man whose face she knew as well as her own. It pained her deeply that this was very likely their last time alone together and she did not want to talk of Amberleigh. Anne’s heart burned in her chest and she ached for what she could not have.

  “Please Ed.” Her voice caught on the too familiar name. “Please, I am to be married in a matter of days. Do not spoil things, now.”

  “Shall I spoil things later then?” he asked, grinning in much the way she remembered, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I remember that you once helped me stop my sister from making a grave mistake in her marriage.” He continued. “If you wish it, I would do the same for you.”

  Anne gasped remembering the fiasco that had been perpetrated at the local church. She was sure the poor old vicar would not survive another such upheaval. “No. No you cannot,” she answered although her words shook.

  “Answer me this much at least and I will go. I swear by it.” Edmund begged. “Are you happy, Anne? Does he make you happy?”

  Happy? Anne could not to think how to answer, but she owed him a reply. Of course she did. This was Edmund.
He was right. He was her best friend; he always had been.

  “I don’t know how I feel.” She half laughed, half sobbed, fluttering her hands uselessly in a helpless gesture. “Things do not seem quite real yet. I feel half crazy. I have never felt so unbalanced before. Oh, but I am being silly.”

  “You have never been silly, Anne,” Edmund said with all seriousness. “You have always been a lady who has gone after just what she wanted. I have always respected that about you.”

  Anne did not answer and he sucked in a deep breath. “Your mind is made up then?” he asked.

  Anne nodded quickly.

  “Tell me you love him…and that he loves you.” Edmund pressed.

  Anne bit her lip uncertain.

  “Tell me you are decided.”

  Anne took a shaky breath. “I am.”

  Ed’s head drooped. “Very well.” He stepped aside, his smile pained as he gestured toward the door. “I have delayed you long enough. I should go.”

  Anne’s heart seemed to stop within her breast. She felt as if she were on the edge of a cliff, tottering, about to fall. She started toward him. “Edmund. Ed,” she babbled. “I am sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” He replied, but his eyes were agonized.

  She wanted to wipe away the pain. She wanted to take him into her arms, or for him to take her in his. She was afraid if she spoke, she would burst into tears and she had no idea why she should feel so bereft.

  Edmund bowed to her then, taking a long moment to kiss her naked hand. His lips brushed against her bare knuckles and sent a warm shiver of delight up her spine. Anne was struck by a pang of desire, stronger than any she had felt for Amberleigh even when he had kissed her in the garden. At Edmund’s light touch, her knees felt weak and she was truly undone.