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Authors: Laura Matthews

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BOOK: The Proud Viscount
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“Your niece is a very fine young woman,” he told Mabel. “But I have no intention of marrying and I’m sure she wouldn’t have a pauper for a husband in any case. No woman of sensibility would. So let’s make an end to this project of yours, ma’am. Lady Jane wouldn’t thank you for it.”

“I’m convinced she would eventually.” Mabel sighed her impatience and plucked at the skirts of her gray Circassian cloth dress. “She needs something, someone, to make her forget Richard. She’s withdrawn from us this past year. An outsider might be a good distraction. Please, at least spend some time with her.”

“Of course.” Rossmere rose and laid a hand on Mabel’s shoulder. “I can’t be a suitor, but I can offer diversion. I was very fond of Richard, and your niece made his life worth living those last years. For his sake as well as yours, I’ll be happy to help.”

Mabel nodded, and thanked him. Rossmere hurriedly excused himself before a new line of attack should occur to his godmother. This was not the time to put forth his request for another loan. He bowed gracefully and strolled toward the door. He’d almost made it when she called out, “Your mother would have hated to see the title die out, Rossmere. And your father even more so. It’s a responsibility beyond the individual, a duty to your heritage and your country. It’s your own pride that’s standing in the way, my dear boy, and that’s no credit to you in this instance.”

Rossmere paused and directed a quelling stare at his godmother. “I think I have to be the one to decide on such personal matters, ma’am. If my decision doesn’t agree with the general opinion of the
ton,
I won’t be the least alarmed. It’s a great pity the title will become extinct with me, but then it’s a great pity there aren’t the funds to carry off the position with authority. If you will excuse me.”

He set a quick pace down the corridor to the doorway leading to the east garden. This area was sheltered from view by hedges on two sides, probably to provide a windless area in which to walk on blustery days. Willow End was rich in such amenities, as Longborough Park had been. There wasn’t even a decent walk on his estate now. Plantings of a decorative nature had become overgrown, since they called for more expenditure than he could afford. Well, what was the use of comparisons? These days there was no comparison between the ravaged Longborough Park and the beautiful Willow End.

The gravel crunched under his feet as he paced down the walk. He scarcely noticed the abundance of blooms that lined his path. His mind was on other matters, particularly this scheme of his aunt’s with regard to Lady Jane. She was not at all his style of woman. Rossmere had never come close to marrying, even before his father managed to gamble away practically every penny of what should have been his patrimony. Rossmere found the women of his social class profoundly boring.

The type of woman he was attracted to was not some tame thing, trained to play the pianoforte and manage a household competently. She was a flamboyant woman, beautiful and amusing. Outrageous in her outlook on life. Someone who could laugh at the rules, who had the intelligence to see beyond the little parlor games society played. Someone who felt a real excitement about living each day. Rossmere had never met a woman of his class who matched this description.

But he had once had a mistress who did.

That was in the old days, though. It had been a long time since he’d been able to afford the luxury of a mistress. Not that any physical need would drive him to take a wife now. He had no wish to put himself under an obligation to any woman, except the necessary one to his godmother. If he married a rich woman, the weight of his indebtedness would crush him. It didn’t matter that he would be offering a title in exchange, or that legally the property would become his. Rossmere had a very deep sense of pride, and it didn’t allow him the latitude of a less-principled man. The possibility that this high-mindedness was perhaps excessive had never occurred to him.

“Lord Rossmere.”

Until her voice broke into his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Lady Jane seated on a stone bench at the joining of two paths. Coming on her suddenly this way after his godmother’s suggestion, he took in her appearance with fresh eyes. The most impressive thing about her was her height, which gave her an unconscious elegance. Though her features were less than classical, she had humorous hazel eyes and a warm smile. There was nothing unique about her brown hair, which she wore braided and wound around the crown of her head for this hot summer day. An attractive woman, but nothing out of the ordinary.

“Lady Jane. Forgive me for being so oblivious. May I join you?”

“Certainly.” She tucked her skirts in under her to make room for him on the bench. “You’ve been talking with Mabel,” she suggested.

“How did you know? Does one wear an especially stricken look after being with your aunt?”

Jane laughed. “No, it was your survey of me which gave you away.” She waved a hand to dismiss any apology on his part. “I daresay she approached you with her unrealistic plan. She offered it to me earlier, you see. I told her she should abandon her efforts, but I know her better than to believe she would.”

Rossmere’s reply was cautious. “I realize her intentions are for the best. She has been remarkably kind to me over the last few years and I would hesitate to cause her any distress, but her scheme seems, as you say, unrealistic.”

“Totally impractical. For my part, I have no intention of marrying.”

“Nor I."

“Excellent. Then we shan’t find it necessary to discuss the matter further.” Jane’s mischievous smile made a dimple appear in her cheek. “I would be perfectly willing to be the one to pass on the bad news to her.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t do it immediately,” Rossmere said, remembering the promise he’d made. “She’ll be more accepting of our decision if we spend a little time together and then assure her that we wouldn’t suit.”

Jane lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “As you wish. I’ve always found it best to be entirely forthright with Aunt Mabel, else she’s likely to press her advantage.”

“I thought we might ride out together tomorrow or drive into the village, something that would indicate our making an effort.”

“I’d prefer driving to the village, I think. Ascot might make my mare a bit skittish. She’s young and we haven’t had her long."

Another of them objecting to Ascot, he thought with a touch of annoyance. Driving would mean his having to borrow a curricle from Lord Barlow, as he hadn’t one of his own. Still, he refused to retract the invitation. “In the morning, perhaps? Say, ten o’clock?”

“That would be fine.” Jane rose from the stone bench and patted out her skirts. Rossmere heard the rustle of a piece of paper in her pocket. Jane’s long, thin fingers drew a letter partially out and she asked, “Do you know the Ashwickes, Lord Rossmere?”

It took him a moment to place the name. “Cranford, of course. From Westmoreland, isn’t it?”

“Yes. He’s married now and his wife has written to say they have a baby boy. Odd, how these things work out,” she mused. “When I first met her, she thought he was intolerably stuffy, and he thought she was a hopeless imp. Whereas, Nancy..." She stopped abruptly and jammed the letter back into her pocket. “Forgive me. My mind was wandering. Until dinner, Lord Rossmere.”

He dipped his head in a gesture of acknowledgment, but his eyes had become wary. What had been the point of those strange remarks? It was almost as if she’d forgotten to whom she was speaking for a moment. He frowned after her as she walked away from him.

Her graceful carriage drew his notice. To his surprise he discovered that Lady Jane had a fully developed figure that was quite pleasing to the eye. He had failed to remark it previously because he had paid so little heed to her. He decided, with a rueful shake of his head, that he wouldn’t make the same mistake in the future. If he was going to spend some time in her company, he might as well derive what enjoyment he could from the experience.

 

Chapter 3

 

Jane’s father, Lord Barlow, was subject to attacks of gout. She was accustomed to accompanying him to Bath now and again, where the waters did something to aid him, but not as much as the company they found there. At fifty-five the earl was still active when the gout wasn’t bothering him, and his mind was always alert to his favorite subject, the antiquities of Greece and Rome. Jane’s own fascination with these ancient treasures had been generated by his, and was almost as strong.

Willow End was a repository of actual artifacts from the old civilizations, as well as of reproductions of Lord Barlow’s favorite statues. Few of them were without their missing arms or legs, and Rossmere, unaware of the seriousness with which such matters were viewed in the household, had one night remarked that the ones in the gold drawing room were “quite a motley crew.”

Lord Barlow had blinked at him and cleared his throat before remarking that their incompleteness was a circumstance of their antiquity.

Still not catching on to the significance of the older man’s darkening countenance, Rossmere chuckled. “Ancient amputees,” he said. “Very colorful.”

Lord Barlow had looked almost apoplectic. Jane had had to bite her lip to keep from entering the fray. Fortunately Mabel knew how to change a subject so deftly that neither Lord Barlow nor the viscount was aware precisely how they found themselves discussing Italian marble. But Lord Barlow had remarked later to Jane, with some chagrin, “The young fool hasn’t the first idea how rare and valuable my collection is. If he knew that any one of these statues would pay his mortgage for a quarter, he’d probably slit his wrists!”

The earl had, over the years, trusted his curricle to any number of young men, but on this occasion, perhaps because of Rossmere’s ignorance of matters antiquarian, he supervised the harnessing of his pair and waited to see if the viscount proved to be an adequate whipster. Jane couldn’t imagine what he intended to do if Rossmere exhibited two left hands in the matter. Surely he wouldn’t bellow after them to return to the stables, as he had with his own misbehaving children.

It was obvious to Jane that Rossmere disliked this kind of unwarranted supervision. He stood rigid beside the gleaming black vehicle with its red wheels and gold crest, returning polite but brief answers to the leading questions Lord Barlow threw at him. “And what would you do if the curricle overturned on you?” the earl demanded.

"I would probably expire on the spot.”

Jane laughed and patted her father’s cheek. “Have you seen him in the saddle, Papa? Anyone who can ride that well is bound to be more than adequate as a driver.”

“Just look at the horse he rides,” Lord Barlow muttered. “Oh, very well. Off with you, then.”

Rossmere set the horses at an easy pace down the avenue of willow trees. It was a cooler day than the previous one and Jane watched the elegant tendrils dance in the warm breeze. As a child she had spent long hours under those branches, her chin propped on her hands and her mind filled with the glories of whatever book she was reading. She wondered now why she hadn’t taken a book there in so many years.

The village of Lockley was only a mile distant. More often than not she walked the short distance, but she was content to share the curricle with him. It was hard to tell if he really was a good driver because the road was undemanding: wide, straight, and untraveled by any other vehicle. She suspected that he could drive to an inch.

“Papa wouldn’t have questioned your driving ability, Lord Rossmere, except for your remarks on his antiquities. I have to tell you that he questions the competence of anyone who doesn’t understand his consuming passion for them.”

“But surely there are very few who do.”

“More than you’d suppose, but still, not many,” she admitted.

“Do you share it?”

“Oh, yes. Though I’m the only one of his children who does. A great disappointment to him, Samuel and Geoffrey not taking after him in that respect. He doesn’t care so much about Margaret or Nancy.”

“Your brothers and sisters don’t live in the area anymore, do they?”

“Nancy does. The Parnham estate is three miles the other side of Lockley, so we see her now and again.” A tiny frown drew down her brow. “Not as often as I should like, of course. I’m very fond of Nancy. She’s eight years younger and I feel I helped to raise her. Now she has a baby of her own."

“Parnham.” Rossmere seemed to be searching his mind for some connection to the name. After a moment he shrugged. “Your father’s pair is extremely well-matched for appearance and gait. I used to have chestnuts very like them. It’s been a while since I’ve driven anything more demanding than a farm cart,” he said, eyeing her challengingly.

“I daresay that takes even more skill than a curricle, all things considered. Aunt Mabel told me you’re determined to make the farming profitable enough to bail out Longborough Park.”

“It will take years, but the land is good and my tenants are hard workers.”

This seemed a propitious moment to bring up the matter of Graywood, but how? Jane glanced at Rossmere’s profile with its firm chin and aristocratic nose. A proud man. Every feature indicated it, as did his inflexible bearing. The references to his financial straits were warnings to her rather than confidences. It was as though he were saying, “You know where I stand, and I know you know it, but you’ll never prove that it distresses me unduly.” Obviously she would have to be blunt.

“If Richard had died intestate, you would have inherited Graywood and the rest of his property.”

His jaw tightened. “But he didn’t die intestate.”

“No, he left a will. An old will. A will made after his first episode of...madness.”

“I’m sure it was none the less valid for that.”

“Are you?”

He didn’t even bother to meet her interested gaze. ‘‘Quite sure."

“You would have benefited more from his inheritance than I did. If he’d known he was going to die so young, perhaps he’d have disposed of his property in a completely different manner.”

“I doubt it. He wanted you to have it, Lady Jane. That’s perfectly understandable. He would have married you if he could.”

BOOK: The Proud Viscount
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