Vexed by a Viscount (3 page)

Mama’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. Obviously she approved of Prudence’s manners. Clapping her hands together, she said, “Oh my, I just remembered that I have to speak with Cook about the final course. Would you excuse me for a moment?”

With all the subtlety of an overeager stage actress, she nudged Prudence toward the squire before scurrying away on her concocted errand.

Wonderful
. Smiling awkwardly, Prudence gestured toward the sofa. “Shall we sit?”

He shook his head. “No, I think not.” Taking a step closer to her, he wet his lips. “With our contracts formalized, I believe a kiss is both expected and appropriate to commemorate our new status.”

His pale blue gaze darted down her front before finding its way back to meet her eyes. He looked like nothing so much as a buyer sizing up a potential new horse for his stables.

Swallowing against the disgust that lodged in her throat—he was older than her own father, for heaven’s sake!—she gave a tiny nod before raising her right cheek obediently. He was right. A kiss was expected, regardless of whether or not it was desired.

He chuckled, sending his warm, moist breath lapping against her skin. What was so humorous? She may not have ever been kissed, but she’d seen her father kiss her mother at least a dozen times.

Reaching out, he slipped his finger beneath her chin and firmly guided it toward him. With his height and weight remarkably similar to hers, she was left looking directly into his eyes. They were so close, in fact, that she could see the individual spidery red veins extending toward his pupils.

“No, Miss Landon—
Prudence
,” he corrected, without even asking her permission. “A proper kiss.”

Before she could think of a way to stop him, to invent some perfectly reasonable excuse for him not to press his lips to hers, he leaned forward and did exactly that.

Oh, good heavens
. She squeezed her eyes shut, but otherwise held still. She was basically already his, was she not? What right had she to refuse him? His mouth was firm and cool. It was almost like kissing a wax figurine. She tried not to think about the fact that this,
her very first kiss
, was with a man more than twice her age.

What had she expected? It was never going to be like the kisses she read about in the scandalous romantic novels her spinster aunt used to hide in her bedchambers. There was no passion, no fluttering heart, no swelling of love within one’s breast. Certainly no strong and virile hero fighting to save the woman he loved from certain death.

Aside from the unaccountable relief that his breath smelled pleasantly of lemon drops, she felt only emptiness and dread.

And then it was over. He pulled away after only a handful of seconds and gave a short nod. “I think we shall scrape along well enough. A biddable wife is key to a successful marriage, and with that in mind, I think I have chosen well.”

Yes, she was the perfect, obedient young woman she had been raised to be. It was a
good
thing. It meant she had lived up to the standards laid out for her by both her parents and society.

So why did she suddenly want to push him away, escape from the house, and run off to somewhere she could simply be left alone? Such a notion was completely ridiculous.

And this was why she had her list.

She was just nervous about all the changes coming her way. The list kept her mind occupied on silly, inconsequential things. It made her feel as though she were in control of something.

Like her life, perhaps?

She almost laughed aloud at that thought. She never had been, nor would she be in the foreseeable future, in control of her life. But she could have her private little rebellion. Prudence inwardly cringed.
Not
as private as she wished, actually. Her list may very well come back to haunt her, should Lord Ashby decide to be indiscrete during his visit. Unsettled by the possibility, she quickly stepped back and offered the squire an abbreviated nod.

“I’m glad that you are pleased,” she said diplomatically before lifting a hand toward the sofa again. “Why don’t you have a seat while I pour you a brandy?”

He smiled, bearing his over-large, yellowed teeth. “Good gel,” he said, and she imagined him patting her on the head as though she were a clever child. He sauntered off toward the seating area and she suppressed a sigh of relief. The farther he was from her, the happier she was. Dutifully maintaining a pleasant countenance, she went about the task of selecting and pouring his drink, taking as much time as she possibly could.

Where had her mother disappeared to, anyhow? It felt like ages since Mama had slipped away and firmly closed the door behind her. Prudence would even welcome her father’s presence at this point. Unable to delay any longer, she straightened her shoulders and brought the squire his drink.

He accepted the snifter with a nod, then settled back and regarded her as he took a sip. “Have you begun assembling your trousseau?”

She tilted her head, surprised by the inquiry. What an odd question. “Indeed I have. Mama and I spent quite a bit of time with Mrs. Hedgepeth this week.”

She would have liked to go to London, or even Bath, for a more thrilling experience, but Mama saw no reason to go outside of the village when the Hedgepeths had clothed their entire family for nearly twenty years. In fact, Papa was already fretting about where he would find a decent tailor once Mr. Hedgepeth finally put down his needle.

“Bah, the Hedgepeths,” Jeffries said dismissively. He glanced to the still-shut door before leaning forward. “There is a modiste in London who knows
exactly
what I like. We’ll take a trip there once we are married. The things she specializes in would send Winifred Hedgepeth into a fit of vapors.”

What on earth was one to say to such a brazen statement? The thought of him being involved in her clothes and . . . and
unmentionables
made her face flush hot. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she said quickly. As much as she was dying to see London, this was a trip she would avoid at all costs.

The door opened then, slowly and with a surprising amount of noise, given its well-oiled hinges. Clearing her throat as though she had a lump of dry toast stuck there, Mama made her way into the room.

“Well then,” she said briskly, smiling to them both as the squire came to his feet, “everything is settled for dinner. I should mention that Mr. Landon invited Viscount Ashby to join us this evening. He was unaware of our plans at the time, but the viscount is a pleasant enough young man and I’m certain a good time will be had by all.”

The squire smiled almost indulgently. “Yes, of course. The boy is probably at sixes and sevens with his parents away. It will be good to see him, as it always is.”

Prudence
almost
pointed out the fact that “the boy” was two years her senior, but decided to keep her tongue behind her teeth. It would serve no purpose other than to turn her betrothed’s attention back on her.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her glance to the doorway. Her father approached, with Lord Ashby directly behind him. Prudence’s belly fluttered unexpectedly at the sight of the viscount dressed in his evening finery.
Good heavens
. The feeling in her stomach was exactly what had so thoroughly eluded her during her kiss with Squire Jeffries. As the two men entered the drawing room, Prudence did her best to train her features into a mask of pleasant indifference.

Nodding to her betrothed, Papa said, “Good evening, Squire Jeffries. So glad that you could join us this evening. You know Lord Ashby, back home now that he’s completed university.”

“Of course. Known him since he was in leading strings. Not that long ago,” he said with a teasing grin, slapping Ashby on the back.

The viscount chuckled, though somewhat stiffly. “Long enough, I assure you, sir.”

“I trust your parents are well? I’m looking forward to some grouse hunting when your father returns.”

It was jarring, seeing the two men together. Lord Ashby was young, virile, and handsome, with broad shoulders and enough height to look down at them all. In comparison, Squire Jeffries looked like . . . well, whatever the masculine equivalent of
matronly
was. He was thin and short of stature, with salt-and-pepper hair and weathered skin that betrayed his love for the out-of-doors.

Prudence cast her gaze to the floor, chastising herself. Physical appearance mattered not when it came to a man’s character. The age difference, however, was a bit harder to overlook. Jeffries had been her age when the French Revolution had begun, for heaven’s sake, and that was the sort of event one found in history textbooks alongside the fall of the Roman Empire and Egypt’s pyramid-building efforts.

When she looked up, it was directly into the viscount’s amused gaze. She promptly straightened her spine, attempting to appear confident even as her cheeks were swamped with heat for the second time in five minutes.

“Miss Landon,” he said, dipping his head with exaggerated deference. His lips twitched with humor as he walked toward her. “A pleasure to see you again. It’s been
ages
.”

“Indeed it has, my lord,” she said firmly, widening her eyes just a bit for emphasis. If he spilled her secret now, she would perish from embarrassment. She didn’t
think
he was capable of something so cruel, but it was impossible to feel at ease with him standing beside her, his eyes flashing with mischief.

Heavens, but he was handsome up close. She knew that he was well aware of the fact, but his awareness had always manifested itself as playful confidence as opposed to obnoxious conceitedness. He knew he was handsome, but he didn’t take himself too seriously.

He pursed his lips as though trying to think. “Let’s see, four, maybe five . . . ” He paused, drawing out the suspense. “. . . months?”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. He could tease her all he wanted, so long as he kept the incident to himself. “More like six, I believe. The Christmas party at the Davenports.”

“Are you certain? It feels as though it was more recent than that.” One eyebrow lifted in playful challenge. It did something to her insides, as though she’d stepped off an unseen ledge. When had he ever teased her before? She couldn’t remember a time.

“Quite.” She lifted her chin, willing him to let that be the end of it. “Might we offer you a drink, Lord Ashby?”

“Please, call me Ashby, or just Ash. We’ve known each other long enough to dispense with formalities.”

She could almost hear him mentally adding
not to mention the fact I’ve seen you swim naked
. That would tend to do away with the polite formalities between people. Offering an impersonal smile, she tried again. “A drink, Ashby?”

“Yes, please. Whatever Squire Jeffries is having, thank you.”

This time, her father prepared the drink, and another for himself. “Don’t know if you’ve heard the good news, Ashby,” he said, returning with two glasses and offering one to the viscount. “The parson’s mousetrap has snared Squire Jeffries at last. He and Prudence are to be married in a fortnight.”

***

I
t was the closest Ashby had ever come to spitting out good liquor.
Married
? The squire was a decent enough fellow—odd, but decent—however the man was older than both their fathers. It would be like Ashby marrying someone Aunt Margaret’s age. He shuddered at the thought.

Carefully swallowing his sip, he smiled to the happy couple. Or rather, to the ambivalent couple. Miss Landon looked as though she’d swallowed a cricket, and Squire Jeffries merely lifted his glass and took a healthy swig.

“Congratulations to the both of you. May the blessed union bring you great”—he floundered a bit as he tried to think of an appropriate word—“gladness.”

Gladness
? Uninspired word choice, but he couldn’t very well say
May the blessed union not bring you misery.
Miss Landon already looked miserable enough, though thankfully no one was focused on her.

It was a telling statement, actually. Here she was, the bride, and neither her groom nor her parents paid her the least bit of attention. So was this what had prompted the little swim today? Was she feeling rebellious, perhaps? God knew Ash wouldn’t blame her.

His own betrothal had been arranged so long ago, it was more or less simply a part of him. He had never before considered how lucky he was that Tabitha was so close to his own age. They hadn’t spent much time together, but they had plenty in common, and the thought of marrying her in two years when she came out wasn’t distressing. It just . . . was.

Squire Jeffries stretched his lips into a pale impression of a smile. “My thanks. Tell me, how are your father’s stables looking this year? I know he bought and sold a handful of horses at Tattersall’s this Season, and I’m anxious to see the new additions.”

Ash allowed the change in conversation, contributing as required while all the while keeping an eye on Miss Landon. She was agreeable, polite, quiet—basically the perfectly bred female. But after discovering her this afternoon, he couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath her placid façade.

What was interesting was that, no matter how she felt about the match, he was absolutely certain that she would go through with the marriage. The next time he saw her, she would be Mrs. Hubert Jeffries. He tried not to curl his lip at the thought. She was disastrously mismatched for the old codger, in his opinion.

It was a damn shame.

D
inner was proving to be a rather boring affair. Ash really wanted to speak with Miss Landon alone, but with both parents and her betrothed all present, such a thing wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. He actually felt a bit of pity for the girl. She kept sending furtive glances his way, a tiny V of worry wrinkling her forehead. Did she really think he would spill her secrets right here at the dinner table?

Yes, he had teased her when he had arrived, but obviously, being a gentleman, he wasn’t going to cry rope on her.