Reforming the Viscount. ANNIE BURROWS
can we not,’ he’d said, ‘without expecting it to lead to wedding bells?’
She associated the scent of daffodils with the death of her romantic hopes to this very day.
‘We can,’ she’d said, forcing a smile to her lips, though she had not been able to look up into his face. If a light friendship was all he was prepared to offer, she would do nothing to scare him off, for sharing the occasional few minutes with this wickedly witty and dashingly handsome young man had become the only bright spot in her otherwise gloomy existence.
‘B-besides, everyone knows you aren’t in the market for a wife. And even if you were, you wouldn’t look twice at someone like me. You know I have no dowry, I suppose?’
‘Of course I do. The tabbies make sure everyone knows every newcomer’s net worth within five minutes of their entering any ballroom. It makes no difference to how I feel about you.’
Well, it wouldn’t since he didn’t see her as a potential wife.
‘And yet,’ he’d said, tucking her arm into his and setting out along the path again, ‘you still… light up whenever I ask you to dance.’
‘Well, you do dance divinely,’ she’d admitted. ‘And Mrs Westerly says—’ She’d broken off, biting down on her lower lip.
‘Go on. Tell me what Mrs Westerly says. I promise that however bad it may be, it won’t surprise me. Chaperons normally give their charges dire warnings about me.’
‘Well, she says that it is no bad thing to spend time with you, because you make me smile. Which makes me look more attractive to eligible men.’
‘Aha! So that is why she doesn’t forbid me to pollute her drawing room with my presence.’
She’d nodded, lulled into a sense of…something almost like companionship as they’d strolled along, arm in arm. Which could be the only thing to account for her blurting, ‘Not that it does any good, in the long term. Because the moment I try to talk to anyone eligible, I start blushing and stammering so much they take me for a perfect ninny. And if there is one thing a man does not want, that is to take a ninny to wife. Not unless she is a great heiress, or has a very grand title.’
At that point, Nicholas had given her a quizzical look and observed, ‘But today you have stopped stammering altogether.’
‘Why, yes, so I have.’
‘It is because you aren’t striving to impress me. You know I am completely ineligible.’
Was that what it had been? Or was it just that she’d finally given up all hope of anything more than friendship?
‘I dare say your chaperon has warned you,’ he’d said airily, ‘that there is a good deal of bad blood in my family. The first Rothersthorpe was little better than a pirate, you know, although Good Queen Bess rewarded him for his efforts against the Spanish with the title.’
‘Oh, yes. Everyone knows that. But what she primarily objects to is…your lack of money. Mrs Westerly warned me that is why you invite me to go for walks with you, rather than taking me for a drive around the park.’
‘Did she? The old b—besom,’ he’d said. ‘Though of course it’s true. I haven’t a feather to fly with.’
‘Perhaps,’ she’d said with just a touch of asperity, ‘if you did not place wagers on such ridiculous things…’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, I did hear there was one between a goose and a mouse.’
He’d let out a surprised bark of laughter. ‘Who told you about that? Not that it isn’t true. But at least I backed the mouse. Won a packet,’ he’d finished smugly.
‘And on what did you subsequently lose that packet?’ she’d snapped. ‘The turn of a card?’
‘No! I am an extremely proficient card player,’ he’d said, raising his chin just a little, which showed she’d touched him on the raw. But after only a few leisurely paces, his lips curving into a smile, he’d darted her a look of pure mischief and confessed, ‘It was a horse.’
She’d pursed her lips.
‘You are right,’ he’d sighed, in mock despair. ‘I am incorrigible. Money flows through my hands like water. Cannot keep a hold on it for longer than five minutes. And yet,’ he’d said, giving her a quizzical look, ‘you never appear to think that coming for walks with me is a waste of time. Even when there are no potential suitors about to witness you smiling and managing to string whole sentences together without stammering.’
Her heart had thundered so hard in her chest it had been almost painful. If he guessed how she truly felt, would he take fright, and disappear from her life?
But even so, she’d found herself blurting, ‘You make me laugh when sometimes I think there is nothing left to so much as smile about.’
For a moment it had almost overwhelmed her. All of it. She’d had to lower her head and press her lips together to stop them trembling, and blink rapidly to disperse the burgeoning tears.
He’d patted her hand and said, ‘I shall consider it my duty to make you smile, then, whenever our paths cross.’
He already did that. Whenever she was dancing with him, or taking supper, or walking along like this, with her hand on his arm, gazing up into his laughing blue eyes, it was as though the sun had broken through the dark clouds that habitually hung over her.
But then he’d brought those clouds rolling back, by adding, ‘Life is too short to ruin it by worrying about what might or might not happen, Miss Franklin. We should just enjoy each day we are given and let the future take care of itself.’
And she’d had to bite back a sharp retort. It was all very well for him to say such things. He had no idea! He had a roof over his head. A regular allowance—even if he did complain it was a beggarly amount. A secure place in society, because of his rank.
And, most importantly, he did not have to marry, not unless he really, really wanted to.
Was he married now?
She watched him smile down at the plump girl as they went into a right-handed star.
She had no idea. She’d deliberately avoided finding out anything about him since she’d married Colonel Morgan. Things had been difficult enough. If she’d read the announcement of his betrothal to some other woman, and known that she’d managed to impress him enough to renounce his hedonistic lifestyle, she would have wanted to curl up and die.
Which would not have been fair to her husband. To whom she owed so much.
No—to repay all Colonel Morgan’s generosity by breaking her heart over another man—that would have been unforgivable.
‘So…he is a friend of yours then, Robert?’ Rose was looking from her to her brother, a perplexed frown creasing her brow.
‘Not any longer,’ Robert growled. ‘I did not mention it, but…’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, if you must know, we had a bit of a falling out. I have not spoken to Rothersthorpe since a short while after you married our father,’ he said to Lydia, though it was Rose who was questioning him. ‘I did not tell you about it, because, well, because…’
Rothersthorpe?
He’d come into his father’s title, then. Her insides hollowed out at the thought they’d drifted so far apart she did not even know that much about his life.
Though it had been what she’d wanted.
It had.
‘But Mama Lyddy called him Mr Humming… something.’
‘Hemingford,’ Robert corrected her. ‘That is his family name. Now that his father has died, he has of course inherited the title. He is Viscount Rothersthorpe now. I would have