In Search of a Viscountess
Author
Carol Arens
Reads
18.3K
Chapters
18
Chapter 1
Violet Evie Dumel did not believe in ghostly spirits. But if she were to begin doing so, the wee dark hours of this October night would be the time.
Quietly closing the back door of Gossmere House behind her, she stepped onto the porch, listening to the wind whooshing, watching shadows stretch and shift, playing tricks on her eyes.
It was true that her nerves were taut. Naturally they would be since she was running away. Escaping, truth be told, from a place that was no longer her beloved home.
Leaves tumbling across the ground seemed to be whispering a warning...‘risky’...‘perilous’.
Lifting her skirt with one hand and dashing away a tear with the other, she hurried down the steps. Leaving home felt like slicing her soul in half. However, Gossmere had not truly been home since her parents had died last year of scarlet fever and her father’s cousin had come to take Father’s place as Baron.
A small dark shape dashed across her path, quickly seen and then gone. It was lucky she did not believe in black cats bringing bad luck. But even if she did believe it, the cat had been a kitten so it could not really be a great deal of bad luck.
The truth was, she was running away for the purpose of making her own luck. Good luck. If she remained here, the only luck she would have would be cursed, miserable luck.
The kitten chased a leaf, then turned and dashed for the hem of her skirt. It dug its small claws into the fabric and began to climb.
‘All right then.’ She unhooked the clinging creature, lifted it to her cheek, enjoying the soft brush of fur on her skin. ‘This is the worst timing to adopt a pet but still, I shall bring you with me—a talisman for good luck.’
Holding it at arm’s length, she gazed into a face that was quite adorable. The kitten’s eyes were green rather than newborn blue, so clearly it was old enough to be weaned from its mother and yet young enough that it was still fluffy and quite small.
‘You shall be good luck and a reminder of home as it used to be. I will name you Charm. I hope you like it.’
Pressing Charm to her galloping heart, she hurried up the lane that led to the road. All along the way she prayed that Mary, her neighbour and dearest friend in the world, had managed to get her father’s phaeton away from their stable undetected.
If Mary did not manage, Violet’s future would be in peril.
‘I will not marry that old man,’ she told the kitten. ‘I do not care how much money he offers Hubert for me.’
She had met Baron Falcon weeks ago and felt that not only was he dislikeable but he had a lecherous eye. An eye which she had felt lingering upon her in an unwholesome, completely inappropriate way.
It had been the hardest thing she had ever done not to recoil from his grip on her arm when he’d led her into dinner that night. Later, she had been forced to invent a stomach ailment to avoid walking with him in the garden. Although it had not been a great invention since her stomach had actually recoiled in nausea over the prospect.
She had given no outward sign of rebellion, not then or not any time since. It would not do for Cousin Hubert to suspect what she was up to. Let him believe she was a willing sacrifice in his quest to further his new-found wealth.
‘Even if Baron Falcon was a prince I would still be running away,’ she admitted to Charm. ‘The choice of a husband is mine to make.’
Her wonderful parents had always made it clear that such an important decision would be hers. Yes, Father had been Baron Gossmere, a man of society, however he’d been a rare one. He’d believed that a woman ought to make her own choice—that it was her right to do so.
Cousin Hubert and his wife, Ada, were of the wrong and unenlightened belief that she was their asset to do with as they pleased. What pleased them was to offer her to Baron Falcon for a large sum of money.
‘The money that comes with Gossmere is not enough for them, you understand.’ Charm meowed, then licked his, or perhaps it was her, small paw while Violet hurried towards the road. ‘Indeed not. They are a glum and selfish couple. You and I are well away from them. But then you are lucky to be a cat and not ruined by an unfair entail. Curse primogeniture, I say.’
But no! She would not be ruined, she refused to be.
So far there was no sign of Mary and the phaeton. That was a worry. She could hardly run away without transportation.
Stepping into the dark shadow of a tree, she watched the road, glancing now and again back at the house. The windows remained dark. Apparently, they were still unaware that she had run away. She listened hard for wheels on gravel but all she heard was wind eerily moaning through branches.
Getting the carriage out of the stable without observation was the trickiest part of this scheme. And the most important part. If Mary failed at this...well, it made her shiver.
Tomorrow, Baron Falcon would be arriving to make a proposal, believing she would accept it.
She must be away, even if she was forced to sprint. Going on foot was not a brilliant escape plan since as soon as she was missed she would be caught on the road then hauled home to face disaster.
‘Oh, there! Do you hear it?’ she whispered to the kitten. Relief ought to quieten her heart, but it went on pounding against her ribs. Just because she heard a carriage approaching did not mean it was the one she was waiting for. Although who else would be on the road at this time of night?
It seemed that an eternity passed before the phaeton rounded the bend in the road.
Oh, dear...oh, drat! Mary was not alone!
‘I got caught,’ Mary explained, motioning for Violet to hurry towards the carriage. ‘Luckily it was Gregory who caught me. He has agreed to help. In thanks, I will ask Father for an increase in his stable hand’s pay.’
‘In any case, Miss,’ Gregory said to Mary, ‘I could not let you go out in the night without protection.’
‘You are our prince,’ Violet stated, meaning it even if his motivation was an increase in pay.
Leaping off the carriage, he gave her a hand up. Hopefully he would remain princely and not, in the end, give them away.
Glancing in the back of the carriage, she spotted a trunk. Over the past weeks Violet had been giving Mary items of her clothing to be secreted away. Even so, she had been forced to leave some of her favourite belongings behind. The important thing was, she had enough to get by.
‘What have you got there?’ Mary asked, reaching for the kitten.
‘This is Charm. I am hoping she, or he, will bring me luck.’
Or, if not that, the kitten would be a friend in a city where she knew no one. Even though they were now on their way, she would still need luck on her side.
Mary took Charm, turned the kitten to peer at its backside then, with a smile, handed it back. ‘She.’
It gave her a bit of courage, seeing her friend’s grin.
There was still the matter of becoming employed to be accomplished. In a week’s time she had an interview for the position of companion to a lady only a little younger than she was.
If she had any hope of making a success of living independently she would need funds. What she had would not last terribly long.
Mary passed her an envelope, her father’s red wax seal securing the seam. ‘Lord Haverly has no idea what a glowing letter of reference he has written on your behalf.’
‘I’m sure your father was quite complimentary.’
Quite, since Mary had written said compliments.
‘I will miss you, Violet.’ Mary smiled, clearly putting on a show of courage. ‘I wish you did not have to go.’
It was the worst part of all this, leaving Mary. Having grown up as lively as raindrops bouncing in mud puddles, sharing hopes and dreaming dreams, they were going to miss each other dreadfully.
Now, in the face of Violet’s peril, Mary had proved what a grand friend she really was.
Hugging Charm close to her heart, Violet stared at the road stretching ahead and took a stranglehold on her tears.
The least she could do was behave as bravely as Mary.
With a defeated sigh, Thomas Grant watched the butler escort yet another applicant for the position of his sister’s companion out of the house.
Heavy-hearted, he walked towards the small drawing room where Minerva sat on the divan, her attention focused on a red flower she was stitching. If not for the fact that Minerva hated stitching, he would be happy to see her occupied in this demure, ladylike pursuit.
Keeping his sister in line while his father, Lord Rivenhall, was on holiday in Scotland was a challenge of the highest order. And one he’d taken to heart.
As future Viscount, Thomas would need to do everything as well as his father did. The prospect was a daunting one. While his father did not own a vast country estate, he did own several properties. Learning everything about the running of them took up the better part of his time. More than ever he admired his father. Standing in his shoes, if only temporarily, was an honour.
While his father had put on a brave face and called his trip to Scotland a holiday, he had also revealed that he was ill with some lingering ailment. In Thomas’s mind lingering ailments were concerning, an indication that one’s body was struggling in the effort to fight off whatever was making it weak.
Although his father did not appear to be weak. Hopefully the extended rest would aid his recovery.
The Good Lord willing, Thomas would not be required to step into the role of Viscount for many more years, but it could not be discounted. He had always striven to be the son, the future heir, his father was teaching him to be. Now he was ill, and on holiday, it fell to Thomas to behave more responsibly than ever.
The best outcome would be for his father to return home restored to health and commending him for his faithful handling of all that came with acting as Lord Rivenhall.
At the worst...well, he would not dwell on the worst. He would simply perform his duty.
Of all the obligations his father had entrusted to him, keeping Minerva in line was the most challenging. If there was one thing his sister did not wish, it was to be kept in line. It was almost unnerving to see her sitting on the couch, needle in hand while she hummed. Even as a child she had been clever and opinionated. As she grew, those traits became more pronounced.
Thomas still felt sick at heart remembering the time, and not terribly long ago, when he had come out of the front door of Rivenhall to find a crowd of mostly young men watching Minerva merrily gliding through the air on a swing she had attached to the big tree. Even now he felt his face flush, remembering the skimpy costume she had worn. To this day she defended it as perfectly respectable circus attire.
In case that was not bad enough, she had compounded the scandal by hanging a banner over the front door proclaiming that she would never wed, that callers would be shunned—those were the words written by her own hand!
Staring at Minerva, so dedicated to doing something she detested, he could only wonder who she was. It was almost as if this young woman was a stranger in his sister’s form.
He stood in front of her, arms folded across his chest in a stance he had seen his father use many times.
‘Minerva, are you ill?’ Truly, that was the only explanation for her odd behaviour.
‘I cannot imagine why you would think so. Am I not behaving in a perfectly appropriate way?’
‘Appropriate for someone else.’
She set the stitching project aside, cocked her head and blinked at him, her eyes wide and innocent-looking.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. His sister was not one to blink in wide-eyed innocence.
‘Is this not the behaviour you seek to achieve by hiring me a governess, brother?’
‘Not a governess. We both know you are past the age for it.’
He refrained from pointing out that any governess his father had ever hired regretted taking the position.
Not that his sister was in any way mean-spirited—she was simply...spirited.
‘A companion would—’
‘Be the same thing as a governess!’ Standing suddenly, Minerva slammed her hands on her hips, narrowing her gaze upon him.
That was more like the Minerva he knew and loved—and worried greatly about.
‘Many of your friends have married already. Surely you would enjoy having a companion?’
‘I might, if I were not required to walk as slowly as a snail in order to match her doddering steps. The ladies you are interviewing are ancient. Perhaps you would like to join us while my companion recounts her life’s experiences, regales the joys of being young in bygone days, when everything was better than it is now.’
Presented that way, it did seem tedious.
‘I will accept the next applicant if you agree to sit with us while we have grand times reading.’ She shot a scathing glance at her needlework. ‘Or stitching.’
He should not say it but, dash it, it did bear bringing up because it was obviously correct. ‘You would not need a companion if you married.’
Without a word, she sat down, picked up her needlework and retreated into the person he did not know.
‘There are some very decent gentlemen who would be happy to be courting you,’ he persisted.
If he managed to get Minerva interested in a fellow by the time his father returned, it would be well received and a comfort to him if—But no, Father would surely return cured of whatever malady was troubling him.
‘I would make him miserable since I have no wish to become anyone’s wife. You are the one who ought to be courting, Thomas.’
She was quite correct. But that was not the point at the moment. He would not allow this conversation to be diverted to another subject.
‘Look at your married friends, Minnie. Don’t they seem happy?’
‘Of course they do, since marriage is what they wanted. But, I promise you, had their dream been to become trapeze artists...to perform daring feats of agility and grace, they would not be happy.’
Perhaps he should send his sister to visit his brother and sister-in-law. Minerva enjoyed being with them at Wilton Farm and was quite attached to the babies.
But no, that would be transferring his responsibility to William. Thomas was the one in line to become Viscount and therefore, in Father’s absence, bore the obligation of overseeing his sister’s future.
It was hard to imagine that little more than a year ago William had been the rascal of the family. Thomas hated to think of all the times his brother had caused tongues to wag. Clearly, a good marriage could make a great difference in a person.
With any luck he would exact such a change in his headstrong sister. If by the time his father returned she was settled and eager...or, if not eager, at least not opposed to seeking an engagement, it would demonstrate how worthy a Viscount he would one day be.
Not that he really needed to prove himself. Ever since he was a twelve-year-old lad he had set his course on learning all he could in order to be a proper heir apparent. Perhaps he had sacrificed fun and adventure in the effort but even as a child he understood that one day he would be a man with many people depending upon him.
The word responsible described him rather well and he was happy with it. Sober-minded—he liked that too.
‘I can see what you are thinking, Thomas.’
His sister was too skilled at reading his thoughts. William complained of the same thing.
‘I do not believe you can.’
‘You think that if you can convince me to court some gentleman, you will gain Father’s approval. But if you want to know what I think, it is your own approval you are after.’
‘That is not true. I am simply trying to hire a companion for your amusement.’
It was nearly the truth. He meant proper amusement for a young lady. He hoped a mature companion would guide Minerva away from trouble.
‘If it is Father’s approval you wish,’ she went on as if he had not spoken, ‘you should begin courting. That would please him greatly.’
She was right. He ought to have begun the process long ago, but the time had never seemed right. Now, however, with his father’s illness, he needed to take this obligation more seriously.
‘Once you accept a suitable companion, perhaps I will.’
He might as well use the situation to his advantage.
‘It will do no good to try and put your lack of interest in marriage on my shoulders. Whether or not I accept a companion has nothing to do with your decision and you well know it.’
‘What if I do mean it? If I begin to search for a wife, will you accept suitors?’
‘Suitors?’ She was too sharp to miss the way he’d turned the conversation, but he did have to try. ‘This is about you courting and me accepting a companion.’
‘Very well,’ he amended. ‘You will allow me to engage an appropriate lady.’
‘I doubt very much that your idea of appropriate and mine are remotely alike. However, you will seek a bride?’ Laughter danced in her eyes. He had no idea if she would accept or decline.
Since he did need to seek a wife, he was not above using the occasion to get what he wanted from his sister. The opportunity might not present itself again.
‘I will. What do you say, Minnie?’
He truly hoped that an experienced older woman would be just the person to guide Minerva in selecting an appropriate suitor.
‘Agreed.’ She held out her hand. ‘We must shake on it to make it binding.’
This had worked out better than he’d expected. It was not often that he got the best of Minerva.
Footsteps tapped down the hallway then stopped in the drawing room doorway.
Thomas turned towards the sound, nodded at the butler.
‘Miss Evie Clarke is here for her appointment with you, sir.’
Good, perhaps this lady would be the one.
