Meeting Her Promised Viscount
Auteur·e
Carol Arens
Lectures
17,2K
Chapitres
15
Chapter One
‘Mother, I do not know why you like such dreadful stories.’ Eirene closed the cover of the book with a snap. It was not as easy to close her mind on the dark, mysterious raven in the tale.
‘Why, I suppose it is because at my age, it is the only adventure I have. Mr Poe does keep one perched at the edge of her chair.’
‘Running out of the library, more like it.’
Her mother smiled as brightly as if they had been reading a merry tale about Father Christmas. ‘Oh, my dear...you do know that The Raven was inspired by one of the stories of our very own Charles Dickens?’
‘Then tomorrow we shall read something by him.’ Eirene stood, setting the book aside.
Her mother lifted her cheek for a kiss. Mother’s cheek was sunken, her skin lined with ill health.
The physician believed that living in the fresh country air would do her a great deal of good. It might be true. During the year they had been living at Warrenstoke her mental attitude had improved and she could take several steps without becoming too winded. In spite of her mother’s admiration of Edgar Allen Poe’s dark works, she seemed happy. Far more spirited than she had been in London.
‘Run along, my sweet girl, and enjoy the rest of your day.’
A walk on the manor grounds was just what she needed.
Coming outside, she stood on the back terrace, took a deep breath of summer air and smiled.
It was a day among days with sunshine making the sky bright blue and birds singing like happy little spirits in the trees. Not a raven in sight.
Eirene wanted to twirl down the steps. Since there was no good reason not to, she caught her skirt in her hands and did just that.
Once on the garden path, she walked along, singing. She was far from being an accomplished chanteuse, but she enjoyed it anyway.
‘Remember yourself, Eirene. Who you are.’ Percy! Drat, she had not noticed him lounging on a terrace chair. ‘And do look your best for tea. I have invited guests.’
It grated on her the way he acted as if he were already Viscount Warrenstoke. As if she was already his wife and could tell her how to act.
The only claim he had on Warrenstoke was as heir presumptive. A title he was likely to gain since the late Viscount’s eldest son, born of his first wife, had passed away a year ago and his second son had disappeared along with his mother many years before, never to be heard of again. But there was a search going on for him and until possession of the title was determined one way or another, she was not going to wed anyone.
Father was the one who dealt with Percy most of the time. The Larkin cousin had arrived at Warrenstoke soon after Henry’s death and was quite unprepared to act as Viscount.
Assuming he would be one day, Father had been training him in what was required of the title.
‘Of course, Percy,’ she said pleasantly because he was easier to deal with when things went as he wished them to. ‘I will see you at teatime.’
Until then she had hours to spend rambling about the estate she had visited and loved since she was a baby.
Father and Viscount Warrenstoke had been the greatest of friends from the time they were boys right up until the night, a few years ago, when Warrenstoke died in Father’s arms.
Grass and flowers brushed her skirt while she strolled across the meadow. The mingled fragrances floated up. She breathed in so deeply that she could nearly taste summer.
Being at Warrenstoke at this time of year was as close to heaven as one could get, in her opinion. Her parents’ opinion as well, which was one of the reasons they had left London and visited the estate so often. Their home in that vast city was as elegant as any in town, but not nearly as wonderful as it was here. Her own family had had a country estate at one time, but the Viscount a couple of generations back had been forced to sell it for reasons now forgotten.
No one minded, not with Warrenstoke seeming more like home than London did.
There was far more to it than love of the countryside. Father, Mother and James grew up like family. They enjoyed one another’s company too much to be apart for long.
Once she wed the Warrenstoke heir, they would never have to leave here again. And now with her mother’s health to be considered, Eirene was glad not to have to go back to the city.
Since the day of her birth it had been the plan for this to be their home. She was grateful for it.
Eirene climbed the gentle rise of a grassy hill. She sat down at the crest, leaning back against the trunk of a great tree whose shade spread far and wide. Speckles of sunshine and shade made patterns on her skirt when leaves shifted in the breeze.
This was her favourite spot on the estate. She had spent a great deal of time here with her friend, Henry.
Gazing down at the meadows and hills, she could nearly see him, his blond hair glinting in sunshine while he dashed about with his friends and she tagging along behind them. Although he had been several years older than she was, he patiently tolerated her presence. Henry was a kind and gentle person. She had always been happy that their marriage would unite their families and their fortunes.
She missed Henry...and now there was Percy to take his place.
It might be unkind to think it, but Percy was not much fun.
But it did not matter so much. Not as long as she and her parents would be able to call Warrenstoke home.
None of that would happen until the search for the heir apparent was exhausted. On the one hand she hoped it would be soon. On the other hand...well, Percy.
Never mind. She would enjoy this moment as fully as she knew how. Which was quite fully.
She gave a great yawn and did not bother to politely cover her mouth. Yawns were ever so much more expressive that way.
Lying back on the grass, she closed her eyes.
Standing on a dock, the ocean swirling darkly about the pilings, Eirene gazed at ship coming into the harbour, its full sails white and billowing. There must be a breeze, but she did not feel it. Did not hear it either.
She was dreaming, she knew she was, yet this was not a typical naptime dream. It was a seeing dream—some people would call it a prophetic one. That was what she would call it and she was the one dreaming it. This was not her first dream of the kind so she knew it meant to show her something.
But a ship in the fog? What could it be? Without moving her feet, she somehow ended up at the edge of the pier. Silently, the ship came alongside. It did not stop and she glided beside it, looking up.
A man walked along the rail, keeping pace with her and gazing down. His hair was long, blond and wild looking. It rippled back from his face in the breeze that could not be felt. His eyes were quite blue, intensely so. The way he looked at her gave her heart the oddest quiver. It was as if he saw her soul.
His face was rough with beard stubble. She did not believe he was a gentleman of polite society. Then all at once he smiled down at her and laughed, but she did not hear the sound. He had a pair of dimples which in no way made him appear soft...no, rather he looked a rascal to the bone. To accentuate his rough image, a smear of blood welled on his bottom lip.
No, not a gentleman. But he was something to her. Someone important.
In the second she knew who, he pantomimed a kiss across the rail and the dream dissolved.
She sat up with a start, her heart pounding and her blood racing.
The man was her husband!
And he was as far from Percy as a man could be.
One day she was going to meet this dream man, recognise him at first glance.
She stood up, shaking the loose grass from her skirt. She would need to hurry if she did not wish to be late for tea.
All the way back to the manor she tried to convince herself she was mistaken about the dream because...really? Why would she wed such a man? She preferred mannerly men, kind and gentle men. Men like Henry had been.
Even Percy, who could be exacting at times, seemed more refined than the sailor.
She was meant to wed Viscount Warrenstoke, not a coarse sailor.
Very clearly, this one time the dream had been wrong.
Fletcher Holloway stood by the ship’s rail while the Morning Star entered the Port of London.
‘I have the oddest sense someone is watching me,’ he told his uncle, Hal Holloway, who stood beside him, keeping a practised eye on the ships coming out of the port.
It was not that the man whom his uncle had hired to pilot the ship when Fletcher was not at the helm wasn’t competent, but long habit made him watchful. It was what came of owning the Morning Star for longer than dirt was old. This ship, while sound, was not up to modern standards. Loved though. No ship was better cared for, steam or wind powered.
‘Different than the itch you feel every time we make port?’ His uncle’s heavy, white moustache twitched.
‘I suppose not.’ He shrugged away the shiver which he did not normally get when he felt watched. ‘Just never got it aboard the Star.’
‘It’s my fault. I should have raised you on land. Too much time at sea has got you on edge.’
His uncle did not believe a word of what he said. If anything, Hal Holloway believed living on land put a man on edge. Fletcher agreed. The sea did have its dangers, but not as many as a fellow faced on land.
In cities was where he felt eyes on his back most often. He’d never caught anyone outright staring at him. Heaven help them if he did. The only reason anyone would have for looking at him would be that they were thieves who wished to lighten him of his funds.
He needed every penny he could earn, both from the cargo and what he gained with his fists, in order to purchase his uncle and the crew a newer ship.
‘You’re feeling jittery over tonight’s match, my boy. One of these times you are going to get seriously hurt. I wish you would not take the risk. What we make off our cargo suits us fine.’
‘Wool, whisky and textiles will not get us a new ship.’ It was steady income, but slow. Which would be fine if Uncle Hal was twenty years younger. ‘Fighting will earn it more quickly.’
His uncle sighed, shaking his head. ‘You always were stubborn as a stone. But you will use those padded gloves? No bare-knuckle business?’
‘Bare knuckle is illegal.’
‘Don’t give me that grin, you young rascal. I don’t want a new ship if it means you end up lame. I won’t be your nursemaid.’
He had been, though, when Fletcher was small. Uncle Hal had been the one to raise him from the time he was five years old. His mother had been a passenger aboard the Morning Star. The vessel was primarily a cargo ship, but on occasion it did carry a passenger or two. According to his uncle, his mother had quickly become like a daughter to him. When she died it was only natural to take Fletcher in and raise him aboard ship.
No boy had had a better upbringing than Fletcher James Holloway.
Now it was time for him to take care of his uncle. To that end he competed in boxing matches when they made port. More times than not he made a pretty purse. He was even gaining a reputation. People wagered on him.
‘I’ll send Harley to watch your back tonight. I don’t like London. Too many thugs and thieves.’
Harley was big and mean looking, but gentle as a guppy.
‘Don’t want to have to watch out for me and Harley both.’
‘He’s big, people will leave you alone.’
It was true that Fletcher was not a giant, but not a minnow either. Which was an advantage because his opponents in the ring underestimated him. The first time they faced off. Not after that.
Two days after the dream, Eirene managed to convince herself that it could not possibly have been that sort of dream.
She and Mother were enjoying a sit on the terrace enjoying a spot of sunshine. It had all been quite pleasant until Percy strode past and spotted them.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said, then took off his coat and proceeded to hop about on the balls of his feet, jabbing at a post on the terrace steps as if sparing with it.
He glanced up at them now and again. She guessed it was because he wanted to be sure they were watching, admiring his skill.
After a few moments and probably a splinter or two, he blew on his knuckles, grinning.
‘I used to compete in boxing matches, you know.’ He made a muscle of his large bicep, flexing and clearly anticipating their admiration. ‘No one was better than I was.’
‘Yes, Percy,’ Mother said, giving him a polite smile. Mother was a lady and would never give any other kind. ‘You may have mentioned it.’
In the moment, Father came out of the house, frowning.
‘You are late for your instruction, Percy. I have been in the office for more than an hour, waiting for you.’
Percy shrugged on his coat. ‘I do apologise, Lord Habershom. I had a guest last night. We took a morning ride before he departed. But here I am now, ever eager to learn.’
Seeing him come up the terrace steps, his expression resigned, Eirene thought he was not at all eager.
Percy was a man who liked being admired. He was more suited to a ballroom than an office. In her opinion he would rather do anything other than prepare for the responsibilities of running Warrenstoke.
‘It is a lucky thing your father will be here to make sure the estate does not fail,’ Mother said. ‘The late Viscount—both James and Henry, I mean—would be concerned if they knew Percy was in charge.’
As long as Eirene carried though with the long-held arrangement and wed the heir, Father would be here to guide Percy. More, Mother would be here to gain strength and live her best life.
Not that there was any doubt Eirene would wed within the Larkin family. It had been arranged...also she had dreamed it.
How old had she been when she had the ‘knowing’ dream? Just out of plaits, as she recalled.
In the dream she saw that she would wed the heir to Warrenstoke. It had not been revealed who it would be wearing the title. It was assumed to be Henry. Everyone was thrilled with that first dream since it was what they arranged the day she was born.
Of course everyone loved Henry. She would have enjoyed living here with her friend. But Percy? She would tolerate him. Try and think of him in the kindest light she could.
‘Has Father heard any news about the search for the second son?’
‘Only that the hunt goes on. I wonder what became of him after all this time? Anything could have befallen him. Your father and I remember him as a child. Joseph was such a lively little boy. It was sweet how he followed Henry about wherever he went.’
‘I did that, too.’
‘Yes... I’ve always thought Henry allowed it because you were like a little sister to replace the brother he lost.’
‘It must have been so hard for the Larkins to go through such an awful thing.’
‘It broke them both for a time. But you helped, Eirene. Having you toddling about and demanding they love you—well, it did help them go on.’
‘Has Father made a decision on closing up the house in London after I wed?’
‘Oh, I think he will not. We will need to travel to town upon occasion and then there is the staff to be considered. Your father would never put them out of their jobs.’ Her mother gave her a look, the one a mother used to see past words and into her child’s heart. ‘But there is something troubling you. It is not the London house.’
‘It is nothing really. A dream which I am having some trouble letting go of.’
‘That certain kind of dream, Eirene?’
‘I do not think so.’
‘It is puzzling that you’re not sure. That time when Aunt Izzy came to live with us, you had been certain of it even though at the time she lived in Paris with...well, that is better forgotten, but the very next day there she was at the front door, bags in hand.’
‘I loved Aunt Izzy.’
‘As did we all. And there was that time when you were very small and you dreamed we would get a dog having one white ear and one black ear and missing its hind leg. We insisted there would be no dog. You were adamant that there would be.’
Eirene smiled at the memory. When a week later said pup wandered up the steps and into the house...well she had got her puppy.
‘This was not one of those dreams.’
‘And yet you are troubled.’
‘It is only that I wonder how much longer I will need to wait to discover who I will marry.’
‘Six weeks, your father says. The time allotted to find our missing Warrenstoke will have run out. It cannot go on for ever, after all. You will be free to wed Percy after that.’
She nodded. Perhaps she would wed Percy, but there was the recent dream, for all that she tried to dismiss what sort it really was.
It was all too confusing. In the first dream she had wed a viscount. In the second she had wed a sailor. Only one dream could be right.
‘My sweet girl.’ He mother reached across the space between their chairs, stroking Eirene’s hair. ‘If you do not wish to wed Percy, simply say the word and we will return to London. We all love Warrenstoke but not at the cost of your happiness. Your father and I would never see you tied to a man you dislike.’
They might not be willing to do it, but she would do it anyway. Mother’s health depended upon remaining here. And Father had dreamed of living here since...for ever.
It was not as if she disliked Percy, exactly. Surely once they were wed he would grow on her.
