The Viscount Who Seduced Her (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 17

  “Obviously, I wish to discuss Michael’s visit to Lady Paulina earlier today!” the Earl said, giving his wife a look of such disdain, that Michael immediately felt guilty for his own critical thoughts of his mother.

  “Yes, of course, My Lord,” the Countess said quickly, trying still to diffuse the tension between her husband and her son. “I should have realized that, of course…”

  “What do you wish to know, Father?” Michael asked, cutting his mother off before she could make the Earl even angrier.

  “How did it go?” the Earl snapped at Michael, before coughing into his handkerchief, and then taking a long sip of his wine.

  For a moment, Michael fantasized of telling his father that he had realized that he did not love Lady Paulina, but rather her maid, and that he would give up his inheritance to be with her. Of course, this was not a part of his actual plan, and instead he said, “Lady Paulina and I had a rather pleasant discussion of Ancient Greek Mythology.”

  “Ancient Greek Mythology?” his father asked, sounding incredulous.

  “Yes,” Michael said, enjoying the look on his father’s face, in spite of the fact that he knew it was unwise to provoke his anger in this way. “Lady Paulina has a most interesting perspective on Aphrodite, as well as some other members of the Pantheon.”

  “Well,” the Countess said, sounding hopeful. “That sounds like quite an interesting discussion.”

  “Yes,” Michael said, his mind wandering back to his time spent in the drawing room at Cublertone Manor. “It was a rather…illuminating visit.”

  “What the deuce are you two talking about?” the Earl said to his wife and son, in a tone that was a mere hair’s breadth shy of yelling. “A most interesting perspective on Aphrodite? An interesting discussion? Why should that be of any interest to me?”

  “I am sorry, Father,” Michael said, keeping his voice even and calm with great effort. “Bit you did ask how my visit with Lady Paulina went, so I thought it best to tell you about our conversation. Is there something else that you would like to know?”

  “Why do you insist on acting like a bloody fool, Michael?” the Earl’s tone was becoming dangerous now, and Michael knew that he ought not to provoke him any further.

  “I am very sorry, Father,” he said, looking down at the table as he spoke.

  Michael’s father sighed heavily, and his mother’s eyes darted back and forth between her husband and her son.

  “You ought to be,” the Earl spat the words like poison darts. “Now. If you are prepared to have a proper discussion like an adult, I should like to know when we may expect you and Lady Paulina to announce your engagement?”

  “Ah…” Michael said, not knowing how to answer this question.

  “Perhaps you need to spend a bit more time together before you are ready to propose marriage?” his mother suggested, gently.

  “Yes, I suppose that we do,” Michael said, feeling uncomfortable. He hated lying to his mother, but knew that being honest with her in this moment would only lead to a great deal of unpleasantness for both of them.

  “Why on earth should you need any more time?” the Earl demanded to know. “You have spent more than enough time together to know that she is pretty, well-educated, and genteel. The matter is settled. You will speak to her father as soon as possible, and then you will propose marriage.”

  “I do not wish to overwhelm Lady Paulina,” Michael said, grasping for any possible excuse to delay a marriage proposal.

  “Nonsense!” the Earl said, with a derisive snort. “That is absolute nonsense, as I am sure you are aware, Michael. Now, I do not understand why you hesitate to propose marriage to Lady Paulina, but I confess, I do not care what your reasons might be. This foolishness has gone on for quite long enough!”

  “Yes, Father,” Michael said through gritted teeth.

  “You will propose marriage to Lady Paulina within the fortnight. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Michael felt anger bubbling in his stomach, hot and acidic, and found that he was no longer hungry. He had eaten only a few bites of his roasted quail, but put his fork and knife down and looked away from his plate.

  “Well,” the Countess said. “This is very happy news indeed! I shall look forward to getting to know my future daughter-in-law very soon.”

  Michael smiled weakly at his mother—would she feel enthusiastic about meeting her future daughter-in-law if I told her that I wish to marry a lady’s maid, rather than a lady?

  The Earl continued to scowl at his wife and his son, but seemed to have nothing more to say, which Michael thought was the best possible state of affairs at this point in the evening. After a few moments of silence, the Earl began to cough once again after taking a large bite of his pheasant.

  “Are you all right, My Lord?” the Countess asked, sounding concerned.

  The Earl’s coughing continued for several more seconds, and was followed by a long drink of wine. “Yes, of course, I’m quite all right,” he replied, his voice sounding somewhat hoarse.

  After another silent moment, the Earl cleared his throat rather loudly, and said, “Please excuse me, I think that I must retire early this evening.”

  “Are you sure that you are quite all right, Father?” Michael said, feeling a small inkling of concern. Michael could not honestly say that he liked his father, or enjoyed his company, but he did not wish illness upon him.

  “Of course I am all right,” the Earl barked, sounding more like his usual self. “I told you that I was fine! I am merely tired!”

  And with that, the Earl pushed his chair back from the table, stood up, and walked out of the dining room. Michael looked at his mother to see how she might react to this behavior. He saw that she was looking down at her folded hands in her lap.

  “You really must try not to upset him like that,” the Countess said quietly.

  “What on earth do you mean?” Michael asked. He had spent his entire life trying not to upset his father, only to learn that this was an impossible goal.

  “Michael,” the Countess said, her voice low but urgent sounding. “Your father is not well, surely you can see that. Upsetting him may make his cough even worse. So please, for his sake, as well as your own and mine, please try not to upset him.”

  “Mother,” Michael said, his voice a mix of sadness and frustration, “I shall do my best not to upset him, but you must know that is a nearly impossible request.”

  “I know that it is no small feat,” the Countess agreed, “and I must confess that I am not always able to follow my own advice, but please promise me that you will try not to upset your father.”

  Michael could see that this was extremely important to his mother, and decided that it must therefore be important to him as well.

  “All right, Mother,” he said with a sigh. “I promise to do my best not to upset Father.” He felt a twinge of guilt as he spoke, knowing that this promise would be nearly impossible to keep.

  “Thank you, Michael, you are a true gentleman in every sense of the word,” his mother said to him with a smile.

  Chapter 20

  It had only been two days since their last visit when Lady Paulina received a note from the Viscount of Somerwich, asking if he would be welcome to call upon her again in another two days’ time. Betsey was surprised to learn that he would be returning so soon, and wondered if this would be the visit during which he would propose marriage to Lady Paulina.

  Although Betsey knew that it would break her heart to see him married to someone else, she found herself hoping that he would propose. She felt that even the misery of knowing that he loved another would be easier to bear than her current state of confusion. At least then I would know to stop hoping for something that I know to be impossible.

  As they had done so many times before, Lady Paulina and the Viscount of Somerwich met in the drawing room. And just as she had done so many times before, Betsey sat in the corner, acting as chaperone, but kee
ping herself out of their sight as much as possible.

  She tried desperately to concentrate on the needlework in her hands as her mistress and the Viscount talked to one another. Try as she might, though, Betsey found that she was unable to stop herself from looking at the Viscount from time to time. More than once she thought that she saw him trying to catch her eye, but she quickly looked away each time. What on earth is he playing at?

  “The weather is quite fine today, My Lord,” Lady Paulina said, looking out of the window.

  “Indeed it is, My Lady,” the Viscount agreed with a smile.

  “Would you care to take a walk in the garden, My Lord?”

  The Viscount stood up and offered his arm to Lady Paulina, “That is a wonderful idea, My Lady.”

  Betsey followed the couple into the entrance hall and fetched their coats, hats, and gloves, along with her own shawl, knit by her mother. As she handed the Viscount his coat, Betsey was shocked to feel him touch her hand. A shiver passed through her fingers and up her arm, where warmth radiated outward through her chest.

  Had his touch been a mere accident? No, it was no accident, his fingers linger upon mine as though he does not wish to remove them. Betsey could not be sure whether she had stood still in her shock for a matter of seconds, or hours, it was as though time had stopped entirely.

  The spell was broken when she felt a piece of paper, folded into a small square, pressed into her hand. Betsey looked up at the Viscount, who was moving his hand away, putting on his coat as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

  Lady Paulina stood next to him, looking curiously at her maid. Betsey hurried to her mistress to help her with her coat, hat and gloves. Quickly, and she hoped discretely, Betsey shoved the small square of paper into her pocket, and held the coat open as Lady Paulina slipped her arms in.

  A few moments later, the Viscount and Lady Paulina were walking, arm in arm, through the garden, with Betsey following several paces behind. She spent the entirety of the walk pondering what might be happening.

  Her mistress and the Viscount seemed to be having a perfectly pleasant conversation, strolling through a beautiful English garden, just as would be expected of two young aristocrats on a brisk and clear afternoon. However, the Viscount had also touched the hand of a lady’s maid, and give her something that must have been a note. Why would he do such a thing?

  Betsey knew that she would not be able to read the note until long after the Viscount had left Cublertone, and the suspense of not knowing what he might have wanted to say to her was its own sort of torture.

  As they walked, Betsey put her hand in the pocket of her skirt, checking every few minutes to ensure that the note was still there. She ran her finger tips along the edges of the small square, feeling the sharp creases drawing lines across her skin.

  From the distance they covered, Betsey knew that they could not have been walking for more than half of an hour before returning to the house. The position of the sun in the afternoon sky confirmed this, as did the grandfather clock in the entrance hall when they walked inside.

  In spite of all of this evidence to the contrary, Betsey felt certain that it had been several hours since the Viscount had passed her his clandestine note. She did not know how much longer she would need to wait before reading it—even a minute more seemed unbearable, but she knew that she must be patient.

  Thankfully, the Viscount indicated that he would need to return home shortly after returning from their walk.

  “Thank you for allowing me visit today, Lady Paulina,” he said, bowing politely to his hostess.

  “Of course, My Lord, you are always most welcome at Cublertone. Thank you for coming to call,” she replied in a cheerful tone.

  “Good day,” he said, and then turning to Betsey, “And good day to you, Miss…?”

  Betsey was once again standing in a corner, trying to remain out of sight of the Viscount and her mistress, so she was shocked to be addressed directly. She ought to have introduced herself, but was stunned into temporary silence.

  Her senses were just returning to her after a few seconds when Lady Paulina said, “Oh! This is my maid, Betsey Babington, who has consented to act as our chaperone on so many occasions, and who has always been a good friend to me.”

  Lady Paulina had seemed confused at first by the Viscount’s interest in her maid, but seemed happy enough to complete this introduction. She gave Betsey a genuine smile as she called her a good friend. Betsey hoped that she had been a good friend to her mistress over the years, but she felt a pang of guilt as she thought of the note in her pocket. Good friends did not accept notes from their mistress’s future husbands.

  “You are too kind, My Lady,” Betsey said, curtseying to her mistress.

  “Miss Babington,” the Viscount said to her with a smile. “Good day to you as well.”

  “And a good day to you, My Lord,” Betsey replied, curtseying low, and feeling color rising in her cheeks. She hoped desperately that neither her mistress nor the Viscount had noticed her blushing.

  If they had noticed, neither made any sign of it in their words or actions. The two aristocrats bid each other farewell and the Viscount soon left when the butler informed him that his carriage was ready and waiting in front of the house.

  * * *

  Several more hours did actually pass before Betsey had a moment alone to read the note that the Viscount had given her. Fortunately, she was kept busy, helping Lady Paulina find a particular volume of poetry in the library, then fetching her paper, quill, and ink to write a letter to her former governess.

  She was finally able to steal a moment of solitude after helping Lady Paulina dress for dinner, but before joining the rest of the servants in the kitchen for her own evening meal. Betsey ought to have been tidying Lady Paulina’s rooms during this time, but thought that there would be no harm in taking just a few minutes to read the Viscount’s note as well.

  She pulled the small square of paper from her pocket and turned it over and over in her hands before unfolding it. It bore no seal, but she supposed that one was not necessary as it had been delivered directly to her own hand. Smoothing out the many creases and laying the note flat upon Lady Paulina’s writing desk, Betsey read:

  My Dearest Ice Queen,

  When we danced at the masquerade ball, I must confess that I found you to be the most beautiful and intriguing person upon whom I have ever laid my eyes. Our conversation in the garden after that dance served only to confirm this assessment for me.

  When you ran away from me after our kiss, I thought that perhaps I had offended you by making such an advance. I admit that my behavior was quite scandalous, and it is my most sincere wish that you will accept my apology for being so forward.

  After you ran away, I feared that I should never see you again, and I despaired at the thought. I felt certain that the spark of passion that I felt for you could only mean that true love would follow, but I did not know if you had felt the same way about me. I could think of no way of discovering your true identity, and I felt doomed to wonder about you for the rest of my life.

  So, you must imagine the shock that I experienced when I recognized you as Lady Paulina’s maid! Perhaps you are secretly an aristocratic lady posing as a maid in order to complete some intrigue. Perhaps you are truly a lady’s maid who posed as an aristocratic lady for a night in order to enjoy the follies usually reserved for your mistress. Perhaps there is some other explanation, of which I cannot even conceive.

  Whatever your true identity and station might be, please know that it matters nothing to me. My only wish is to spend more time with you, and to know you better. I pray that you will forgive me for being so bold, but I believe that I am falling in love with you.

  Your Majesty, I beg of you, if you feel the same way about me, please agree to meet with me. I shall return to Cublertone Manor on my own late tonight. Meet me in the garden where we sat and talked at the masquerade ball at midnight. I know this is highly unusual,
but I beg you to consider coming. I must know if you feel the same way about me that I do about you.

  Your Humble and Obedient Servant,

  Michael

  Betsey’s head was spinning by the time she had finished reading the note from the Viscount. She had laughed out loud at his suggestion that she might be a noble lady in disguise, but had been otherwise moved by his words.

  Betsey sat down in Lady Paulina’s chair, placing her head in her hands. What on earth shall I do? She knew that she would be mad to meet him in the garden at midnight. How could she possibly take such a huge risk? But she also felt certain that if she did not go, she would spend the rest of her life wondering what might have been if she had gone to meet him.

  He had not even known her name until today, but he said that he was falling in love with her. He hoped that she felt the same, and he had signed his note with his Christian name. What could she possibly make of any of this?