Just Another Viscount in Love Read online

  Gemma wasn’t certain what to make of this development. Though perhaps she’d read them wrong from the start and they were only being nice. And perhaps Aunt Edith truly was too ill to travel. It might have been something she ate at breakfast. Gemma wouldn’t put it past Lady Cantham to slip soured milk into someone’s tea.

  Resigned, Gemma offered a smile. “You are both too kind. I feel as if I wore out my welcome hours ago.”

  “Nonsense. Mr. Wortham and I are glad for the company. In the meantime, would you like to help me finish the counterpane?”

  “Miss Desmond is a thief, just like her father,” Lady Tillmanshire declared with a haughty sniff, her coterie nodding in agreement. Lady Cantham, Miss Ashbury, and Miss Leeds all gathered around her in his study with their noses in the air.

  Sam did his best to subdue his urge to have them escorted from his house. That would come soon enough, but first he would protect Gemma from their slander. “I will ask you politely, and only once, to recant your unfounded accusation.”

  “Unfounded?” Lady Tillmanshire blustered. “That good-for-nothing girl crept into my room in the dead of night to steal from—”

  “Impossible,” Sam interrupted. “Miss Desmond was not even here last night. In fact, she is a guest of my parents in the dower house.”

  Lady Tillmanshire’s mouth opened and closed like a fish in need of water. “The . . . the dower house? But that just cannot be. You said on the first night that you would not introduce any of the guests to your parents until . . . you had reached . . . an understanding.”

  “Precisely,” he said, looking out the open study door to see a team of footmen carrying down their luggage to be strapped to the waiting carriages. Then he cut directly to the point. “You are no longer a guest at Dunnock Park, Lady Tillmanshire.

  “You may not know this, but the ton has a low opinion of those who sling about false accusations of this enormity. They are especially unforgiving of upstarts who reek of new money and parade themselves about town in gilded carriages that they can no longer afford.” He took a moment for his words to sink in. “Oh yes, the secret of your strained finances is on the lips of many. Out of pity, I ignored those rumors, wanting to give fairness due to you and your daughter.”

  “And for that we humbly thank you,” Lady Tillmanshire said in a rush, likely not noticing how Lady Cantham took hold of her stepdaughter’s arm and retreated a step, their faces pinched in haughty disdain.

  “The truth of the matter is, I was wrong to do so. I see that now,” he continued, as if the baroness hadn’t spoken. “Regardless, I have kindly made arrangements for your room and board.”

  “You are too generous,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Are we, perhaps, to stay at the dower house as well?”

  He was astounded by her amount of gall. “No. I have arranged for you to reside with your daughter’s betrothed, Lord Haggerty.”

  The four of them gasped in revulsion, as they should. The man was beyond vile, his character lacking in every gentlemanly courtesy. It seemed fitting for the baron to marry into a family that possessed the same qualities—or lack thereof.

  “I have learned that—contrary to what you have told me, Lady Tillmanshire—your daughter is still very much betrothed to Lord Haggerty. Since his estate is only a few miles from here, I have sent a missive to him that he should expect his bride’s family this very day.”

  Miss Ashbury’s skin paled, tinged with a yellowish green. “Mother, I cannot marry him. He is so hideous that I can hardly stand the look of him.”

  “And you will not marry him if I have anything to say about it.” The baroness turned to Sam, advancing in small, desperate shuffles. “Lord Haggerty lied to us about his fortune. The truth is that he is nothing more than a pauper, claiming that he possessed a great estate and fortune. We never would have considered him otherwise.”

  Sam felt no pity but merely shrugged. “Sadly, society is used to lies of this sort. There are far worse crimes than being poor, such as”—he offered a pointed look to Miss Ashbury—“crying off after a betrothal. A young woman who does such a thing is labeled a jilt, which most often ensures a life of spinsterhood.”

  Then Sam turned on the other two. “As for you, Lady Cantham and Miss Leeds, my servants have informed me that you were willing participants in the scheme to brand Miss Desmond a thief.” He walked to the door and gestured for them to depart. “And I have ordered your carriage as well.”

  Lady Tillmanshire stopped, her voice rising with affront as she pointed a finger at Lady Cantham. “Is that all the reprimand she’s to receive? The stolen brooch was her idea.”

  “So you say,” Lady Cantham said, lifting a hand to smooth her pale hair, “but who is going to believe you any longer? You’ve lost your fortune, and your daughter is marrying a pauper.”

  Miss Leeds and her stepmother exchanged a look and snickered.

  Suddenly, Miss Ashbury launched herself at Miss Leeds, claws at the ready. “And you will be a spinster because no gentleman will have you once I reveal the truth about you and your riding master!”

  Then all four of the women fell on each other, brawling in the foyer. It was a pitiful display of scratching and screeching, of flying hair ribbons and ripped sashes. He even saw a brown wig skid across the floor and noted that it belonged to Lady Tillmanshire.

  Sam rolled his eyes and ordered the footmen to carry the melee outside and then to bolt the doors.

  Swaggering down the hall, Holt chuckled. “House parties are far more amusing than I ever imagined. Perhaps I should host my own after my father’s imminent wake.”

  “I fear I cannot yet recommend it.” But if all this gained him Gemma, then it would be well worth it. As for now, he was waiting to see if his plan would work. With the help of Holt, the Hollander twins, and Gemma’s aunt, they’d written to many of their closest allies and influential members of society. “Did you send the letters?”

  “Indeed. The Dowager Duchess of Vale and One and Two have all sent theirs to be posted in the village, while I sent mine with my valet to be hand-delivered. I imagine a few responses, from those living nearby, will come as soon as tomorrow.”

  Sam hoped Holt was right. If everything went as it should, Gemma wouldn’t need to worry that her father’s deeds had tarnished her reputation beyond repair. If people took the time to know her, they would be as besotted as he was. All she needed was an opportunity to show them who she was.

  Then, perhaps, she wouldn’t feel the need to escape after all.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “So many invitations, my dear. I do not know which of them we should accept first,” Aunt Edith said from her bedchamber in the manor house later that week. As usual, her silvery coiffure was immaculate, and behind her, a towering placement of pillows, so that she was reclining in the perfect pose.

  Gemma looked through the open door toward the corridor when she heard the sound of footsteps. Her pulse quickened at her wrists and at the base of her throat, wondering if she would finally see Sam.

  But when she saw it was only a footman, she turned back to her aunt, feeling an empty ache inside. It only worsened as she stared down at the stack of letters on the bedside table.

  It was foolish to feel this overwhelming despondency, she knew. After all, she should be glad that dozens of letters had arrived in the past couples of days, each of them expressing a fervent desire to have Aunt Edith and Gemma pay a call on them. It seemed as if she no longer had to worry about her reputation.

  She knew this was Sam’s doing. Only he would have been so thoughtful, ensuring that her life altered for the better before she left.

  She should be ecstatic. At last, she could move forward without being a burden to her family. She could have the quiet life she always wanted.

  “Though perhaps it would be best to stay with Northcliff and Ivy and be present when the baby arrives,” Aunt Edith continued. “Then, by early next spring, we could travel to Liam and Adeline for their first bundle.
Between your cousins, we may be well exhausted from travel and up to our necks in infants.” She laughed fondly, shuffling from one letter to the next, heedless of how the world had suddenly stopped spinning. “Oh, and here is a delightful one from my friend Lady Cosgrove. She writes, ‘I am abundantly pleased to report that Lilah is in a delicate condition and fairly glowing. As for her husband, you would hardly recognize Jack. While he is fierce as a lion, he is as gentle as a lamb with her and has taken well to his new situation as Viscount Locke.’ ”

  “I am happy for them,” Gemma said absently. “Each time I’ve spoken with Lilah, she has been more than kind. She even helped me finish painting the mural in Ivy’s nursery.”

  Aunt Edith sat straighter and held up her finger. “I just thought of something. I seem to recall that Lilah was the one who Lord Ellery had courted early this last Season. Oh, but I believe her heart was already engaged. Though apparently his was not, for I daresay, he would have been too forlorn to continue his search for a bride and host this party. Men tend to pine and brood when their hearts are bruised.”

  Gemma remembered what Lady Russford had said about Sam’s having been cast aside before, and a swift spark of jealousy ignited over the notion of Lilah winning Sam’s favor. “He has the nature to recover easily, I think. By next Season, he will surely fix his attention on someone else.”

  Proof of that was the way he’d kept his distance from Gemma, as if there’d never been anything between them. They hadn’t spoken for three days, not since he accused her of seeing only closed doors. Which, in her mind, was rather ironic, considering how he’d so efficiently closed the door on her. And coming here, crossing the garden from the dower house to the manor, had not been easy for her. She’d fretted over seeing him again and what she might say. Yet he’d been conveniently absent each time she’d visited her aunt.

  That ache welled inside her.

  Aunt Edith shook her head. “Apparently, his nature, as you put it, has altered, for I heard from Lady Russford this very morning that her son has abandoned his quest indefinitely. Lord Stapleton and Miss Stapleton have left this morning, as have the Misses Creighton. Such a shame too. Lord Ellery would have made a fine husband.”

  Gemma swallowed down a rise of emotion that clogged her throat. “The finest.”

  “Oh, look here,” Aunt Edith said, back to her reading, “Lady Cosgrove continues with this interesting tidbit about Juliet. Even though she and Lord Thayne are still on their honeymoon, they asked Zinnia, as well as Marjorie Harwick, to oversee the delivery of a rather large crate to their own library. And do you know what was inside? A red velvet chaise longue. What do you think they would need with such an uncommon piece of furniture in the library? It raises an eyebrow, does it not?”

  Gemma wasn’t paying attention. She was staring ruefully down at one of the invitations in her hand. “He went through so much effort so that I could leave.”

  “My dear.” Paper crinkling in her lap, Aunt Edith leaned forward and covered Gemma’s hand. “Do you not think it possible that he was trying to make it easier for you to stay?”

  “If that were true then one of these invitations would be from him.” Or in the very least, he would have come to see her. Instead, he plagued her with his absence each night by leaving a woodbine blossom on the pillow in her bedchamber at the dower cottage. She didn’t even know how he was doing it. But it was cruel reminder, nonetheless, of what she might have had if things were different. She shook her head. “Not that it matters in the end.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because the moment my father returns or is caught in some scheme halfway around the world, then all of this will be for naught. The name of Desmond will be cast in the gutter once more, and anyone associated with it will be as well.”

  Aunt Edith remained silent through Gemma’s rant, her expression thoughtful, searching. “I cannot believe I never noticed it before now. But your mother—rest her sweet soul—did this very thing whenever she was frightened. When I first married her brother, she was still in the schoolroom. Often on my visits, she would conjure up terrifying tales of all the monstrous things that might be inside her wardrobe or beneath her bed. I thought she was trying to frighten me or impress me with her dramatic skills. It was only later that I realized she needed to imagine the worst possibility in order to protect herself from . . . oh, whatever creepy-crawly might have been lurking in the shadows. It was her means of garnering courage, I suppose.”

  Even though Gemma enjoyed the story, she was not fond of the point her aunt was making. “I’m not imagining things. I know this will happen when my father returns.”

  Aunt Edith drew in a breath and said gently, “Dearest, he has no intention of returning. Not ever.”

  “Forgive me, Aunt, but you could not possibly know this. He has always done whatever he chooses without thought or care for anyone else,” she said, her voice brittle.

  “Precisely.” Then Aunt Edith looked down to the coral strand around Gemma’s neck. “That necklace was your mother’s. I’d been holding onto it for a time, waiting for the right moment.”

  “But how”—Gemma touched the beads, half expecting them to disappear like a mirage or part of a dream—“did you find it?”

  “Your father sold it shortly after your mother’s death.” Her mouth tightened. “Thankfully, the London jeweler recognized the unique clasp and sent me a missive. I purchased it and have had it ever since, in safekeeping for you. Your mother wanted you to have it, as with all her jewelry.”

  Gemma inhaled a shaky breath, garnering her own courage for what she had to say. “But I lost—sold all of it in a market. It was terrible, and I will never forgive myself.”

  “But you couldn’t have, my dear. Your father had sold every bit of your mother’s jewelry before he took you away from me and left London. Then he tried to hide what he’d done by replacing them with replicas—real jewels with paste and the gold with brass.”

  Stunned, Gemma lifted her face. All this time, all these years, she’d been tormented by that day in the market. “They weren’t even hers?”

  Aunt Edith shook her head and brushed a hand over Gemma’s cheek. “If I’d have known you thought that, I would have told you much sooner. I admit that I carry a great deal of guilt of my own. I spent years allowing your father to siphon money from me with the threat that he would cut off my contact with you if I didn’t. What I should have done instead was to gather an army and find you for myself.”

  “And how would you have known where to find me? We were never in one place for more than a week,” Gemma said distractedly, as a sense of new awareness was awakening. She’d always wondered why she’d been allowed to write her aunt. Father had always been paranoid that she would say something in her letters about his business dealings. He often threatened to cut off Gemma’s contact with Aunt Edith if she ever exposed him. Now she knew that he’d been doing the same to both of them. “Why do you suppose he finally brought me back to London?”

  “When you turned twenty, I stopped paying him. I’d thought—hoped, rather—that he might come to me for money and bring you back to London with him. It was a risk, I knew. But I had to do something. You sounded so lonely in your letters.”

  Suddenly, Gemma knew it was true—her father wasn’t coming back. There was no longer any profit in it for him.

  Though, truth be told, she’d suspected this all along. In fact, years ago she’d reconciled herself to the fact that her father had never truly loved her. He’d always been more concerned with money and his forgeries than he had been with his daughter.

  It was strange that this confirmation didn’t distress her. In fact, having proof of it was . . . well, fairly liberating. She took a deep breath and thought of this moment as a single stitch in a long row.

  “You’re right. I was lonely.” Rising from the bedside chair, she embraced her aunt, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And I’m glad you made that decision.”

  Then, glancing a
t the mirror stand, Gemma touched the necklace. It was as if her mother were here. In that instant, she could almost see a memory of her, just a brief ghost of a glimpse. “Did she have the habit of covering her mouth when she laughed?”

  A soft smile touched Aunt Edith’s lips as she dabbed away the wetness from beneath her eyes. “Oh yes. I’d forgotten that. You see, she had a chipped tooth—a small bit of nothing in the corner that you couldn’t even see. I don’t think she ever knew how beautiful she was. You’re like her in that regard as well, though I think there’s a certain viscount who is very much aware it.”

  Gemma pondered that statement, unsure. “Do you really think I’m guilty of imagining the worst as a way to protect myself?”

  Aunt Edith didn’t say anything but patted Gemma’s hand.

  Strange. Gemma thought she was so clever at reading other people, but she never thought she was hiding something this monumental up her own sleeve. “Truth be told, I’m not certain which is more frightening—imagining the worst thing that could possibly happen or wishing for the best.”

  “Well, I think you’ve done enough of one, and it’s time to try the other.” Then Aunt Edith swept the coverlet aside and stepped out of bed. “I’m feeling much better all of a sudden. What do you think, my dear? Should I order a carriage, or would you like to stay?”

  Sam stood on the bank of the pond, agitated and wondering if patience could kill a man. It had been three days since he’d spoken with Gemma. Three days since he’d touched her, kissed her. Three days since he’d set a plan in motion to give her the choice of having the life she wanted. The only problem was, he didn’t know if she wanted him. And the waiting was slowly killing him.

  He decided that he did not like falling in love at all. It was a wretched, restless feeling that brought a sharp, searing pain to each beat of his heart and made his lungs burn with every effort to breathe.

  Before, when he’d courted Lilah, he’d imagined being able to grow into love eventually. Given the number of things they had in common, he felt that he would have been pleasantly content with his life. But this was far different.