The Viscount Meets his Match: A Regency Romance Page 7

  “Never.” Josephine stood up and waited until the water streamed off her before she stretched out to reach for the towel. This newfound notice by her parents was unwanted, unwarranted and damn worrying. “And I have my own establishment ready and waiting in Northumberland. Now, if you do not want to be dripped on, I suggest you take a step or two back.” She waited until her mama complied, got out of the bath and stood on a towel placed on the floor for the purpose. “Thank you. Now, Mama?” she went on conversationally, “I have no idea why his lordship has decided to toy with me, but take my word for it, that is all it is. He means nothing by it. It is, I suspect, a way for him to pass the time until the season ends and he moves on to his next ploy. Yes, we went for a drive, yes, I know until today he never took a woman up beside him and yes, I know you have at last remembered you have a daughter, but no, it does not mean I am about to become a viscountess. I’m sorry to upset your plans.” No, I am not, but I am too polite to tell you what I really think of your belated attention. “Nothing is further from the truth. Do not get that bee in your bonnet, Mama, for it will sting you.”

  Her mother put her hands on her hips and shook her head in sorrow. “What did I do to deserve a daughter who does nothing to better herself?”

  Ignore me, perhaps? Forget you had a daughter until now, when it is almost twenty-four years too late?

  “I have no idea, Mama, but there it is. I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you, but, sadly, life does not always go according to your plans.” She patted herself dry and shivered. Now she was out of the hot water, her body had cooled rapidly. “If you want me not to sneeze my way through the evening, I suggest you let me get dressed. Are we not due to leave within the hour?” She walked past her open-mouthed mother and into her bedroom. Her mama followed her.

  “Really, Jose— Argh, why did you not tell me? I must hurry.” She swept out of the room.

  Josephine sank onto the bed and began to laugh. It was that or cry. “Oh, Mama, you have only ever heard what you want to hear.” Weary to the bones, she finished drying herself and rang for Mary to help her dress. At least the soiree should be irritating rake free.

  It was, and even though Josephine steeled herself to be on the receiving end of a lot of questions, they were in the main good-natured and not too intrusive. A couple of the younger debs gave her envious glances from under lowered lashes, and the looks that passed between them made her mentally chuckle. It was obvious they wondered what on earth the viscount was doing with someone so ordinary and nearly on the shelf as her. It would have been fun to confront them and inform them she also had no idea. However, whatever the circumstances, she could not do that to her mama.

  To her everlasting thanks, Harriet wasn’t in attendance, so she was spared what she was sure would have been more intimate and searching questions than those half-heartedly offered by the other attendees. Whoever had advised people not to annoy her by being too inquisitive deserved her heartfelt gratitude. She could hopefully get through the evening without showing her ire.

  Even with the lack of intrusive and in-depth queries, keeping her temper was at times a close run thing. After one elderly dowager had blatantly used her age and title to ask what came next, Josephine had to count to ten before she replied.

  “The harpist, a quartet, supper and then Miss Jones on the piano,” she said with a composure she didn’t feel. “So, if you will excuse me, I will go and find somewhere to sit.” She curtsied and turned away before anything else was said. As soon as they’d arrived, her mama had behaved as usual and left Josephine to her own devices, so there was no one to call her out for her undoubted rude behavior.

  Josephine took her seat to listen to the harpist and sank into the music. A rustle and a penetrating whisper interrupted her concentration.

  “If it were me, I’d have ensured everyone noticed me,” someone said. “And be certain it happened again. If Viscount Lyttlethorp is after a wife, I’ll make sure Mama invites him to her end-of-season ball. After all, I would be perfect.”

  “So you say,” someone else replied. A few hissed ssshhhs meant nothing else was forthcoming, until the harpist finished and took her bows.

  Josephine clapped along with the rest of the audience and carefully turned her head to see who had spoken. The two young girls who sat behind her colored and looked away. She leaned back over her chair. “I’ll pass on the information so he knows you want to be put on that list.”

  “The list?” the speaker asked. “What list?”

  Josephine smiled and patted the girl’s shoulder. “Did you not know he has two lists? One of those who want to be the next Viscountess Lyttlethorp and another of those who will never be considered? I, of course, have no way of persuading him upon which list any particular name should go.” She stood up, leaving both girls slack-jawed, and, unrepentant, she made her way out of the music room to where supper was being served.

  She chuckled at their opened-mouthed expressions as she left them. That was the most satisfactory part of this whole sorry affair.

  Or non-affair.

  Josephine contemplated the repast spread out on the table before her, chose a patty and an apple and found a seat in a corner. She was unsettled, and hated it. So many people were interested in her and her life was uncomfortable and unwanted. Drat Viscount Lyttlethorp. If he’d been there, she would have used the paring knife she held and pared him, not her apple.

  As he wasn’t, she amused herself by imagining ways he could suffer. Nibbled by ducks or chased by a swan. Had to walk home when his horse cast a shoe. Made to listen to inferior poetry with no way out. Forced to dance with one of those drooling, simpering, idiotic debs who would do anything to be his bride. Trapped between an epergne and a table with one. And she would chuckle as she watched.

  However, she was realistic enough to know none of that was likely to happen. Instead, no doubt he would just charm everyone to do his bidding then go his own way. Plus now she had told him what she thought of him, he would surely leave her alone and head for an easier target. Why did that thought not comfort her as she had expected? Was she truly wondering what it would be like to be properly wooed by him? Wooed because they both wanted it, not for propriety or necessity. She mentally shrugged. It was unlikely to happen to her.

  To anyone else it could, just not her.

  With that thought uppermost in her mind, Josephine got through the rest of the evening and the drive home. Whatever the morrow brought, it would be better than that day.

  * * * *

  How on earth could she be so wrong so often? For the second day in a row, she was woken by Mary at an hour much too early for coherent thought.

  “My lady, your mama wants you in her sitting room as soon as possible. She says not to bother dressing, but to go down in your robe.”

  That woke her up. “Eh? Not dress? Has someone died?” Her mama was a stickler for decorum.

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t think so. No one is in black at any rate, and we’ve not been told to decorate the knocker in black crepe. I’d say your mama looks unaccountably pleased with herself.”

  More attention? It was unnerving. Worse than no attention at all. Josephine threaded her arms into the sleeves of the dark blue robe Mary held out to her. At least it matched her nightrail and was presentable, she decided as she tied the sash. She couldn’t be faulted in that way. A nasty trickle of dread slithered down her spine. “If she is pleased about something, it cannot have anything to do with me. I couldn’t please her if I tried.”

  “Unless you married the viscount,” Mary said as she swiftly brushed out Josephine’s hair, plaited it and pinned it in a loose coil near the nape of Josephine’s neck. “There, that’s better.”

  “And as marriage is not going to happen, it isn’t me who has put her in a good mood. Let’s hope she keeps it when she sees me.”

  * * * *

  “Godmama, you are a gem. A veritable diamond.” David bowed, grinned then kissed his godmother’s hand in a
very flamboyant way. “Whatever would I do without you? I will owe you forever.”

  Lady Foster laughed and patted his cheek, one of her favorite ways to show her appreciation. “Oh you will, but fear not, I will think of something as a fitting repayment. That woman is one of the most miserable, self-centered people I know.” She paused and tilted her head to one side as she thought over her words, and waved her be-ringed fingers in the air in a circular motion. “Well, not exactly self-centered, more immersed in her husband to the exclusion of everyone else, including her poor children. It is no wonder Josephine is wary of any sort of intimacy, when the closest marriage she has observed is that of her parents. If you consider that, you immediately should accept she had an unhealthy relationship to use as her guide.”

  “Hmm, so what do you suggest?” David asked in interest. He hadn’t understood just how bad it was, but it did explain a lot with regards to Josephine’s attitude. “That I ignore her and change my mind? Focus on someone else? Because, as far as I can tell, that is very unlikely to happen.” That thought had surprised him when he had realized he was in no way jaded or bored of his—his what?— possible intended’s intentions to ignore him. Although he had been at Waterloo, fought hard and understood the value of careful planning and expedition, this, he thought, was a campaign like no other. Whatever the outcome, he intended to enjoy it. That was not something he could say about the carnage of Waterloo.

  “I thought not,” Janie Foster said. “Very well. I will give you five days, no more, or you may have to find me someone to defend me on a murder charge. Or rootle out another pipe of brandy, because if anyone is sure to drive me to drink, Drusilla Bowie is. She is a stupid woman. She and her husband deserve each other, and not their gorgeous children.”

  “I hadn’t been aware you knew them so well.”

  “I don’t, not really,” Janie Foster said. “For which I am ever thankful. But I know people who do, and I am a great observer of human nature. That couple do not head my list of good people. So, as I say, you owe me.”

  “We have a deal.” David stood up and stretched. “A five-day house party, with the Bowies amongst the guests. Lord, I ache.”

  “Late night on the tiles?” Janie winked. “I might be old but I do remember some interesting times when…” She broke off and colored. “Well… Anyway, enough about me. What about you?”

  David laughed. “I wish that were the case. It would be my own fault. Not that it is any other soul’s fault. This was planning and plotting so I could come to you cap in hand and ask for your help. There was no one else I thought could pull it off.”

  “You are such a sweet talker, David,” Janie said in appreciation. “What you really mean is no one else is as stupid as me. I hope she gives you a run for your money.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I am almost certain you will get your wish. Now, I must take my leave and let you get your arrangements sorted. I myself need to head north and make sure all is on order up there before I join you in Derbyshire. I have a barn to make watertight and a schoolteacher to interview.”

  “You are setting up a school? Seriously? You, my dear man, have hidden depths beneath your hidden depths. Where and how, if I may be so bold?”

  “I made sure of a school as soon as I bought Caldborough,” David said. It had been one of his first priorities. “However, it is incredibly well-attended and the numbers are so large now we need another teacher. It seems my agreement is needed as to whom. So to Caldborough I must go before anything else. I promise to be with you the day before your impromptu and oh so select house party assembles.”

  “Harrumph. You better not be late,” Lady Foster warned him. “This is a very large favor I am bestowing on you. That woman is enough to bring me out in hives, and to add insult to injury, to ensure her husband is entertained I’ll need to invite Freddie to make up the numbers. No doubt the old goat will take it as a sign of encouragement, damn him.” Lord Aitken, the old goat, had pressed his suit on Lady Foster for more years than David could remember, and the long-widowed Janie had ignored his pleas for equally as long.

  “Do you want to renege?” he asked quietly. “For, if you do, I will understand.”

  “Ah, men. Who could ever understand the way your mind worked?” Janie sighed. “No, you fool, I am looking forward to seeing what sort of a dance she leads you. All I ask is that there be a ring somewhere at the end of it.”

  As long as it wasn’t through his nose, David thought, he could agree with that sentiment.

  * * * *

  “You what?” Not very polite or grammatical, but it was the best Josephine could manage at such short notice. She’d been roused and made to dress and come downstairs to hear this? Before breakfast? “You think we should do what?” Surely she was in the middle of a nightmare, which she would soon wake up from?

  “Not think, do listen,” her mama said testily. “We are going to go to Lady Foster’s Derbyshire home for a house party.”

  You never do anything with me. Why now?

  Definitely a nightmare. Unfortunately, it looked as if it were a living nightmare, not a dream. There was more to it than a personal invitation to a house party. Her mama was not on those sorts of terms with Lady Foster, surely? Who had put the idea into Lady Foster’s mind?

  She could easily guess.

  “Enjoy yourself. I will go to Northumberland.” And enjoy every second of my freedom.

  “You will not.” Her mama sounded appalled. “You will come with us.”

  “Why?” Josephine asked baldly. “Why us? You hardly know her, and I am sure to be an encumbrance.”

  “Rubbish,” Lady Bowie said, somewhat unconvincing in her denial. “She is a long-standing friend.” Josephine noticed her mama said nothing about Josephine herself. Perhaps lying there was one step too far, even for her parent?

  Acquaintance, Josephine mentally substituted. A very slight, merely to nod to acquaintance at that.

  “She says, as the weather seems set to stay fair, a few days in the country might be pleasant, and she is just asking a few special friends if they would like to attend,” Lady Bowie carried on in a hurry. “A very informal affair.”

  “And you are one of them?” Josephine cursed the skepticism in her voice. She was lucky her mama either didn’t hear or chose to pretend she hadn’t. “Who else?”

  “Just us and a few of her close friends and family, I believe. I’m not sure who. After all, she is under no obligation to share that information with me.

  Especially if she is asked not to. Josephine had a good idea who could have requested that.

  “It is an honor for us to be invited. Of course, I said we would be delighted to attend. Such a thrill, I believe her gardens are second to none. And as for her hothouses, they are said to be spectacular. We will all have a perfectly amazing time.”

  “Hmm.” Josephine was not so sure. There must be a reason—a large rake-shaped reason, perhaps?—why her mama was so cagey about the other guests. “Why me?”

  “What do you mean why you? Why on earth not?” her mama said pettishly. “I swear, you are awkward just for the sake of it. You never used to be so intransigent.”

  As you rarely saw me, you never gave me the chance. As for why not? She could give her mama chapter and verse but knew it would do no good. “When,” she asked, resigned to her fate, “is this due to happen?” How long have I got to prepare?

  “Ah, from Thursday next week, for five days. So we arrive on the Thursday afternoon and leave on the Tuesday.” Her mama clasped her hands together as if she were about to pray. Josephine looked heavenward. If her mother was praying, could she herself ask for divine intervention to prevent the visit?

  She sighed. Probably not.

  “I declare, a few days in the country will be very pleasant,” her mama said in the sort of tone that just dared Josephine to argue. As her mama much preferred the town and often said the countryside made her sneeze, that was an obvious mistruth, but Josephine was a
ware there was no point in saying so. She curtsied, wondering as she did why she gave her mama so much unwarranted respect.

  “I’ll make sure Mary knows what to pack.”

  Please let me get out before I explode.

  “There might well be an informal dance on one evening, so pack the green,” her mama instructed. “And the lilac as a standby.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. “The green for an informal dance?” The green was more suited to a formal ball, not a dance in the country. Even the lilac was, to her mind, too fancy for anything other than a town engagement. She made a mental note to insist that her cottons and lawns were included. “Who else will be there?” If she asked often enough, would she get an answer?

  Probably not.

  “You need to appear your best,” her mama said defensively. She didn’t look Josephine in the eyes. “Who knows who will be there?”

  “Exactly so. Who knows? Perhaps you had better tell me.”

  Her mama colored. “I’m sure I have no idea,” she replied unconvincingly. “Lady Foster said it is a select few people and I would not be so uncouth as to ask who.”

  And if you expect me to believe you, you are deluding yourself. It was easy to guess who had done the selecting. Lady Foster would not have acted alone, and Josephine would bet her new diamond pin she knew who else had been involved.

  “If you think Lord Suddards will be there, then make my excuses now,” Josephine said with a snap as she stood by the door, ready to make her exit. “I am not going to be paraded before him.” Or give him a chance to do anything else. She was beginning to understand how a deer felt when it was being stalked.

  “Why on earth would I think that?” Her mama twisted the fringe of her shawl around her fingers and could not look her in the eyes.