The Virtuous Viscount Read online

  The door shut firmly behind him.

  Later as he stretched out in bed, Marcus could not shake the image of the girl from his thoughts. What did she look like when she really smiled? He remembered the weak one she gave him when her eyes had opened while in his arms. He wondered how her laughter sounded. Would he ever get the opportunity to find out? He fell asleep with these petitions on his heart.

  He tossed and turned through the night and rose as the sun began its ascent. The storm had passed, and the day promised drier weather. In spite of this being a holiday for him, he had tasks around the estate to accomplish. First was to make sure the carriage on the road was moved for repair. Marcus holed up in his study after a solitary breakfast, when a knock disturbed his work on the papers before him.

  “Come in,” he called out.

  The door opened, and in stepped his head groom, Stickney. The older man had thinning hair.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, my lord, but I wanted to report to you regardin’ the broken carriage.”

  “Did you manage to get it into Didcot to the wheelwright?”

  Stickney nodded.

  “Good.” Marcus returned his gaze to his paper. The groom cleared his throat, drawing Marcus’s attention once again to his servant. “What is it, Stickney?”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon. ’Tis about the carriage.” Stickney twisted his hat in his hands but fearlessly returned his master’s gaze.

  “Yes?”

  “The broken axles. They didn’t break on their own. They ’ad been sawed partially through.”

  “Are you saying…?”

  “That twern’t no accident, Lord Remington. Someone ’ntended for them wheels to break.”

  Marcus placed his pen back in its stand. “The carriage was sabotaged? At possible risk to the lives of those aboard, not to mention the possibility of injury to the horses?”

  Stickney nodded. “The geldings ’ill recover.”

  “Good. Thank you for informing me. I shall look into this.” With a nod to his servant, Marcus picked up his pen and dipped it again in the inkwell.

  Stickney put his cap on and turned to leave, quietly shutting the door behind him.

  Marcus started to write but returned the pen to its stand and leaned back in his chair. Why would someone deliberately seek to injure the occupants of that carriage? And who? Marcus massaged his right temple and shook his head before closing his eyes. This was not turning out to be a relaxing visit home.

  He picked up his pen and wrote three letters. Two left within the hour, and the other only awaited an address. With a deep sigh, he rose to seek out Lady Widmore. He tracked her down in the sunny South parlor. “Lady Widmore, I was searching for you.”

  “Yes, my lord? I am penning a missive to my husband about our accident.”

  “As you undoubtedly should. I wrote a letter to post to Mr. Storm but do not have his address.”

  “I will take care of it for you.” She took the envelope from his hand, inscribed an address, and handed it back to him.

  Marcus glanced at the address. Strange. Miss Storm’s address was Northampton, when the Widmore carriage traveled from the west. “I’ll take this to Fenton to send out immediately. You can give him your correspondence when you are done, and he will post it for you.”

  “You are most kind, my lord.” Lady Widmore bent her head to her letter, cutting off any further communication.

  Marcus frowned. Every interaction with this woman challenged even his most basic training in manners. A shiver traversed his spine as he sought out his butler.

  ~*~

  Widmore Estate

  The corpulent lord grinned as he stroked his substantial stomach. When he became a widower, he could go to London and find another wealthy wife. If his peons failed, at least he could stop his whiny bride from spending money and bringing the attention of the debtors to focus on him. The Black Diamond had offered him a mint for his daughter. He’d balked at that. But if things became desperate…

  He grinned. Maybe a well-written letter to his father-in-law would loosen purse strings without him having to sacrifice his only child? Even so, in the end, it still came down to a need for an heir, and his wife had not cooperated with his efforts. He’d be glad to eliminate either one or both of them.

  3

  Josie moaned. Her head ached as though she were a horseshoe being shaped and pounded on the anvil at the local blacksmith. She remembered once watching him pump air into the hot coals, which now took up residence in her skull, and the clink, clink, clink of the hammer on reddened metal thundered within. The doctor cautioned against the medication unless the pain became intolerable. Suffering was a subjective thing, though, was it not? Molly awoke her every few hours. The pain was inescapable.

  She blinked her eyes against the darkness. The room smelled like sunshine, flowers, and furniture polish. She heard movement. She suspected it was Molly. Her faithful servant had cried earlier when the doctor gave her the sad diagnosis. She could tell from the sound of his voice that the prognosis was not hopeful. His voice carried regret and pity. She didn’t want either. She refused to think about tomorrow. This day promised to be long and painful. All her energy would be required just to survive.

  Tired. So tired.

  ~*~

  Dr. Miller descended the stairs as Marcus returned from his discussion with Fenton.

  “Bruce, come in and tell me how our patient fares.” Marcus escorted the doctor to the study and closed the door behind them. “Make yourself comfortable. Would you like me to ring for tea?”

  “Thank you, no. Other patients await me.” Bruce sat in a chair, and Marcus found one across from him and took a seat.

  Bruce sighed. “Miss Storm awoke this morning during the exam.”

  “And?” Marcus leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together.

  Bruce shook his head, stood, and started to pace. “I’m not sure. She is in pain but cannot move her legs.” He squeezed his eyes closed tightly and released them, reaching up to grasp the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

  “What?” Marcus’s voice was low and serious.

  “She can’t see.”

  “What can’t she see?”

  “Miss Storm is blind. She is also paralyzed from the waist down, as best as I can determine.” Dr. Miller sighed.

  Marcus leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “This is far worse than anything I imagined. Is it permanent?”

  Bruce shook his head and turned, making eye contact. “I do not know. There’s no reason I can discover for the paralysis although she reported pain in her spine. If the head injury were closer to her eyes or the back of the head, the blindness would make more sense. I’m flummoxed, and I have to admit I’m not comfortable with any of it.”

  “What is to be done for her?” Marcus asked softly.

  “She cannot be moved. I apologize Marcus—she may need to remain under your roof for some time. I’ve left laudanum, but I’m loathe to use it with a head injury.”

  “Miss Storm is welcome at Rose Hill as long as necessary. I’ve already written to my aunt to ask her to join us for an extended stay to protect the young lady’s reputation.”

  “I wish I understood more. If you require anything, do not hesitate to send for me. I’ll write to some of my colleagues and find out what else might help her.”

  Marcus came to stand by the doctor. “I trust you, Bruce. We have been friends for too long. We can pray for Miss Storm. God has His hand in this somehow.”

  Bruce sighed and shook his head. “I confess His ways confuse me. She’s not had a chance to really live her life yet. It seems wrong to watch her resting there.”

  “May she have visitors?”

  “Short visits and plenty of rest. I’ve already sent orders to your cook.”

  “She is under the best possible care with you as her physician. Thank you.” Marcus placed his hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “You will return soon?”

>   “Yes. I am grateful for your faith in me.” Bruce turned and walked to the door, and Marcus followed. The doctor accepted his hat and coat from Fenton, picked up his medical bag, and headed out to his carriage.

  Marcus returned to his study and sat down. Blind. Paralyzed. His heart grieved for the guest in the yellow suite. The loss of her dreams and her future. Who would marry a woman with those kinds of deficiencies? A heaviness cloaked his soul. He longed to see if she was still awake. He rose and departed the room.

  Lady Widmore and her daughter descended the staircase as he approached. They wore dresses in a similar shade of blue, but Lady Widmore’s was darker and exposed more flesh. The daughter resembled the mother in the manner in which she walked and moved. It was eerie.

  “Ah, Lord Remington, just the person we hoped to see.” Lady Widmore exclaimed. Her gaze assessed him.

  “Your hopes are fulfilled, for here I am.” Marcus forced a smile. Something about this woman set him on edge.

  “We hoped you would do us the honor of a tour of your beautiful home.” Lady Hetitia inquired.

  A small bundle of fur flew across the marble floor and slid to a stop at Marcus’s feet, where it barked and jumped. Marcus bent down. “Charlene. Stop this at once.” His voice was stern, but he smiled at the small dog, who barked back as she sat down at his feet. The dog panted and her tail wagged as she gazed up at him expectantly. Marcus shook his head, petted the dog, and scooped her up in his arms. He received a lick on the cheek as a reward.

  Lady Widmore scowled. “I can hardly believe you would allow this beast loose in your home.”

  “I apologize if Charlene’s manners are not to your liking, but she had been kept in the stables in my absence and is happy to see her master return. Be glad that I don’t have a whole passel of hunting dogs running lose around here. As a bachelor, I have no one to please but myself in these matters.” His gaze dared her to gainsay him.

  Lady Widmore sputtered, drew herself up a little taller, and raised her nose a fraction higher. “The tour?”

  “Ah, yes.” Marcus turned toward the front of the foyer. “Fenton?”

  “Yes, my lord?” The older man, dressed primly in black, stepped forward.

  “Would you locate Mrs. Hughes and find out if she would be able to give the ladies here a tour of the house?”

  “Certainly.” Fenton turned to leave.

  “If you wait in the front parlour, first door on the right, I’m sure Mrs. Hughes will arrive soon.”

  Lady Widmore’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed together in an unattractive way. Her daughter’s shoulders visibly slumped. “Thank you,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “I have business I must attend to. Pardon me.” Marcus set Charlene back on the ground and proceeded to climb the stairs. The dog followed at his heels.

  ~*~

  Josie detected Molly off in the distance and the sound of a deeper voice. The doctor, perhaps? No, his voice had been higher. She lacked the energy for curiosity. She wanted to cry in private, if not for the diagnosis, but due to the pain alone. From the way things sounded, she had little privacy. She found that thought simultaneously stifling and comforting.

  The soft padding of feet drew closer, and Josie sensed Molly’s presence.

  “Miss Storm?”

  “Yes, Molly?” Josie turned her head toward her abigail’s voice. Clink. Clink. Clink. The hammer continued as her head throbbed.

  “Lord Remington desires to visit with you for a few moments. Would that be acceptable?” The words bounced around in Josie’s head and competed against the pounding for comprehension.

  Josie nodded and instantly regretted the activity, as her brain had become a bowl full of pudding and nails. “For a few moments. Stay close.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  Josie imagined Molly bobbing a curtsy. The footsteps moved away. The pitter-patter of little feet scratched on the hardwood floors and muffled on the carpet. Heavier tread approached, and she sensed the mysterious presence of the owner of this place of her confinement.

  “Miss Storm?” A deep, resonate voice called to her. It wrapped her in warmth and comfort like her favorite blanket when she was a child. She delighted in the sound.

  “Yes? Lord Remington?” She turned her face toward that side of the bed and inhaled the soothing scent of sandalwood.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes. How do you fare?”

  Her weight shifted. “I’ve had better days.” Why pretend I am fine when I am not and may never be again?

  A slight weight bounced on the bed by her side, and little feet walked across her torso. Soon a wet nose sniffed her face. Josie reached up to touch the soft fur. “And who might you be?” The dog tickled her neck with its tongue. For a moment, she forgot her pain.

  “May I introduce Charlene? Charlie, for short. I can remove her if she is a bother to you.”

  “Please don’t. I love dogs.” As Josie petted the dog, the hammering slowed its tempo.

  “She may remain with you.”

  “Thank you.” Turning her head from the dog, she once again faced her host. “I am grateful as well for your rescue last night and for the shelter of your home.” She wished she could see him.

  “I’m glad we happened upon you when we did. Not many people travel this road after dark. As for shelter, I could do no less since I lived close.”

  Silence hung between them, broken by Marcus. “I’m sorry to learn of the extent of your injuries. Are you in much pain?”

  Clink. Clink. Clink. Josie took a deep breath and released it slowly. She nodded and suffered the amplification of the sounds in her head. She feared that if she were not blind already, the pain itself would accomplish the task for her.

  “Is there anything I can do to help make your stay more comfortable?” Marcus’s velvet voice soothed her.

  “Visit me again when you are able. I would like that.” Josie couldn’t believe she had made that request, but something about his voice, the tone, called to her deep inside, and like a metal drawn to a magnet, she couldn’t resist.

  “I shall try. Would you like your aunt and cousin to visit?”

  Josie closed her eyes. The pounding increased in intensity and speed. “No. Please. I do not wish them here.” She squeezed her eyes as if doing so would stop the pain, but it was futile.

  “I can tell you suffer. I will depart and return another time. Should you require anything, please make the maids aware and they will get word to me.”

  A large hand grasped hers and squeezed. The warmth of his touch muffled the clink, clink, clink. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she tried to blink them back. I will not cry in front of him. “Thank you, my lord.” She turned her head away from him and into the soft fur of the dog curled up on the pillow next to her head.

  “You’re welcome,” came the soft, deep response.

  The careful tread of his feet as he moved away was the only sound. The pounding amplified, and the tears flowed. She shivered as if all the warmth of the room had left with him.

  Later, Molly chattered freely as she helped Josie to eat. Josie warred internally against the sound of her maid’s voice as it intensified the noise in her head and the pain in her back. She bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. She had never been one to be short with servants, and she refused to allow these circumstances to attempt her to abuse such a trusted maid. Plus, she was curious about the master of Rose Hill.

  “Miss Josephine, I nearly fainted when Lord Remington showed up at the door last evening.” The maid spoke softly, almost conspiratorially.

  “Last night? Wasn’t I unconscious?”

  “Yes, miss, but he only wanted to visit you, and he did something quite odd.”

  How strange. “What did he do?”

  “He was charming and handsome. I didn’t know how to say no to him, but he allowed me to stay, and he came to sit by you, and well…”

  “And?” Josie closed her eyes to try to forestall the rapid tempo in her head
.

  “Lord Remington sat by your bed and prayed for you.” Josie heard the astonishment in Molly’s voice as she shared this secret.

  “He prayed? Are you sure?” What kind of man did that?

  “Oh, yes. Most definitely. Although he didn’t speak aloud, he prayed.”

  Josie relaxed. “What’s he like, Molly?”

  “Tall, broad-shouldered, with wavy brown hair he pulls back in a queue. His eyes are kind. Deep brown like the coffee your Da likes.” Molly sighed.

  Great. My maid is half in love with the master of the house.

  “The staff has spoken highly of Lord Remington. They are devoted to him and tell me he is generous and fair.”

  “There’s no Lady Remington?” Josie had to know.

  “No. Mrs. Hughes hopes this season he might select a bride.”

  “Has cousin Hetty set her sights on him yet?”

  “I’m unsure. I suspect all four of the gentlemen present will be fair game for her.”

  “Four men?”

  “Oh, yes, miss. There is Lord Harrow, who is kind but not quite as handsome as Lord Remington. Lord Westcombe is exactly how I would imagine an aristocrat to be—blond and untouchable. He doesn’t view us like Lord Remington does.”

  “That accounts for three. I thought you said there were four men?”

  “Sir Tidley. He seems a pleasant man with a ready smile and a twinkle in his eye. Mrs. Hughes said the men befriended each other at school and spent most of their holidays here at Rose Hill.”

  “I would like to be alone now.” Weariness settled into the marrow of her bones.

  Molly put the tray to the side and pulled the covers up to Josie’s chin. “You rest, Miss Josephine. I will wake you in a little while as the doctor instructed.”

  “Thank you, Molly.” Josie forced her muscles to relax in an attempt to shut out the hammering in her head. A metallic clink, clink, clink distracted her as she sought to imagine what the man with dark hair and coffee-colored eyes looked like. She groaned at the futility of it as darkness suffocated her soul.

  4

  Morning brought no relief from the constant pain. Josie longed to be left alone. Molly tried to be solicitous in taking care of her basic needs, but her efforts grated on Josie’s nerves. Is this what the rest of her life was to be like? Her future looked as dark as her vision. Lord, why did this happen? I don’t understand. I had hoped for a husband and children and a home of my own someday. She sighed. Her introspection cut off as a new physical presence had entered the room. She inhaled. “Lord Remington.”