Page 8 of A Suitable Countess (To All the Earls I’ve Loved Before #3)

In which the Hero feels inordinately pleased at a Picnic in the Country .

George felt decidedly pleased with himself as he walked away from the Admiralty building.

He’d spent a pleasant but productive hour with his good friend, Sir Gregory Hunt, whose work as a naval secretary gave him direct access to the Admiral.

Gregory had promised to arrange passage to Egypt for an agent aboard the next naval ship heading to the eastern end of the Mediterranean Sea.

The agent, whose services George had just that morning procured, was a veteran of the war in Egypt against Napoleon. His mission was to ascertain the whereabouts of Viola’s parents and what had befallen them. He would then proceed according to whether the news was good or bad.

In the event he succeeded in finding Lord and Lady Winspear alive and well, he would deliver a letter from George with news of Viola’s family’s situation and an assurance from him that he would take care of Viola and her siblings until such time as Lord Winspear returned or sent written instructions to his bank, which said agent would be happy to deliver.

Having set the search for Viola’s parents in motion, George was about to take her for a drive in the country in order to get to know her better.

But no matter how he couched his decision to continue courting her as scientific inquiry, he was honest enough to acknowledge he liked her.

The very qualities other men would shun in a wife were those he considered strengths.

Not that he wished her to make a habit of wearing men’s clothing, unless it was for his eyes only, but the strength of her determination to protect her siblings would as easily extend to her duties as his countess.

The more George considered Viola, the more he believed his search for a wife to be over. His reward would be sweeter than the tempting treats his cook would have packed into the picnic hamper.

George planned to taste them on Viola’s lips.

Yes indeed, he was feeling very pleased with himself as he entered his house and headed for the stairs to change his attire. But before he climbed more than two steps, his butler appeared below him.

“My lord, you have a visitor in the library. He said he was happy to wait.” Pickering knew better than most when George did not wish to be at home, and George had most specifically told him he would not be at home today, so why had he allowed a visitor inside?

It was unlike Pickering to forget such details. Annoyance flickered in George’s response. “I am going out again. Convey my regrets to my visitor.”

“I shall, my lord, only it is your godson. He was most insistent that he see you today.”

Ah, that explained Pickering’s lapse.

“That’s fine, Pickering. You did right to install him there.” George sighed, turned around, and headed to the library. He didn’t want to be late to Viola’s, but Philip was like family.

Wondering how on earth his godson had fallen into another scrape since last night’s poker game, George steeled himself to hear whatever mess Philip had got himself into.

Philip had made himself at home in front of the fire. Feet up and with a decanter of brandy on the side table, he looked perfectly at home and not at all discomposed.

“I can spare you five minutes. What have you got yourself into?”

“Good morning to you, too, George. Nothing is wrong, nothing requires you to fix it, only that fellow, Victor—”

“What about him?” A queasy feeling like sea sickness disturbed George’s stomach. If his godson suspected Victor was actually Viola, there would be hell to pay.

“I liked him. He’s good company and I want to invite him for drinks and another game of poker at my club, but I never got his address. You dropped him home, didn’t you?” Philip tossed off the brandy in his glass and got to his feet. “Can you give it to me now, and I’ll go call on him?”

Hell’s bells.

George’s mind blanked for a moment.

“George? Is there something about him I don’t know? I thought he was a decent sort of chap, the sort you’d be happy for me to know.”

George cleared his throat and turned to the brandy decanter to buy himself time. He poured a good slug into a glass before turning back to his godson.

“He is a decent sort, but I’m sorry to disappoint you. He asked me to drop him off along the way. Said he was visiting a friend. I have no idea where Victor lives.” A half-truth at best, but since Victor wasn’t real, George could live with it.

“Blast it. Well, I’ll keep an eye out for him at Elverson’s next time I’m there. And if you see him, can you get his address for me?”

George chose not to add to his white lie and merely nodded before drinking half the brandy in his glass. Crisis averted.

For now.

Was there any chance Philip would recognise Viola as Victor if he were to meet her later? Given George was fairly certain he would be marrying Viola in the near future, the likelihood of his godson meeting his wife was more of a certainty.

He and Viola would have to concoct a cover story to explain the uncanny resemblance. A family connection would be best, George decided, and Victor would have to go on an extended tour to the Continent before the wedding.

“If there’s nothing else? I have an appointment elsewhere.”

Philip shook his head. “That was all. Except . . .” He looked at George, and there was something different in his eyes.

It wasn’t maturity exactly, but it was as if Philip were looking at him differently. As an equal.

“I enjoyed playing poker with you last night. We should do it again.”

With that, his godson gave the smallest of bows and strode from the room, leaving George frankly gobsmacked. They’d always got on pretty well, but to have his godson actively seeking his presence, for entertainment no less, well—

Surprised and rather pleased with his godson’s changing attitudes, George was contemplating another glass of brandy when he heard the longcase clock striking the quarter hour.

If he didn’t get moving, he’d be late to pick up Viola.