Page 30 of My Viscount’s Madness
Chapter 30
All Good Gifts Come From God
“ T he musicians have arrived early,” Mr. Thorne announced as Marguerite adjusted the flower arrangements in Carlisle Manor’s entrance hall. “Shall I direct them to the ballroom?”
“The small parlor first.” She stepped back to examine her work. “They’ll need refreshment after their journey.”
“Very good, My Lady.” He paused. “His lordship asks if you might join him in the conservatory. Something about Miss Hoffman’s latest artistic endeavor.”
Marguerite smiled. “Tell him I’ll come directly.”
She found Tristan studying Emily’s newest watercolor—a surprisingly accurate rendering of his prized stallion. The renovated conservatory around them looked beautiful, with its expanded windows bringing in the light Marguerite desired.
“She captures his spirit well,” Marguerite said, joining her husband before the painting.
“Better than most trained artists.” He pointed to a particular detail. “See how she’s caught that defiant tilt of his head?”
“Much like his master’s expression when faced with unwanted social obligations.” She brushed fluff away from his coat. “Speaking of which…”
“I am perfectly prepared for this evening.” He captured her fidgeting hands. “The house stands ready, the food arranged, the guests invited, thanks to you. Even my much-maligned social abilities have improved these past months.”
“I am glad you are much more relaxed in these types of events.” She leaned into him, savoring the quietness before their home filled with guests. “The musicians await your inspection.”
“Must I?”
“You must.” She stepped back. “Unless you’d prefer I handle that as well?”
He sighed dramatically. “Into battle then. Though I maintain strategic retreat serves perfectly valid purposes.”
“Not tonight.” She shooed him toward the door. “Tonight, you are the master of this house—restored in more ways than one.”
Marguerite was busy directing servants, perfecting the decorations, and managing everything else for the gathering while Tristan instructed the performers on what to play.
“The Langstons’ carriage approaches,” Mr. Thorne announced as Marguerite arranged the supper room’s place cards.
Dinah swept in moments later, James at her side. “The ballroom looks magnificent! Those crystal chandeliers must have cost a fortune.”
“They belonged to Tristan’s grandmother.” Marguerite embraced her sister. “We found them in the attics.”
“Along with half the Ton’s treasures, I’d wager.” Dinah examined a nearby vase. “This is Sèvres porcelain.”
“Also from the attics.” Marguerite linked arms with her sister. “Come see what else we’ve discovered. The house held more riches than anyone suspected.”
“Much like its master?” Dinah asked softly.
Before Marguerite could respond, Emily Hoffman arrived with her mother. The girl wore her first ballroom dress—pale pink silk that made her look older than seven.
“Lady Guildford!” She rushed forward, then remembered her manners and dropped into a curtsy. “Mama, let me put my drawings in the conservatory! Will you come to see how I arranged them?”
“After I greet our other guests,” Marguerite promised. “The Fitzroy’s carriage just turned up the drive.”
Her parents entered alongside what seemed like half the county’s nobility. The Marquess kissed her cheek while her mother exclaimed over every elegant detail.
“You’ve worked miracles here,” her father said, examining the restored portrait gallery.
“The house simply needed attention.” Marguerite watched Tristan welcome Sir Richard Blackwood.
More carriages arrived, disgorging elegantly dressed guests into their home. Marguerite found herself greeting faces that had once whispered about the mad Viscount—now exclaiming over the beauty of his estate and the graciousness of his manner.
Lady Morton cornered her by the refreshment table. “Such a transformation! I scarcely recognize the place—or Lord Guildford himself. He seems a different man entirely.”
“Not different.” Marguerite watched her husband escort Emily’s mother to a comfortable seat. “Simply himself at last.”
Music filled the ballroom as couples took their places for the first dance. Tristan claimed Marguerite’s hand, leading her onto the floor confidently.
“You’ve mastered this,” she said as they moved through the steps.
“I had excellent motivation.” His fingers pressed against her waist. “Speaking of which, have you seen the latest addition to Emily’s artistic collection?”
“The one she hung in the conservatory just before guests arrived? Not yet.”
“Save me a moment after this dance. There’s something particular I want to show you.”
They completed the set and then slipped away while James monopolized the musicians with requests for livelier country dances. Emily’s drawings lined the walls of the conservatory—horses, landscapes, and family portraits arranged with childish pride.
“There.” Tristan pointed to a new piece positioned in the center. “Look what she’s captured.”
The watercolor showed Carlisle Manor as it now stood—windows blazing, gardens blooming, life in every corner, but what caught Marguerite’s attention was the couple in the foreground: herself and Tristan walking the grounds together, his hand at her waist. At the same time, she pointed out something in the distance.
“When did she paint this?”
“Last week, during her art lesson. She said she wanted to show the house as it is now.” His arm slid around her. “A home rather than a fortress.”
“She’s quite talented.” Marguerite studied the details. “Even got your expression right when pretending to enjoy social interaction.”
“I wasn’t pretending just then.” He turned her to face him. “Not when you make even the most crowded rooms feel intimate.”
A rustling at the doorway announced Emily’s arrival. “Do you like it?” she asked eagerly. “Miss Andrews helped me with the perspective, but I did the figures myself.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Marguerite. “You’ve captured everything perfectly.”
“Mama says you’re expecting a baby.” Emily bounced on her toes. “Will you let me paint the nursery? I have ideas for a mural with horses and—”
“Emily!” Catherine appeared behind her daughter. “That news wasn’t yours to share.”
Marguerite pressed her hand to her still-flat stomach. “We hadn’t planned to announce it yet.”
“I’m sorry!” Emily clapped her hands over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to spoil the surprise.”
“Nothing spoiled,” said Tristan gruffly. “But let’s keep this between us for now, shall we? It will be our little secret.”
“Of course.” Catherine steered her daughter toward the door. “Come along, Emily. I believe I heard the musicians playing your favorite cotillion.”
When they’d gone, Tristan pulled Marguerite closer. “So much for our private news.”
“Did you truly think we could keep it secret much longer? My mother’s been watching me like a hawk these past weeks.”
“I liked having it just between us.” His hand covered hers where it rested on her belly. “A piece of joy that belonged to no one else.”
“We have many such pieces.” She leaned into him.
More guests filtered into the conservatory to admire Emily’s artwork. Tristan didn’t step away from his wife and was no longer concerned with hiding his feelings.
“Lord Guildford, I must compliment you—your estate has never looked finer,” Lord Morton approached. “The improvements to the grounds are truly remarkable.”
“I’m pleased you think so, Lord Morton. The gardens were overdue for attention, though I trust the stables to your liking?”
“Quite. Lady Morton is already insisting I do something similar. But speaking of improvements, I need reliable timber for my new stables. I hear you’ve connections with Norwegian suppliers?”
“I do. If you’d like, I can arrange for my agent to include your needs in the next shipment.”
“That would be most generous of you. I’d be in your debt.”
“No debt,” Lord Guildford smiled. “Only good manners among friends. I’ll see to it tomorrow.”
Marguerite watched her husband discuss business, admiring how naturally he interacted with peers now. No trace remained of the man who had hidden from human contact.
The ball continued around them—music and laughter spilling from the main house. James led Dinah past the conservatory windows, smiling at whatever private joke they shared. The Marquess conversed deeply with Sir Richard while their wives compared notes on Emily’s artistic progress. Even Lady Morton appeared to enjoy herself, holding court among a cluster of local matrons.
“Shall we rejoin our guests?” Marguerite asked as Lord Morton hurried off to share his good news.
“In a moment.” Tristan pulled her into a shadowed corner. “I want to remember this—our first real celebration in our home.”
“The first of many.” She brushed more fluff from his coat. “Think how much more we’ll have to celebrate next year.”
His hand returned to her stomach. “A son to teach riding?”
“Or a daughter to spoil with art lessons and mathematics.”
“Either way, a child to love.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “As I love their mother.”
They returned to the ballroom arm in arm, greeting their guests with pleasure. The house seemed to glow around them, every restored detail reflecting the happiness of its inhabitants.
Later, they stood on their bedroom balcony, watching the last carriages depart. Marguerite leaned against her husband’s chest, and his arms were wrapped around her waist.
“A successful evening,” she said.
“Thanks to you.” He nuzzled her hair. “Everything good in my life comes thanks to you.”
“Not everything.” She turned in his embrace. “You had goodness in you always. You simply needed reminding how to share it. And remember, ALL goodness comes from God. He is the Giver of all good gifts.”
“His name be praised forever,” added Tristan as he gazed at her with emotion borne from grace.
Music still drifted up from below—the musicians playing one final song as servants extinguished candles and cleared away glasses.
“Come to bed,” said Tristan softly.
Marguerite took his hand, leading him inside to their bedchamber. Here, away from society’s eyes, they could simply be themselves—two people who had found love in what began as anything but.
For love is all that matters… and their love was true.
THE END