Page 6 of The Viscount Needs a Wife (All for Love #2)

T he find of the Celtic cross formed a subject of conversation over dinner that night, Emrys raising it with the duke.

“The boys are keen to dig and see if there is a grave underneath it. It may predate the Keep by five hundred years or more according to Miss Pringle,” he said, nodding to her down the table. “Are you amenable to digging it up, Robert?”

“I don’t see why not. I’ll write to Aberdeen of the Antiquities Council about it. If you’ve found something of note he’ll want it recorded. You say you couldn’t make out the names?”

“No, they appeared to have been damaged.”

“ Damnatio memoriae ,” remarked the duke cutting into his beef.

“Yes, very likely. Wonder who he upset, poor fellow,” said Emrys.

The conversation passed to other matters, and at the end of the meal the ladies withdrew, leaving himself and Robert to enjoy a port or two.

“How are you bearing up?” asked Robert when the servants finally left them alone.

Emrys shrugged, “Well enough.” He toyed with his glass.

“If there is anything I can do...” said the duke awkwardly.

“Thank you, but there is nothing.”

An uncomfortable silence fell, and Robert tried again. “Sarah says she may have found a nanny for you...”

“Yes, she mentioned. The woman is coming at the end of the week. I’ve tried several, but the girls haven’t liked them.”

“It must be difficult. How are they?”

“Up and down. They have good days and bad. It helps having playmates. It was a good notion to invite the Watson tribe.” He sipped the port.

“You’ve lost weight—Sarah remarked on it.”

Emrys smiled ruefully. “Well, that’s one good thing to come out of this.”

“I’m sorry, Emrys,” said Robert quietly. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

Emrys shook his head. “I know. Sometimes it feels like a nightmare, and I’ll wake up one morning and everything will be back the way it was. But then each day it becomes more and more obvious that it won’t.” He sighed and rubbed his face.

“Do you want to join the ladies?”

“Aye, why not?” He tossed off the rest of his port and rose, straightening his jacket. His damned neckcloth felt too tight. This wretched heat didn’t agree with him.

He was still fiddling with it as the duke held the door for him as he stepped into the drawing room.

There was no fire—the doors stood open to the gardens, letting a cool breeze into the room—and the ladies were scattered about the room on sofas.

Lady Heather and Miss Mary Watson were bent over a book, Lady Ava paced restlessly before the open windows, Sarah, and dowager duchess talked quietly, and Miss Pringle, by herself, engaged in some needlework under the light of a candelabra on the table beside her.

She was dressed neatly in a plain, dark-blue muslin, with a white shawl draped round her shoulders.

The gown had a modest neckline, and her only jewelry was a seed pearl brooch, fixed to the center of her bosom.

The placement drew his eyes inexplicably to the swell of her breasts outlined by the plain navy ribbon running beneath them.

He recalled the moment she had placed her hand upon his arm this afternoon in wordless sympathy and a sudden restless surge of heat disturbed his equilibrium.

He averted his eyes from her in confusion, hoping that the faint flush in his cheeks went unnoticed by the company.

Ava turned at their entrance and pounced on her brother. “Robert! Some entertainment please—country life is insupportable! I have become overly spoiled by my London season. What do you suggest we do?”

“We could play cards,” suggested Sarah. “There are eight of us, two tables of Whist?”

The duke glanced at him. “You amenable, Emrys?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug.

In a few minutes, tables and chairs were assembled, two decks of cards produced, and candelabra situated to give adequate light to the players.

Emrys found himself paired with Miss Pringle against Lady Ava and the dowager duchess.

Since both the duchess and Lady Ava were fiercely competitive, it became quickly obvious that he needed to pay attention.

To his surprise, Miss Pringle proved an astute player, and he kept his gaze away from that disturbing brooch, or rather its disturbing location.

Surprisingly, the game jerked him out of his fit of melancholy.

It was impossible to remain melancholy in Lady Ava’s presence he discovered.

The young lady’s vivacious spirits refused to allow it.

“Mama, what were you thinking? I was counting on you to trump Lord Ashford’s wretched king!” she exclaimed in the last round.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I had nothing else to play!”

“You must allow us another game to be avenged upon you, Lord Ashford,” said Ava gathering up the cards.

“What say you, Miss Pringle? Should we assay another game or quit while we’re ahead?”

“One more game, then Heather and Ingrid must retire, and me with them,” she said.

“Oh, you cannot leave before the tea tray comes!” exclaimed Ava.

“Only if the duke permits,” said Miss Pringle firmly.

They played one more hand and Ava and the dowager were victorious. The tea tray arrived on the heels of the game, and Miss Pringle and the girls stayed to partake of tea before she whisked them away to bed.

The dowager yawned and left them soon after, so that it was just himself, the Lady Ava, and the duke and duchess.

Ava, still bubbling with energy, then demanded that her brother play while she sang.

She had a lovely voice and the ballad she chose was stirring, a tale of a young maid’s lost love.

He found himself with a lump in his throat.

He was altogether too vulnerable to melancholy at present.

The duke then put him to the blush by saying in heartening accents, “Ava, you play while Emrys treats us to his voice.”

“Oh yes, please do, Lord Ashford,” said Ava with a wide smile, taking her place at the instrument.

He reluctantly joined her, and they found a tune they both knew.

Ava smiled up at him and casually touched his hand with hers, which made him freeze in alarm.

Lady Ava could not be flirting with him, could she?

He straightened, acutely uncomfortable, and cleared his throat.

He sang the song but refused to be drawn into singing more and retired to a single chair as far away from Ava as possible.

He just hoped Robert hadn’t noticed. He would have his guts for garters if he suspected Emrys of any intentions in that direction, and he wouldn’t blame him.

Not that he had any intentions. Ava was a pretty girl and lively as a sparrow, but even if she hadn’t been Robert’s sister, he was emphatically not interested in pursuing any woman at present.

He doubted very much if he would ever do so again.

His heart was shattered, and his sense of trust broken.

He retired to bed soon after that and found his valet, Felton, in his room waiting for him. Felton was annoyed with him, which was nothing new, but the man was too well-trained to show it openly.

“Do you require a nightshirt, my lord?”

“No, thank you. It’s too hot. You don’t need to linger, Felton. I can undress myself.”

Felton bowed precisely and said with offended dignity, “If you would allow me to have that waistcoat, my lord, it has an indelible stain.”

“What stain?” Emrys looked down at his waistcoat. “Oh that. I hadn’t noticed.”

“No, my lord.” Felton said with feeling and moved to take the waistcoat off him as Emrys undid the buttons. Sliding it off his shoulders he continued, “If your lordship permits, I will repurpose this garment as it is not fit to be worn. If I’d known you proposed to wear it—”

“It’s my favorite waistcoat,” protested Emrys.

“That’s as maybe, my lord, but the ink stain won’t come out. I have tried every weapon in my arsenal, and nothing will budge it.”

Emrys sighed. “I’m a sore trial to you, aren’t I? Why do you stay?”

Felton took the offending waistcoat, folding it carefully. “I live in hope, my lord.”

“Of what? Me suddenly turning into a dandy?” Emrys grinned. “Not until hell freezes over, my friend.” He loosened his neckcloth and ripped it off, heaving a sigh of relief.

“Not a dandy, my lord,” said Felton, with all signs of revulsion.

“Of what then?” asked Emrys, pulling his shirt over his head.

“If my lord would just permit me to shine your boots occasionally?” begged Felton.

Emrys shrugged, unbuttoning his breeches. “If you insist, but it’s not necessary.”

“It is, my lord, very necessary,” said Felton feelingly, taking each item of clothing Emrys carelessly tossed onto the floor and folding them up carefully into a pile.

Emrys turned to the water bowl and began to give himself a quick wash. He ran his hand over his chin, encountering the scritch of bristles. He probably should have a shave in the morning.

“That really will be all. Thank you, Felton,” he said with a smile, as the man gathered up the pile of clothing and gave him a correct little bow.

“Good night, my lord.”

He left, and Emrys dried himself off and crawled beneath the sheets.

It was too hot for much in the way of coverings, and he always slept naked anyway, which seemed to offend Felton’s delicate sensibilities.

He would insist on asking if Emrys wanted a night shirt, when the man knew he didn’t wear them unless it was very cold or he was ill.

He tried to settle himself, but sleep eluded him, and he lay staring up at the large fourposter’s canopy, vaguely visible in the still burning light of the bedside candle.

He should get out his book if he couldn’t sleep—it was better than letting the thoughts come.

Surprisingly, however, his mind wandered to the day’s events instead of the dark channels they had been occupying of late.

It had been an interesting day and more enjoyable than he had expected.

When he had volunteered to help Miss Pringle, it was from a sense of obligation.

The poor woman was saddled with all these children to look after, and it was partly his fault.

The least he could do was bear her company with them.

That her company had proven so pleasant was a bonus he hadn’t looked for.

He recalled that strategically placed brooch in the center of her bosom and the unaccustomed flush of heat that had accompanied it.

Embarrassment made his cheeks burn. He should not think of the governess like that.

She was a lady and deserved his utmost respect.

What ailed him? He hadn’t entertained lewd thoughts of any woman since Caro had destroyed his world.

He sat up and reached for his book, determined to think no more disturbing thoughts about the governess—or any other woman, for that matter.