Page 1 of The Viscount’s Second Chance (The Lovers’ Arch: Later in Life)
Essex, Summer of 1800
E leanor Allen was one of five girls and a single boy born to Baron Mylton and his wife; Nora was the youngest by several years—“A wonderful surprise,” her mother always called her; “A horrible menace,” proclaimed her elder siblings. Her childhood was warm and her household was a happy one, but it was far too busy for a girl as quiet as she. It wasn’t that she was meek or shy, simply that the voices of her five siblings—all older than she—were louder and commanded a great deal more attention. In fact, she possessed quite the sunny, bubbly disposition full of mischief and laughter…only her siblings had already performed all the same tricks and told the same jokes years before Nora had been old enough to try them. Unfortunately, this often left Nora on the outskirts of their family to find her own way.
Recognizing her youngest child’s need for attention and companionship, Baroness Mylton brought her twelve-year-old daughter along to visit the estate of a near neighbor and close acquaintance, Viscountess Bexton, and Nora’s life was never the same.
The Bexton estate bordered theirs, so the bumpy carriage ride wasn’t expected to take longer than one-and-a-half hours. Still, Eleanor had brought along three books—one she’d nearly finished, one she adored and had read repeatedly, and a new one her brother had brought back for her from London. Who knew what her mood might be when she felt like reading? It was far better to be prepared than woefully lacking. She’d immediately laid down across the rear-facing seat and settled in, feeling like she was choosing from a selection of sweet confections as she decided which book to read and then was promptly lost within the pages.
“Lady Bexton has a daughter near to your age,” the baroness said for approximately the fifth time since they’d embarked upon their journey. She wasn’t a woman who repeated herself.
“Yes, Mama.” She didn’t miss the glance her mother shot her from beneath the brim of her bonnet. It wasn’t like the baroness to be evasive. Eleanor set aside her book, sat up, and crossed her ankles, just barely refraining from swinging her legs like the child she was. “What is it?”
“Hm?” Was that guilt flashing across her mother’s eyes? “That! Just there.” She flung her hand at her mother as if pointing out a particularly interesting bit of scenery.
“Do not point, Nora. It isn’t proper.”
Nora dropped her hand. “Why do you give me a sidelong look whenever you speak of the viscountess’s daughter?”
“Nora,” her mother sighed. “Miss Bexton…” She paused with indecision for a moment before continuing; “She is ill.”
“Ill? How so?”
“Nothing catching,” her mother waved away Nora’s blossoming concern, though she appeared supremely uncomfortable to be discussing something so delicate. “She suffers from the falling sickness. Have you heard of it, dear?” Nora shook her head. She’d spent the whole of her life in the country and her experience was limited to their small corner of Essex. Lady Mylton proceeded to describe how Miss Bexton appeared whole and hearty but occasionally suffered unexpected fits and convulsions that rendered her weak and fatigued for a period afterward. The uncertainty of her condition meant she was not allowed to travel far or perform any strenuous activities; it also meant that she was highly unlikely to grow to adulthood and experience life as Nora would. “As you can imagine, it is quite difficult for her to make friends and maintain relationships.”
Nora’s initial reaction of unease was followed quickly by pity for the girl who, as her mother explained, would likely never make her debut or be courted, never have a family of her own, and would be lucky if she lived to see her twentieth year. Being the insightful, intelligent young woman she was, Nora then considered how she would feel were she in Miss Bexton’s position. The last thing she would want was to be pitied; instead, she’d hope that everyone around her did what they could to make her life feel normal—to assist her in experiencing as much life as she could in whatever time she had left. Though nervous about meeting someone new who suffered from an illness with which she had no experience, Nora was more excited with the possibilities that lay ahead.
Upon arrival at Glen House—a building of glittering white stone with a drive so neatly kept that it looked like it had been plucked from an illustrated fairytale—Nora and her mother were greeted warmly by a tall, raven-haired woman with a regal mein and kind lines around her eyes. Lady Bexton, it turned out, had been a friendly acquaintance of Lady Mylton’s for many years; it was only due to her daughter’s uncertain condition that Nora hadn’t been introduced before then.
“We are so pleased to have you here, Miss Nora!” The viscountess welcomed her with a wide smile, but Nora–ever observant from her years spent examining and learning from her elder siblings—noticed a nervous tightness around her eyes. She’d pinned a great many hopes upon this day going well.
No pressure…
Pleasantries exchanged, the viscountess guided Nora and her mother to a warm upstairs sitting room done up in creams and dusty rose. The heavy velvet draperies had been partially drawn back to emit gentle golden light.
“Elizabeth, dear? Lady Mylton has come to call, and she has brought along her daughter, Miss Eleanor.” Nora was struck by the soft tones the viscountess used in Nora’s introduction to the pale girl sitting beneath a quilt beside the window.
“Everyone calls me Nora,” she chimed in, clutching her trio of books to her chest.
She met Nora’s gaze with expressive blue eyes, light shadows coloring the delicate skin beneath them. Her face was narrow and angular, but it only added to her delicately pretty appearance. Thick black braids hung over her narrow shoulders clothed in a pristine white dress and pinafore—an outfit that Nora would have unintentionally destroyed with ink, dirt, or food within the first hour of wearing it.
Nora then noticed the book lying open in the girl’s lap and their tentative smiles met. She hoped Miss Elizabeth Bexton enjoyed literature as much as she; perhaps this could be the common ground upon which they could form the friendship their mothers desired.
Soon, they were left alone in the slightly awkward silence of new acquaintances. Nora sat stiffly on the other end of the sofa Miss Bexton occupied. “What sort of books do you like to read?” she asked as she fiddled with the impractical lace overlay of her pale pink skirt. Her mother had insisted she look her best for this visit.
In answer, the other girl lifted the book to display its embossed brown leather cover.
“‘A Botanical Study of Northern Essex’,” Nora read aloud, her nose wrinkling before she could stop it. Maybe they would have nothing in common and this friendship was never meant to be.
A moment of silence passed with Miss Bexton’s wide blue eyes assessing her, as if debating what sort of answer would suffice.
“Can you keep a secret?” Miss Bexton finally whispered as she leaned closer to Nora.
Nora nodded vigorously in response. “Much better than any of my sisters, to be sure!”
“Very well,” Miss Bexton replied gravely and flipped the pages back to reveal the title page. The text was rather different from the cover displayed there.
“Miss Bexton!” Nora hissed excitedly. “You are reading Mrs. Wollstonecraft!”
“Yes, and call me Beth,” she replied with a jubilant grin and a placating gesture for Nora to keep her voice down.
“My mother says I’m not mature enough to read her yet, but my sisters frequently discuss her work.”
“My mother won’t allow me to either,” Beth said with a conspiratory smile.
“Then how did you ever obtain a copy?”
“My elder brother.” Beth leaned back contentedly.
“And the new binding?”
“Also my brother. Thomas is a dear. You may borrow it when you leave; I have read it many times already.”
Nora knew immediately she and Beth would be fast friends.