Page 19 of Vanquishing the Viscount

It was from George, but the return address was Tresham Hall. What was he doing there when he ought to be at his medical studies in Bristol? Anxiously, she scanned the first paragraph of the letter, then sat back in her chair and drew in a shuddering breath.

It was worrying news. Papa had contracted a vernal quotidian ague—a recent spell of heavy rain had saturated the ground and precipitated a local outbreak of the dangerous illness. With evident pride, George wrote that his special treatment regime had reduced the length of Papa’s illness from weeks to days. However, it meant the household accounts hadn’t been done, so the d’Ibert family’s creditors hadn’t been paid, and they were starting to ask searching questions.

And there was worse news. A cattle plague had struck the herd at Home Farm, resulting in the necessary slaughter of a great many animals. This was truly horrible, not just for the financial hardship to Tresham, but also for the suffering of the poor creatures themselves.

The final blow was the news that her parents had decided not to delay the selling of Tresham Hall any longer.

Even though Emma had accepted the likelihood of a sale, she hadn’t expected it so soon. She’d only taken on the demeaning position of governess to help save Tresham from the bailiffs, but now it seemed her efforts had been for naught.

Her heart felt as if a giant fist were squeezing it, and the words on the page swam before her eyes.

“Willie, Mary,” she said hoarsely. “It’s a fine day, and we should take the opportunity to do some nature study and drawing. Get out your sketchbooks and pencils, and wait for me next to the pond. I’ll be down very shortly. Keep well away from the edge, though, and sit quietly while you’re waiting.”

In an instant, the room was empty and she felt able to give vent to her feelings. She wept quietly, pacing the room in despair.

Chapter Thirteen

It was a full week now since the masquerade ball at Birney House, and James was restless. There was nothing much to supervise now—the decorations had been taken down, the accidental spills had been skillfully removed, and the gravel drive raked into lines of perfect symmetry. There was plenty to occupy him on his estate at Langley—but for some reason, he was loath to leave Gloucestershire just yet.

Maybe it was because Birney House was an easy ride from Ashleaze Court, where Belinda lived. He’d almost convinced himself to forgive her and try to be friends. After all, it was possible her choice of Cornwallis as her future mate had been forced on her by her papa, tempted by the glitter of that vulgar ruby. Which meant, just possibly, there was an outside chance…

Shaking his head, he smiled at his own folly. A shaft of sunlight stretched a long finger across his desk, bouncing off the cut-glass inkwell with its chased silver lid, the perforated pen tray, and the long-stemmed sherry glass he’d emptied more than half an hour ago. It wasn’t like him to drink during the day—why was he feeling so unsettled?

Maybe now was the time to begin his search in earnest for the perfect place for his veterans’ home. He should scour the newspapers, ask his acquaintances if anything was going up for sale in the environs of Bath. The charity ball had raised seven hundred and fifty guineas, an extremely encouraging start to the project.

Mr. Keane might know—Charles’s father was very interested in the value of property and would have a good idea of how much more James would have to raise, or advance out of his own pocket, to create the perfect rest home. It might be advisable to have a quiet word with Charles, as well, to make sure there was no bad blood between them after that embarrassing incident with Miss Hibbert. And Philippa Keane was always a delight.

It was already after noon, but if he went now, he should be able to make it back again before dark. Or would he have to beg a bed for the night? Perhaps he should pack a change of clothes in his saddlebags, just in case.

Ah, the prospect of a ride through the green English countryside on a fine day! He needed the exercise, he needed the fresh air, and he needed stimulation, something to stop him brooding over Belinda.

Perhaps he’d run into Miss Hibbert, so he could finally make that apology.

Ten minutes later, he sat astride Lawrie’s broad back, cantering up the road in the direction of Figheldene Hall, and a half hour after that he was swinging lightly from his horse onto the cobbled courtyard of the Keanes’ residence.

A groom came to take Lawrie, and James had just doffed his hat before knocking on the front door when he heard the excited shouts of children. Willie and Mary were chasing each other near the slopes of the ancient carp pond. As soon as the boy caught sight of him, he hared across and leaped into his arms, knocking his hat flying.

“James! You haven’t been to see me in an age! Do you see how tall I’ve grown? I’m nearly as big as Mary!” Willie flung his arms around James’s neck and—as he knew it was expected of him—he swung the child around in circles until he squealed in mingled fear and delight.

No sooner had he set the dizzy boy on his feet than he was exhorted to give him a piggyback. With a sigh, James realized he’d have to postpone his talk with Mr. Keane.

He took Willie on a circuit of the pond, and as they returned to the courtyard, Mary came panting over with a bunch of flowers in her hand, which she handed to James, saying, “Can I have a piggyback now, please?”

He shook his head. “Alas, you are too much of a lady now,” he said.

Mary’s lip quivered, so he added quickly, “But we can still dance together. Shall we, my lady?”

They did the waltz, which mostly consisted of him swinging Mary up and down as he swayed to the imagined music. He stumbled, faking dizziness, and Mary tried to hold him up, screaming in exaggerated horror.

Willie burst into peals of laughter at the spectacle, and soon they were all laughing, artlessly, genuinely. James couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a really good, cathartic belly laugh.

Straightening up, he caught sight of movement in one of the upstairs windows. As he focused on the spot, he realized he was gazing up at the familiar face of the intriguing Miss Hibbert. She looked pale, dark around the eyes, and she was dabbing her nose with a handkerchief.

As soon as she saw him, she pulled out of sight with an expression of shock.

His smile faded along with his cheerful mood.

The woman had definitely been crying. What could have upset her so?