Page 31 of Vanquishing the Viscount

She walked out to greet him, grateful that her bonnet threw her face into shadow, concealing the heat that burned in her cheeks. She couldn’t understand why he affected her so, like a green girl with a tendre. She didn’t even like the man!

He leaped from his horse, staggering a little before handing the reins to the family’s one remaining groom. As he came toward her, his gait was awkward, and she wondered if he’d stayed up late carousing the night before.

She hoped he had.

Then she could go back to despising him.

His voice as he greeted her was surprisingly soft, with no hint of the irritation or loftiness of the previous day. Taking her hand with the utmost courtesy, he conveyed it to his lips and asked after her health and that of her parents.

All very right and proper. Yet there was something different about him today—besides the fact that he might be suffering from having been in his cups the night before. Perhaps he was more fluid in his movements, more relaxed in her company, and more at home after his initial visit to Tresham.

“You will see I’m no coward,” he said. “I’ve come again, ready to face whatever vile slander you want to throw at me.”

Ignoring his taunt, she said, “I’ve been asked to show you around the gardens today.”

His gray eyes twinkled. “Are we to have a chaperone?”

“I’m of an age where that won’t be necessary.”

“I wasn’t thinking of you. I was thinking of myself—I might need protection from your cutting disapproval.”

Her head snapped up. He was teasing her? Maybe even fishing for compliments?

But why?

“I shall endeavor to curb my tongue,” she promised, smiling deliberately up at him.

“Excellent. Then let’s begin our perambulations.”

The next quarter of an hour was spent in companionable conversation as she escorted the viscount around the gardens. The kitchen and herb gardens—as well as the espaliered fruit trees—had been kept in good repair, but the ancient knot and flower gardens were choked with brambles and cleavers. The roses, stocks, and clove pinks gifted their fragrance to the welcoming summer breeze but grew untidy if unchecked.

“Of course, all this will have to be cleared,” Tidworth said, gazing from the organized chaos of the flowerbeds to the wild woods beyond.

“I beg your pardon?” A beat of panic awoke in her breast.

“I mean, these narrow pathways won’t suit the veterans. Some have Bath chairs, invalid chairs, and crutches, so I’d need to take up the gardens and put down plain lawns. They could walk as far as they liked then, without fear of catching on something, or tripping.”

Her heart squeezed painfully. But she loved these gardens!

“Surely, just a little pruning would make the pathways more accessible?”

“Too costly in the long run. A lawn would require less maintenance.”

She pondered this for a while, biting down on her lip. “And what of the house interior? Will that be suitable for your veterans’ needs?”

It hadn’t occurred to her that some of the soldiers Tidworth wanted to help would be physically impaired. She’d just assumed they were elderly, veterans of older conflicts than the Napoleonic wars.

“The interior would have to be gutted to open out spaces for an infirmary and dining hall, and the floors must be dug deeper to give the rooms more height. The windows would need replacing, as well, as they admit too little light. Many veterans have problems with their eyes, you understand—damage from dust, splinters, and smoke.”

He didn’t notice she’d stopped walking alongside him until he reached the end of the old brick path leading to the walled garden. When he turned to her with a questioning frown, she clenched her fists, ready to do battle. How could he possibly desecrate her family home like this? He was going to rip out the very heart of Tresham! He might as well just demolish the place and start anew.

As he came closer, she realized with a heavy heart there was to be no truce between them. She had to stop him buying Tresham at all cost.

If only she could think of an alternative to the sale…

“Sir,” she began. “I beg you to look elsewhere for your veterans’ home.”

Her mind worked frantically. How could she convince him not to buy the place when, for much of yesterday, Mama and Papa had been concentrating on persuading him that he must?