The Venus and the Viscount by Scarlett Scott

Chapter 10

Neville could not seem to stop whistling I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls as he prepared for dinner that evening. The song was in his mind, and it had been ever since Charity had sung it so beautifully whilst he played the piano. His heart was happy and light. Lighter than it had been in as long as he could recall.

Charity loved him.

She had agreed to become his wife.

This house party could not have had a better, nor a more surprising, outcome.

“You are in excellent cheer, my lord,” Anderson observed as he finished Neville’s necktie.

He wanted to shout from the roof of Fangfoss Manor that he was betrothed. But he and Charity had yet to make their announcement, leaving their understanding a secret for now. A treasured one. Hell. The most treasured one of his life, aside from the time he had spent in her chamber and in her bed.

“I am pleased with the progress of the house party,” he offered as explanation.

What an understatement that was.

“You have secured a lady’s affections, then?” Anderson’s nimble fingers finished the knot and he stepped back, surveying his handiwork.

“I have,” he said. “No thanks to you and your mustache.”

Anderson winced. “The rash was regrettable, my lord. I have used the glue hundreds of times without such an occurrence.”

He gave his valet a wry grin. “Just my fortune.”

However, he did not mind. If he had never dressed as Shakespeare, he may not have met his Flora in the gardens, and if he had never suffered the reaction to Anderson’s mustache and beard glue, Charity would never have met him in the library to give him her cold cream. The whole affair had set his future in motion. He could be grateful for that. Life was odd and unpredictable and sometimes awful.

But Charity and the love he had found with her had shown him that, most importantly of all, it was wonderful, too.

A sudden, frenzied rapping at his door ended further conversation. Thinking it odd, Neville answered himself to find Lady Louise Manners in tears.

His heart sank.

“What is the matter, my lady?”

“Forgive me, my lord, but it is Lady Charity.” She paused, her gaze flitting over his shoulder to where Anderson moved about the chamber.

Neville crossed the threshold, closing the door at his back to grant them privacy. “Tell me.”

“Oh Lord Wilton,” she began, then paused to press a hand to her lips and stifle a sob. “I am afraid I have upset her dreadfully. She has run off and I have no notion of where she has gone. I followed her into the gardens, but I am no match for her youth, and I lost her in the maze.”

Neville’s legs were moving down the blessedly empty hall, eating up the distance between himself and the gardens. “How have you upset her, my lady?”

“I told her the truth,” Lady Louise said quietly, out of breath as she hastened along with him.

Had his suspicions been correct?

He slanted the elder woman a searching glance without slowing his pace. “What truth?”

“That I am her mother,” Lady Louise admitted.

* * *

Charity was sittingin the grass overlooking the River Derwent, tears dried on her cheeks, a pervading sense of doom weighing down her heart.

Her gown was ruined.

So was her hair.

But she did not care about either of them, because along with her amethyst silk and her Grecian braid, which had long since come unpinned in her mad flight from Fangfoss Manor, her entire life was ruined as well.

Everything she had known was a lie, and now that she knew the truth, she would have to tell Neville. Which meant that her future was ruined, too. Although he had revealed he possessed a wicked streak, and that he was not nearly as proper or as boring as she had once supposed, how could she ask him to accept her as his wife after such a revelation? She was more scandalous than he had believed.

Her parents were not her parents.

And her mother was Auntie Louise.

Charity picked up a pebble and hurled it toward the river. It fell short and bounced into the grass instead.

“Fancy that! I cannot throw a proper pebble,” she muttered to herself.

“Perhaps you ought to try again.”

With a start, Charity glanced over her shoulder to find the familiar, tall form of Neville approaching her. He was dressed for dinner, looking effortlessly handsome and elegant. She was keenly aware of the grass stains on her crushed silk, her unbound hair, and her newly discovered status.

Bastard.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He settled himself in the grass at her side, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “Lady Louise came to me.”

Her stomach clenched with dread. “She told you, then?”

“She did.”

Charity searched his gaze for censure or disapproval but found none. “You do not seem shocked.”

“That is likely because I am not. The similarity between the two of you is undeniable, and I felt an affinity toward her instantly.”

“If you no longer wish to marry me, given this unexpected development, I understand,” she forced herself to say, though the notion of him ending their betrothal before it had truly begun was akin to a dagger in her heart.

“Is that what you think of me?” He leaned his shoulder into hers. “That I would not want to marry you because of an old family secret?”

“It is more than a secret, Neville, and you know it.”

“It is immaterial to me.”

She shook her head. “I was born a bastard. I do not know who my father is.”

“From what I have gathered from Lady Louise, he was a man she loved very much. He passed away before they could marry. Her brother agreed to raise you as his own daughter so that Lady Louise would be able to know you.”

“She told you all this?” Charity frowned. “Why did she not tell me? How could she keep this secret for so many years? I had a right to know.”

“You did,” Neville agreed softly. “She had noble motives, however. She was trying to protect you from scandal and see that you would be able to travel through society unimpeded by her actions.”

“I do not know if I can forgive her for lying to me.”

“The two of you must talk,” Neville said. “When you are ready, of course.”

“Oh, Neville.” She stifled a newly rising sob. “I am so furious with her. When she told me, I was out of my head. Everything I knew to be true was a lie, and I was terrified I would lose you. All I could think to do was run. It is what I do, you see. My friends have pointed it out to me, and they are right.”

His regard was tender as it traveled over her face. “From this moment on, when you run, run to me, my love. I will be waiting for you with open arms.”

Her heart gave a pang at his words. At the love for her plainly written on his face.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“How do I do what, darling?” He cupped her face then, his thumb stroking gently over her cheekbone.

“How do you always know what to say?”

He gave her a half grin. “If you will recall, I do not always know what to say.”

He was referring to his nervous sallies, of course.

“I love your dreadful jokes, Neville.” And she meant that. He was a wonderful man. Unique and sweet and funny and awkward and handsome and wicked when she wanted him to be.

He was her heart.

“How many peas are there in a pint?” he asked.

She mulled it over. “There is one letter p in a pint.”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “Let me guess. You have heard that one before as well?”

“No.” She smiled as a sheen of tears misted her eyes. Different tears this time—happy tears instead of angry and sad. “I do believe you are starting to influence me. One of the girls inadvertently made a pun earlier, and I thought of you.”

“I hope you think of me often.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose.

“I do.” She took his hand in hers and pressed a kiss to the palm. “Are you certain you want to marry a scandalous lady like me?”

He did not hesitate. “Utterly. I love you, Charity. I will always love you.”

“I shall always love you, too,” she promised, her heart buoyed by his words and his presence both. “Thank you for finding me.”

“Thank you for finding me in the alcove in the picture gallery,” he said. “If you had not, Lord knows what would have become of me.”

She could not suppress her smile. “The moment I spied you eying the naughty tapestries, you had my heart.”

“Now that I have your heart, might I also have your lips?” he teased.

“I thought you would never ask.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged his mouth to hers, a feeling of rightness settling in her heart.