The Venus and the Viscount by Scarlett Scott

Chapter 9

Neville had never asked a lady to marry him before, and the fact that he had gone about this process altogether in the wrong order did nothing to assuage his nerves as he guided Charity down a meandering path leading to the gardens. She was clinging to his elbow, and the combination of her nearness and the summer sun beating down upon them filled him with heat. It occurred to him that he was hauling her away from her friends with no true intended destination.

Privacy seemed of the utmost importance.

“Where are you taking me?” Charity asked at his side, breaking the silence and seeming to sense the direction of his own thoughts.

“When is the soup most likely to run out of the saucepan?” he asked.

“Truly? You are telling a joke now?”

Yes, he was. Blast it all. Because he was nervous. His tongue was as knotted as his stomach. This was new territory for him.

“When there is a leek in it,” he answered for her grimly.

“Did you drag me away from badminton for more puns?”

Of course not. What the devil was the matter with him? He had not been this jumbled since… Well, since ever.

He continued to lead them away from the court. “It did not look as if you were playing when I approached. I assumed the game was complete.”

She sighed. “I suppose it was.”

He stopped them by a convenient set of hedges where a fountain gurgled happily and an accommodating bench awaited. They were out of sight of her friends and fellow houseguests, but in close enough proximity to allow for a reasonable amount of propriety. Not that he had been concerned with such a thing yesterday. Neville winced at the reminder of his lack of control. But still, he could not regret what had passed between them. He only hoped she did not.

Neville gestured to the bench. “Would you care to take a seat, my dear?”

“Thank you.” With prim care that was so at odds with her customary flamboyance, she perched on the edge of the bench, arranging her skirts about her.

He seated himself at her side and turned toward her. “I spoke with your aunt earlier.”

Her eyebrows rose beneath the brim of her hat. “Auntie Louise? Why? Surely you did not tell her…”

“Of course not,” he hastened to reassure her. “I may have been rash and impetuous yesterday, but I am ordinarily a gentleman of honor.”

How stiff his voice sounded, even to his own ears.

He was going about this all wrong.

Charity’s gaze searched his. “Why did you speak with my aunt, if not to inform her of what happened?”

Damnation, she was beautiful. Those full, lush lips were calling to him. This was no moonlit garden, and neither was it the solitude of her chamber, but he was tempted to kiss her all the same.

“What is the best way of making a coat last?” he asked to distract himself from the desire heating his blood.

Her nose crinkled in the most adorable fashion as she considered his query. “I do not know, Neville. What is it?”

“Make the trousers and waistcoat first.”

She bit her lip, as if attempting to subdue a smile. “I suppose that is not as dreadful as some of your sallies have been, but you still have yet to answer my question.”

“Because I want to marry you,” he blurted, then gathered his wits and attempted to elaborate. “After what happened yesterday, it is necessary.”

Curse it.That was not right either. He knew it the moment Charity’s shoulders drew back and her spine went rigid.

“Of course it is not,” she denied.

“It is.”

Her chin went up. “Necessary is a strong word, my lord. You need not fear I shall hold your feet to the fire. I have plans to travel the Continent with Auntie Louise following this house party, and I have no intention of abandoning them.”

Travel? The Continent? He had known nothing of this.

Neville frowned at her. “Your plans must change. You could be carrying my child.”

Her lips parted, and her golden lashes fluttered over her eyes for a moment, the only sign his words had affected her. “I shall send you a letter if I am.”

“A letter?” He would have laughed, but there was precious little humor in this moment. “You will do nothing of the sort, Charity. You will marry me, and if you should prove to be carrying my child, you will not need to send me a letter because you are my wife. You can tell me directly.”

“You cannot order me about, Neville.”

This was not going well.

“I am not ordering you. I am telling you that there are consequences for what passed between us yesterday. As a gentleman, my only recourse is to marry you.” He paused, considering what he had just said.

Not terribly romantic, was it?

In all the instances he had imagined when he had set about on the selection of a bride, he had never supposed he would be facing his future viscountess the day after he had taken her innocence. He was not a scoundrel, and he was most certainly not a rakehell. Nor had he ever been particularly carried away by his passions.

Not until Charity.

“Your only recourse,” Charity repeated, ice in her voice. “How wrong you are. You have many recourses, one of which is not marrying me. I absolve you of your duty. What happened between us yesterday was lovely, but it will not happen again. You are free to go about wooing the rest of the ladies at the house party with your puns.”

Devil take it, this was going from bad to worse.

“When is a man like a green gooseberry?” he blurted.

Her shoulders drooped. “Neville.”

“When a woman makes a fool of him,” he said. “That is what you do to me, Charity. You turn me into your fool. I have never experienced such a depth of feeling with another as I do for you. You turn me inside out and tie me up in tangled knots. I am going about this bloody proposal all wrong, and I must beg your pardon.”

“Did you just curse?” she asked.

Yes, he had, damn it.

“You see?” He took her hands in his. “You have me at sixes and sevens. I never curse. At least not aloud in the presence of a lady.”

In his head aplenty.

But as always, he had rules for that sort of thing. He could hardly be blamed if the only woman who had ever caused him to break every last one of his rules was her.

“Perhaps you ought to begin again,” she counseled kindly.

Taking pity on him? He could only suppose. Her beauty was not helping him, nor was the lush scent that would forever haunt him—the rose and orange blossom and Charity. He was thinking of how it had felt to be inside her before he could control himself.

Clamping his jaw against another oath, he shifted to a more comfortable position, given that his trousers were suddenly snug.

He could do this. And properly, too. He would right the wrongs he had made yesterday when he had intended to woo her and had instead ended up bedding her.

“Lady Charity Manners,” he began again, “you are nothing I wanted in a wife.”

She frowned. “Perhaps a pun would have been more the thing.”

“Allow me to finish,” he rushed to add, for she had mistaken his pause for the completion of his declaration. “When I settled upon this house party as a means of finding a bride and doing my familial duty, I thought I knew just the sort of lady I was seeking. I wanted someone who respected rules and propriety. Someone who was quiet and shy. Someone who was not the brightest star in the night sky or the loveliest, most magnetic lady in every room she inhabits.”

She tugged at her hands. “Neville.”

He held tight, not allowing her to withdraw. Not yet. Not until he said everything he had intended to say. Then let her run if she must.

“Allow me to finish, if you please, Charity,” he said. “You are nothing I wanted in a wife before I came to Fangfoss Manor. Yet, over the course of my time here, I have found myself increasingly drawn to you. I am drawn to your loveliness, your wit, your laughter, your lips. I am drawn to your boldness and your refusal to follow the rules, to your reckless tongue and the way you are not afraid to be who you truly are.”

“Oh, Neville.” Her countenance softened.

She was relenting, but he was not done.

“When I first saw you, I knew you were trouble, but I did not understand that you were exactly the sort of trouble I needed. That what I want and what I need are two different things entirely, because what I need is you. I love you, Charity. I do not want to marry you because of duty or honor or obligation or for any reason other than that I am hopelessly, helplessly, utterly in love with you.”

Her brilliant blue eyes burned into his. “You love me?”

“I love you,” he repeated.

She smiled at him, and he felt the force of it in his heart. “I love you too.”

Thank God.

He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “Will you be my wife?”

“I…” She paused, sighing, then caught her lower lip between her teeth.

Her hesitation was not nearly as reassuring as her declaration of love had been.

“Which river runs between two seas?” he asked, needing to fill the silence.

She pursed her lips. “The Thames because it runs between Chelsea and Battersea.”

He was ridiculously pleased that she had a ready answer. “You are correct.”

“I heard it before.”

Hmm.Well, he had plenty more where that had come from.

“And now it is my turn to remind you that you have yet to answer my question. Will you marry me?”

“Neville, I…” Once more, she halted before completing the thought. “I never expected to fall in love. Indeed, before coming to Yorkshire, my plan was to visit with old finishing school chums and then go on to adventure on the Continent with Auntie Louise. I suppose the scandal surrounding me because of the painting left me somewhat disillusioned.”

“If you think I care about the scandal, I can assure you that I do not give a damn about it or the painting.”

And it was true. The man who had arrived at Fangfoss Manor had believed he did care about scandals and rumors. Hell, the man he had been even a fortnight ago had. But something had changed. All the rules and order he had imposed upon his life had begun to fade away.

He did not need them any longer. All he needed was Charity.

“I did pose for it,” she surprised him by admitting. “Not in the nude as was rumored, however.”

He grinned. “Having seen both the artwork in question and you naked, I can promise you that you are far lovelier than the Venus captured in oil.”

Her cheeks flushed. “That was wicked of you to say.”

“Shall I beg forgiveness?”

“No,” she denied, searching his gaze. “You should not. I like you when you are wicked. I like when you break rules and forget about propriety and curse.”

Her words sent an instant surge of lust through him. But this was not the time or the place. He was attempting to make her his betrothed, not to seduce her on the garden bench. Although the latter did, in truth, hold every bit as much appeal as the former…

“I can be more wicked,” he promised. “With your aid, of course. I was never wicked until I met a goddess here in the moonlit gardens. From then on, I am afraid I have been quite a lost cause.”

Her lips twitched as if she stifled a smile. “Perhaps we may be lost causes together.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Why does the oyster prefer not to share?” she asked, surprising him.

“Because it is shellfish,” he answered instantly.

The smile that formed on her lips stole his breath. “Yes.”

“Yes I was correct, or yes you will marry me?” he asked, hope rising like a tide within him.

“Yes to both, you silly man.”

With a smile of his own, he kissed her.

* * *

“Knock-knock,”Auntie Louise said later that evening as she breezed through Charity’s chamber door while Charity was preparing for dinner.

Her lady’s maid had already been dismissed, and Charity had been in the midst of selecting her jewelry. She placed the earbobs she had been considering atop the table containing a small looking glass and turned away from her toilette to consider her aunt.

“Did you just say knock-knock instead of truly tapping upon the door just now?” she asked.

Auntie Louise gave her a bright smile. She was dressed in a smart navy silk that heightened the glittering depths of her eyes.

“Yes, I suppose I did. Do you object?”

“No.” Charity frowned, thinking it rather curious, for her friend Olive had recently pointed out that Charity did the same thing. “I do that often. My friends think me silly, but I find it easier.”

“Yes!” Auntie Louise stopped before her, beaming. “Precisely, my dearest girl. Knocking is dreadfully de trop. Oh, look at you! You are beautiful. Is there something you wish to tell me?”

Neither she nor Neville had yet announced their engagement to the house party. They had been rather…occupied. And then, the hour had grown late and they had made their way back to the manor house in haste lest anyone note their collective absence.

Should she tell her aunt now?

Keeping their betrothal a secret for the moment made it feel special, like a delicious secret for just the two of them. Much like all those stolen kisses and more.

“You look equally lovely this evening, Auntie,” she said instead of sharing her news.

It was too soon.

She wanted the secret for just a bit longer.

“Thank you, darling.” Auntie Louise delivered a quick buss to each of her cheeks. “However, it was not praise for my appearance I was searching for. I know all too well that I am the raisin rather than the green grape. No, dearest. What I wanted to know from you is whether or not you have come to an understanding with Lord Wilton.”

“You are hardly a raisin,” she told her aunt, for it was true. Auntie Louise wore her age with grace and inimitable style. And she was most certainly not as ancient as it pleased her to pretend she was.

Auntie Louise waggled her fingers at her. “No attempts at distracting me, if you please. The viscount suggested he would seek you for an audience today. Has he?”

When her aunt was asking her so directly, Charity could not dissemble. “He has.”

Auntie Louise emitted an excited squeal that was quite unlike her, then pressed a hand to her lips to stifle it. “And how have you chosen to answer him, my dear?”

“I have said yes,” she admitted.

Her aunt’s hand went to her heart, and there was no denying the tears glittering in her eyes. “Oh, my darling girl. You are going to be married. I can scarcely credit it.”

She had not expected such a strong reaction from her aunt. “You are happy, then? I will own, I was not sure whether you would be pleased.”

In truth, whilst Neville had told her he had sought out Auntie Louise, he had not related much of her aunt’s response. Auntie Louise was spirited and she loathed rules and propriety every bit as much as Charity did. And there was no denying that Neville was proper and staid—at least, he had been until he had allowed his battlements to fall. Charity liked to think she was responsible for breaking down some of his walls, much as he had chipped away at some of hers.

“I am more than pleased,” Auntie Louise enthused. “I am thrilled. Thrilled? How ineffectual. Heavens, I am overjoyed! I have wanted nothing more than your happiness from the moment you were born. Lord Wilton does make you happy, does he not? I have seen the way the two of you looked at each other, and he reminds me ever so much of your father.”

“Father?” Confusion settled over her, nettling her like the prick of a needle in the thumb when one was attempting needlework. “I hardly think Lord Wilton is like him at all.”

Her father was stern. He would never tell a silly pun. And whenever he looked upon Charity, all she saw reflected in his eyes was grim disapproval. He had scarcely any time for her, already having a daughter and son who pleased him. Charity was a constant source of disappointment. It had been him who had sent her away to Twittingham Academy, after all.

Auntie Louise’s excitement drained away, her smile slipping. “Of course Lord Wilton is not like my brother. Sandrington has not a charming bone in his body.”

There was something strange and heavy in the air. Auntie Louise’s demeanor had changed. The glittering in her eyes had turned into tears, which spilled down her cheeks in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“I do not understand,” Charity said, struggling to comprehend the moment, the mood.

It seemed suddenly much larger than her new betrothal.

“I misspoke.” Her aunt attempted a smile as she sniffed, then dashed at her tears with the back of her hand. “That is all. In my excitement, I was not making sense. And oh, how foolish of me. I shall have to return to my chamber now to make certain I am not a terrible mess. You have made me so happy, dearest. I hope you are happy as well. You are, are you not?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I am. Lord Wilton is…” My heart.

But she kept that to herself. Because it was fresh and new and wonderful. And she was not ready to share that yet either. It felt like something she ought to reserve for Neville alone.

“He is a wonderful gentleman,” Auntie Louise said on another sniffle. “He is in love with you. I am so glad he and I had our talks.”

“Talks?” Further suspicion rose. “You spoke to him on more than one occasion, aside from today?”

“I did encourage him in his suit,” Auntie Louise said, her gaze slipping away from Charity’s. “You must forgive me for intervening, but the outcome has been exactly what I wished.”

“What you wished? I thought we were traveling to the Continent together,” Charity said, trying to understand the missing portion of this deucedly difficult complication. “We made plans.”

“Of course I did, and we would have done.” Auntie Louise met her gaze once more, giving her a sad smile. “But neither did I wish for you to remain alone all your life, as I have been. I had determined to find a proper match for you.”

“Do you mean to say you were playing the matchmaker?”

Her friend Clementine had established her reputation as one, but Charity had most certainly never expected Auntie Louise to attempt it. Especially not on her behalf. For all that Clementine adored uniting couples in love, she had never tried to steer Charity in any gentleman’s direction. But her aunt… Hmm. The revelation, coupled with the strangeness of some of Auntie Louise’s behaviors this evening, gave Charity pause.

Made her feel as if she had inadvertently swallowed a seed. And now the seed had grown. It was swelling in her throat, filling her with a strange, uncomfortable sensation. Choking her with misgiving.

“I was not playing at anything, my darling girl,” Auntie Louise said. “I merely… I wanted you to have the happiness I was denied.”

She searched her aunt’s gaze. “What happiness were you denied?”

She had always supposed Auntie Louise was contented as she was. She had never had a beau in Charity’s recollection. Nor had she ever been married. Charity had found kinship in their mutual desire to flout convention. Auntie Louise had never pressured her to be proper or to marry.

“Love,” Auntie Louise said simply. “I was in love once, a long time ago.”

It was the first Charity had heard of this.

“When?” she asked.

“It was a long time ago now. You need not concern yourself with the details of the past.” Her aunt paused, sighing. “All you do need to worry about is your future. I want nothing but the best for you, and I have every confidence that Lord Wilton shall make you a wonderful husband.”

But she was not going to allow her aunt to dismiss this topic so hastily.

Charity shook her head, feeling as if she were on the edge of a revelation she was not certain she was prepared to accept and yet needing to pursue it nonetheless. “I do need to know. When? When were you in love, Auntie Louise?”

Her aunt was solemn, her countenance suddenly paler than ever. “Before you were born. You would not know of it, of course.”

Before Charity had been born.

Suddenly, all the questions that had filled her over the years, all the observations swirled together, like strands of hair being coiled into a braid.

Auntie Louise’s resemblance to her—they had the same hair, eyes, nose, mannerisms. They despised rules. They loved bold colors. They longed for adventure. They said knock-knock instead of scratching on a door. Charity had nothing in common with her siblings. Nor with her parents. Auntie Louise had been the most important person in her life, always. Her parents had forever been too distracted. Too busy with their own lives. Too fixated upon her brother and sister, their grandchildren. There had been nothing left for Charity.

For the first time, she wondered if there was a reason beyond what she had always supposed, that she was the youngest, a hoyden, and a disappointment for her parents after her inability to attract a proper match. What if there was more to her estrangement with them?

Her chest felt tight. Her breath was shallow. Heart pounding.

“Charity?” Auntie Louise said, her voice concerned, reaching for her. “You look pale, my darling. What is amiss?”

What was amiss?

Everything!

“You,” she managed past lips that had gone numb. “You are what is amiss. Or rather, your lies.”

“Lies?”

“What are you not telling me?” she demanded, fearing the answer and yet needing to hear it.

Auntie Louise watched her, looking stricken.

Quiet.

The implications were clear. And if Charity were honest with herself, she would admit that she’d had suspicions. All through life. Tiny inklings. Hints here and there. They gathered together now like a snowball, growing larger and larger with each new revelation.

“Tell me the truth,” she tried again. “Please.”

Auntie Louise’s lips moved. But no sound escaped them. Nothing but an exhalation of sound. She shook her head. “I…”

“Say it,” Charity ground out.

“I am your mother,” Auntie Louise said.

Charity’s world came tumbling down around her. Everything made sense. Terrible, awful, painful sense. She could not bear to hear another word. She rushed past the woman she had always known as her aunt for the entirety of her life.

Lies!Nothing but lies and manipulations!

Her eyes stung with tears. Her heart was racing. And her feet were flying.

As she had done so many times before, Charity ran.