The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway

Chapter Thirty-Two

The next morning, the guests undertook the journey from Traverstoke to the village in a caravan of horses and carriages. Violet had chosen to ride a spirited dappled grey mare from Billings’ stable. Beside her, Richard was mounted on his magnificent Thoroughbred Aiolos, whose sleek muscles rippled beneath his gleaming chestnut coat.

Man and mount were much alike, Vi thought admiringly. Both were noble beasts of strength and grace. Richard looked utterly at home in the saddle, his muscular body moving in synchrony with his powerful steed.

Which reminded her of an idea that had been bobbing around in her head since their last discussion about his stables. With all that had been going on, she’d forgotten to share it with him. Now they had a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about you and breeding,” she said.

“Pardon?” Richard’s dark brows shot up.

Realizing how that sounded, she flushed. “Breeding horses, I mean.”

“Ah.” Though his craggy features remained polite, a wicked bronze spark lightened his eyes. “Too bad. I was hoping you meant something else.”

“Stop trying to embarrass me. I’m being serious.”

“There’s a first. All right, then. What about breeding horses?”

“Why don’t you rebuild your stud farm and use the profits to support your estate?”

He looked briefly startled at her question. “Well, it’s not as simple as that. Building a breeding program takes time, not to mention a financial investment. And it can take years to achieve success—if one attains it at all. Plenty of gentlemen pursue this as a hobby, sink fortunes into the venture… and wind up with little more than an expensive stable and some pretty horses. Our last monarch being a prime example.”

“But you wouldn’t do that.” The idea of Richard being a spendthrift was laughable.

He canted his head. “You sound rather confident given that you know little about my skill at horse breeding.”

“But I know you. You’re a man who knows what’s what. You’re methodical, dependable, and clever. For crumpet’s sake,” she said with a grin, “you secured a skeleton key to break into Monique’s room.”

Instead of sharing in her humor, he stared at her as if she’d sprouted another head.

“What’s the matter?” She patted her riding hat with its smart little amber veil, wondering if it had slipped. “Am I askew?”

“Quite the opposite.” He was still staring at her, only now with a heated intensity that made her heart pound. “In fact, you’re rather… perfect.”

She was speechless. No one had ever called her that before.

Seeming to collect himself, he cleared his throat. “As much as I appreciate your vote of confidence, establishing a stud farm is a large risk. One I can’t bank the future of the estate on.”

“It’s only a risk if you don’t believe in yourself.”

“I do believe in my ability to create a successful breeding program,” he said, “and if it were only me depending on the outcome, then there would be no question of my pursuing it. But it’s not just me. My mama, Wick, the tenants—all of them depend upon the health of the estate. They depend upon me to do the right thing.”

“Which right thing?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean which one? As Carlisle, there’s one clear duty which I must fulfill.”

“Well, you’re more than just a viscount, aren’t you? You’re you, too, with dreams of your own. So the way I see it, you have both a duty to others—and to yourself.”

As their horses clip-clopped along, Richard’s expression remained pensive. “I’ve never quite thought of it that way before.”

“I’m not saying your family isn’t important. Yet it seems to me that you spend a great deal of time looking after others and your estate,” she said frankly. “What about doing what you want to do? Don’t you also deserve to pursue your desires?”

“I do, and I’m going to.”

“You mean you’re going to start up a breeding program again?” she said eagerly.

“I mean I’ll be marrying you. There is nothing,” he said, “that I desire more.”

His quiet ferocity made her breath catch. It was the most he’d spoken of his feelings for her, and pleasure gripped her heart, squeezing exquisitely. Her lips parted, but the only word that came out was a dazed, “Oh.”

His lips tipped up at the corners. “As for the horses, I’ll think on it.”

~~~

Despite the tense situation—her thoughts kept wandering to her siblings and how they were faring in their search of the estate—Violet couldn’t help but enjoy herself. She loved fairs, the color and excitement. The sunny weather bore hints of summer, drawing out eager hordes.

The village square was crammed with wooden carts and stalls, goods ranging from fresh foodstuffs to jars of jams and honey to local crafts piled high for the visitors’ perusals. A fiddler played on the green, the scent of roasting nuts permeating the air. On one side of the square, the owner of the village tavern had set tables and chairs outside so that patrons could enjoy their foaming tankards while taking in the boisterous scene.

For the first hour, Vi strolled around with Richard, although they had to keep their conversation polite with Lady Ainsworthy dogging their every step. Other guests were enjoying the square as well. Vi observed Tobias Price arm in arm with Mrs. Sumner (the two apparently friends again), and Lord Wormleigh was escorting some young miss whose name Vi couldn’t recall. A beaming Miss Wrotham accepted an apple that Cedric Burns chose for her from the costermonger’s cart.

By the pottery stand, Miss Turbett stood with her papa, looking far less happy. Her expression was pinched, her father’s furious as he watched Wick and his cronies make merry at the tavern. At a table adjacent to the raucous rakehells, Gabby sat with her papa and Mr. Garrity. As the redheaded girl chattered away, her parent looked apprehensive and their guest like the cat that had gotten into the cream.

And so the afternoon went.

At one point, Violet wandered off to sample goods with Polly and Primrose. By the time she finished trying all the different flavors of biscuits at a bakery stall, she found she’d lost her companions in the crowd. Lady Ainsworthy was sitting on a bench farther back, waving her fan in an irritable manner. Vi looked longingly toward the part of the village she’d yet to explore: a spire rose enticingly from a churchyard up ahead.

“I know that look. You’re off to find trouble.” Wick came sauntering up with a tin cup in hand. “If so, may I come?”

She grinned. “I was just going to explore a little.”

He handed her the cup. “Here, drink this first. Compliments of the fellows and I.” He jerked his thumb toward their chums, who were waving from the tavern.

Vi waved back and gratefully downed the beverage. The cider slid pleasantly down her parched throat, although she grimaced at the bitter aftertaste of the mulling spices. Setting the cup down, she said, “Shall we?”

It was like old times. For the next quarter hour, she and Wick laughed and explored the grounds of the ancient church. Here, the noise of the crowd faded away to birdsong and the chirping of crickets. Surrounded by a wall of sun-bleached stone, the churchyard was littered with crumbling grave markers and overgrown with ivy. The place had a forgotten, almost dreamy feel. Come to think of it, Vi was feeling a little… woozy?

She stumbled, catching herself.

“Are you all right?” Wick came up beside her.

“Nothing. Just the heat, I expect.” She was warm, she realized. Heat itched strangely beneath her skin, heightening her awareness of her clothes, how restrictive they felt.

Concern shone in Wick’s eyes. “We’d better get you back.”

As he guided her toward the gate, another wave of dizziness surged over her. She pitched forward, would have fallen if Wick hadn’t caught her. She sagged against him.

“What’s the matter with you, Vi?” He tipped her face up with his gloved hands, the touch of leather sending an odd spark over her nerve endings. He peered at her. “Egad, your cheeks are flushed—”

She swayed forward.

“What in the devil’s name is going on here?” a familiar voice growled.

Richard stood in the arched gateway.