Miss In A Man's World. ANNE ASHLEY
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return from France, she would undoubtedly have eventually become my Viscountess. My brother’s untimely demise was a shock to everyone, not least of all to me. I neither grudged him his superior position in the family, nor craved the title for myself. Fate decreed that I should inherit, however. Had he produced a son, not a daughter, I should have been more than happy to run the estate until my nephew came of age. I would be a liar if I said I do not now enjoy the agreeable benefits the title has afforded me, because I do. And I believe I have carried out my duties with diligence, and consideration towards all those who look to me for their livelihood. I also believe I have a duty to marry one day. But let me assure you that love will never enter into the equation. So long as my future bride, whoever she might be, conducts herself in a ladylike manner at all times, and provides me with the heir I desire, she will not find me unreasonable or exacting in my demands. For the most part she may go her own way, as I fully intend to go mine.’
Charles was appalled by such blatant apathy, and it showed in his expression, and in his voice as he said, ‘I cannot believe you would be so indifferent to the lady you should one day choose to marry. You might fool most all the ton into believing you’re cold and indifferent, but you’ll never persuade me. I know how much Charlotte Vane meant to you. I know what you’re capable of feeling.’
‘Was capable of feeling,’ the Viscount corrected in an ominously quiet tone. ‘Unlike you, Charles, I am no longer a romantic. I leave all that nonsense to the numerous poets of the day. I do not look for love in marriage. Dear Lady Wenbury taught me a very valuable lesson eight years ago. I’ve learned to guard against the—er—more tender emotions. No, I shall be content with a female who behaves at all times with propriety and fulfils all her obligations as my Viscountess.’
No one could have mistaken the note of finality in the deep, attractively masculine voice, least of all the gentleman who had had the honour of being one of the Viscount’s closest friends since the far-off days of their boyhood, and so Charles wasn’t unduly surprised when his lordship tossed the contents of his tankard down his throat and rose to his feet, announcing that they had best leave, or risk missing the start of the mill.
The market town was a hive of activity. Not only was there a prize fight being staged in a field on the outskirts of the thriving community, there was also a horse fair taking place in an adjacent meadow. Visitors wishing to enjoy one or both attractions were making their way along a crowded main street, their ribald comments and guffaws of merriment mingling with street hawkers’ cries as they attempted to sell their wares. So it wasn’t wholly surprising that his lordship, leading the way out of the inn, quite failed to detect that single cry warning him of possible danger. It wasn’t until someone cannoned into him, thereby successfully thrusting him back against the inn wall, out of harm’s way, that he realised one of the drayman’s large barrels had come perilously close to doing him a mischief. He watched it roll harmlessly by before turning his attention to the youthful rescuer at his feet.
‘Good Lord, Ben! Are you all right?’ Charles enquired, emerging from the inn just in time to witness the incident.
‘It would appear I fared rather better than my gallant deliverer here,’ his lordship responded.
Clasping a hand round a far from robust arm, his lordship then helped the youth to his feet, and saw at once a small quantity of blood trickling down the stocking below the left knee. ‘Here, take this, lad!’
After having thrust a square of fine lawn into a surprisingly slender hand, his lordship watched as the youth tied the handkerchief about his leg. ‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’
‘N-no, I do not believe so, sir,’ a gruff little voice answered, before the youth retrieved his tricorn from the dusty cobbled yard, and raised his head at last.
Taken aback slightly, the Viscount found himself blinking several times as he gazed down into the most vivid violet-blue eyes he’d ever seen; framed in long black lashes, they were remarkably striking, and quite wasted on a youth.
Drawing his own away with some difficulty, he requested his friend to locate the landlord’s whereabouts, and then returned his full attention to his unlikely rescuer. ‘Do you live locally? If so, my carriage is at your disposal, and my groom can return you to your home, as soon as the landlord’s good lady wife has seen to your hurts.’
‘There’s no need to trouble, sir. ‘Tis naught but a scratch,’ the boy protested, but his lordship remained adamant.
‘It’s the very least I can do, child, for someone who selflessly saved me from possible injury. Ah, and here’s the very man!’
Tossing the landlord a shiny golden guinea, he bade him take care of the boy by providing whatever his youthful rescuer might request. In view of such generosity, mine host was only too willing to comply, and ushered his somewhat reluctant young customer toward the inn’s main entrance, leaving the Viscount staring after them, his high forehead creased with a decidedly puzzled look.
‘What’s amiss, Ben? You’re not hurt yourself, are you?’
‘What …?’ His lordship managed to drag his mind back to the present without too much difficulty. ‘No, not at all, Charles,’ he assured him, as they set off down the road. ‘It’s just that young lad … Did you notice his eyes, by any chance?’
‘No, can’t say as I did. Why, what was wrong with ‘em? Not crossed, were they?’
The Viscount frowned yet again. ‘No, there was absolutely nothing wrong with them at all. They were perfect, in fact! Perhaps the most striking I’ve ever seen in my life.’
‘No doubt he’ll turn a few fillies’ heads, then, when he’s older,’ Charles suggested, fast losing interest in the topic, for his attention had been well and truly captured by something he considered far more diverting. ‘Looks as if the mill’s about to start. Let’s see if we cannot attain a good vantage point.’
By the time Viscount Fincham had returned to that certain well-kept hostelry, late that same afternoon, he too had successfully thrust the incident earlier in the day, and his youthful rescuer, to the back of his mind. After taking leave of his friend, who lived a mere mile or so the other side of the thriving community, his lordship didn’t delay in heading back to the capital.
As his well-sprung travelling carriage picked up speed, leaving the habitation far behind, Lord Fincham stared absently out of the window, and was considering how best to entertain himself that evening, when he caught sight of a solitary figure, carrying a somewhat battered portmanteau, trudging along the road. Just what it was about the person that instantly captured his interest he was for ever afterwards to wonder. It might have been the set of the slender shoulders, or the brief glimpse of a slightly worn and faded tricorn that struck a chord of memory. All his lordship did know was that he had instinctively reached for his silver-handled walking stick in order to beat a tattoo on the conveyance’s roof, without giving the matter a second thought.
His head groom responded in a trice, and as the carriage drew to a halt his lordship let down the window, and leaned out in order to watch the solitary figure’s approach.
As the youth drew closer, surprised recognition was clearly discernible on the young face. ‘Great heavens! Why, if it isn’t you, sir!’
The boy was more dishevelled than the Viscount remembered. His clothes were now liberally covered in dust, and there were streaks of dirt across his face. He looked decidedly weary, too, as though he had been walking for some considerable time.
A surge of annoyance—borne, he could only suppose, of a guilty conscience—suddenly assailed him, and Lord Fincham found himself saying more sharply than he had intended, ‘Well, don’t just stand there, leaving my horses champing at their bits, lad!’
There was a moment’s hesitation before the youth clambered inside and settled himself opposite, placing the portmanteau carefully on the seat beside him, as though it contained all his worldly goods.
Which was possibly the case, the Viscount ruminated, before his youthful companion asked where he was bound. ‘More importantly, what is your destination?’ his