The Viscount and the Virgin (8 page)

And though he had believed such hap pi ness could now never be his, since he was committed to marrying Miss Hebden, he had decided to do what he could for Rick's little sister. Life had been hard on her. She deserved a shot at hap pi ness. And so he had spent the day scouring town for men he knew would appreciate what she had to bring to a marriage. When by rights, he should have gone straight to Lord Callandar's house and sealed his own fate.

Not that it made any difference now. Miss Hebden was Midge. The girl Rick had said would enjoy romping about the estates with his neglected little brothers. The girl who would be well able to cope with his difficult father, having nursed her own can tankerous step father through his final illness.

The girl who, he saw out of the corner of his eye, was looking at him as though he had lost his mind.

‘What, me and you?' She was now saying it as though the idea had never occurred to her. ‘M-marry?'

He gave her the benefit of a cynical smile. ‘Why not?' The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He had been attracted to her from the first moment he had seen her. Even though he had known her only as the scandalous Miss Hebden. Now that he had learned more about her back ground, he could perhaps understand what had driven her to employ such des per ate measures to get herself a husband. And there was no denying that she would cope with the situation at Shevington far better than most women.

‘Why not?' she glanced over her shoulder at the groom, who bore the wooden expression of a servant pretending not to eaves drop, and lowered her voice. ‘Well, to start with, there is my reputation!'

He blinked. He had not expected her to argue. Leap up and down, and shout with triumph, perhaps. But not to argue.

‘Explain,' he bit out curtly.

‘Oh, come! You know all about my mother and father. And I noticed that you took good care not to introduce me as Miss Hebden last night. It is quite obvious that you cannot want the daughter of such a notorious couple in your family!'

‘Don't be absurd!' Nothing had been further from his mind. In fact, his mind had not been engaged at all when he had first realized that Midge and Miss Hebden were one and the same person. He had just acted from some deep, visceral objection to permitting any other man to make any kind of overture towards his woman.
Not that he was about to admit to the wave of possessive ness that had over whelmed him, the moment she had removed that cloak, and revealed the lush figure he had held in his arms the night before. It would be a grave error at this stage, to let her know what a hold she had over him. She was the kind of woman who would use it to her advantage! So, in a voice that even he felt was verging on the pious, he said, ‘I was considering Rick's feelings last night. I did not want him to be hurt. And he would be, if he knew men were making wagers about which of them—' He stopped short.

But Imogen knew the nature of the speculation rife about her.

He allowed the horses to trot for several yards, before saying in a more conciliatory tone, ‘No family is ever free from scandal, in one form or another. My own father's third marriage, for instance, was most unfortunate. His wife was far too young to marry a man already twice widowed, who wished to live in rural seclusion. She had—' he paused, settling his face into a determinedly blank expression ‘—a series of very well-documented affairs. My father is still haunted by doubts about the legitimacy of my young twin brothers, though naturally, he acknowledges them as his.'

Imogen gasped, and half turned to him on her seat. ‘I do not know what to say.'

‘Just agree to marry me, that is all I want to hear you say,' he said grimly.

‘But you surely cannot want to—'

He cut her off impatiently. ‘Rick must surely have told you how things stand for me. The earl is des per ate to see me married. He cannot bear the thought I might die child less. And now you know why. He wants his
own
off spring to inherit his lands. Besides which, the longer I dally in town, the less chance I will have… Matters at Shevington are not…' He shook his head. ‘I should be there.'

Imogen remembered her aunt telling her that the old man was at death's door, and laid a hand on his sleeve. ‘I am so sorry. I forgot how unwell he is. Of course, I understand how important it is you get your future settled. But it cannot be with me…'

‘I fail to see why. Rick knows us both well, and assures me we would suit.'

Why on earth was she persisting in saying she did not want to marry him, when she had been doing her utmost to entrap him for weeks? Unless, it suddenly occurred to him, his behaviour on the terrace outside Lady Carteret's ballroom had frightened her. He probed the inside of his bruised lower lip with the tip of his tongue. The first slap had been delivered in a spurt of temper, but those punches…

Had he really scared her so much she could no longer bear the thought of marrying him? He felt a frisson of guilt in regard to his conduct towards her. He had insulted her, man handled her and torn her gown. He shifted uneasily in his seat. At Limmer's, later on, Rick had told him, his face grim, that his sister had been taken suddenly ill and begged him to take her home. He had been too sunk in his own gloomy reflections to bother questioning him, particularly when Rick proved reluctant to talk. But now he saw she must have been in quite a state for Rick to have felt it was more important to take her home, than storm straight outside and demand satisfaction.

He glanced down at her, sitting rigid on the seat
beside him, her hands clenched into fists in her lap as though she still wanted to hit him.

Well, it made no difference. He had made up his mind to marry her, and that was all there was to it.

‘Miss Hebden,' he said sternly, ‘I have promised Rick I will look after you. The only effective way to do that is to marry you. He feels guilty for the way his father mismanaged your affairs, and is concerned about how unhappy your maternal relatives are making you. Surely you do not want him to go back to France with worry over your future hanging over his head? A man in his situation needs all his wits about him.'

‘His situation? You talk as though he is going straight back into battle. France is at peace now! From his letters, it sounds as though all he has done for months is attend balls and picnics and cricket matches!'

‘That is beside the point. A military man needs to be prepared for any eventuality. There has been much unrest in the capital. The Bourbons are not popular. Plenty of people are agitating for Bonaparte to return. If that should happen, Europe will be plunged back into war.'

‘That,' she said coldly, ‘is all a matter of conjecture.'

‘What is not a matter of conjecture though, Miss Hebden,' he said, drawing unfairly upon the most devastating weapon in his arsenal, ‘is your conduct.'

‘My conduct?'

‘Yes. It is obvious to all who know you that it can only be a matter of time before you get em broiled in some real scandal—'

‘I will do no such thing!'

‘It will be un avoid able, if you will go about kissing men on moonlit terraces.'

‘That's a des pi cable thing to say!
You
were the one who grabbed a defenceless female and mauled her about—'

‘Hardly defenceless…' he indicated his bruised lip with one gloved finger ‘…reckless, un scrupulous, wild to a fault…' He ignored her outraged gasp. ‘In fact, it is past time somebody took you in hand.'

‘I do not need anyone to take me in hand as you put it…'

‘On the contrary. You need a very strong man to keep you in line. I know only too well what you are capable of, and I will make damn sure that Rick never has to so much as blush for your conduct in future.'

‘You vile worm!' she gasped. ‘You are the very last man I would
ever
marry!'

‘Coming it a little too strong, Miss Hebden,' he drawled cynically. ‘Considering how very much you enjoyed kissing me.'

‘A few fleeting kisses are one thing, marriage is quite another!'

‘You will not be going about kissing any more men, Miss Hebden. Consider the feelings of your aunt and uncle, if you will not embrace respectability for Rick's sake. They must have spent a fortune on you, considering every time I have seen you, you have been dressed up to the nines. And I know you have not a penny to your name.'

‘You can talk! Every time I have seen you, the extravagance of your attire has taken my breath away! A more vain, shallow, selfish…
peacock
of a man I have never met.'

‘I am a catch, though. What do you think your uncle and aunt will say when they hear that after all they have done for you, you have turned your nose up at making such a brilliant match?'

‘Why should they hear anything of the sort?'

‘They will know. Because I have already arranged to call upon your uncle this evening. At which time, I intend to ask his permission for your hand.' He turned and smiled at her grimly. ‘I give you fair warning, Miss Hebden. Do you think you will be able to come up with a reason for refusing my suit that will satisfy your guardians?'

She went very still.

‘Quite so. They know, as I know, that marrying me is the best solution all round. And I think that, upon reflection, you will have to agree.'

I
mogen was speech less.

Viscount Mildenhall sounded determined to make her his wife.

But she could not believe he
wanted
to marry her! Any more than she wanted to…wanted to… She bit down on her lower lip and averted her face.

She could not deny there would be all kinds of ad vantages for her, if she accepted his proposal.

She wanted to leave town before she em broiled her poor dear aunt in some scandal. And marrying would be preferable to seeking employment. Mainly because her uncle and aunt would be so hurt if she demonstrated she would rather work as a governess than live in definitely under their care. But also because every time she had thought about approaching Lord Ked din ton, she'd had the sinking feeling that if she accepted a job he arranged for her, it would place her more deeply in his debt than she would like. This feeling was usually accompanied
by a vision of a large sleek cat with a live bird struggling under its claws.

No, she would not be sorry not to have to go cap in hand to Lord Ked din ton.

But then, what would it be like to marry a man who held her in such contempt?

Viscount Mildenhall was mercifully silent all the way back from the park. Nor had she, in the end, voiced one more objection to his threat to make a formal offer for her hand.

‘Well?' her aunt asked her the minute Imogen trudged in through the front door. ‘Is the matter resolved? What did he say?'

Imogen drooped into the drawing room and sank onto a chair. ‘He asked me to marry him,' she admitted.

Her aunt shrieked, clapped her hands to her cheeks and collapsed into another chair.

‘I know,' said Imogen, shaking her head. ‘It's unbelievable.'

But her aunt had re covered from the initial shock, and had leapt to her feet, beaming with pleasure. ‘Oh, Imogen. Congratulations! Well done!'

It did not occur to her aunt, thought Imogen with resentment, that she might have turned down such a flattering offer. Nor her uncle, who breezed into the dining room that evening, positively gleeful over what he termed ‘Imogen's conquest.' The atmosphere at the table was more convivial than Imogen could ever remember it being since she had gone to live there. She had finally, she observed with a sinking heart, managed to do something they approved of.

Drat the viscount for being right about this! She did not have the heart to disappoint them. In the end,
with what her aunt declared was a becoming show of modesty, Imogen had bowed her head and accepted her uncle's congratulations in a muted voice.

‘His Lordship will be coming to dine tomorrow night, so that we may all discuss arrangements,' her uncle informed them both as he sawed off a generous portion of game pie and tipped it onto his plate. ‘Captain Bredon will accompany him.'

‘Captain Bredon?' Lady Callandar echoed in astonishment. ‘You have invited him to dine?'

Imogen felt as surprised as her aunt looked. But Lord Callandar quashed any further objections by stating, ‘His Lordship is bringing him, as his guest.'

‘Oh, well, in that case, of course…' her aunt trailed off, bowing her head over her plate in dutiful submission.

Imogen was sure her aunt would never have raised any objections to having her step brother to dine, had she ever plucked up the courage to risk rousing her uncle's displeasure by inviting him. It had only been surprise that had made her seem to question her husband's choice of dinner guest. But apparently, the fact that Rick numbered a viscount among his closest friends now outweighed the ignominy of his humble birth.

Lady Callandar did look somewhat anxious when Rick breached all codes of etiquette the minute he entered the house—striding into the drawing room and enveloping Imogen in an enthusiastic hug. fortunately, her uncle was too busy fussing around the viscount to even notice.

‘I am so pleased for you, Midge,' Rick grinned. Then he leaned and whispered in her ear, ‘You will like being
married to Monty. Always thought the pair of you would suit.'

Imogen guiltily disentangled herself from his embrace. It was hard to know which was making her more uncomfortable; deceiving her brother or exposing her aunt to one of her uncle's tirades, by indulging in what he would term un acceptable behaviour in his drawing room.

Her aunt, seeing how uncomfortable she was, gamely tried to make light of the situation by swat ting Rick play fully with her fan, and saying, ‘You are not in France now, Captain Bredon. We cannot have these continental habits creeping into our drawing rooms.'

Rick backed off, muttering apologies, a dull flush on his cheeks.

Imogen wished there was some thing she could say to smooth things over. It was not Rick's behaviour she found difficult. It was the situation with the viscount.

She schooled her features into an expression of polite welcome as she made her curtsy to Viscount Mildenhall.

He bowed over her hand, the epitome of a courteous suitor, but there was a look of such cynical amusement in his eyes as he straightened up that Imogen wished she dared swat him with her own fan.

She mastered the impulse, out of consideration for her aunt's feelings, and the evening proceeded along utterly conventional lines.

‘Do you have a date in mind for the wedding, my lord?' asked her aunt, as they took their places at the table.

‘Before the week is out,' replied Viscount Mildenhall
tersely. ‘When Captain Bredon will be rejoining his regiment.'

‘Oh, but that will leave no time to purchase bride clothes!' wailed Lady Callandar.

‘But you have bought me so many pretty clothes already,' Imogen pointed out.

‘Indeed,' Viscount Mildenhall put in smoothly. ‘Miss Hebden is a credit to your good taste. She always looks quite…lovely.'

The telling pause as he sought for a suitable epithet to describe her appearance had Imogen grinding her teeth. He did not think she was lovely at all. Though she might be the only one who noticed, he had as good as said that anything praise worthy about her appearance was due to her aunt's good taste, not the raw material she had to work with!

However, on one thing they were in agreement. ‘I do want to marry before Rick's furlough is over,' she put in, though it almost killed her to appear to side with the viscount. ‘It will mean so much to have him to walk me down the aisle.'

‘Don't be ridiculous, niece!' blustered Lord Callandar. ‘
I
shall be giving you away. You are living under my roof and I am supporting you. Captain Bredon is not even a blood relative!'

‘Forgive me, Miss Hebden,' put in Viscount Mildenhall in a voice that, though quiet, managed to cut straight through her uncle's hectoring tones, ‘but I have already appropriated Rick for my groomsman.' He turned then to her aunt. ‘And I am sorry to rob you of your shopping expedition, too, but I have promised my father to return to Shevington as soon as is humanly possible. However—' and he turned on his most dazzling smile
‘—we will be returning to town after a suitable interlude, and at that time my bride will require a whole new wardrobe to befit her new station in life. I am sure she will wish to involve you in carrying out the requisite purchases.'

Both her aunt and uncle subsided, vastly pleased with the viscount's suggestions.

Only Imogen still felt disgruntled. Nobody was making any concessions to what
she
wanted. It felt as though everyone she loved was ranged against her, on the viscount's side.

But worst of all, it had just hit her that she was going to become a viscountess. The notion was so absurd, she did not know whether to laugh or cry.

Since she was at the dinner table, she naturally did neither, but let the conversation flow round her without any further input.

When the ladies withdrew, her aunt wasted no time in letting her know she had erred, yet again.

‘I know I have told you, time and time again, that it is not proper to display too much emotion in public, but I really think, on this occasion, that it would be permissible to look just a little pleased at your great good fortune. Your demeanour at table could have been interpreted as positively lukewarm.'

Imogen obediently mustered up a wan smile and, when the gentlemen joined them, set herself to being as pleasant as she could force herself to be. Viscount Mildenhall let no trace of the anti pa thy he felt towards her show at all; he was so charming towards her aunt and uncle, and on such very easy terms with Rick, that before long, she even began to wonder wistfully if, some where underneath all the finery and sarcasm she
associated with Viscount Mildenhall, the Monty she had once admired so much might still survive.

How differently she would feel towards this match, if he had approached her first as Monty, the hero of her girlhood dreams. If she could believe he was spiriting her away from London because he under stood how badly she wanted rescuing!

Instead of being determined to bury her in the country side, and ‘keep her in line.'

The next morning, Lady Callandar came bustling into the drawing room with her hands full of lists she must have sat up well into the night compiling.

She wore a very smug smile as she offered the first one for Imogen's inspection.

‘The guest list,' she explained.

‘It is rather short,' Imogen observed.

‘Yes,' replied her aunt with relish. ‘It is going to be a
very select gathering.
Only family, and those who have shown them selves to be your friends. Oh,' she breathed, ‘how I am going to enjoy with holding invitations from all those nasty-minded tattle-mongers who have snubbed you!'

Imogen could not help smiling. She could just see her aunt dropping Viscount Mildenhall's name into future conversations. And dispersing tidbits of information about the massively wealthy but reclusive Earl of Corfe's country seat of Shevington, where, she would boast, her dear, dear niece now resided!

‘I include Mrs Leeming, and Lady Carteret, you see,' she pointed out their names on the sheet of paper Imogen now held. Rick's name had been included, as had that of Nicodemus Bredon, though he was but a humble lawyer's clerk.

‘Lord Ked din ton, it goes without saying, and his dear daughters, who have taken such pains on your behalf.'

‘And Lady Verity Carlow,' Imogen nodded. ‘Yes, I should like to include her. She has always been truly kind to me.'

‘And she is Lord Keddinton's god daughter too. It would not do to offend a man like him by omitting a connection of his.'

‘Did you know her brother, that is Captain Carlow, is in town at the moment? He is a friend of Rick's.'

Her aunt pursed her lips. ‘That could lead to some awkwardness. If we invite the younger Carlow merely because he is in town, we shall have no option but to invite the oldest one too. You are aware that he has married,' she swallowed, ‘Helena Wardale. The daughter of your mother's…that is, your father's—'

‘I know there may a little awkwardness,' Imogen hastily put in, to spare her aunt from having to speak of her father's gruesome murder or the part Helena's father had played in it, ‘if she accepts the invitation to my wedding, but I truly hope she will come. She has done nothing for which she need be ashamed. It is not her fault that her father—'

‘Well,' her aunt interrupted with false bright ness before words like
adultery, murder
or
execution
could be uttered in her drawing room, ‘it is most commendable of you to take such a for giving attitude. I am sure I would not like to be at odds with any of the Carlows—' she lowered her voice and muttered ‘—no matter who they are married to.

‘There!' she declared, adding the names to the list. ‘We shall invite them all.'

Imogen did not think there was anything particularly
commendable about her attitude. She just felt a strong sense of kinship with the daughter of the man who had been hanged for killing Kit Hebden. Though neither girl had anything to do with the crime, they had both lived under the shadow of scandal all their lives. True, Helena now had a place in Society again, but it was only as the wife of Marcus Carlow, Viscount Stanegate. Imogen had no idea what terrible fate might have befallen Helena's older brother and sister who, to all intents and purposes, seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth.

And far from believing she had any for giving to do, Imogen often wondered if Helena was the one who might bear a grudge against Amanda Herriard's daughter. Helena had lost her father, her home and her position, because of that doomed love affair.

The days until Imogen's wedding flew by in a frenzy of organization. A Society wedding held at St George's in Hanover Square, followed by a sumptuous reception for the select portion of Society who had merited an invitation, required a good deal of planning.

And though there was not time to shop for a complete trousseau, Lady Callandar insisted she have just one new gown. She managed to get her modiste to conjure up a wedding dress that was a dreamy confection of soft creamy lace over an ivory satin under dress. Some poor seam stress must have sat up until all hours stitching on all the tiny seed pearls that decorated the snugly fitting bodice. The full-length, narrow sleeves ended in points, which came down over the backs of her hands, were also studded with seed pearls in a swirling design.

‘It is so lovely,' Imogen said, wishing she could give her aunt a hug when she came into her room on
the eve of her wedding, to check over all her lists one last time.

‘You really have worked miracles over these last few days, Aunt.'

Lady Callandar signalled the maid who had come in behind her to deposit the tray on a console table by the door, before saying, with some satisfaction, ‘Yes. I have every confidence that even though we threw this whole thing together at the last minute, it will pass off smoothly.' She dismissed the maid, took the glasses of rich ruby port from the tray, and carried them over to the bed, where Imogen was reclining.