Page 35 of Return of the Viscount
“Down on his luck?” Cecilia whispered. “And that gave him the right to ...” She couldn’t even finish her sentence, as the memory of her fear at the hands of Sir Bevis returned to her. It was rare for her to experience such helplessness—and this poor maid must feel it often.
“No, he stopped it,” Oliver insisted forcefully. “Nothing happened.”
Except that a young girl’s confidence in herself and the world had been shaken. And that didn’t seem to matter to Oliver. He didn’t meet her eyes.
“He’s my friend, and he asked me for help,” he continued between bites of his beef pie. “Needs a place to stay. I told him it wouldn’t work at Appertan Hall.”
She silently let out a shaky breath.
“Rowlandson was upset, of course,” Oliver continued, “but I made him understand that you wouldn’t have it.”
She was practically a target again because of his thoughtlessness in blaming her. Lord Blackthorne stiffened, and now it was her turn to touch his leg although she did so only briefly.
“I offered him a few nights at the inn at my expense,” Oliver said, “until his monthly allowance was released. Everything is fine now.”
He seemed pleased with himself, convinced that he had handled the situation, and she didn’t know what to feel. She didn’t like his “friends” so close—and was dismayed that Oliver didn’t seem to understand why. Or he didn’twantto understand. Would he feel any different if Penelope had been the one attacked by these friends of his? Maybe not, Cecilia thought sadly.
Her brother briskly finished eating, and all she could do was push her food around on her plate. At last she gave up.
“Since we’re nearby, I’d like to visit the milliner.” She tried to sound more enthused than she felt. “I’ve had nothing new since I emerged from mourning.”
Lord Blackthorne pointedly rubbed his leg. “I fear I need to rest. Lord Appertan, would you mind escorting your sister? I will join you soon.”
Oliver sighed and agreed, but Cecilia looked over her shoulder as they left the private dining parlor, knowing that her husband wasn’t telling the whole truth.
Chapter 9
True to form, Oliver stepped one foot into the milliner’s shop, saw the display of dozens of hats and many pairs of interested feminine eyes, and turned around to wait outside. Cecilia hid a smile, but she did feel some relief. She needed a moment to herself, surprised that the maid’s dilemma brought back all her uneasiness, even her worry over the accidents that had happened to her.
She strolled through the displays, trying to picture the gowns she wanted new hats made for, but it wasn’t working.
“Cecilia!”
Startled, she turned and saw Penelope coming toward her, dressed in a smart shawl and matching bonnet, towering over the other customers. They held hands briefly.
“Did you see Oliver outside?” Cecilia asked.
“I did not.” Penelope glanced out the window but didn’t rush away.
Cecilia appreciated that. “He must have returned to the inn.” She hid her worry, hoping that Lord Blackthorne had finished whatever he needed to do before Oliver arrived. If there was a confrontation...
But no. Lord Blackthorne was a soldier, not a fool, at least according to her father.
“Cecilia, you seem ... upset,” Penelope said, worry creasing her brow. “Is there something I can do to help?”
Cecilia studied her friend’s face, and in that moment, she was so tired of bearing the burden of her worries. It was almost a relief to lead Penelope into the small garden behind the shop and quietly tell her about thetwoaccidents that had happened.
Penelope took both her hands and squeezed. “My dear Cecilia, I wish you’d told me sooner! Surely you’re worried for absolutely no reason.”
“I honestly thought I tripped over something going down the stairs, but I couldn’t find it, as if ... whatever it was had been removed. It sounds ridiculous, I know, and I put it right out of my mind. But then the bust almost hit me—me,not any of the other people in the entrance hall, as if someone hadwaitedfor me to be perfectly in place.”
“But everyone loves you, Cecilia! I cannot believe you’d think a servant would want to harm you.”
“Perhaps not a servant,” she whispered, looking over both shoulders. But they were surrounded by bushes and trees, then a high fence. No one could overhear.
“Then who—no!” Penelope reared back in her melodramatic fashion. “You can’t mean—Lord Blackthorne?”
Cecilia sighed. “I know it can’t be true. He has no reason to harm me. He didn’t search for me, I kept writing tohim.And he asked nothing of me—which is why I’m even entertaining such foolish uncertainties. What man wants no dowry, no control of his wife’s money?”
