Page 48 of Return of the Viscount
“You do not feel appreciated when a man assists you?” Michael asked her.
Appertan grumbled almost inaudibly, “Cecilia, just put all of us out of our misery and tell him to go away.”
“Pardon me? I didn’t quite hear you,” Michael said.
The earl didn’t repeat his comment, and Michael walked to his own chair.
As the first entrée of curried fowl and boiled rice was served, Cecilia looked pointedly at her brother. “When your guardian arrives, do you have any recent concerns we should discuss?”
Appertan shrugged. “No. You’ll show him your journals and account books, he’ll spend a day closeted with them, then he’ll pretend he wants to have a meaningful conversation with me. At last he’ll be on his way, feeling like he’s done his duty.”
“What an interesting arrangement,” Michael said. “He makes certain all is well but doesn’t care how that’s accomplished, which suits you both. Luck has gone in your favor.”
Appertan frowned. “How’s that?”
“Because your sister assists you in overseeing the household.” “Assists” was too minor a term to encompass Appertan’s utter disregard of his duties, but Michael couldn’t risk alienating him just then. And as for Cecilia, she’d put aside her own future for the brother she loved. How would she feel when he no longer needed her? “And Lady Blackthorne was lucky as well because she is permitted to do as she pleases, especially since marriage to me removed the impediment of her own guardian. I imagine there are many guardians who would have insisted on doing much of the work themselves.”
“His lordship is a busy man,” Cecilia said, after swallowing a taste of rice. “He has recently proposed several bills in the House of Lords, and he’s in the midst of restoring his own estates.”
Restoring? Michael focused on her. “It sounds as if his estates had deteriorated.”
“I believe he spoke of the work as basic maintenance that occasionally needs to be done when one owns property,” she explained.
Appertan leaned toward Michael. “But then you wouldn’t know much about that.”
Michael arched a brow. “And why wouldn’t I, as I own a landed country house?”
“Just like I have my guardian and Cecilia to ‘assist’ me,” Appertan said, smirking, “you have your brother. Seems neither of us cares for the work of owning land. At least I didn’t run away.”
“So you believe a man who feels a calling to serve his country is simply running away?”
“I’m certain he didn’t mean that,” Cecilia said, her lovely brow furrowed as she sent a pointed glance at her brother. “Can we not have one peaceful evening? After dinner, we can relax together as our family used to, instead of you rushing off, Oliver. I’ll play the pianoforte, and you can sing.”
Michael tried to imagine that domestic scene and failed. Appertan met his gaze, and in that moment, they both sobered, as if they shared a realization that Cecilia perhaps should not be left alone. Or was Appertan simply acting?
“I’ll stay for a while,” Appertan said at last. “But remember, you haven’t named him as family yet.”
A faint blush swept her cheeks, and she was so lovely that Michael didn’t take any offense. Not that he would have anyway; he’d known from the beginning that she would not be easily won over. She was a challenge, and the triumph of winning such a strong woman would be sweet.
He thought of the evening ahead—and the night, which he could no longer risk letting her spend alone.
Chapter 12
Cecilia followed the men to the main drawing room, where the pianoforte took up one corner, and several chairs and sofas were grouped nearby as if awaiting a performance. She wished Penelope had come to dinner that night, for she suddenly felt self-conscious and ridiculous. Oliver didn’t want to be there—perhaps he now only had one use for Cecilia, and that was as his business steward. And Lord Blackthorne? He said he would remain her husband, and he was doing everything possible to make her agree. She should feel ... crowded, smothered, irritated, but, instead, she could barely keep her gaze off him, wished desperately that she could kiss him again.
Marriage to him would be the end of her perfect life, where she controlled her own destiny and answered to no one.
Except Lord Doddridge, she thought, feeling bemused. But he’d never bothered her, and certainly Oliver didn’t, at least as far as her management of the vast Appertan estates. But now there was Lord Blackthorne, and to honor her father, he was trying to remake Oliver into a dependable man. A very good goal, and she definitely—someday—wished that Oliver would be able to do the work she did.
Unless she was more selfish than she’d imagined, wanting the reins of the earldom without the title, andthatwas why she resisted Lord Blackthorne’s efforts with Oliver.
She watched Oliver pour himself a brandy, then begrudgingly offer one to Lord Blackthorne, who declined.
“I need all my faculties to decipher this book,” he said, picking up Jane Austen’sPride and Prejudice.
She turned away, struggling to hide a smile. Who would have guessed such a sober man hid a sense of humor? She didn’t want to know these things about him. She went to the pianoforte. “I know I volunteered to play, my lord, but do not assume I am supremely talented. Every young lady learns to play. Whereas my brother—”
“Isn’t going to sing,” Oliver interrupted. “But I’ll turn the pages for you.”
