Page 6 of Return of the Viscount
He’d vowed to marry on his own terms, without the involvement of money. His service in the Eighth Dragoon Guards—his rise in power, even without a purchased commission—would add enough to the estate to guarantee the stability of his family, along with the small investments in shipping and exporting he’d begun to make. As a cavalryman, his dedication to work mattered more than his lack of inheritance.
Michael would do his best to be a good husband, for he’d already seen every mistake a family could make and had learned from them. But first he had to find out why the lovely sister of an earl, who could have married advantageously, was so desperate to control her own wealth.
“Cecilia!”
A woman’s light, cheerful voice called to her, and Cecilia pasted a pleasant smile. “In here, Penelope!”
Miss Penelope Webster was their nearest neighbor. Her parents leased a small manor house from the Appertan estate. She breezed into the drawing room, her black hair in perfect ringlets about her olive-toned complexion. She had cat green eyes that projected mischievousness, and moved with grace, considering her abnormal height. Her older sister, Hannah, had been Cecilia’s dearest friend growing up, and when Hannah drowned last year, Penelope had become the little sister Cecilia never had. Cecilia was grateful for her cheerful presence, for now that she dealt with the estate, she didn’t have as much time to devote to writing letters to old friends.
Penelope’s sisterly relationship with Cecilia’s brother, Oliver, had changed with maturity, and now they were engaged. Privately, Cecilia thought Oliver was too young at twenty years of age, but who was she to judge someone’s marital fitness? Penelope tolerated Oliver’s wild ways, and perhaps she could help change him for the better.
“Did you miss the rain?” Cecilia tiredly patted the sofa beside her.
Penelope flounced onto it, her white skirts spreading all around her. She gave Cecilia a quick hug. “Oh, I was already here, in the library with Oliver.”
“The library?” Cecilia repeated hopefully. Oliver had never been one for studying, and the moment he’d inherited the earldom two years before, he’d gladly left Cambridge. She had spent her life being tutored privately, and she would have given anything to attend university. But she could not force her beliefs on Oliver; she could only help him and was gladly doing that.
“We were looking up a title inDebrett’s.” Penelope giggled, and when Cecilia didn’t follow suit, her smile faded. “Is something wrong? I saw the stranger your butler was leading away. You have a visitor?”
She’d meant to tell Oliver first, but it hardly mattered. “A stranger yes, but only in one sense. It seems my soldier husband decided to visit me.”
Penelope’s green eyes went wide. “No! He didn’t inform you he was coming?” She put a comforting hand on Cecilia’s arm.
Cecilia covered it with her own. “No. He was injured, and the army sent him home to recover. And it also seems I should have read my marriage papers more closely before handing them over to my lawyers. I am the wife of Viscount Blackthorne, not simply Sergeant Blackthorne.”
“So you are Lady Blackthorne!” Penelope cried, clapping her hands together. “You deserve to marry into a title and lands, Cecilia.” For a moment, Penelope looked confused. “I thought I received an impression from you that your husband was older, but I never heard you tell others such a thing. I must have been mistaken. Now things have happened as they should. You work so hard—you need someone to work hard to take care of you!”
But that wasn’t going to happen, Cecilia knew. She was going to continue to take care of the Appertan properties until Oliver was ready to grow up and give up his wild friends and his drinking. Even a fiancée couldn’t stop Oliver from doing that.
Sometimes, she thought Penelope didn’t evenseeOliver’s flaws. She made more excuses for him than Cecilia did. But basically, they were both hoping Oliver would mature—soon.
“So what did you think of your husband?” Penelope whispered, looking over her shoulder as if Lord Blackthorne were eavesdropping.
Cecilia sighed. “I—I don’t know. I was so shocked when I heard his name. I don’t think I’ve yet recovered.”
“Is he finished with the army and come to sweep you off in romantic bliss?”
Cecilia blinked at Penelope, who broke into laughter that gradually faded when she realized Cecilia hadn’t joined her.
“Oh dear,” Penelope murmured. “Do forgive me. It is all so strange. I thought to ... lighten your mood.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. You’ve been in love with Oliver—forever.”
“But you fell in love with Sergeant-Lord Blackthorne’s letters!”
“But it’s not the same thing as meeting him in person,” Cecilia insisted. “He’s my husband, a man with whom I exchanged so many letters”—none of them romantic although he’d been kind and considerate—“yet he’s a stranger. I ... I don’t know if I’ve made the right choice.”
Penelope gripped Cecilia’s hands and looked into her eyes with determination. “Don’t be hasty, my dear. His letters moved you—that man is inside there somewhere. Perhaps he’s nervous and confused, too.”
“He doesn’t seem confused,” Cecilia murmured, thinking about how intently he’d stared at her.
“Men are good at hiding such things.”
Cecilia bit her lip, trying not to smile at her friend’s earnest certainty. Oliver never hid a single thought he was thinking, regardless of how inappropriate—yet Penelope didn’t see that.
Penelope leaned closer. “Have you told Oliver? As your brother, he’ll want to make sure you’re protected.”
“You can tell him, Penelope. I think ... I think I need to rest before dinner. If he has any questions, he can find me in the study.”
