Page 30 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"Oh," Jane was curious, but she did not like to press.
Her curiosity must have been writ across her face, however, for the viscount gave an amused laugh as he studied her reaction.
"My father was an officer in the navy," he explained, his tone kind but his manner a bit aloof, "He was often away at sea when I was a child, and even when he returned to dry land, he did not care to stay long in Southampton with Mama and I. I longed for his attention and approval, but he was not possessed of fatherly urges. After my mother died, I was passed around from one relative to the next, until Lord Crabb's solicitor broke the news that Papa—and I in turn when he passed—were set to inherit the title."
Lord Crabb paused, his eyes looking not at Jane but into the past. His strong jaw was clenched, as though reliving the memories of his childhood angered him, but he soon returned to the present moment with a lazy shrug of his shoulders.
"Papa was all about me then," Lord Crabb laughed, "I was to live with him when not at Eton and be schooled and groomed in a manner befitting of a future viscount. You can't imagine how pleased I was to finally have earned his esteem. When he passed the next year—a carriage accident, a sad way to go after such a distinguished career at sea—I was inconsolable. I vowed that I would spend the rest of my life trying to fulfil his ambitions."
Lord Crabb paused and offered Jane a wry smile. "Of course, the story does not end there," he continued, cheerfully, "I was a boy when my father died and I idolised him. It was only when I grew into manhood that I realised that I had made a child's mistake in honouring the absent parent above the one who had always been present. The parent whose love had been offered without condition; my mother."
To her surprise, Jane found her eyes misting up at his confession. He offered her a sad smile in return and gave a weary shrug.
"Once I had come to understand that the true tragedy of my life was not my father's passing but my mother's, I felt somewhat liberated," he continued, more cheerful now, "I bought myself out of the navy and signed up for the East India Company under the name of Bonville. Under that moniker, I found it far easier to strive for my own goals and ambitions, rather than the ones I believed my father had for me."
"I am sure you have done your mother's name proud," Jane offered, feeling a strange pang of grief for a woman she had never met.
"I hope so," Lord Crabb replied, solemnly.
A silence fell between them, but it was not in any way strained. In fact, it was rather pleasant. Birds chirped and sang above their heads and a brisk wind blew through bare branches, as Jane and Lord Crabb both pondered silently on his tale.
It was only when the viscount's mount became restless that they both returned to the present.
"I must not keep you any longer, my lord," Jane said, offering him an excuse to leave, "I am certain that you have much to attend to. Have you gleaned any insight into Mr Allen or Miss Bridges?"
Lord Crabb cleared his throat and gave a short nod.
"I am working on it, Miss Mifford," he assured her, though for some strange reason he looked almost abashed.
"Do let me know if you need my help," Jane offered and the viscount nodded his agreement.
She bid him goodbye and left the path, to take the shortcut back to Primrose Cottage. Unlike their first meeting, the temptation to turn her head to see if he still lingered was too much for Jane to resist. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder and was relieved to see that Lord Crabb was still standing on the spot in which she had left him, his gaze trained thoughtfully her way.
Don't read anything into it, Jane cautioned her buoyant spirits, but it was too late. Hope had sprung in Jane's breast and though she feared that Lord Crabb might one day dash it, she could not help but want to hold onto it a while longer.
Chapter Eight
After his encounter with Miss Mifford, Ivo set off for Plumpton Hall, determined to continue his investigation. His renewed vigour for solving the mystery of who killed Lord Crabb was not fuelled by a desire to learn the truth, instead it was fired by a fervent wish to restore his sense of dignity. He was a wealthy, important man—and a viscount to boot—yet he had spent half the morning like a love-sick puppy, lingering along the riverside in the hope that he would bump into Miss Mifford.
"I had just stopped to rest ," Ivo mimicked himself, as he rode home, his excuse sounding false to his ears. He had been standing in that spot for nearly an hour, when his patience had been rewarded with her appearance—though, thankfully, Miss Mifford did not know that. Then, instead of capitalising on their moment alone to say something romantic, Ivo had blurted out his whole sorry history.
His ears burned as he recalled how he had shared his deepest regrets with her, yet he sensed the shame he felt was mostly masculine pride. Miss Mifford had not appeared to judge him, in fact, he had almost been certain that her eyes had brimmed with tears as he finished his tale.
Still, kind as she had been, Ivo's pride still rankled. He was a man, he should have done something manly before her, like split a log, or lift something particularly heavy, not gripe about his feelings.
As Ivo cantered up the driveway of Plumpton Hall, his mind was filled with the various masculine pursuits in which he might engage in Miss Mifford's presence. He was just wondering if he could somehow stage a fencing match on the village green, when he sighted Allen peering out at him from one of the upstairs windows.
What would really impress Miss Mifford, Ivo reminded himself, was solving the mystery of Lord Crabb's murder.
Thus, once he had dismounted and handed his reins over to the groomsman, Ivo went in search of James the footman.
After enquiring with Mrs Hardbottle, the housekeeper, Ivo found James in the decker's room, polishing the silverware.
"My lord," the young footman—who had been staring into space rather than working—jumped as Ivo entered the room.
James was a young lad, about twenty by Ivo's estimate, with dark hair and the lanky physique of a man who had only recently been a boy.
"James," Ivo gave a slight smile as he addressed him, "No need to panic, I haven't come to check up on you. I was merely wondering if I might pick your brains a moment?"
