The Viscount's Wicked Ways Read online

  “I didn’t hear anything strange,” Mrs. Tecking said, a bit dismissively. Although she was polite enough face-to-face, Patience knew Mrs. Tecking held little love or regard for her.

  “Are you sure, Patience?” John asked as he spread his scone with jam. “Could it possibly have been your imagination?”

  Patience scowled. “Thank you for the support, cousin.”

  John smirked a bit. “Well you know it does tend to get you into trouble.”

  She stepped on his foot, not that her kid slippers could do much damage to his polished Hessians. “Talking tends to do that in our family.”

  Lady Caroline, with impeccable timing, chose that moment to enter. “Good morning. I hope you all slept well. Are you ready to tour a portion of the estate and see the collection this morning?”

  Patience looked around the group. They all looked expectant. She turned back to Caroline. “That would be wonderful.”

  “Excellent. Let’s start with the grounds first?”

  They nodded and followed her through the connecting salon and out onto the rear veranda. Trailing periwinkle clung to the neat hedgerows, and a few songbirds escaped as they neared the edge of the flagstones.

  The vista took Patience’s breath away. It had been incredible from her window, but the sounds, smell, and air made the view so much more. Instead of seeing the grounds from a distance, almost model-like in its perfection, here on the veranda it was magical. She suddenly felt small.

  “The castle overlooks twelve thousand acres of park and woodland.” Caroline kept a running commentary, and Patience kept half an ear opened while soaking in the view of the rolling meadows and lush gardens.

  “We have three formal gardens, the one here north of the castle, the other two flanking the main southern entrance. Two Greek-styled temples, one there on the other side of the lake, the other a hidden treat beyond the entrance to the woods. One of the sculpture gardens is near the hidden temple, the other is just over there, as you can see.” She pointed to the west of the sparkling lake.

  “The rose garden to the east…” She leaned toward Patience. “My favorite. It’s surrounded by four separately designed fountains that lead into a number of bridle paths. One of those paths will take you to the hidden temple and sculpture garden. Please feel free to speak to our stablemaster about mounts if you enjoy riding.”

  Caroline led them toward the lake and formal garden. “There is a river just over the bend that meanders through the estate. A mile or two distant is an excellent location for fishing. Two other lakes can be found on the property, both larger than this one and well stocked.”

  They stopped near the edge of the dark blue water, and Caroline pulled some bread from her pocket and tossed it into the water. A number of ducks and swans glided toward the bank. It looked to be a ritual.

  “The river runs by the ruins of Farstaff Abbey. I recommend a visit.” She smiled. “I’m sure you all will enjoy the scenery and its history.”

  They strolled through the formal garden, and Patience trailed her hand underneath a fountain spout, a half-naked cupid pouring water from its ewer. The water was crisp and cold and as she surveyed the others investigating the hawthorn hedgerow shrubs, the primrose and yellow pimpernel, she felt a heady sense of wonder that someone could own something as magnificent as the Blackfield estate.

  In the distance she could see an observatory and four brown nondescript buildings nestled near the woods. The observatory was beautiful, a domed temple in and of itself, but the brown buildings were…plain. Almost out of place. Two men appeared between the central buildings and disappeared inside the one on the right.

  Patience spoke up. “Caroline, what are those four buildings for?”

  Caroline didn’t look her way, but continued to observe a primrose bush with Mrs. Tecking. “Oh, those are just some of the staff buildings. Nothing too interesting.”

  Patience frowned. She was sure Tilly had said the staff were all housed in the southwest wing of the castle. Granted, she had also heard there were nearly two hundred servants in residence. But those unadorned buildings were large. And one of them only had windows on the eastern half. What was in the western half that didn’t require at least one window?

  She stopped wondering about the buildings as soon as she entered the rose walk. No wonder Caroline said it was her favorite. The artful arrangement of flowers and statuary was enchanting, and the smell was nothing short of divine. There had to be forty different types of roses in various sizes, shapes, and colors—tall, short, large-bloomed, climbing, miniature, red, purple, yellow, white…Roses trailing down walls, roses standing tall, roses shyly peeking from the corners. It was wonderful.

  Lady Caroline led them back inside for a light noon meal, then they proceeded to explore the ground floor, with its collection of priceless tapestries, murals, and pictures.

  The gallery was a highlight of the first floor. Generations of viscounts and viscountesses Blackfield peered down their noses as the five made their way through. Rich reds and golds dominated the superior room.

  “The china and bronze collection down the hall are courtesy of the fifth viscountess, the lady in blue there on the right.” Lady Caroline’s voice trailed off as she turned the corner followed by the others. Just beyond the portrait gallery, Patience paused to examine a painting of the castle. The artist had captured the sentient nature of the building, as if the stones were waiting for the viewer to turn before taking its next breath. While searching for the artist’s signature, she stumbled into a suit of armor.

  Grabbing on to the arm for support, she was appalled to feel the arm and pike break off in her hand. She stared at it in shock for a moment before hastily trying to shove it back in place.

  Murmurs and footsteps rounded the corner and Patience, holding the broken piece of armor in front of her, jumped into the niche between the armor and the wall. Mortified at the thought of being found holding a broken piece of antiquity, she was trapped. She could only hope that the women coming down the hall didn’t glance her way.

  “Did you hear it last night? Out again!”

  “Shh, do you want to get us in trouble?”

  “No, but I’m scared! A monster, it is! I’ve seen it.”

  “You have not.”

  “I have! A large, hairy beast with breath of fire and hands of steel. It will kill us all.”

  The other maid grabbed her and shot a quick look down the hall. “Hush, you fool. The master will have your hide if you don’t stop your babbling.”

  The girl looked terrified. “He’ll feed me to it you mean!”

  The maid rolled her eyes, her face was pinched. “You’re new. You’ll get used to it. Just don’t go near those buildings. And don’t let those guests hear your nonsense, or the master won’t have to, because I’ll feed you to it.”

  The girl gibbered on, but the other maid dragged her down the hall, continuing to scold her.

  Patience blinked. Monster? The viscount was keeping some hairy beast locked away in the plain buildings to the north? She shook her head to clear it. Next she would have him back as a vampire enthralling his victims to willingly sacrifice themselves to his pet creatures.

  She shoved the gauntleted arm in place and gave a twist. It stuck at an odd angle, but it would have to do. She’d ask John to fix it later.

  Walking in the direction the rest of the party had taken, she found them halfway down the hall emerging from the china room.

  Caroline looked relieved. “Oh, good. I was just about to send a servant to find you.”

  “My apologies, Caroline, I became rather interested in one of the portraits.”

  Caroline smiled and led them to the stairs.

  “The castle was constructed in the seventeenth century for the third Viscount Blackfield and work spanned the lives of three viscounts. They strived to create one of England’s grandest country homes, an unparalleled structure that would be heralded through the ages. The finest architects and craftsmen were commis
sioned. Thus far, each incumbent has taken his stewardship and inheritance seriously and has enhanced the estate.”

  “Are renovations or restorations being done by the present viscount?” Patience asked.

  “Why yes, on the interior.”

  “I noticed last night that the privy in the west corridor contained devices that I have never seen, even in London.”

  “Yes, well…” Caroline hesitated. “Kenfield acquired them from somewhere.”

  She motioned, in a somewhat flustered manner, for them to continue walking. “I’m sure you are all eager to look at my husband’s collection. Anytime you want to explore further, talk to Kenfield, and he will assign someone to act as your guide. Most rooms are open for you to browse through, barring the family wings, state rooms, and Lord Blackfield’s personal rooms. Please don’t make the mistake of wandering through his private areas.”

  Caroline had looked distinctly uncomfortable when Patience mentioned the privy devices. At first Patience had thought it due to the nature of the question. But that would have caused mortification, a blush, something of that nature. Caroline’s eyes had been distressed.

  Patience narrowed her eyes, but followed as Caroline led them down the hall.

  George Ashe’s collection was everything they had hoped and more. Her father would be pleased. The museum would be thrilled.

  After wiping her hands on a towel, Patience pushed a few of the escaped dark locks dancing on her forehead back toward her dangling bun. She needed an army of clips and pins to tame it, and even without the excited motions of diving into her favorite pastime, her hair tended to stage frequent revolts.

  John walked into the room looking as happy as Patience felt.

  “The guns. Hakenbuchses, hackbuts, a Lansknecht Stock…” He shook his head. “There are a pair of Russian seventeenth-century snaphaunces that are unbelievable. And a pair of Spanish blunderbusses…well, I’ve never seen their like.” John was nearly speechless.

  She had briefly seen the engraved staghorn, mother-of-pearl, walnut, and pierced-iron pieces. They had looked impressive to her, and weaponry was far from her field.

  “And?”

  He grinned. “The collection is excellent. Your father will be pleased.”

  She grinned back. “It’s the same with the Greek and Egyptian pieces. They’re in incredible condition.”

  They talked, or rather gushed, about the respective collections. “It’s getting late, and we need to clean up before supper,” John said, finally breaking their long-winded discussion. “Do you want me to let the Teckings know?”

  “Yes, better you than I. Missus dislikes me.”

  John grimaced. “I don’t know what is worse, her obsession with propriety or his obsession with antiques. I might need you to help me get him to the table for meals.”

  “I thought the same this morning. He does get a bit…involved.”

  John raised a brow. “Involved? You are being kind. I think the word is obsessed.”

  Patience was reminded of the conversation with Blackfield that morning. “Yes, well, I’m sure that between you and Mrs. Tecking you can get him to the dinner table tonight. It is our first night, and she would be appalled to miss any festivities.”

  Patience waved before walking back to her room. Tilly was already waiting to help her wash and dress. She had packed a number of gowns and evening dresses, prepared for formal dining. She donned a sky-blue dress, which lightened her dark eyes, a gift from her French mother. She fiddled with her pearl necklace while Tilly tightened her corset and buttoned the dress. The undergarments and lines of the dress changed her average curves into fashionable ones.

  Tilly finished dressing her hair, and Patience put her wire spectacles back in place. She knew they weren’t stylish, and she only needed them for reading, but she felt safer with them on. They were her battle shield.

  She walked toward the dining room, stopping only three times to examine something new that had caught her attention in the halls. She was just finishing an examination of a stunning Red-Figure kylix from the fifth century B.C. when the hairs on the back of her neck stood.

  She turned to see Blackfield lounging against the opposite wall, an unreadable look on his face. Pulling upright, Patience felt her face flush as she realized she had been bending in all directions to inspect the ancient Greek drinking cup, and had no idea how long he had been standing there behind her.

  The ends of his mouth curved sensually upward as color climbed her cheeks. She blinked, flustered, and turned her gaze back to the kylix. Perhaps she had overestimated the quality of her shield.

  “May I escort you to the dining room, Miss Harrington?” His deep voice sounded amused.

  She placed an unsteady hand on his sleeve, not looking him in the eye. “Thank you, Lord Blackfield.” She was happy to note that her voice remained steady.

  “I see you have taken an inordinate interest in the hall pottery.”

  She sniffed. “Hall pottery, indeed.”

  “I can find you a much nicer drinking cup in the kitchens. One without a fracture at the base.”

  “One made centuries ago by Euerdiges?”

  “How about Wedgwood? I do believe he is a distant cousin.”

  A reluctant smile curved her lips as they entered the room where the others were waiting. Patience saw Mrs. Tecking give her a sharp look. She didn’t want to know what images were stirring in the woman’s head.

  Blackfield bowed to Patience. “It was a pleasure, Miss Harrington. We must talk further about the Wedgwood family tree.”

  Patience smiled as he offered his arm to his aunt, the highest-ranking lady in the room, and led the group to the table. After the ladies were seated, she watched Blackfield sink into his chair like a pat of butter melting into a pan.

  Caroline and John conversed freely through the first few courses. Patience had been sure Mrs. Tecking would be simpering before the viscount, but for some reason she had taken to casting speculative glances toward Patience and uttering small nearly unheard sighs.

  Patience tried to ignore her glances as well as avoid looking directly at Blackfield, but she felt his gaze resting on her periodically throughout the meal. He allowed Caroline and John to drive most of the conversation, although his near silence did nothing to diminish his presence.

  Patience saw John nod emphatically. “The number of pieces creating the knight’s mail was a decision that could not be taken lightly. Armor was, after all, a deciding factor in determining the outcome of many medieval battles.”

  Caroline leaned forward. “It was a detriment at times too, yes?”

  “Oh, yes. More than one knight drowned after falling into water, being unable to stand and remove his mail by himself.”

  Patience thought it was a great time to show Blackfield how interesting historical debates could be. “It’s one of the reasons the Greeks might have had it right. There’s a statue of a hoplite in the museum wearing a breastplate, helmet, greaves—which are shin guards—and nothing else. Makes one think about what is really necessary.”

  She had found the statue very interesting, and she and her father had discussed the advantages and disadvantages of different types of armor through the ages. She had gotten over her bashfulness at seeing the naked or nearly naked forms from the classical periods, long ago.

  Patience looked up to continue the discourse and see if she could tempt the viscount into the conversation, when she suddenly noticed that the table had gone silent.

  John was staring at her wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Caroline had started waving her fine linen napkin in a doomed attempt to keep the blush from her face. Mrs. Tecking’s eyes were narrowed.

  Oh dear Lord, she had done it again.

  Mr. Tecking, oblivious as usual, just nodded to her. “Quite right, Miss Harrington. Always knew you were a smart one.”

  Blackfield raised a brow and drawled, “Well, nothing boring there, Miss Harrington. I stand corrected from earlier.”

  That s
eemed to break the stupor. Caroline and John hastily switched topics to conversing about the latest news occurring in London, and drew Mr. Tecking, and subsequently Mrs. Tecking, into the conversation.

  Patience barely paid attention. Instead, she watched Blackfield. His smirk over her embarrassment made her itch to remove it. He returned her perusal, doing little to hide his amusement as the conversation ebbed around them.

  For some absurd reason, she blamed her conversational blunder entirely on him.

  She stabbed her meat, her eyes never leaving his. His smirk widened and he forked a green in response. She violently stirred her au jus, he swished his wine.

  She slid her knife across her roast in a mock threatening fashion. He raised a brow and traced his wineglass in a somewhat obscene motion. Her mouth dropped in shock before she regained her wits and shot him a scathing glare.

  He smirked again, as if he had known she wouldn’t rise to the challenge. She refused to look away, continuing to glare at him. He retraced his glass, then lifted it to his lips. She could have sworn he did something to the edge of the glass with his tongue; but her spectacles seemed a bit foggy, and she couldn’t be sure.

  Dessert came too fast, and Patience had to admit momentary defeat as Blackfield seemed to be mimicking his wineglass actions with his pie and fork. Understanding just enough to make the room feel ten degrees warmer, but not skilled enough to fight back, Patience turned her gaze to the others. Apparently their conversation was so intense that no one else had observed Blackfield’s behavior or the mimed interchange.

  Dessert was removed from the table and, since none of the men smoked, Caroline suggested an alternative. “Is anyone interested in playing a few games of whist?”

  Mr. Tecking set his napkin by his plate. “I’m going to retire for the evening and begin recording preliminary notes, if you will all excuse me for the night.”

  Mrs. Tecking’s eyes tightened minutely. “I will retire as well. Thank you, Lady Caroline and Lord Blackfield, for a lovely dinner.”

  It was obvious that Mrs. Tecking wanted to stay, but deemed it proper to leave with her husband. Even though Mrs. Tecking had never been more than coldly polite to her, Patience felt a bit sorry for her.