“No, but it is quite disconcerting.”
“You must do this for yourself, Viola. A recommendation from the viscount about your excellent cooking will get you hired by the finest houses in England. Truly, this is your best choice if you decide not to marry young Haworth. However, I do wish you would consider his offer more seriously. His father is a wealthy squire and George is his heir. He would give you a good life.”
Her father was right. But cooking, not George Haworth, was the way to securing her future and the viscount had promised to help.
Poor George.
She liked him, but did not desire him in the way a wife ought to desire a husband. He was a good man who deserved better than a tepid wife.
She kissed her father on his forehead and then hurried to Ardley Hall under a gloriously gentle breeze and bright sunshine. The church had been built over eight hundred years ago and so had the older parts of Ardley Hall. But Ardley Hall had been upgraded over the centuries by the ruling family whereas the church and vicarage remained as originally built.
Oh, what she would give for a modern amenity or two.
She passed by the viscount’s sheep pasture and waved to Mrs. Bligh’s son who tended his flock. “Good morning, Jeremy!”
“Good morning, Miss Viola. Are ye headed to the big house?”
She nodded. “I am.”
“Try to keep out of his lordship’s way then. He has been in a foul temper this past week.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m headed there to see him now, but he won’t dare be impolite to me.”
Jeremy laughed. “That’s true. Ye have the Almighty on yer side and he ain’t about to mess with that.”
A light breeze whipped the hem of her gown about her ankles as she strode through the impressive gate and walked up the drive toward the grand manor house. The thick stones walls had been painted a cheerful white and the shutters were a deep, forest green. The garden was beautifully maintained, and it would not be long before red roses burst into bloom along the trellises.
She was about to walk up to the front door, then realized perhaps she ought to go around to the back. She was hardly a distinguished visitor. But just as she was about to head to the servants entrance, the viscount himself happened to walk out of the stable. A slant of sunlight followed him as he marched toward her with a manly stride. Dear heaven, he looked every bit the Viking warrior with his head of golden hair and powerfully muscled body.
Even in dry clothes, he looked magnificent.
She blinked her eyes as he approached, trying hard to expunge the memory of his wet shirt clinging to his every muscle and sinew.
“No, Viola,” he said with a light frown, startling her out of her wayward thoughts. “You are always to come to my front door.”
“But–”
“I’ll allow no protest. You are my guest.”
“But you have engaged me to be your cook.”
“I haven’t yet. The party list comes first.”
“But I am still–”
“Stop.” He cast her a wry grin, his gorgeous eyes, the fathomless blue of an ocean, now shimmering with amusement. “How about we compromise?”
“Compromise?”
“You wish to go in through the servants entrance.”
She nodded. “Yes. It is the only–”
“Oh, Viola. You are such a stubborn little thing. You insist on entering through the kitchen and I demand you come in through the front. Neither of us will give in, so here is my compromise. I’ll give you a leg up and you can climb in through that window.” He pointed to the bow window to the left of his front door.
His grin held devastating appeal as he fashioned a step out of his hands. “What do you say?”
She laughed. “Not on your life. You win, my lord. Front door it is.”
