“Saddle my horse and be quick about it, if you please,” he said to the older lad. “I’ve no time for brushing or any finery today, it is urgent.”
“Yes, My Lord,” the boy answered before running into the darkened stable to do as he was bid.
Julius paced the length of the well-appointed stable while he waited, wondering what could possibly take so long where preparing a single horse was concerned. When the stable boy finally emerged with the animal, Julius accepted his help into the saddle and rode in the direction of the Viscount’s home.
Along the journey, Julius fretted about the Viscount’s state of mind. The man had been the object of scorn, after all, having only just requested Lydia’s hand in marriage and having her accept. If he would not listen to Julius’ pleas for reason, then all would be lost.
“My Lord Bronson,” the butler said when Julius arrived, bowing stiffly and showing him into the house. “His Lordship has not yet come down for the day. Might I give him a message on your behalf?”
“It is urgent that I speak with him. If you will not wake him, I will be obliged to wait until such time that he comes down,” Julius answered. He looked around the drawing room and chose a sofa, then fell back into its cushions as though proving his intentions.
“My Lord, I will gladly bring the Viscount your card, but I will not disturb him from his rest without some cause,” the butler added firmly, clearly averse to upsetting either the guest or his master.
“It is no bother,” the Viscount called out from behind the older man. The butler turned and bowed as Vincent entered the drawing room, still tying the sash of his robe tightly around himself. Once the butler had left, Vincent turned to Julius and demanded, “And pray tell, what could you possibly want?”
“I have come to fix this wrong,” Julius began, already breathless as he took in Vincent’s angry glower. “There must be a way to remedy it.”
“How can it be? I was tossed aside like a discarded paper from the butcher’s shop,” Vincent argued, standing still as he looked at Julius. “That is the sort of embarrassment one does not easily forget.”
“I am well aware, and I am heartily sorry for the offense,” Julius said, attempting to keep his voice calm. “But if you knew the circumstance, I think it can easily be remedied. It could even be seen as humorous by some.”
“Humorous? Your niece—my intended fiancé—had been rolling on the ground like a barnyard dog with another man. You and I clearly have very different views of what is amusing,” Vincent argued hotly. “That in and of itself would be cause enough for me to dissolve any plans between us. But for it to take place in full view of countless witnesses? That is unthinkable.”
“Vincent, listen to me. Do not shut her out so easily,” Julius said urgently, his tone rising in pitch. “I know we have spoken of a contract, and the terms of that contract are not yet decided.”
The Viscount paced the length of the room, walking past the windows and looking out. He stood at one of the windows and said, “And what are you proposing then?”
“I am prepared to alter the conditions we spoke of before. It would provide you with a somewhat larger dowry.” Julius waited, anticipating Vincent’s answer but finding only the Viscount’s silence.
Finally, Vincent turned on his heel and spoke. “I shall consider it. But I make no promises. I would be doing myself and my family name a great disservice at this point if I were to marry Lady Lydia. I shall think on it during the next few weeks and determine if the scandal has, indeed, died down. Then you shall have my answer.”
“I understand,” Julius replied, feeling only a faint measure of relief. “And I shall do my utmost to quell any rumors and to inform those I know of the truth behind the circumstances. I think you will find we can all come out of this looking better. You for keeping to your agreement despite the fickle nature of my niece, and I for not turning her out for this behavior. Even the Earl of Paxton could seem heroic with the proper talking up, as he had only been attempting to rescue Lydia from her fall. His rash act was born out of ignorance of your agreement and a desire to save face.”
“I care not what the ton thinks of anyone else, not even you,” Vincent said. “Only ensure that I am not derided or scorned, and I shall consider following through with this marriage. But I shall be very careful to keep Lydia at arm’s length from now on, now that I know the sort of lady she is.”
Julius burned with shame at the insinuation. Lydia had made a grave mistake the previous evening, but that was all. It was not as though she had willfully thrown herself at another man! Who was this Viscount to speak of her as though she were ruined?
Still, Julius knew better than to argue with one such as the Viscount of Lockwood. He had a reputation for a hot temper and Julius was in no mood to end up on the receiving end of Vincent’s wrath.
“Very good, Lockwood,” Julius said, attempting to smile warmly. Vincent did not return the sentiment. “I shall be off now, but I will keep you informed.”
Julius left the house and returned to Bronson Manor, with plenty of time throughout the ride to mull over his meeting that morning. He thought it best to keep Lydia from Matthew in order to avoid any more interaction and gossip fodder, but decided he would wait to tell her that Vincent might yet reconsider. The less she knew of his mind on the subject and his view of her as of late, the better. Only one thing was for certain now, though: if she failed to win over the Viscount and secure a marriage contract by the end of the summer, then all of them would pay the price.
Chapter 10
Matthew came downstairs for breakfast and paused briefly at the door to the dining room, taking note of his mother’s particularly sour-faced expression before he had even entered. He straightened his posture to a more formal stance and walked in, nodding politely to the footman who darted forward to pull back Matthew’s chair.
Before sitting down, he collected a plate at the sideboard and began adding to it from the bowls of poached eggs, hard rolls, and venison. By the time he sat at the opposite end of the table from Lady Paxton, he couldn’t help but notice that her roll was nearly a pile of crumbs on her plate from the violent scraping she had given it with her butter knife.
“Good day, Mother,” Matthew said politely as he sat down and slid in his chair, taking the napkin the footman unfurled for him. He immediately began to eat voraciously, enjoying the pinched expression on her face at the casual nature of his manners.
“Good morning,” she finally managed to say after a lengthy wait.
“Looks like nice weather,” Matthew said after a few minutes of torturous silence, smiling broadly.
“Perhaps,” his mother added, still tearing at her bread with the knife.
Matthew watched her actions, the way she clutched the handle of the knife and inspected the roll as she worked on it, turning her head slightly and staring at it intensely. The crumbs fell like dead leaves to her plate, sitting in a pile while she was oblivious to the decay of her roll.
