“And what do you know of the new viscount?”
Becky, interestingly enough, shivered, though not with the delight Helena had experienced at the sound of the viscount’s low and velvety voice.
“They say as there is no blood in his veins,” she provided. “And that if you were to prick him, ’twould be ice water that flowed from the wound. Colder than a winter wind, he is, ma’am, to be sure. A lady would have to disguise herself as a ledger andspeak only of sums and tallies to win his attention. That must be why he is unwed as yet.” She nodded with enthusiasm. “There was to be a wedding all those years ago, but it never happened. Perhaps the lady found him lacking.”
Even Aunt Fanny surrendered her ambitions with that confession and spent the evening frowning at her needlework. She suggested that they might not accept the viscount’s invitation, but Helena wanted to see the dogs. How large could they be?
And she would acquaint herself with the duke’s neighbors. She knew there could nothing else of interest for her at Addersley Manor.
All the same, she dreamed that night of a taciturn highwayman with eyes of glimmering green.
Addersley Manor wasa complete contrast to Haynesdale House. Helena was astonished by the difference. While Haynesdale House was centuries old, large and of indeterminate design, Addersley Manor could not have been fifty years old. It was so obviously new—tall, broad and relentlessly symmetrical—that it might have been completed the year before. There were no stains or marks of age on the stone walls. The gardens, too, were formal—and to Helena’s delight, there was not a rose in sight. The chosen plants offered a soothing composition of green and white, each specimen in its place and mirrored by one in the opposite location. The stairs before the house were broad and even, the doors wide and surrounded by panes of glass that sparkled in the sun.
Helena was certain she had never seen an abode that reflected its owner so well. Every detail was perfectly contrivedand organized to reason. She would have liked to have seen a few pink peonies tumbling over themselves to mar the mathematical perfection of the garden or one of those enormous rhododendrons from Bramble Cottage, in full bloom.
“So new,” Aunt Fanny clucked before the carriage door was opened. “It probably has every amenity,” she said with a disapproval Helena did not share.
“No smoking chimneys,” Helena agreed, thinking there was much good to be said for new construction. “No crooked floors and awkward corners. The spiders must have abandoned it in disgust, if ever they took up residence at all.”
“Spiders! Do not speak to me of such creatures!”
“I doubt there are any, Aunt. I doubt there is any dust. There cannot be a nook to shelter a mouse, and there will be no bats in the attics for they cannot contrive a means of entry. It looks absolutely pristine.”
“It has no character, no soul, no spirit,” her aunt complained. “Nohistory!” A footman opened the door then and she bit her tongue. She fortified herself with a deep breath, then left the carriage.
Helena was quick to follow her aunt, pausing to appreciate the wide level drive covered with pea gravel. The skies seemed bluer over this house and the sun a bit brighter. Lord Addersley himself emerged from the house to greet them, and his manners left nothing to be desired, according to Aunt Fanny’s gracious response.
Helena thought he looked very fine in a navy jacket, buff trousers and his tall gleaming boots. His cravat was as white and crisp as previously, and again, he wore no adornment. He wore no hat and the breeze tousled his hair just enough to make him look less forbidding.
If only he were a little bit wicked. She sighed.
She had hoped that she would have confirmation of his secret side, the dangerous rogue with the glimmer lurking in his eyes, but he was the very heart and soul of indifferent politeness. They might have been strangers for all the warmth in his tone.
Surely the statue could not have been his true nature?
But then, who else would live in such a house?
“I thought we might resolve the question of the puppy first,” the viscount said and gestured. “The stables are this way.”
“The puppies are in the stables?” Helena asked as he offered Aunt Fanny his arm.
“Of course.” He looked at her as if she had responded to him in Greek. “They are hunting dogs.”
“Yes, but I thought you would have them in the house, perhaps in your library,” Helena explained. “You do have a library?”
“Of course.”
“With a grand fireplace?”
He halted. “Would you prefer to see it first?”
“No, but I always imagine a litter of puppies gathered around their mother, before a fire in a library.”
He hesitated, a small frown between his brows. “There were dogs in the house when I was a boy, but my father and I have been in London in recent years. We have only come to Addersley Manor on occasion to hunt. The dogs were better cared for in the stables.”
That made sense. “But if you mean to remain in the country, perhaps you should have dogs in the house,” Helena said. When he did not reply, she dared to continue. “If I had a dog, I should want it to be with me all the time,” she said. “I would expect it to sleep in my room and follow me through the house. I do not hunt, my lord, so there would be no other reason for me to have a dog than companionship. If that is not your expectation, perhaps I need not choose a puppy at all.”
“A dog might also defend my niece,” Aunt Fanny contributed when the viscount did not argue with her. “When they are part of the family, they are more inclined to be protective.”
