Perhaps he suffered from the liability of being dull.
“It is a delight to meet you, sir,” Aunt Fanny said, settling onto her chair with purpose.
“My pleasure, Lady Dalhousie,” he said, his voice lovely and deep. It was a little rough in a most appealing way. Truly, the sound of it made Helena feel a little shivery, in a very good way. She stole another glance at him, only to find him watching her. What was he thinking?
There were shortbread, which thrilled Aunt Fanny, though Helena accepted only a small one and did not eat it.
She dared not become plump in the duke’s absence.
“And is your wife in London or in the country?” Aunt Fanny asked the viscount, so direct that Helena nearly winced.
“Lord Addersley is unwed,” Lady Haynesdale interjected quickly, though Helena wished she had not. She would have liked to hear the viscount’s delicious deep voice again. “It is not yet two months since he inherited the title. We all miss his father a great deal.”
“You have our sincere condolences, sir,” Aunt Fanny said.
The man in question nodded agreement. His gaze flicked to Helena and lingered.
His eyes were green, his chin square with a cleft in the middle. He would be utterly dashing if he had a dimple. Or perhaps if he smiled at all.
On impulse, she smiled at him.
For a heartbeat, something flared in his eyes that made him look too dangerous and disreputable to be sipping tea in Haynesdale House. There was suddenly a vitality about him and Helena had a thrilling sense of power held in restraint. She envisioned him outdoors, perhaps striding to the stables, or riding to hunt. No, he would be fighting a duel at midnight, defeating his opponent with confidence and skill. His cravat would be loosened, his jacket discarded, his hair tousled, his hat lost.
Oh. Yes. Helena caught her breath, feeling a flush right to her toes. The viscount, apparently unaffected, averted his gaze and the moment, if it had existed, was gone.
He was as inscrutable as earlier. Had Helena glimpsed his truth though a chink in his armor? Or had she had seen more than was present? Perhaps her hopes of adventure tinted her view of her mundane surroundings. Perhaps her imagination ran rampant.
She sighed and sipped her tea.
The viscount did not speak again but neither did he leave. The two older women filled any deficiency with their chattering, and Helena had heard it all before.
“Mr. Marchand is quite adamant that the Great Maiden’s Blush roses will not flourish in the position we had assigned to them,” Lady Haynesdale said to Aunt Fanny.
Helena barely refrained from grimacing. The viscount examined the pattern on his saucer with apparent fascination.
Perhaps they hadsomethingin common.
“But they must!” her aunt insisted. “I had mine in just such a position at Hexham and they were the subject of considerable admiration.”
“Perhaps the air is cooler there,” Lady Haynesdale suggested. “As Hexham is further north.”
“Not so much as that,” Aunt Fanny replied and partook of her tea for fortification. Her tone hardened. “We are in Nottingham, after all. Remind me—how long has Mr. Marchand been tending to roses?”
“Twenty years!”
Aunt Fanny shook her head sagely. “Yet he ismistaken.”
Lady Haynesdale caught her breath, her indignation clear.
Aunt Fanny did not so much as blink.
The air crackled between them, as so often it did.
For that moment, even Helena did not dare to breathe. She noticed that the viscount looked between the older women with the barest curiosity, then Lady Haynesdale swept to her feet and gestured imperiously to a large table on the far side of the room. Those wretched garden plans were spread across its surface.
“Perhaps we might review the plan,” she invited in a tone like steel.
“Perhaps I can divine your gardener’s unfortunate error,” Aunt Fanny countered. Lady Haynesdale’s eyes flashed and the pair turned to march toward the table in unison, spines rigid.
