Page 1 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

Chapter One

London 1891

Nothing much had changed. Lucian Montclair, Viscount Westhaven, stared out at the back garden of his father’s London townhouse, nursing a black coffee. It looked exactly as he remembered it when he’d left ten years ago at the age of eighteen vowing never to return.

The French doors still overlooked a brick terrace, where wrought iron furniture was placed in precisely the same spot. The large grass area stretching out before him—where he had played as a child—looked as it always had, as did the surrounding trees where he had once built a tree-house. But they now appeared tainted. A reminder that while he had been enjoying himself as the privileged son and heir, he had been oblivious to the abhorrent events happening in this very house.

His gaze moved along the gravel path, which still curved its way down to a large ornamental pond at the bottom of the garden, just as it had ten years ago. But beside the pond there was now one surprising difference.

Lucian’s father had never kept geese. So why was there one pecking its way around the pond?

With little real interest, he continued watching as the large white bird poked and prodded at the surrounding plants, looking every bit as if it was where it belonged.

Bizarre.

While watching the bird provided a brief distraction and went some way to stopping his mind from straying back to his father and all the suffering that man had caused, he could not spend all day watching its antics.

He took another sip of his cooling coffee. The sooner he sold this house and returned to America, the sooner he could forget everything that had occurred here and permanently put all thoughts of his father out of his mind. That was what he should be doing now. He should be paying a visit to his solicitor and meeting with an estate agent so he could dispose of the inheritance he’d never wanted. If he could rid himself of the title, he would do that as well. Viscount Westhaven was his father’s name, and it did not sit well on Lucian’s shoulders.

His father had taken no interest in the Cheshire estate, leaving it in the hands of the estate manager who had been doing an excellent job. Lucian could see no reason to alter this arrangement, and it would mean he could avoid spending any time in the place where he’d spent his overly indulged childhood. But one thing he was determined to do before he left England was dispose of this hated house.

He turned away from the glass doors. Back to the large drawing room. A room he hated more than the rest of the house for what had taken place here ten years ago. He tried to see it through the eyes of a potential buyer. If it held no unpleasant memories, then it could be considered a desirable room, with its burgundy walls, polished inlaid floor covered with Turkish rugs, marble fireplace and leather furniture.

It was certainly a room designed for a man to feel comfortable in. His father would never have thought to make the room otherwise. Only his own comfort had mattered, and he hadn’t cared whether it felt inviting for Lucian’s mother.

The rest of the house could be just as appealing to the right buyer. Lucian hoped lots of buyers would be looking for a home designed to show off one’s wealth, with its grand marble entranceway and intricate wrought iron stairway, and enough rooms for a large family or, as in his father’s case, for extravagant and raucous parties.

And they’d be welcome to it, but that sale wasn’t going to happen if he remained standing here, scowling at the house.

He looked back out the window at the goose, who was still waddling along around the pond. He’d wasted enough time. He needed to get on with his busy day. His father’s servants—now his servants—could deal with the errant fowl. He took a step away, stopped and turned back to peer out of the glass doors, his attention now pulled to the gate at the bottom of the garden, which was slowly opening.

A young woman emerged from behind the wooden palings and slipped inside the garden. Crouching down as if attempting to make herself invisible she crept across the grass towards the goose.

This was even more bizarre than a goose in the garden. As he watched, her antics became even more peculiar. She leant down and appeared to be having a whispered conversation with the bird. Or, more accurately, a one-sided talk. The goose continued pecking at whatever geese peck at and contributed nothing to the exchange.

Undeterred by the lack of response, the young lady added to her constant chatter much furtive pointing towards his house and the neighbouring property.

Very odd indeed. He drank the last of his coffee as he tried to work out what she was up to. Perhaps she was a goose herder, or whatever such people were called, and this was one of her charges that had escaped. Maybe she worked in one of the neighbouring homes, and dinner had made a run for it before it could end up in the pot.

Although, the young lady’s lacy white dress seemed an inappropriate choice of attire for someone who worked with poultry and was unlike the clothing servants generally wore.

There was only one way to find out who this blonde woman was and why she was in the garden with a goose. He placed his coffee cup on a nearby table and opened the French doors.

His appearance was immediately noticed by the intruder, and while from this distance he could not hear her gasp, he saw the way her hand flew to cover an open mouth. The goose, however, paid neither of them any heed, even when the young lady turned back to it and started talking and gesturing with greater animation.

‘Who are you?’ Lucian asked when he reached the bottom of the garden, not bothering with polite formalities, which were hardly required when dealing with trespassers.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she blurted out, not answering his simple question. ‘Hamish knows he’s not supposed to come here anymore, but Edward never objected to him visiting whenever he wanted to,’ she rushed on, her breathy words tumbling over each other. ‘He says he eats the snails in the pond so earns his keep. Hamish that is, not Edward.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘He doesn’t realise the house has a new owner, and he might not be welcome anymore. Hamish, that is again, not Edward. I’m sure Edward knows there’s a new owner and continues to be welcome.’

Her words finally came to an end. She blushed a deep shade of pink and smiled at him, exposing a dimple on each cheek, as if that was all the explanation he required. It was a pretty-enough smile if you were attracted to sweet, innocent young women. He wasn’t.

‘Edward is your gardener,’ she burbled on. ‘In case you didn’t know. Well, he does the garden for several of the residents in this street. He’s awfully good at what he does.’ She pointed at the pristine garden as if to demonstrate that point. ‘And he is very nice, especially to Hamish. Well, to everyone, really.’

Lucian waited to ensure she was finished. She smiled again, which hopefully was a signal that she had finally reached the end of her ramblings. ‘I now know the name of my gardener, and the name of that goose, but you didn’t answer my question.’

‘His full name is actually Sir Hamish McGander,’ she said, looking fondly at the goose. ‘I don’t know Edward’s full name.’

He looked at the large bird, who was sporting a tartan ribbon around its neck, presumably a reference to its imagined Scottish heritage.