Page 3 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

She might well do, but presumably being in her aunt’s house did not bring back memories she’d tried to bury so deep within her she’d hoped they’d never again resurface.

‘Then, I will no doubt have little problem selling it,’ he said instead. ‘That is, if it is free from geese.’

She gave a little laugh as if he was making a joke. She continued to smile at him, a smile he did not return.

‘Ah, yes. You want Hamish gone. Come on, sweetheart,’ she cooed again. ‘Time to go home.’

Lucian bowed his head in goodbye and walked back to the house, hoping that by the time he returned from visiting his solicitor, the bird and its pretty owner would be nowhere in sight, a buyer would be lined up and he could soon say good riddance to this house and garden forever.

Primrose watched the viscount stride back to his house. For such a solidly built man he moved with surprising grace and easy, masculine confidence. But then, everything about the viscount denoted an easy masculinity.

She considered how she would describe him to her friends and decided manly was the best word to use. Very manly. And tall. Over six feet, she’d estimate. She’d certainly had to tilt back her head to look up at him from her five-foot-five perspective.

Manly, tall and rather dashing, and he’d looked so important in that dark grey suit, like a serious man with serious business to attend to.

Aunt Clemmie had warned her to stay away from the old viscount but had said nothing about the son. Maybe she should have, given the effect he had on her nervous system.

Never, in all her twenty years, had Primrose seen a man more breathtakingly good-looking. And she meant that quite literally. It had been so hard to talk when she was constantly having to gasp for breath. She had no idea what she had said to him, her mind having gone blank the moment she’d looked up into those dark brown eyes. All she’d been able to think about was how handsome he was, with his olive skin and his thick black hair that looked as if he’d just raked his fingers through it. Perhaps he had Italian or Spanish ancestry. That might explain his colouring, but she had no idea whether it would also explain his strong jaw-line and those carved cheek bones.

Hamish gave a loud honk, drawing her attention away from the doors through which the viscount had disappeared. Then he waddled over to the gate in the wall, presumably having had his fill of snails for the day, and squeezed himself under the gap at the bottom of the gate.

Primrose followed on behind. Walking at Hamish’s slow pace, they strolled down the brick path that led along the back of the townhouse gardens and overlooked a delightful private park shared by the neighbourhood.

She entered her own property, closed the gate behind them, looked around and released a long sigh. That disconcerting feeling caused by her encounter with the viscount eased somewhat now she was back where she felt safe and comfortable. Her house, her garden, surrounded by her animals.

Hamish joined the other geese and commenced honking in a self-important manner, as if telling them of his encounter with the new neighbour. She looked towards the high brick wall covered in ivy that separated the two properties. It had been so much better when the house was empty and not occupied by unsettling viscounts.

She had visited the neighbouring property a few times since she’d moved into her aunt’s house, but only because no one apart from the friendly servants lived there, and they were always so welcoming to her and her animals.

Unlike the new owner.

The viscount was obviously not an animal lover or, at least, not a goose lover.

‘Fancy suggesting waving a stick at you,’ she said to Hamish. ‘I’d never let anyone do that to you.’

Marigold wandered over to join her, presumably curious to know why she was still standing by the gate lost in thought. She scratched the goat under her ears in that special spot she loved so much.

‘Our new neighbour is rather unsettling,’ she told Marigold.

By now Primrose should be used to males making her feel uncomfortable. They’d been making her life a misery ever since she’d moved in with her father’s brother and his wife, the Earl and Countess of Stonely, after her parents had passed away. From that very first day, her uncle and aunt’s son, Cousin Jasper, had thoroughly enjoyed teasing her at every opportunity, his pleasure complete when he finally made her cry.

It was then, as a lonely six-year-old, that she’d discovered how much nicer animals were than people.

During her first and only social Season, she had learnt Jasper was not the only horrid man who took pleasure in her discomfort. The earl, by then, had also passed away, elevating Jasper to the title and increasing his sense of self-importance. The countess had been hoping to quickly marry her off so she no longer felt obliged to support her husband’s niece, but being an orphan with no dowry, and the only daughter of the fourth son of an earl, meant she was never going to be sought after as a potential bride. And it hadn’t taken long for the other so-called gentlemen to see her as a source of fun, spurred on by Jasper.

Miss Prim and Proper and Primrose Fairburning Cheeks were among the less upsetting names she’d been called. Names that had caused the other young ladies to titter behind their fans.

If she hadn’t found refuge in the wallflowers’ corner and made her first two human friends, Alice and Margaret, she was sure she would never have been able to endure those excruciating four months.

Marigold gave a small bleat of pleasure, and Primrose realised she had once again become lost in thought and was still scratching the goat. She couldn’t stand here all day. She had to make haste. She’d been invited to take tea at Alice’s home, and this time she would have something to add to the conversation that wasn’t about her animals or the latest book she had read. She could tell them all about the viscount.

Once she’d made sure the animals had everything they needed, she rushed into the house, picked up her gloves and parasol and headed out of the front door to walk to Alice’s home.

She smiled to herself as she walked along the footpath. How could anyone want to leave this area of London? It was perfect. Especially on such a delightfully sunny late-summer day, with the birds twittering in leaf-draped trees and the sublime scent of roses filling the air from the nearby gardens. She lowered her parasol so the warm sun could shine on her face.

It felt like such a deliciously naughty thing to do and was made even better by the thought of how much it would shock her aunt, the countess. Primrose could almost hear her reprimand. ‘Stop that immediately. A lady must protect her complexion at all times. Gentlemen are not interested in young women who look as if they toil in the fields.’

Well, during that one Season she’d been forced to attend, it had quickly become apparent that regardless of her complexion, no man would ever be interested in her.