Page 43 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

It seemed it was going to be all up to her to come up with a plan of action, and she was going to have to do it quickly, before he departed for America and she never saw him again.

Chapter Fifteen

Primrose would be the first to admit there was a lot she did not know, particularly when it came to human behaviour, and especially when it came to men, but there was one thing about which she was fairly certain. If you wanted to make a man fall in love with you, it was essential to spend time in his company.

That was the first hurdle she had to overcome, and it was proving to be an insurmountable one. She had seen nothing of Lucian since that deliriously delightful kiss, and an entire week had passed.

An entire week.

Her first stratagem had been to stand at the front window watching the street with the vigilance of a hawk in case he appeared. Once that happened, she planned to nonchalantly walk out her front door and act as if she was merely departing her house at the same time as him. After two days she gave up on that hopeless and dispiriting plan.

Then she had taken another, more forward approach and encouraged Hamish and Clawdia to visit Lucian’s garden. They’d kindly obliged, and then with the feigned artlessness of a well-trained débutante—behaviour that would have made the countess proud—she had strolled down the back path towards his house. She’d paused at the gate to assess her clothing once again to reassure herself that her matching cream skirt and jacket were flattering but not so noteworthy as to suggest any hidden motive, then composed her face so her expression implied she was merely curious to see where her animals had strayed and entered his garden.

But that, too, was all for nothing.

Instead of finding an irate viscount or, preferably, a viscount who was pleased to see her, she had merely encountered the friendly gardener, Edward. He’d informed her that the viscount was tied up in arrangements for the disposal of the house but had kindly added that as the house was no longer up for sale, her animals were welcome to visit the garden whenever they wanted, and there was no need for her to retrieve them.

Primrose thanked him and returned home, minus her animals, who were now welcome even if she was not.

So when a few more days passed and a knock came on the door, her sense of anticipation could not be higher. It would be neither Margaret nor Alice, as they were both attending some dull event hosted by the political party their husbands belonged to. She knew no one else in London who came visiting, so it had to be him.

Finally, she could take action, the result of which would hopefully be Lucian declaring his abiding, undying love for her.

While Alfred answered the door, Primrose rushed to the mirror to check that every hair was in place, her dress was presentable and she looked like a demure young lady and not one who spent her time tending to a coterie of animals and anxiously trying to engineer accidental encounters with a viscount.

She frowned at her reflection. This would never do. She looked far too tidy, too controlled, too innocent. Maybe it would be better if a few tendrils looked like they had come loose from her matronly bun. That would give her the carefree, spontaneous appearance of a woman not opposed to being kissed.

She tugged at her bun, but instead of the delightfully playful vision of curls cascading prettily around her face, far too many limp locks escaped, tumbling out of her hair clips in an unruly mess, as if she had just been caught in a tempest.

She quickly grabbed the wayward locks, pushed them back into her bun and clipped them into place.

She could still hear muted conversation at the door, giving her a few more moments to transform herself into a woman who was irresistible.

The countess had always encouraged her to pinch her cheeks before meeting a man to promote an attractive and suitably coy demeanour. But as the thought of seeing Lucian again had caused not just her cheeks to blush but an unattractive blotching effect to cover her neck as well, there was no point in adding any extra colour.

She frowned at her reflection. With her now-messy hair and her bright red cheeks, she was starting to look like a dishevelled clown and not the tempting vision of beauty she was aiming for. Why hadn’t she thought to wear something more attractive than her plain grey skirt and white blouse just in case he made a surprise visit?

She looked over her shoulder towards the door. Was there time to rush upstairs and change into something more flattering?

The door opened, answering that question for her, so she quickly turned from the mirror, composed herself as best she could and adopted her most welcoming smile.

Her guest brushed past Alfred before he could be announced, his face the epitome of rage. Primrose’s smile froze, then vanished.

‘Cousin Jasper,’ she said, not bothering to hide her disappointment. She should have known it was not Lucian. Clawdia, who moments ago had been curled up asleep in the corner, was now nowhere in sight.

Sensible cat.

‘What brings you here?’ she asked, as if she didn’t know.

He loomed over her and waved a letter in front of her face. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he said in a booming voice.

‘I suspect it’s all perfectly clear, and if it’s not, perhaps you could get your solicitor to explain the more difficult words you don’t understand.’

His head jerked back as if she had hit him, and his eyes bulged in a manner that was almost comical.

‘How dare you talk to me like that,’ he gasped out, as if her affrontery had taken away his ability to speak properly, certainly his ability to shout at her.

Primrose thought for a moment. How dare she? That was an interesting question. She was never usually rude to Jasper and had never stood up to him before, always fearing it would only provoke him into greater levels of cruelty. But instead of being the fearful menace of her childhood, right now he was merely an irritating interference whom she wished would go away.