Page 7 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

Lucian resisted the temptation to sigh in irritation. Given her objection to sending the goat off to where it belonged, and the unlikelihood of finding a billy-goat in the middle of London, he suspected he was going to have to deal with having a frustrated goat living next door for the duration of his sale. Whether that was more or less of a problem than living next door to two rutting goats he was unsure. One thing he was however certain of: Neither was conducive to convincing potential buyers they would be living in the genteel, refined neighbourhood the estate agent said many buyers were seeking.

‘I’ve got bunnies as well,’ she added, pointing at the multicoloured balls of fluff hopping around the garden.

Of course she does.

‘I keep getting more and more of them, and I’m not sure where they are all coming from.’

‘I suspect the rabbits are making more rabbits.’

The colour that had burnt on her cheeks when talking about the goat’s condition burst forth once more. ‘I know that, but I mean I keep getting more and more adult bunnies, not babies. I think word must have got out, and they know that they are welcome here.’

She smiled as if that was the best news she could possibly impart. Needless to say, it wasn’t.

‘As long as they know this is the only garden in which they are welcome,’ he said, remembering to keep a note of authority in his voice and not to be affected by that dimpled smile.

‘Hmm,’ she said, in a manner that was anything but reassuring. ‘And the only other animals I’ve got at the moment are Gloriana and her family, but you won’t see them.’

‘What is Gloriana?’ he asked, hoping it wasn’t a crowing rooster or a rescued circus elephant.

‘She’s a hedgehog, but she’s recently found a mate and had babies.’ This was said with yet another blush. ‘But hedgehogs are nocturnal, and not surprisingly Gloriana and her family live in the hedge.’ She pointed to the row of bushy shrubs at the end of the garden. ‘So you’ll only see them if you visit at night.’

Something he had no intention of doing.

‘You won’t be able to meet Lady Penelope either, as I did manage to find her a lovely owner. She now spends her days giving children rides.’

‘Lady Penelope is a horse?’

‘No, I wouldn’t keep a horse in such a confined space,’ she said, frowning at him as if he was the unreasonable one here. ‘Although, I wish I did have enough space. There are so many horses in London that need to be rescued.’ She paused and blinked those long dark eyelashes as if trying not to cry.

‘Lady Penelope is a donkey and was unhappy living in the city,’ she continued. ‘All that noise and bustle was bad for her nerves, but she loves the seaside and enjoys having such an important job. I go to visit her whenever I can.’

Lucian supposed he should be grateful that at least he did not have an unhappy donkey with a nervous condition living next door.

‘Well, thank you for the introductions,’ he said, knowing she would not pick up on the sarcasm. ‘Now, I will bid you good day.’

‘Oh, so soon? I was just about to take tea if you’d like to join me.’

Say no, thank you and leave.

He looked again at his father’s house, knowing he wanted to spend as little time within its gloomy confines as possible but also aware he did not want the company of this eccentric young lady.

Stay or go, neither seemed to be a particularly good option.

‘Yes, thank you, I will.’ He glanced down at her pretty, smiling face and suspected he had just made the wrong choice.

Why had she done that? She did not want any more tea. She’d just had several cups with her friends. Friends who had urged caution when dealing with this man. But then, they were friends who hadn’t met the viscount. Clawdia and Hamish had. They appeared to like him, even if he was not overly fond of them. They were both excellent judges of character. Hamish ran away whenever Cousin Jasper came to visit, and Clawdia would certainly never snuggle into Jasper’s arms and purr with contentment the way she had with the viscount if she didn’t trust him.

Yes, she was certain she was safe.

At least, safe from the viscount. Her own reactions she was not so sure about. But it was too late to rescind her impetuous invitation now.

She called for Alfred, her footman, to serve tea and moved over to the furniture, placed in a sunny spot on the brick terrace, and indicated the viscount should join her.

He took a seat, the cane chair suddenly looking delicate and small under his large frame, and stretched out his long legs in front of him.

Primrose smiled at him, unsure what to do or say now that she had told him about the animals. Countess Stonely had said it was the young lady’s responsibility to put the gentleman at ease by making polite and entertaining conversation. But the art of conversation was among the many feminine accomplishments Primrose had failed to perfect when preparing for the Season. If being devoted to the care of animals and enjoying nothing better than burying yourself in a good book were seen as accomplishments, then she would have been the belle of every ball she had attended. Sadly, they were not.

The weather. Maybe she could talk about that? The countess had said, repeatedly, that if a lady was at a loss, the weather was always a good start. But apart from pointing out the obvious, that it was another marvellously sunny day, what else was there to say? She was no meteorologist and knew little of cloud formations, apart from the fluffy ones looked pretty and the grey ones meant rain, and understood even less about barometric pressures, wind velocities and all those other scientific terms she vaguely remembered reading about.