Page 8 of A Wallflower to Win the Viscount

Talk about Society. That was another mainstay, but she doubted the viscount was interested in gossip, so even if she knew any, which she didn’t, he would probably not consider that entertaining conversation.

Instead, she just smiled at him again, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

Her maid brought out tea and a plate of scones along with jam and cream, providing a welcome diversion.

‘That’s all right, Martha, I’ll pour,’ she told the maid as she desperately needed something to do. The maid bobbed a quick curtsy and disappeared inside, and Primrose wondered whether she should have insisted Martha remain as chaperone.

But it was too late now, and she had no intention of making herself look even more foolish by calling the maid back. So she poured the tea, annoyed that her hand shook ever so slightly. Fortunately, the viscount did not notice as he was staring down at Clawdia, who was brushing against the bottom of his trouser legs, leaving a trail of multicoloured fur in her wake.

‘What sort of cat is that?’ he asked, frowning at Clawdia, who looked up at him with adoring eyes. ‘Why is its fur so many different colours?’

‘She’s precious, isn’t she?’ Primrose reached towards the cat to stroke her head. Her hand quickly withdrew. She was about to come far too close to the viscount’s legs, and the accelerated pounding of her heart warned her that was not a good idea.

‘I suppose she’s displaying signs of all her different ancestors,’ she added to cover her embarrassment at such a social faux pas. ‘Ginger tom, tortoiseshell, tabby, black, white, grey. The walls at my aunt and uncle’s estate held portraits of all their illustrious ancestors, but Clawdia proudly displays her heritage everywhere she goes.’

‘Your aunt Clementine, do you mean?’

‘Oh, no. Aunt Clemmie never married and cared nothing about things like pedigree. I mean the Earl and Countess of Stonely. That’s where I lived from the age of six, on their Suffolk estate.’ This time she did reach down and pat Clawdia, the cat’s soft fur providing much-needed comfort.

‘And your parents?’

‘They died in a carriage accident, so my uncle and aunt raised me,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, quietly. ‘That must have been hard for you.’

‘It was a long time ago,’ she responded, looking out at the garden and seeking a diversion in the animals’ activities so she would not have to think about just how hard it had been.

She could feel his eyes on her, so she turned to face him and sent him what was meant to be a sunny smile, but unfortunately it faltered when she met his assessing gaze.

‘But you inherited a house from another aunt?’ he said, and she was grateful he did not probe any deeper.

‘Yes. Aunt Clemmie was the eldest daughter of one of the previous earls of Stonely, my grandfather. When the old earl died, the new one, her brother, granted her this house out of the estate he had inherited, probably because they knew she would never marry. The rest of the family thought she was a bit odd and didn’t have much to do with her, but I thought she was so kind and lovely.’

She stifled a sigh, wishing she had been able to spend more time with gentle Aunt Clemmie, rather than with the rigid earl and countess, who’d tried so hard and failed so spectacularly to turn her into the perfect débutante who would make the perfect wife for some other rigid aristocrat.

‘I’d hoped to be able to stay with her during my Season, but by then Aunt Clemmie was in poor health. I offered to forgo the Season so I could be her companion, but the countess wouldn’t allow it. She insisted I attend every event on the social calendar, but I visited Clemmie as often as I could.’

Again she stifled a despondent sigh. It was so wrong to have had to sacrifice time she could have spent with her beloved aunt, all so she could, at best, sit in the corner of a ballroom and be ignored by all the potential beaus and, at worst, be ridiculed by them and laughed at by the other débutantes.

She looked at him across the cane table, noticing how the china teacup with its pretty blue forget-me-not flowers appeared small and delicate in his large hands.

‘You loved your aunt very much?’ he said.

‘Oh, yes. She was very lovable. Spending time with her always reminded me that there are good people in the world, people who only want the best for others.’

‘You were lucky to have someone like that in your life.’

With a great deal of interest, she observed his sombre expression. Alice and Margaret had said his father was a terrible man with a shocking reputation when it came to women. Did that mean he’d also been an unpleasant father to the viscount? Would it be impertinent to ask? Yes, probably, but perhaps she could gently broach the subject.

‘Aunt Clemmie said your father could be a rather…off-putting man.’

He huffed out a laugh that did not sound even a little amused. ‘I believe your aunt was being polite.’

‘Oh, really? What sort of man was he?’

‘Let’s just say your aunt was a sensible woman to have nothing to do with him.’

She continued to watch him as he stared out at the garden. His face was an expressionless mask, cold and blank. Primrose had spent enough time with mistreated animals to know that many tried to cope with the effects of their trauma by shutting down and letting no one near them. The viscount appeared to be showing the same signs of bearing such invisible scars.