Page 1 of A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion

Chapter One

“It’s so beautiful! However did you manage to conceive of something so lovely?”

Miss Beatrice Wormsley ran her fingers gently over the delicate beading on her sister’s wedding dress, where it lay on the bed, awaiting its wearer for the final fitting. Tomorrow, Honour would be married to the man she had always loved, just eleven years later than it should have been. Bea had been shocked when Honour had announced her impending wedding, for she had been too engrossed in her own first Season to have noticed that her older, respectable, widowed sister was busy falling in love, all over again, with the man she had almost run off with at eighteen.

It had taken some adjusting to, but now, Bea wished her only happiness. The wedding was to occur the following day, and Bea was full of conflicting emotions.

She was full of joy for Honour, and rather excited at the prospect of possibly meeting quite a few new people at the wedding and wedding breakfast, but she was also, the closer the day came, finding herself more and more blue devilled about her own prospects. Throughout the Season, there had been many men happy to pay her attention – for she was pretty enough, and had a reasonable dowry, even if her parentage was not particularly distinguished – but they had all been unsuitable, in one way or another.

Where she had hoped, nay expected, to be the one planning a wedding before the end of the Season, here she was, instead, helping with the preparation for her sister to wed.

“Silly! I didn’t – but the modiste is a genius, and I am wise enough to have taken her advice.”

Honour smiled at her, and Bea knew that Honour still saw her as rather overly naïve, prone to chattering away at things without much thought. Perhaps that was true, some of the time.

By nature, Bea was not prone to sadness, or excessive introspection – she had a sunny nature, and excelled at ignoring the unpleasant in life. But now, she found herself wondering if she would ever plan her own wedding. For she had the horrible suspicion that she knew exactly why no suitor of good quality had offered for her. Honour believed that Bea was not aware of the rumours – but Bea was, for they had dogged her every moment since she was old enough to understand the whispered words that she overheard.

The whispered words which suggested that, given the eleven-year age gap between her and her nearest sibling, she could not, in all likelihood, actually be her father’s child.

Everyone near her country home was convinced that Bea was the result of an affair between her mother and a stableboy, rather than the unexpected, late in life child of her father, Sir Danvers Wormsley, who was far older than her mother. It did not matter that she and Honour looked quite alike, although Honour’s hair had far more red in its golden tones – that was accounted as inheritance from their mother, even though their mother was dark haired, and it was their father whose hair was a sandy red, now gone grey.

At seven, Bea had been deeply hurt by the whispers, but she had soon realised that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. So she had chosen to simply ignore it – to pretend that her world was wonderful, to be bright and happy, no matter what went on around her. That had actually become easier when Honour had left to marry Lord Fotherington, and Richard, her older brother, had left to make his career in the Navy. With the others not there for people to compare her to, the whisperings had slowed to a trickle.

But they had not stopped.

And now, she was quite certain that those whispers had reached the ears of the gossips of the ton, and destroyed her chances at happiness. While she longed to meet a man whom she actually liked, and could contemplate marrying, she suspected that any she did like would not risk association with her whispered scandalous provenance.

So she went on, day after day, being bright, cheerful, and as oblivious to the distressing things around her as she could manage, even whilst, inside, her hopes slowly transformed into despair. She started when Honour spoke again – she had, for once, allowed her façade to slip.

“Bea? Are you well? For a moment you looked quite miserable.”

Bea restored the smile to her face, and shook off the negative thoughts – this was a time for Honour’s happiness, and here she was, disturbing that.

“Oh yes, I am perfectly well.” She stretched her arms up for a moment, then dropped them down again. “It is just that my shoulder aches, as I discovered just now when I reached out to touch your dress. I fear that I slept in quite the wrong position!”

It was an excuse that Honour would believe, she was sure.

“Then you must make sure that you go to bed early, and sleep well tonight – I would not have you uncomfortable tomorrow!”

Bea smiled at her sister, and nodded.

“I will do so – I do not wish anything to mar your day – you deserve the most beautiful wedding ever seen.”

The sisters embraced, more at peace with each other than they had ever been before, but Bea’s thoughts still ran around and around the question which had increasingly absorbed her.

Would she ever have the happiness that Honour had now?

~~~~~

Ignatius Harringdon, Viscount Challoner, sat with his brother, and with Lady Wormsley, the mother of the bride, attempting to ensure that everything needed was in place for their friend’s wedding the next day.

Well, not so much their friend, as his brother’s friend. Chase Harringdon, Marquess of Travers, had been the Honourable Mr James Blackwood’s closest friend since their school days. It was not a friendship that Nash had ever really approved of. Nash blamed James, in large part, for the habits of gambling, drinking, and womanising that Chase had taken to with enthusiasm.

All Nash had been able to do was to mitigate it – with surprising ease, in the end, for Chase had little interest in managing his own estates, and Nash, as his heir, had simply taken it on – and proceeded to quietly rebuild what Chase spent, and more. A fact of which Chase was not aware. Nash kept telling Chase that funds were tight – and that served to at least limit his excesses.

But now, remarkably, it appeared that James Blackwood had been reformed by love. Nash could only hope that meant that Chase, without Blackwood’s encouragement, would change his behaviour too.

Blackwood had asked Travers to stand up with him at his wedding, and Chase, although still leery of the whole marriage concept for his own part, had agreed – how could he have refused his oldest friend? So here they were, the day before what looked to be the most gossiped about wedding of the year, doing final planning, for the wedding breakfast was to be held in Travers House.