Page 21 of A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion

Chapter Nine

For Nash, summer passed in a haze of administrative detail, interspersed by moments of calm in which he found his thoughts repeatedly turning to Miss Wormsley. He dreamt of her kisses, and of those long peaceful conversations that they had indulged in, shortly after he had first met her. Now, amidst days filled with ledgers, account books, estate records, meeting tenant farmers (his own, as Marquess, and Chase’s, as Duke) and untangling the needs of multiple properties, some of which had been rather neglected during the old Duke’s latter years, he could not conceive of having the time to spare for such conversations. Yet he wished most desperately that he did. He rather suspected that Miss Wormsley would actually be interested in all of the complexities of the ducal estates – unlike his brother. Chase, to give him credit, was trying to learn some of it, but it simply wasn’t something he was interested in. Nash had even written to Miss Wormsley once or twice, inappropriate as that was in some ways, telling her a little of the vast Montford estates.

But those letters had said nothing of his feelings for her – feelings which confused and conflicted him. She had replied once, a letter as devoid of feelings as his, with news of her quiet days at Blackwood Chase. It had left him unsatisfied, and a little lonely. He had buried those feelings, and gone on with the work before him.

But with the last days of August upon him, as he fell into bed after yet another day of discovering more papers which needed to be sorted, Nash could no longer deny the fact of his obsession with thoughts of Miss Wormsley – the fact that he cared for her deeply, that he missed her presence, more and more each day. He had thought, with all of the distractions created by the work to be done, to have had his thoughts turn in other directions. But they had not – rather, he had thought of her more. He suspected, if he was honest with himself, that he had, all unintentionally, come to love her.

That thought frightened him. His life had been built around the concept that passion only led to rejection and pain, that love was not a safe thing, especially for him. Yet here he was, thinking in those terms. He wanted Miss Wormsley in his life. As he slipped into sleep, her face rose in his mind and he smiled, despite all of his misgivings.

~~~~~

The next day, amongst the day’s correspondence, came a letter for Nash from Mr Silverton. Nash opened it first, hoping that it might contain confirmation of certain matters.

He unfolded the pages, and was pleased to see that his hopes were fulfilled.

Silverton had managed to identify and buy up what he believed to be the vast majority of Lord Walter Winterbourne’s debts. There might be a few outstanding, which he had not yet identified, and he would keep looking – but for now, Nash might be confident that he held nearly all of it.

Nash penned a reply, and added it to the pile of outgoing letters for the day. He was pleased – for now, should Winterbourne attempt blackmail by threatening to ruin Miss Wormsley in any way, through gossip or otherwise, Nash was in a position to stop him.

That a small number of other debts might still exist did not worry him – for the amounts in those he had bought up were rather large – it was an expenditure which had not been in his budget, yet it was worth it, to protect Miss Wormsley. He would choose carefully the moment when he revealed to Winterbourne that he now held the power to financially ruin him, by calling in all of those debts at once.

~~~~~

Bea had settled into Blackwood Chase as if she had never lived anywhere else. The surrounding countryside was beautiful, and the gardens of the house a delight.

For the first few weeks, the relief of being away from London, and the shallow falsity of the ton, had been wonderful – enough to make each day a pleasure. But still, as summer wore on towards autumn, she came to realise that it was as if something was missing. As if she listened for a voice that never came, and looked up on hearing footsteps, expecting a different person than the one she saw before her.

And the person she hoped for, who never came, was Lord Challoner… oh, that should be Lord Travers, now, she supposed! It was more than foolish of her – for she had no reason to expect him – in fact every reason to not expect him, for she knew, from his letters, that he had much to do with the Duke’s estates. Yet some core of her hoped, regardless.

Such hope was madness, for still, she knew so little of him. There was nothing to prove to her that he was any different from other men, that those moments he had spent with her, those intoxicating kisses, had meant any more to him than a passing diversion. Her judgement of men was faulty – she knew that, for Lord Walter had shown her so. It was not a mistake she intended to make again. She had still not told Honour and James anything of that terrible evening at the end of Season Ball – and the longer it went from that day, the more embarrassed she found herself at the idea of telling them. And she had not seen or heard anything of Lord Walter since, so it seemed best just to forget the whole thing, and move on with her life. Yet she could not forget what Lord Challoner had done for her that night, could not forget his generosity, and the manner in which he had dragged Lord Walter off her.

As she walked through the gardens, she remembered that last kiss, when they had walked in the gardens at Blackwood House. She shivered, her body filling with odd sensations at the memory, then sighed – she must stop thinking about him, must allow that he would move on with his new responsibilities, and find a woman to marry who was far better suited to his status in society. It was lowering to realise just how unsuitable she was, herself, and for the thousandth time, she wondered if she would ever marry, would ever have a love half as strong as the one that Honour had, with James.

Their love was in front of her every day, and now that Honour was increasing, she positively glowed. Bea envied her, even whilst she was happy for her. Soon, once autumn moved towards winter, Bea knew that she would have to go back to her parents, at Wormsley Manor, and leave Honour and James to the privacy of their own lives. Though she cared for her parents, still that thought was bleak – for in the district around Wormsley Manor lived people who all knew the gossip about Bea’s birth – and never hesitated to discuss it.

She went back inside, feeling melancholy and disconsolate. Perhaps reading a novel would distract her for a few hours.

~~~~~

Lord Walter Winterbourne glared at the letter he held. He had known it would come to this, but had hoped to hold it off a little longer. The two thousand pounds that Challoner had paid for his silence on the matter of Miss Wormsley had paid off the most rapacious of his creditors, but by no means all of them. And now one of the larger debts was being called in.

Over the last few months, he had been delighted by the fact that few letters of demand had arrived, and had prayed that he might have better luck at the tables, or might find a suitable girl to marry in time to prevent disaster. But he had lost more. And wealthy young ladies were in short supply in London during summer.

But at least it seemed that Challoner had behaved honourably. No whisper of that night in the library at the Ball had been heard. By the time that ladies Caterton and Elhough had arrived there, Miss Wormsley and Challoner must have been gone.

And Challoner had said nothing, nor, as far as he could tell, had Miss Wormsley – for which he had to admit that he was grateful, as he would not have put it past Blackwood to challenge him to a duel – the man had a reputation for deviltry, after all.

But now, he had a decision to make. The demand in his hand left him little time. He needed to marry. Was it possible… he thought a moment, and nodded… perhaps it was. If neither Challoner nor Miss Wormsley had said anything, then Miss Wormsley’s family did not know of his attempt to compromise her. So… if he called upon them in the country, and played the adoring suitor, might he still win her over – or convince her sister to pressure the chit to marry him? After all, there was the matter of the gossip about her parentage – gossip which would guarantee that few men of the ton would consider her, dowry or not.

And if fair means did not prevail, surely he could manufacture another chance to compromise her. Or blackmail her into it – after all, it would be her word against his, if he started rumours of that night at the Ball.

~~~~~

Bea sat in the library, the novel lying on her lap as she stared blankly out of the window. She had barely read any of it, and simply could not manage to become involved in the story. Instead, she daydreamed of kisses. A tap at the door interrupted her dreaming.

“Miss?”

“Yes, Ellie, I’m in here.”