Reforming the Viscount

Had he ever done anything but hurt her?

‘It was ridiculously sentimental of me to preserve the entire thing,’ right down to the ribbon, she finally admitted, to herself as much as Rose. ‘But then it was the only posy I received my entire Season. From any man. For whatever reason. But I repeat, there was never any chance of anything romantic developing between us,’ she said, with just a touch of asperity creeping into her voice as she recalled his words from the night before. ‘The romantic thing was the way your father came to my rescue…’

‘Pooh,’ said Rose scornfully. ‘There was never a man less romantic than Papa. He treated you as though you were one of his platoon most of the time. Barking orders at you and practically expecting you to salute…’

‘Rose, you will not speak with such disrespect of your papa. He was a good man. A decent man. He gave me a home and—’

‘And made you work hard for your keep,’ Rose persisted.

‘He gave me a home and a family,’ Lydia continued firmly. ‘And I grew very fond of him. I know he had a bit of a temper, but you yourself know that his bark was always worse than his bite. For heaven’s sake, he’d been in the army all his life. Of course he was prone to barking orders, as you put it. It was just his way. And what is more, young lady, it was you who taught me exactly how little he truly was to be feared. I was not in your house five minutes before I saw you had him wrapped round your little finger, you and your sister both. The way you used to just sit there, waiting until he’d finished his tirade, and then tilt your heads to one side and smile up at him in the full knowledge that he was helpless to refuse you two anything. And he expected me to teach you and Marigold how to behave!’ She flung up her hands in mock horror, causing Rose to giggle.

‘Well, I could never teach either of you anything about how to wrap poor unsuspecting males around your fingers, but if you really want to begin a scrapbook,’ she said, turning to the corsage Rose had tossed on to the desk, ‘I can teach you how to preserve flowers.’

‘I think you are trying to steer me away from the subject of your own posy,’ Rose observed astutely.

‘Yes, because it is painful for me to think about it,’ she admitted. ‘I…well, I did become rather too attached to him.’

‘Oh,’ said Rose, immediately contrite. ‘I would not hurt you for the world. And if he really was your first love, and then you had to marry Papa instead…oh…I am sorry. Forgive me?’

‘I never said he was my first love,’ she protested, blushing.

‘I will not mention him again,’ said Rose, filling Lydia with relief. ‘Though I should love to know who it was. And if he is married now…’

Lydia winced. She might have known that Rose’s idea of not mentioning the donor of her posy of violets would be to launch immediately into a volley of questions.

‘The first thing we need to do,’ said Lydia, firmly changing the subject, ‘is to separate the bunch, so that we can press each flower individually. Although it might be better to select just one bloom, or we will need a dozen scrapbooks. You will have many occasions you may want to commemorate in a similar way.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Of course you will. I dare say you already have a pile of tickets and programmes from various events we have attended already.’

‘That’s true.’

‘But before we start, I am mindful that in a very short while we are likely to have a room full of callers—’ one of whom was bound to be Lord Rothersthorpe, since a man should always call upon his partners from the previous night’s entertainment ‘—and we have not yet discussed which event you would like to attend this evening.’

Rose beamed at her. ‘That is what I love about you, Mama Lyddy. You never try to dictate to me.’

‘What would be the point?’ Lydia pursed her lips. ‘I learned long ago that it is far too much like hard work to attempt to cross you. Besides, I never felt I was old enough to tell you what to do. I feel more like…an older sister, than a mother to you.’ At least, she had until last night, when for the first time Lord Rothersthorpe’s cutting comments had made her feel every inch the chaperon.

Although she would not, absolutely not be the kind of chaperon he so despised. She was not, and never would be, a dragon, pushing her charge into situations that would make her miserable.

‘I shall, of course, give you my advice, but that is all. You must make up your own mind.’

‘I only wish I could. About where I want to go tonight, I mean. I…I think,’ she said, with a slight blush, ‘that I shall be able to tell you later, though.’

‘Oh?’ It was not like Rose to be so indecisive, but then she’d never come under the influence of a practised charmer like Rothersthorpe before. If she knew anything about Rose, she was not going to declare her intentions about where to go tonight until she’d discovered where he meant to go. She took a penknife and sliced through the ribbon which had held Rose’s corsage together with jerky finality.

‘Well, there is no rush,’ she said to Rose as she pulled the corsage apart. ‘It would just be preferable to warn Robert, one way or the other. He has not your love of spontaneity.’

They spent the next few minutes selecting the best blooms for preservation, finding sheets of blotting paper and dragging the heaviest books down from the shelves.

By the time the doorknocker heralded the arrival of their first morning caller, not only Lydia’s writing desk, but also the marble-topped console table under the window were strewn with all the paraphernalia associated with their activity.

Rose glanced at the mess they’d made, then at the door with alarm.

‘Do not be afraid to let your admirers see you employed in some genteel pursuit, Rose. My own chaperon told me that men like to imagine their future wives being gainfully employed.’ Though what was gainful about pressing flowers, or, in her own case, creating acres of decorative embroidery, she could not think.

Surely it would be better to demonstrate an ability to plan a menu for twenty guests at a moment’s notice, or deal with the personal problems of servants in such a way that the household continued to run smoothly? In her experience, that was what her husband had valued about her.

If Colonel Morgan had thought all she did all day was sit around pressing flowers, he would have been most annoyed.

Still, they were not talking about her, but about Rose. And she was determined to prove to Lord Rothersthorpe that their relationship was a good one. The kind of chaperon he’d implied she was would never let her charge enjoy herself so much that the room got strewn with flowers and books like this, would she? She would have her sitting on a chair looking like a waxwork dummy. Only rather more rigid.

Though the effect was spoiled, somewhat, when he didn’t come with the first wave of gentlemen. Mr Crimmer and Mr Bentley, who were sons of wealthy businessmen, grinned at one another when they realised they were first and, making straight for Rose, they pulled up seats as close to her as they dared.

She would greet him as graciously as she received any of the others, of course. And no matter what he said, or did, she was not going to lash out as she’d done the night before. She’d spent many hours, when she should have been asleep, reliving the few minutes when he’d dumped her on Colonel Morgan’s sofa, then fled for the hills. And come to the conclusion that if he could look upon it as a lucky escape, then so could she.

Next to arrive were the two naval officers whose names she could never recall. She really ought to, they were here so often. The trouble was that in almost identical uniforms, and with their blue eyes, fair hair and hard jaws, there was little to tell them apart.

Although when pressed, Robert declared he couldn’t recall the names of half the fellows who cluttered up his house these days, either. ‘Never knew I had so many friends, until I produced an attractive sister,’ he’d snarled.

In the light of his usually overprotective attitude towards Rose, she was a little surprised he had not come in the moment the clock struck eleven, to keep a watchful eye on proceedings. He always grumbled that though he could not actually bar any of these fellows from his house, he could at least let them know he would not permit any of them to take liberties with his sister.

Was it too much to hope he’d taken her words last night to heart?

Or had it been the way Rose had deliberately caused a stir by dancing, when Robert’s earlier refusal had meant she should not have done so?

Well, whatever had caused him to stay away, Lydia could only be glad. The atmosphere was a lot less fraught than usual. Mr Crimmer and Mr Bentley were genially competing to be the one from whom she accepted her scissors, or a withered bloom.

But in spite of the atmosphere that prevailed over the others, every time the doorknocker sounded, she felt herself winding up a little tighter.

The room was feeling somewhat crowded when a young lawyer and Lord Abergele came in one after the other. She had to admire Lord Abergele’s persistence. In spite of Robert’s continual discouragement, he kept on coming right back for yet another rebuff. She supposed he had hopes that his handsome face, and the speaking looks he gave Rose from those limpid green eyes, would soften her to the extent she would defy her brother. He might well succeed. There was nothing Rose liked more than a challenge.

And she was certainly rising to the challenge of having a room full of suitors vying for her attention. Rose managed them all with a dexterity that filled Lydia with admiration. If she felt a preference for any of them, she was taking such care not to show it that not even Lydia could attempt a guess.

Until Lord Rothersthorpe walked in.

Rose’s face lit up, then she actually stood up, crossed the room and held out her hand.

She hadn’t minded when the others paused only to shake her hand and utter the briefest of commonplaces, before making for Rose. But when he virtually ignored her, it really hurt.

She felt completely in tune with the men who glowered at Rothersthorpe as he bowed over Rose’s extended hand, though at least they had the freedom to leave when they couldn’t bear watching the pair admiring each other any longer.

As they began to drift away, in varying attitudes of despondency, it was left entirely to Lydia to bid them farewell, since Rose was engrossed in showing Lord Rothersthorpe what she had been doing with her corsage.

She supposed she ought to reprimand Rose for such lack of manners, but she was still striving to prove she was not a repressive ogress. Besides which, she knew exactly the effect Lord Rothersthorpe could have on a female. She had stretched her own chaperon’s tolerance to the limits, in order to snatch a few moments with him in private, even if it was only the limited privacy of the corner of a crowded room.

She could even excuse Lord Abergele for furtively stuffing the slice of cake he’d been eating into his pocket before shaking her hand in farewell. Lord Rothersthorpe had such an unsettling effect that there was no telling what madness he could provoke.