Schooling the Viscount Read online

  “Look, Henry,” she said with impatience, “there can never be anything between us. We come from two completely different worlds. Your father would never accept me. And—and—you’ll ruin Puddling! We’ll never be trusted to take in any more Guests!”

  “Ah.” So there was the crux of it. Henry frowned. What could be done about that? Rachel was more than likely right. Henry’s father would scream bloody murder to all of his friends accusing Rachel of being some sort of Puddling Delilah who took advantage of his addled son.

  There went the livelihood of the village.

  He hadn’t considered that aspect of wooing her. True, he hadn’t thought the pater would welcome her with open arms, even knowing that she stood to inherit a considerable sum. Money wasn’t everything when it came to marriage. But after what he’d gone through, Henry deserved to marry the woman he wanted, even if he didn’t know her favorite color.

  “What’s your favorite color?”

  Rachel stared at him. “You’re ill, no matter what you say. I’m going home.”

  “No, seriously, I’d like to know. I want to get to know you better, Rachel. I’m here for a few more weeks. I’m sure I’ll think of something to protect Puddling from my father’s wrath. Just give me a chance.”

  Her eyebrows reminded him of feathery black wings. “You won’t stop this nonsense?”

  “Don’t you want to leave here, charming as it is? Be mistress of a fine house? Have a husband you will treat you well and provide for any children that come along? You can have anything you desire, Rachel.”

  “Not possible,” she muttered.

  “Anything is possible with effort,” Henry said, almost believing it.

  She pulled away. “Look. You are here in Puddling because you made bad choices. How do I know I’m not another one of them?”

  Henry opened his mouth, then shut it. She had a point. Henry knew he rushed into trouble. Always had, ever since he was a little boy. His joining the army was just one instance of many. His conduct when he’d returned to London had been deplorable—he saw that now.

  But all the resentment he’d felt toward his father had evaporated. If the man hadn’t stuck him here, he wouldn’t have met Rachel Everett and begun to see the error of his ways.

  “I can’t fix you, Henry. You have to fix yourself. With Vincent’s help, clean living, and your Service, you might. Don’t confuse your lust with anything else. That’s what brought you here in the first place.”

  Ouch.

  “It’s not just lust.” He was fairly sure of that.

  Again with the eyebrows. Soon they would migrate to her hairline and disappear in the dark thicket of her curly fringe. “Spare me. You are not in a position to make such momentous decisions like marrying. The consequences could be fatal to the village, do you understand? If you like me, you’ll leave me alone.”

  “I don’t think I can.” He certainly didn’t want to. Talking to Rachel—and kissing her—was the most fun he’d had in ages, better than any of the empty diversions he’d tried in the months he’d been home.

  “Try. It’s vital to my future. Puddling’s future. You’re not some Prince Charming here with a magical glass slipper to sweep Cinderella away.”

  Henry gazed down. She was wearing boots now, but he remembered her plump bare feet flexing, toes curling in her garden. He’d never seen anything so erotic in his life as she pleasured herself, and he’d seen a great deal these past few months.

  “I can’t convince you to come upstairs with me?” He knew the answer.

  Mercury. That’s what her eyes reminded him of. She gave him a very direct look and shook her head.

  “Very well. I’ll walk you home.” It would kill him to act the gentleman, but he must.

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I just walked you home. I know my way.”

  “Of course you do, but it’s not far. What if you were to encounter some rabid animal, a wolf or something, out there?” Like himself, he supposed.

  “There are no wolves left in England.”

  “Nevertheless.” He grabbed a walking stick from a Chinese pot in the vestibule. One last trot up the hill and back down. If he couldn’t sleep after that, there was no hope for him.

  “We don’t have to speak. I’ll just feel better if I see you to your door.” He extended an elbow, and she, bless her, took it.

  “Red.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My favorite color is red.”

  Henry could picture her in a bare-shouldered red dress with no difficulty at all, her thick hair pinned up. Rubies would be necessary, both for her ears and throat.

  He didn’t worry about locking the door this time; he’d be home soon enough. The sky was turning gray already. Another day in Puddling, following his routine, being gently chastised by Vincent Walker, eating plain fare.

  No frosted gingerbread studded with raisins. No quicksilver eyes. No pillowing lips.

  Rachel had given him a challenge. How would his courtship of her proceed without bringing harm to the village? Perhaps it was time to write to the pater. Extol the virtues of Puddling and its inhabitants. Declare he was a new man.

  The odd thing—he was. He’d had an epiphany today, and his old life did not tempt him in the least. But how to convince everyone, most importantly Rachel?

  He had time to figure it all out. That was the beauty of Puddling—the repetition, the certainty, the very boredom of the place. Each day was supposed to be very much like the next, until they blended into a month of enforced monkhood.

  Well, Henry had already broken several of the rules, and if he was careful, might break more. But true to his word, he uttered not a one to Miss Rachel Everett as he walked her to her door.

  Chapter 16

  It had been a miserable day, starting as a drizzle and now a downpour. The first raindrop had hit the back of Rachel’s neck as she rushed, hatless, out of the house. She was late, and faced ten pairs of accusatory eyes and wet faces waiting under the overhang when she unlocked the schoolhouse door.

  Her damp, dull gray school frock clung to her too-ample curves. Could they somehow tell what their demure teacher had been up to in the wee hours of the night? She could scare credit it herself. It was as if she’d been overtaken by another entity. Had she been truly possessed, or just revealed her own wicked nature?

  Twenty-three years of good behavior down the drain.

  She blamed Henry. Until his arrival, she had mostly ignored her own body’s needs, prizing her common sense and virtue. But somehow out in the dark garden she had touched herself as she never had before in the handful of times she’d sought that elusive relief.

  And had been watched as she came apart, which was even worse.

  But at least she was successful in drilling into Henry’s usually impervious head that anything between them was impossible. He’d been mute on the walk home, and had given her hand the mildest shake goodnight. There had been no attempt to kiss or fondle, for which Rachel was grateful.

  Perhaps.

  She would still speak to Vincent about their imaginary engagement. Rachel wouldn’t ask him to lie—as a clergyman he’d be appalled—but he could skirt any questions Henry might ask with vague answers.

  Vague was good. Subject-changing even better. Vincent was dedicated to his role in the redemption of Puddling’s Guests, and she had no doubt he was capable of conversational misdirection when the occasion called for it.

  At the end of the day, she sent Tom out to ring the bell after the longest school day of her life. If she’d ever believed in caning, some of the misbehavior today would have warranted it. It was as if the children knew she was exhausted and vulnerable. It was all she could do to keep her voice modulated and her temper in check as the rain pounded on the roof.

  It had been remorseless—there had been no possibility of outdoor recess. All of Rachel’s rainy-day creative ideas escaped her, and for the last half hour, the children had fi
dgeted, their hands folded and heads down on their desks “to rest and rethink.” Rachel had wanted to do the same, but knew she had to keep both eyes open to spot any infractions. A third eye might have come in handy.

  Her pupils filed out into the storm without the usual cheerful chatter. She was faced with a tall stack of busy work that Vincent had assigned yesterday and dim daylight with which to look through it. She shut her eyes, willing the papers away.

  “May I come in?”

  Rachel was so startled, she knocked them from her desk. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought an umbrella. Have you noticed it’s pouring? April showers bring May flowers, and men with umbrellas. Here, I’ll get those.” In seconds, Henry had crossed the schoolroom floor and was picking everything up. “Eight plus five isn’t twelve, is it?”

  “Of course it isn’t. You shouldn’t be here! You promised.” The rain had made his golden hair even curlier.

  “As I recall, I only promised not to speak last night. It’s today now.”

  “It was today then.”

  “You are a maths whiz. Your father said you’d left without your hat or umbrella. I thought to escort you home so you wouldn’t drown.”

  Dread spread through her. “You’ve spoken to my father?”

  “Yes, we had a nice chat.”

  “Even though…” She couldn’t finish.

  “Even though he tried to kill me. Or at least incapacitate me. He denied the first but admitted to the second. He’s quite a character, isn’t he?”

  Henry sounded so ordinary, as if they were discussing the weather. Which they had been.

  “Y-yes.”

  “I’ve enlisted his help in getting me out of Puddling’s bad books. I don’t want to be responsible for wrecking the swindle you’ve all got going on here.”

  “It’s not a swindle! You make us sound like cheats and frauds. I’ll have you know Puddling’s methods work. You need only ask Vincent to show you the scrapbooks.”

  “Ah. Your alleged fiancé. And you know they’re confidential. None of us are supposed to know about the other inmates.”

  Rachel blushed. “I hope you didn’t say anything to my father about—about my engagement.” The word stuck in her throat.

  “Why would I, when I was pressing my own suit? Who do you think the old gentleman will prefer as a son-in-law? A thoroughly reformed viscount, or a dull dog of a parson?”

  “Vincent is not dull!” Rachel retorted. He wasn’t dull so much as earnest.

  Very, very earnest.

  “Anyhow, I’ve enlisted his help. Three heads will be better than one.”

  “His help with what?” Rachel was afraid she already knew the answer.

  “Why, our betrothal, of course, and the subsequent marriage.”

  She stamped her foot. She knew it was childish, but couldn’t help herself. “Why do you want to marry me? The idea is ridiculous. Absurd. You don’t know me!”

  “I know your favorite color is red.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Sorry, it was the best I could do on short notice considering my limited funds. And Puddling is not exactly a hotbed of shops.”

  “You cannot give me gifts!”

  “It’s not much. Don’t thank me yet.”

  “I’m not going to thank you at all,” Rachel grumbled. This incorrigible man would drive her to drink. She’d never met anyone so pig-headed and annoying. There he stood, holding the envelope out to her, a crooked grin on his face. It deepened the dimple Rachel was training herself not to admire.

  She snatched the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a short length of ribbon. Scarlet ribbon, edged in black lace. It summoned up a vision of a very naughty corset trimmed with such frippery. Garters, perhaps. Rachel blinked.

  “It’s a bookmark. Your father tells me you’re a great reader. I would have bought you a red book, but they didn’t have any.”

  A red book? As though one read books for the color of their covers. The man was an imbecile.

  A cunning imbecile. His eyes were dancing as if he’d known exactly what she’d thought when she first opened the envelope.

  She would bring him back to reality with a crash.

  “Do you love me?”

  The light left his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I forgot. You’re hard of hearing, aren’t you?” As well as hard-headed. She raised her voice. “Do you love me?”

  Henry shrugged. “I don’t believe in romantic love. Never have. I suppose that’s the sort of book you read? Castles and knights and rescued maidens?”

  It was, but she wasn’t going to admit to it. “Then why do you want to marry me?”

  Henry leaned on his stick. Rachel noticed it showed signs of Rufus’s attentions.

  “I’d be a good husband to you.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking. What is it about me that makes you so insistent? You’ve been with a hundred girls.”

  “Hardly that,” Henry murmured. “A gentleman doesn’t keep count, or if he does, he wouldn’t admit to it to a young lady. Look, may I sit down?”

  Rachel realized he was dripping on the floor. He’d probably catch pneumonia and die, and then where would they be? Last night’s faux effigy would come true.

  Under other circumstances, it would have been amusing to see a man of Henry’s size fold himself up onto the school bench. She gave him a practiced look, which usually stopped mischief in its tracks, but held no sway this afternoon. Henry was as deep into mischief as he could get in a teetotal town.

  “I—I like you.” He looked sheepish.

  “That’s not enough.”

  “It’s a start. You are intelligent. Very attractive. You, ah, stimulate me.”

  “Lust wears off.” Rachel assumed that was true—she had no first-hand experience. She was still completely in the thrall of lust for Lord Henry Challoner.

  But lust wasn’t obliterating her good sense. Henry didn’t seem to have any to begin with, which was why he was here in Puddling.

  “Look, I have to marry someone. Why not you? What have you got against being a viscountess? Eventually, you’ll be a marchioness. Only the queen and duchesses will have precedence over you.”

  “I don’t care anything about that.” She examined her gray homespun skirt. “Do I look like a viscountess, Henry? Tell me the truth—would I pass muster with your father?”

  Henry shifted uneasily on the bench. “We’d have to buy you new clothes, of course.”

  “You may dress a pig in pearls, but it’s still a pig.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rachel! You are nothing like a pig. You are…you are a very compelling woman. Beautiful, really. You could do a lot as my wife. Found schools instead of teach in one. Your father could live with us. I’ve asked him.”

  Not a word about affection or respect. Henry’s proposal was most unprepossessing.

  “What does my father think of your suit?” Rachel hoped he wasn’t going senile. Forgetful was one thing, but encouraging Henry Challoner in this ridiculous affair was disturbing.

  “He has reservations, of course. But I mean to persuade him. And you.”

  “I would think I was the most important party,” Rachel said dryly.

  “Of course you are!” Henry said quickly. He cleared his throat. “Do you like me?”

  “I don’t know.” To his credit, Henry’s face didn’t crumple or shoulders sag.

  “Quite right. I haven’t the best reputation. A sensible girl like you is wise to be wary. See, that’s why I want to marry you. You’re sensible.”

  Rachel curbed the urge to throw her inkpot at him. She didn’t want to be sensible at the moment! But really, of course Henry didn’t love her. She didn’t love him either. She hardly knew him, and she wasn’t even supposed to know as much as she did. She’d be getting a visit from members of the Puddling Rehabilitation Foundation any second to accuse her of sabotage.

  So
meone would have noticed him walking down the hill to the school on such a filthy day, and would blame her for being some sort of Circe. Unless he was planning on plunging into the stream and getting even wetter, the school was the final destination.

  She stood up. “While I am grateful for both your offer of escort and of marriage, I must decline both. Good day, Lord Challoner.”

  He rose too, with a blinding smile. “At least take my umbrella.”

  “Did you hear me?” Rachel cried.

  “Yes. I have my good ear turned toward you. And I’m getting better at reading lips. Of course, when I look at yours, I forget what you’re saying and just want to kiss you.”

  Well, that was almost romantic. Rachel tried not to feel a pleased flutter.

  “I insist you take the umbrella.” Henry propped it against her desk. “I assume you don’t wish to be seen with me.”

  “You assume correctly.”

  “Very well. Shall I leave first?”

  “Don’t you have a hat?”

  “No, I hate them.”

  Blast. He would be soaked by the time he climbed back up the hill.

  He was probably used to marching in the rain. Beneath the scorching sun. Under conditions in countries she couldn’t even fathom or find on a map. It wasn’t as if it was an Indian monsoon out there—just a heavy warm English rain. Rachel had not been looking forward to it herself, but hadn’t been afraid to brave the elements. Why should she worry about a strong, healthy man?

  Yet she did. She’d worried last night when she’d left him unconscious in the cool night air. Henry needed someone to take care of him. Care for him.

  No, Rachel. No. But she picked up the umbrella and took hold of his arm, ignoring the warning voice in her head. Sometimes being sensible was overrated.

  Chapter 17

  Henry wasn’t sure why she’d changed her mind, but was glad of it. To tell the truth, he was rather exhausted, and didn’t mind leaning on Rachel a little as they navigated the hill.

  It had been an unusual day, and it wasn’t over yet. Henry had risen from his bed, as tired when he got out as when he finally fell into it, and made his way to New Street as soon as he’d bolted down breakfast. Mr. Everett had been more than surprised to see him, but Henry had somehow set the man’s fears to rest. Rachel’s father had returned his ancient gun to the kitchen dresser and they had sat over several pots of tea reaching a rapprochement.