Bewitching the Viscount (Regency Romance) (Regency Lords Book 3) (2 page)

Bath was exactly the same as Abigail remembered it. The ancient Roman architecture provided both a pleasant change from the architecture of the countryside, as well as a welcome insight into the minds of the ancient Romans.

She had always loved knowledge; the human ability to absorb, process and apply information in a practical manner was unparalleled and, as Sir Francis Bacon had said over two hundred years ago,
ipsa scientia potestas est
; knowledge itself is power.

Abigail, however, had zero delusions of grandeur or the ambition to match it. Her ambitions extended as far as enjoying her life and maybe, possibly, getting married in the future. She had strong feelings about matrimonial arrangements and the lack of opportunity provided to young women, but she was not opposed to marriage in itself. There were just too few gentlemen she found remotely interesting or unique enough to merit her prolonged attention.

“Would you talk to me?” Rose begged, tugging on her arm. The pair of them were walking abreast from their carriage to the apartments their family was renting for the duration of their stay in Bath. “You get so lost in your head and leave me alone and bored.”

“My apologies,” Abigail replied and smiled at her sister. “Are you excited to be in Bath, Rose?”

“I imagine so. It is a change from home, and much nicer than I expected. This trip is proving more interesting than I anticipated.”

“Ah, I forget this is your first visit. Well, as such, our first adventure should be one of your choosing. What would you like to do?”

“You mean suggest something other than relaxing in the townhouse with my favourite book?” Rose smirked a little.

“Yes, besides that. You can read at home; you don’t get to visit Bath very often,” Abigail scolded her.

“But the town house is so beautiful. The lounge is plush and unlike anything we have in Gloucestershire.” Rose made her point as they entered the residency by flopping loosely into the aforementioned lounge.

“So I see.” Abigail retorted. “You can spend all night on it if you would like, I will not argue that.”

“Only because you wish to have the bed all to yourself!”

“We can discuss motives later,” she grinned back. “Right now, let us go explore Bath! Christopher, come with us.”

When they were all dressed appropriately and ready, the three Baxter siblings went for a tour of Bath. As they explored the streets of the ancient city, Rose’s excitement grew.

“It is like a city straight from one of my books!” she exclaimed and Abigail laughed.

“Well I am glad you like it,” she replied. “I’m sure it has inspired many a writer in the past.”

And she was glad. Bath was one of her favourite places; it was relaxing and allowed her to escape the cold confines and restrictions of reality. “How about you, Christopher, what do you think of Bath?”

“It strikes me as rather ordinary,” her brother replied. He shrugged his shoulders and exhaled, doing his best to appear unimpressed.

“Is that so? Ordinary. Hmph, just like father’s knighthood is ‘ordinary’, then.” Rose spat back, a little too spitefully for Abigail’s taste. She already knew where this conversation was headed.

“Father being knighted was far from ordinary, and you know it!” Christopher retorted, the anger visible in his eyes. “If only his knighthood would not die with him.”

“Well, if you yearn to be knighted with such fever,” Rose continued to mock him. “You’d best work hard for it. That is what father did after all. But, then, you spend most of your time daydreaming about girls and hunting. Neither of those are the road to a knighthood.”

Christopher’s face was flushed red now and he seemed about to explode. Abigail took that as her cue to step in.

“That will be quite enough out of you, Rose.” She wagged a finger in her sister’s face. “As for you, Christopher; you know she is just trying to rile you. The entire family admires your devotion to making something of your life. Ambition like that is hard to come by, and it will serve you well, if you let it.”

“Thank you, Abigail,” Christopher replied, a genuine smile lighting up his usually stern face. He added extra emphasis on her name, to remind Rose that he was still annoyed at her.

“But,” Abigail held up a hand. She was not finished. “Only if you can learn to ignore the unpleasant disposition of others.” She spared a glance at Rose and her younger sister bowed her head in mock shame. “Let yourself be led by sense and not sensibilities and you are sure to achieve your goals,” she finished.

Christopher seemed ready to provide some smart, no doubt witty retort. But he held his tongue and nodded. He then turned to Rose and spoke.

“My sincere apologies for losing my temper with you, Rose.”

“Apology accepted, please accept mine in return,” Rose answered politely. Though Abigail could see her sister viewed this all as a game, if truth be told, it would be unreasonable to consider it otherwise. Amongst siblings, such mocking was commonplace and allowed for the development of a solid backbone. It was good training for real life.

“Come on Hughes, surely you cannot be serious?” Douglas Montgomery, the Duke of Staffordshire said, looking pensively at his friend.

“You do not even know this young lady. She could very well be a milkmaid or some fat farmer’s wife.”

Nathaniel dragged his hand through his hair and sighed deeply. He should have known better than to bring this subject up with the Duke.

He regretted bitterly not having enquired about the girl in Gloucestershire. It had been over two weeks and the vision in the woodlands would not let go of him.

The heart truly was a fickle thing.
Not to be trusted
.

He had fallen in love before. Surrendered his heart at the mere sight of a woman. He had foolishly ascribed her virtues she did not possess: kindness, honesty, chastity, decency. The list was endless and also erroneous.

“When do you intend to end this obsessive comportment?” Douglas asked with a frown. “Besides, how exactly are you going to go about finding this girl?” he continued. “According to you, this siren that has no name, left you standing in the woods. And instead of scouring the countryside to identify her, you hopped on your horse and rode to London.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Clearly the bird has flown the coup. She could be anywhere.”

“For the love of everything that is holy, Monty, spare me the lecture,” Nathaniel replied irritated. “You know I am not prone to foolishness anymore.”

“That you are not.” Douglas sighed, and poured them both a drink.

“I haven’t felt like this since Lady Anne Smithey.”

“You mean Marchioness Dudley, she has remarried after all,” the Duke retorted with a sigh. Lady Dudley was married to a very rich bore who was almost twice her age.

The Duke had been the most vocal advocate against Nathaniel’s infatuation with Lady Anne Smithey, five years ago. He had also been one of the rare few who had seen exactly how devastated her betrayal left him.

“Yes, I did not miss that unholy matrimonial alliance,” Nathaniel muttered looking away. Douglas stared at his friend. Nathaniel was not one for looking uncomfortable. Something else was afoot.

“What is it you are not telling me?

“She has been in touch.”

“Marchioness Dudley?” the Duke asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“What did she want?”

“A meeting.” Silence stretched between them. There was conceivably only one type of meeting a married woman like the Marchioness would want with a man like the Earl.

“Remove your thoughts from the gutter, Monty. There is a mysterious matter of an urgent nature she would like to discuss.”

“Mysterious matter? It all sounds very cloak and dagger old chap.”

“It certainly does.”

“It could however be the perfect opportunity to investigate Marquess Dudley. There have been rumours around Whitehall that prior to the war the man was a great supporter of Napoleon and may very well still be,” the Duke continued. “I am sure Pitt would be interested in getting an answer to that question.”

Lord Spencer Percival, “
Pitt
”, the current Prime Minister had assigned the Duke with the task of discovering if certain members of the House of Lords were Napoleon sympathisers. There was a real worry at the highest level of government that funds that should be supporting the Empire, was instead funding Napoleon’s bid to take over the rest of Europe.

“That said, Hughes, you know that woman is as deadly as they get. She can cut a man in a most devastating way. ”

“Maybe so, but I need to get her out of my system. Maybe one last meeting to see her for who she really is will do the trick.”

“Maybe.” Douglas sighed. It was clear to him that Nathaniel intended to go ahead with this no matter what he said. If the thought of Lady Dudley could distract him from his woodland nymph then the effort would not be waste.

“Where is this meeting supposed to take place? I seem to have heard a rumour that the Marchioness and the Marquess of Dudley were sequestered at Chessington Castle, due to Lady Dudley’s ill health.”

“That may be so, but the rumours must be wrong, because the traitorous Lady Dudley is in Bath.”

“I know my reaction five years ago was confounding, and my yearning now is futile—” Before the conversation went any further, the men were interrupted by the Duchess of Staffordshire, Georgette Montgomery.

“Nathaniel, how lovely to see you,” she exclaimed in delight. Ever since Nathaniel had participated in her rescue from kidnappers, after her wedding to the Duke, she considered him more than family.

“Surely not as lovely as the vision that you are.” The Viscount bowed elegantly and kissed her hand. “I shall take my leave, Monty,” Nathaniel said to his friend.

“I will be in touch once I have clarity on this matter,” he added.

“As you wish, old chap. Watch your back,” the Duke replied with a sighed.

As his friend departed, his wife looked at him with inquisitive eyes. “Is something troubling Nathaniel?”

“Nothing my dear…at least, nothing we can do anything about,” he replied as he embraced her. Soon the world fell away and they both only had eyes and ears for each other.

The Roman Baths were beautiful. It was the only adjective which came to Abigail’s mind. It was also the perfect adjective to describe the ancient architecture and decorations of the pump rooms.

“Did you hear,” Rose began, as she followed Abigail and Lady Baxter into the women’s changing rooms, “that Lord Nathaniel Hughes, the Viscount of Wiltshire, has just arrived here, in Bath?”

“Is that so?” Abigail responded, hardly paying attention. The subject seemed to captivate Lady Baxter’s interest, however. The Viscount was one of the most eligible bachelors in three counties.

“The Viscount of Wiltshire is in Bath? Hmm, it does not surprise me, I suppose. They say he hardly spends a moment of his time on his estate.”

“Well,” Rose continued gossiping with their mother and Abigail sighed softly to herself. “I heard that he has yet to choose a Viscountess.”

“There is certainly no shortage of women who would accept his offer if he asked. Despite his reputation as a rogue,” Lady Baxter contributed. “His family has been parading a number of beauties his way for the last five years, since he turned twenty-three.”

“Why does he not wish to settle? Most men in his position have a number of children by his age,” Rose asked, curiosity colouring her voice.

“From what I have heard,” Lady Baxter went on. “He enjoys his freedom too much. I have met him on several occasions and he certainly is a high-spirited fellow, ever with a grin on his face.”

Abigail rolled her eyes and, having changed into her bathing attire, headed for the water. Lady Baxter and Rose followed after her, still chattering amongst themselves.

Idle gossip and chatter was not the sort of entertainment which Abigail derived pleasure from, and so she chose not to contribute. If she was being entirely fair, however, she was more curious about Lord Wiltshire than she let on. She had heard he had an extensive stable. It included some very rare Arabian stallions.

According to gossip, the Viscount preferred to spend his days in London, the bustle and excitement of the city offering him endless possibilities for entertainment. Abigail had never actually met him. Still, his reputation as a heartbreaker was well known. Why he would be wasting his time in London instead of enjoying the stables and wildlife on his estate she could not fathom.

The three women came to the pump rooms and eased themselves into the water. The water was very hot, so they entered slowly while their bodies gradually adjusted to the heat. Once they were settled and relaxing in the pool, Rose and Lady Baxter’s discussion resumed almost as if it had never ceased.

“I was talking to Lady Claire Santon recently,” Lady Baxter began and Abigail gave her the sort of glare that could only be translated as ‘seriously?’ But her mother ignored it and continued. “She says he goes through servants as quickly as a horse devouring a sugar cube.”

“Why so?” Rose asked. It always baffled Abigail that people would, for the sake of entertainment, talk about the most unimportant things.

“Well, apparently it is because he is never in attendance. His estate is mostly left in the care of his servants and so they spend the days working but without anyone to actually provide for. Imagine having to prepare three meals a day for His Lordship in case he comes home, only to have to throw them out when he does not.”

“Would the servants not eat the food?” Abigail was slightly ashamed at herself for contributing.

“How scandalous! Should they be caught, they would be in for a heavy dose of trouble,” Lady Baxter replied.

“Why does he not just marry some young thing and settle down?” Rose asked and Abigail could see a little glimmer in her eyes.

Ah, to be so young and naïve again.

“Well, as his mother tells it, he does not want to be tied down. He thinks marriage would only slow him down.”

“Of course it would,” Abigail offered her opinion again, feeling ever more disgusted at herself for taking an interest in the subject matter. But, when in Rome… “But how is that a bad thing? Any man his age should be settled by now.”

“Exactly. By both necessity and convention, he would be forced to spend most of his time on his estate were he to marry and his wife give birth to an heir,” Lady Baxter went on.

“They say he is not entirely opposed to marriage, only that he is waiting for the right young woman; one who he thinks is wonderful enough to make him want to marry.” Rose offered with a dreamy sigh.

“And I suppose you think that means you, Rose?” Abigail teased and her sister blushed.

“I would not be opposed to the idea,” Rose replied coyly.

“And you would be happy to be with a man almost ten years your senior?”

“Mmm, what an astute observation. I guess I had not taken that into consideration.” Rose frowned a little, “Maybe if he was special enough.”

“Ah, to be so young and innocent again,” Abigail teased and Rose’s nostrils flared a little. She did not like it when people suggested she was immature, it hurt her pride.

Which, to be fair, was somewhat immature in itself.

“I am barely two years younger than you! Please refrain from your superior tone. You sound like an old fuddy-duddy,” her sister replied sharply, “Are you implying you would make a better wife for him than I?”

“Ha! I would not even entertain the notion.” Abigail replied quickly. She was lying. She was indeed wondering what it would be like to be married to a man who had such a large estate and the best stables in three counties. Marriage was an inevitable necessity for any well-bred young lady. It would certainly be made more endurable as the Viscountess of Wiltshire. She chewed on her lower lip.

“Well, as resistant to marriage as he is, I doubt he will spare a second glance for either of you.” Lady Baxter broke into their argument and both girls were silenced.

Once the women were finished taking the waters at the Roman Baths, they returned to their lavish town house. Upon their arrival in Bath, the entire family had been invited to attend a ball that evening. Abigail, in spite of her abundant self-confidence, was always a little anxious when it came to large social gatherings. There was so much to be expected of a young woman, and trying to remember all the proper protocols and societal requirements for a woman in her position could be downright overwhelming.

It was always her fear that she would be speaking to an important member of the
ton
and end up saying something very inappropriate. When she was with her family, Abigail enjoyed the freedom to express herself freely. But social gatherings such as this ball would require her to conform to the expectation society had of young ladies.

Her mind flashed back to a similar ball two years before when she had been speaking with her father’s acquaintance about the Napoleonic war. Oh how she had embarrassed herself! It was expected of women to be soft-spoken and submissive; two qualities Abigail struggled to display.

She had no particular accomplishments to speak of. She neither drew, painted, sang or played the pianoforte. She preferred eager debates and walks in the countryside. She had, as she so often did, spoken her mind and freely given her opinion of the Frenchman’s weaknesses and strengths. A woman speaking on issues of war was viewed very poorly.

Since then, she did her best to remain perfectly dull and did not vocalise her opinion in public. She had concluded that people only want to hear one’s opinion if it is in-line with theirs, otherwise it was best to keep one’s opinions to one’s self lest you risk being alienated.

And so, as Rose helped her into her dress and she helped Rose, she continued to go over and over in her mind what things she could and could not say, and last but not least, when to hold her tongue.

Over the years, as she had learned to apply these rules, she found that people flocked to her and enjoyed her company, so long as she did not descend into a heated debate about whichever subject had sparked her interest of late. Keeping conversations light and cheerful had earned her a reputation as a high-spirited young woman who was a delightful conversationalist. With that, of course, had come a line of suitors. A relatively small line, mind you, but a line nonetheless. But so many men were absolute bores, preoccupied by the vices of their positions. Nathaniel Hughes, Viscount of Wiltshire, was the perfect example of a man who cared little for anything but recreation.

Calm yourself, Abigail. You have never even met the man; he might not be such a superficial bore.

Knowing that her judgements of Lord Wiltshire were based solely on hearsay and gossip, she admonished herself to withhold her prejudice until she had actually met the man. He would no doubt be at the ball tonight. According to rumours, he had been seen at the Upper Assembly Hall on more than one occasion. Providing they even made each other’s acquaintance, she would endeavour to be at her best behaviour. The thought that she might be able to secure for them an invitation to visit his exclusive stables, had her smiling.

“Are you ready, Abigail?” Rose asked, hands on her hips while she impatiently tapped her foot on the floor.

Irritated that she had wasted time daydreaming about something that was very unlikely to happen, she shook her head and picked up her silver hairpin from the bureau.

“Almost,” Abigail replied, adjusting the pin in her hair.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her long hair, which she had bound into an elaborate braided bun, was enough to have people sending her unending compliments; the last thing she needed was for her crown and glory to come tumbling down.

“There!” she said as she found the perfect place for the last pin. “Finished. I am ready; let us be on our way.”