The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) (17 page)

Chapter 19

Awestruck, Vangie was speechless at her first glimpse of Somersfield. A majestic stone archway proclaimed their entrance to Warrick lands. Truly having no idea of Ian’s wealth or the size of his estate, she could only stare stunned. Stately yew trees, standing at attention on either side of the neglected drive, allowed glimpses of once manicured lawns, overgrown formal gardens, and untrimmed mazes.

She made a mental note to tell
Puri Daj
of the yews. The trees had many medicinal uses. Vangie smiled, delighted. At one time, Somersfield had been spectacular.

The coach lumbered down the mile-long, convoluted lane. Her breath caught when the grandiose Baroque style manor house materialized on the horizon.

“Faith, Ian, it’s enormous, a veritable castle. Are those turrets?” She gawked entranced.

“Indeed,” he murmured.   

She shot him a glance. His gaze was riveted on the horizon, and a smile curved his lips. Unrestrained pride glimmered in his eyes as he gazed at his ancestral home.

He loves Somersfield
.

Vangie smiled again and directed her attention to the carriage window once more. At least a hundred beveled windows caught the afternoon sun, brilliantly refracting the golden rays. The building glowed as if it were alive, a living breathing entity. She was overcome with the splendor of the magnificent manor and grounds.

How was she to be mistress of such a grand estate? Faith, she didn’t know how to manage such a vast household.

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she clasped her reticule, pressing her fingers into the woven threads. Her gaze never left the mansion. Did he have any notion how ill-prepared she was for such an overwhelming task? Would he be disillusioned with her yet again?

Before the equipage rolled to a stop, two livered servants descended the manor’s granite steps. Alighting, Ian handed Vangie down. She was aware of the covert, curious stares sent her way by the footmen. Two yapping white and tan harriers, their white-tipped tails wagging fiercely, lopped across the drive, eager to greet Ian.

Whining, the dogs bounced about his feet. “Halloo, chaps.”

He patted each of their heads before the hounds turned their attention to Vangie. The larger of the dogs nuzzled her hand.

“That’s Horace,” Ian said. “He’s a terrible flirt.”

Vangie obediently scratched the hound’s ears. The other dog circled her twice, sniffing her skirts before he sat on his haunches and raised one paw, gazing at her with woeful hazel eyes.

She giggled, and shook it. “How do you do?”

“Ah, Blake, ever the gentleman.”

Ian took her by the elbow. “Come along. I have someone I want you to meet.”

He guided her to the top of the stairs, a wide grin on his handsome face.

A diminutive, rigidly proper butler, attired in cobalt blue livery manned the doorway. “Welcome home, Lord Warrick.”

“Thank you, Jasper. May I introduce you to Lady Warrick?”

Except for a singular twitch of Jasper’s beetle brows, the butler’s face remained expressionless, though his warm brown eyes twinkled merrily. “Indeed, my lord.”

“My lady, this is Somersfield’s majordomo, and my dear friend, Francis Jasper-Faulkenbury. I’ve called him Jasper since I was in short pants. I couldn’t pronounce Faulkenbury.”

Ian winked and grinned at the butler. “You don’t mind, do you, Jasper?”

Humor danced in the butler’s eyes, but his face remained impassive. “Not at all, your lordship.”

Bowing formally, Jasper intoned, “Welcome to Somersfield, my lady.”

Vangie smiled. She liked him already.

“Thank you, Jasper.”

She tried not to stare at his head. Given he was nearly her height, and he’d just bowed, providing her with a clear view of his oddly styled hair, it was rather difficult not to.

Her gaze roamed the large, opulent entry. At one end of the foyer was a staircase which divided half-way up, each side leading to a separate wing. Four carved doors, two on each side, graced the entrance. From one of these rushed a distraught woman with a piece of paper clutched in one hand. She was garbed in full mourning attire.

The Dowager Viscountess Warrick?

Vangie cast a quick glance at Ian.

His back was to her as he spoke to Jasper. “Please send for Dr. Farnsworthy. A gunshot wound needs tending,” Ian said.

“Thank God you have returned, Ian. Charlotte—” The matron paused upon hearing his request. “You are wounded?”

Her gaze flew over his form, seeking any sign of injury.

He faced her and shook his head, a lock of russet hair falling over his forehead with the motion. “No, Lucinda. We were set upon by highwaymen yestereve, and Malcolm suffered a gunshot wound.”

A peculiar expression crossed her thin face. For the first time, she glanced in Vangie’s direction. The dowager stiffened, and her eyes narrowed with unconcealed antagonism.

“What is
she
doing here?”

The contempt in her voice took Vangie aback. For once, she was certain she’d have no problem remembering a name.

Lucinda.
Lucifer
.

The footmen entered, each encumbered with armfuls of luggage, further adding to the commotion in the entryway.

Ian reached for Vangie’s elbow, then drew her to his side.

“Lucinda, it’s my immense pleasure to introduce my wife to you.”

The dowager sucked in a sharp breath, her hand flying to cover her heart. “Your what?”

She impaled Vangie with a hostile glare. “Surely you’re not serious,” she exclaimed, enunciating each word with haughty anger.

This wasn’t going well. Did his stepmother have hopes Ian would marry someone else? The thought didn’t settle well with Vangie. A sickening knot twisted in her belly. She hadn’t considered the possibility. Were Ian’s affections engaged elsewhere?

A sly look crept across the dowager’s plain features. “Ah, is this part of the . . .
plan
?”

She laughed then, a markedly humorless snicker.

Plan? Vangie searched Ian’s face. He didn’t reply but glared at his stepmother, his face a mask of cold fury. Was there a challenge in his eyes?

Vangie eyed her ladyship.

A conglomeration of emotions skittered across the dowager’s face, before settling into a pinched scowl. “There’s no time for this now. We can discuss your travesty of a . . . a
marriage
later.”

Vangie swung her gaze between Ian and his stepmother, sensing an undercurrent that didn’t bode well. It was obvious she emphatically objected to the marriage. Embarrassed, Vangie cast a quick glance at Jasper.

He nodded, one sharp movement, then winked.

Her lips twitched despite the tense atmosphere. Yes, she most certainly did like Jasper.

Ignoring Vangie, the dowager faced Ian. “I must speak with you.
Alone
.”

She cut a rude glower toward Vangie. Thrusting the scrunched paper beneath his nose, she cried, “Charlotte’s run off to Gretna Green with that penniless squire, Trevor Monroe!”

“Monroe?” Ian scrunched his brow. “But I thought she was in love with Lord Pickering?”

“As did I.” Lucinda shoved the paper at him. “Until I found this.”

He took the note and quickly scanned it.

“Jasper, please escort her ladyship,” Ian’s gaze flicked to his stepmother, “to the drawing room, then send for the leech. Lucinda, wait for me in the study.”

She speared Vangie with another animosity-laden glare. “But, Ian. . .”

“In the study, Lucinda. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Huffing her outrage, she scowled at him. Spinning on her heels, her spine ramrod straight, she marched from the foyer. The crape of her stiff skirts crackled with each resolute stride.

Wrapping her arms around her torso, Vangie watched her go. She stared at the doorway for several seconds after the dowager disappeared through it. Vangie rubbed her arms and shivered. Faith, had she traded one hostile home for another?

Ian turned to the butler. “Please, fetch Tanny to my wife. She’ll need to prepare a temporary chamber for Lady Warrick until the Dowager Viscountess Warrick removes herself to the dower house.”

Ian shot a look to the study door.

“Jasper, I’d be most grateful if you’d oversee Lucinda’s packing. I’d like her to take up residence there tomorrow. See that she doesn’t help herself to the silver, will you?”

Vangie breathed easier. Thank goodness. She’d not have to reside under the same roof with Lucifer—inda.

Would she really take the silver?

“At once, your lordship,” Jasper offered enthusiastically.

Taking Vangie’s hand in his, Ian looked into her eyes. “Wait for me in the drawing room. I’ll explain everything after I’ve spoken with her.”

Before she could respond, he swiveled and strode to the door the dowager just disappeared through.

“If you will follow me, Lady Warrick.” Jasper looked at her expectantly. “The drawing room is along this corridor, Lady Warrick.”

Vangie started. He meant her. She trailed behind the butler, feeling terribly alone and unsure of herself. This wasn’t the reception she’d expected, though truth to tell, she’d not known precisely what to expect.

“Ah, here we are, Lady Warrick.”

Opening double doors, Jasper stood at their entrance waiting for her to enter. “Lady Warrick, would you care for some refreshment?”

He followed her into the room.

Each time he called her Lady Warrick, Vangie had to mentally remind herself, he spoke to her.

“Yes, thank you. Tea would be wonderful, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Dipping his head, he replied, “No trouble at all, Lady Warrick. Please make yourself comfortable, Lady Warrick. I’ll return momentarily, Lady Warrick.”

The man seemed delighted to address her by her formal title. Faith, how long would it be before she grew accustomed to it herself?

She wandered over to the alabaster fireplace dominating one wall. Above it hung the portrait of a woman. Peering at her, Vangie recognized the silver eyes and high cheek bones. The artist had captured a lingering unhappiness in the woman’s expression, and though her hair was lighter than Ian’s, it was evident the painting portrayed his mother.

“I’ll try to make him happy,” Vangie whispered.

With a sigh, she turned away and surveyed the rest of the room. Floor to ceiling leaded glass windows graced the opposite side of the chamber. The walls were painted a filmy yellow, and the plaster border along the ceiling’s edge was intricate scrollwork. The faded silk draperies stood wide open.

Brilliant streams of sunshine caused a myriad of rainbows to reflect throughout the room. Worn settees, covered in saffron brocade were centered on either side of a tall, marble-topped table. The scratched parquet floor was scattered with a variety of threadbare oriental rugs.

A small writing desk was tucked beneath a window on the west end of the room where the mistress of the manor could enjoy the garden view while attending to her correspondence. Along one wall was an elaborate Taj Mahal shaped birdcage. Two silent canaries watched her from within.

Vangie perched on the edge of one of settees and twisted her hands. Her gaze traveled the room once more. Though the furnishings were of the highest quality, they were generations old and well-worn. Not that she minded. It gave the room a homey, comfortable ambiance.

Jasper arrived with the tea service, followed by a stern-faced woman in a crisp black dress. A jangle of keys was secured on a chatelaine at her waist.

A trilling whistle rent the air.

“Ah, Leopold is attempting to woo Lily again,” said Jasper, nodding at the birds.

Vangie turned to peer at the pair. The male, a gorgeous cinnamon canary, puffed his chest out. He dipped and twisted in a courtship dance for the timid lemon-colored female sitting in their food dish.

Vangie smiled at his antics, glad for the momentary distraction from her dour thoughts. She directed her attention to the tea tray and poured a steaming cup of tea. Adding a bit of cream, she murmured, “Thank you, Jasper. You’re most kind.”

His, “Not at all, Lady Warrick,” was interrupted by Leopold chirping excitedly. It halted instantly when Jasper ordered, “Cease your infernal chittering, you lovesick fowl.”

Vangie curled her lips in amusement, though she hid the smile by taking a sip of tea. It wouldn’t do to have him think she was laughing at him. She needed an ally here.

A harrumph startled her. Oh dear. She’d almost forgotten about the housekeeper. The woman had been silent up to this point.

“So, it’s true then? Master Ian has taken you to wife?”

“Yes—” Vangie sent a hesitant glance to Jasper.

“My lady, Mrs. Tanssen is Somersfield’s most
cordial
housekeeper.”

A hint of sarcasm shaded Jasper’s words. He duly ignored the glower the intimidating woman sent him.

Mrs. Tanssen stood staring at Vangie, her lips pursed as she considered her new mistress. “Well, what to do? One can’t evict her ladyship without notice from the room she’s occupied for over twenty years, though you have the right to claim the chamber.”

The housekeeper tapped her chin with her forefinger, contemplating. “Hmm, what to do? What to do?”

Vangie wasn’t sure if she was expected to reply. She ventured a hesitant response, “Mrs. Tanssen, is it?”

Piercing hazel-green eyes met Vangie’s, accompanied by a curt nod.

She nearly danced a jig. She’d gotten a name right the first time.

“I’m content to leave the arrangements as they are. Please, use your discretion, and place me in whatever chamber you deem most appropriate. Lord Warrick suggested a temporary chamber for me, and he may have other preferences he’s yet to make known.”