Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1) by Maggie Jagger
Chapter 24
Two small green birds with long tails climbed around the bars of their cages to chirp and whistle at each other. The viscount had bought them as gifts for Sarah and the duke’s daughter. The birds were supposed to have come all the way from Australia, if the vendor could be believed. Lizzie thought them ridiculously expensive, though they were amusing and had no fear of people.
The carriages were all laden with the results of her shopping expeditions. She had bought far more than the viscount. He had replenished his wardrobe in sober hues. She had indulged in every glorious color, and she meant to wear them.
Music greeted Lizzie from the moment the gates of Quorr House opened to admit them. A merry quartet played them in. The drive from the gates to the house was over a mile long through landscaped park. As the coach approached the house, the gardens began, bed after bed of flowers in ornate shapes, with fountains playing from statue-laden ponds.
A long cascade from a distant mount, tumbled over steps to fall into Neptune’s pool where marble nymphs gamboled in the spray.
Elegant ladies strolled, parasols in hand. Gentlemen prowled after them in a predatory fashion.
Lizzie had heard of the Duke of Saint Sirin’s parties. Her stepfather had boasted the night air resounded with the cries of lovers at Quorr House, and any man not sleeping the sleep of the damned at dawn had only himself to blame. But Gladys had heard more recently that the only lovers tolerated were music lovers. Gossip said the duke was quite strait-laced at his own home, where his children lived.
“Are you getting ideas for your gardens, Lizzie, if you allow yourself to admire a French fashion, dear heart? Or is that forbidden in your mind?” Dace surveyed the scene calmly. “We might have to stay for a few days. Can’t just drag Sarah away. Saint Sirin says she is fond of music. Are you, my love?”
“Yes. The musicians went with Uncle Tempest after he cut my funds. I missed them.” The birds suddenly began to whistle encouragement to the musicians. Lizzie laughed at them and spoke louder to be heard over their noise. “It was so soothing in the evening not to have to converse, just to listen in peace.”
“Are you giving me a hint? No, don’t answer.” He tried to silence the birds by giving them a finger to nibble. “I shall be silent and not chatter in your ear while you enjoy the music. Never fear.”
“Thank you, Felmont.” She looked out the window as they neared the house. “The place is crowded.” A sudden thought straightened her back. “Has the duke given permission for you to take your daughter from him?”
“In a sense, I could take her and damn him, but as she looks on him as a father figure, I’d rather not wrest her from him by force.”
“You did insist on separate rooms, didn’t you?”
“Of course, dear heart.” He looked down his long Felmont nose at her. “Saint Sirin regrets he can’t oblige.”
Lizzie almost laughed at his wary expression. She had no objection to sharing a bed at Quorr House, at least that way she’d know where he was at night.
It could not be denied that the lure of sharing his bed forever made her heart beat faster with a strange nervous pulse. But would he be heroic and moral, when not constrained by Edward Anston’s presence? Wasn’t death or life an easy choice even for a Felmont.
“You will not fight me on this, Lizzie. We stay in one room, there is no other. Just for a few days, I swear you need not fear being close to me.”
Lizzie forced herself to be honest, to let slip out of her mouth the worry she felt about him. “You are a Felmont. It is only a matter of time before one of the demi-reps steals your heart.”
“My heart? Dearest Lizzie, can it be you care where I bestow my affection?”
“We can share here,” she conceded, not wanting to discuss her feelings or his.
“Only here? Am I doomed to cold nights for the rest of my life, dear heart?”
She gave him a scornful glance because she knew she did care. It was too late. She was doomed to love a Felmont. She loved him!
Even now he suspected it. Tension ran through him, one side of his mouth quirked down as his eyes questioned her. Lizzie looked away and tried to suppress a nervous shiver.
The carriage stopped outside Quorr House. The large Palladian mansion, built by a coal merchant whose widow detested country life, sprawled elegantly amid its formal French parterres and terraces.
To say the house was crowded was an understatement. Carriages rolled up in a steady stream. The duke greeted his guests, while his orchestra played Mozart in a pavilion surrounded by flowers.
From a vantage point where he could see but not be seen, Consideration Felmont watched. He had waited all day for a glimpse of the woman he loved. At last, he watched the viscount hand Lizzie down from the carriage. He saw her look of distress, the nervous turning of her head away from her husband, her hurried steps away from him.
He lingered to plot and plan how best to rescue her from a man she so obviously detested and feared. He needed to give her a reason to leave her husband, something she’d never forgive. Not that Dacey Felmont had to sin, Lizzie just needed to believe he had strayed.
Two small green birds with long tails climbed around the bars of their cages to chirp and whistle at each other. The viscount had bought them as gifts for Sarah and the duke’s daughter. The birds were supposed to have come all the way from Australia, if the vendor could be believed. Lizzie thought them ridiculously expensive, though they were amusing and had no fear of people.
The carriages were all laden with the results of her shopping expeditions. She had bought far more than the viscount. He had replenished his wardrobe in sober hues. She had indulged in every glorious color, and she meant to wear them.
Music greeted Lizzie from the moment the gates of Quorr House opened to admit them. A merry quartet played them in. The drive from the gates to the house was over a mile long through landscaped park. As the coach approached the house, the gardens began, bed after bed of flowers in ornate shapes, with fountains playing from statue-laden ponds.
A long cascade from a distant mount, tumbled over steps to fall into Neptune’s pool where marble nymphs gamboled in the spray.
Elegant ladies strolled, parasols in hand. Gentlemen prowled after them in a predatory fashion.
Lizzie had heard of the Duke of Saint Sirin’s parties. Her stepfather had boasted the night air resounded with the cries of lovers at Quorr House, and any man not sleeping the sleep of the damned at dawn had only himself to blame. But Gladys had heard more recently that the only lovers tolerated were music lovers. Gossip said the duke was quite strait-laced at his own home, where his children lived.
“Are you getting ideas for your gardens, Lizzie, if you allow yourself to admire a French fashion, dear heart? Or is that forbidden in your mind?” Dace surveyed the scene calmly. “We might have to stay for a few days. Can’t just drag Sarah away. Saint Sirin says she is fond of music. Are you, my love?”
“Yes. The musicians went with Uncle Tempest after he cut my funds. I missed them.” The birds suddenly began to whistle encouragement to the musicians. Lizzie laughed at them and spoke louder to be heard over their noise. “It was so soothing in the evening not to have to converse, just to listen in peace.”
“Are you giving me a hint? No, don’t answer.” He tried to silence the birds by giving them a finger to nibble. “I shall be silent and not chatter in your ear while you enjoy the music. Never fear.”
“Thank you, Felmont.” She looked out the window as they neared the house. “The place is crowded.” A sudden thought straightened her back. “Has the duke given permission for you to take your daughter from him?”
“In a sense, I could take her and damn him, but as she looks on him as a father figure, I’d rather not wrest her from him by force.”
“You did insist on separate rooms, didn’t you?”
“Of course, dear heart.” He looked down his long Felmont nose at her. “Saint Sirin regrets he can’t oblige.”
Lizzie almost laughed at his wary expression. She had no objection to sharing a bed at Quorr House, at least that way she’d know where he was at night.
It could not be denied that the lure of sharing his bed forever made her heart beat faster with a strange nervous pulse. But would he be heroic and moral, when not constrained by Edward Anston’s presence? Wasn’t death or life an easy choice even for a Felmont.
“You will not fight me on this, Lizzie. We stay in one room, there is no other. Just for a few days, I swear you need not fear being close to me.”
Lizzie forced herself to be honest, to let slip out of her mouth the worry she felt about him. “You are a Felmont. It is only a matter of time before one of the demi-reps steals your heart.”
“My heart? Dearest Lizzie, can it be you care where I bestow my affection?”
“We can share here,” she conceded, not wanting to discuss her feelings or his.
“Only here? Am I doomed to cold nights for the rest of my life, dear heart?”
She gave him a scornful glance because she knew she did care. It was too late. She was doomed to love a Felmont. She loved him!
Even now he suspected it. Tension ran through him, one side of his mouth quirked down as his eyes questioned her. Lizzie looked away and tried to suppress a nervous shiver.
The carriage stopped outside Quorr House. The large Palladian mansion, built by a coal merchant whose widow detested country life, sprawled elegantly amid its formal French parterres and terraces.
To say the house was crowded was an understatement. Carriages rolled up in a steady stream. The duke greeted his guests, while his orchestra played Mozart in a pavilion surrounded by flowers.
From a vantage point where he could see but not be seen, Consideration Felmont watched. He had waited all day for a glimpse of the woman he loved. At last, he watched the viscount hand Lizzie down from the carriage. He saw her look of distress, the nervous turning of her head away from her husband, her hurried steps away from him.
He lingered to plot and plan how best to rescue her from a man she so obviously detested and feared. He needed to give her a reason to leave her husband, something she’d never forgive. Not that Dacey Felmont had to sin, Lizzie just needed to believe he had strayed.