Viscount in Love, page 2
Torie didn’t flinch. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been compared to livestock before.
Leonora cut in. “What do you plan to do with the children, Lord Kelbourne? Perhaps an aunt or some such can raise them in the country. The boy might be sent to Eton—after all, he has inherited the title—but what of the girl? What’s to be done with her?”
“I am the twins’ only relative,” the viscount said flatly. “We have no aunts, living in the country or elsewhere. According to my brother-in-law’s will, I stand in loco parentis.”
“Nothing much to it when they’re this age,” Sir William said. “Put them under the care of a good woman, and you’re set. It’s when they’re older that they get to be a nuisance. Must be escorted to balls and such.”
“Yet we see you so rarely during the Season,” Leonora said, acid creeping into her voice.
Torie’s heart sank. Leonora was never her best when strong emotions were being bandied about, if “her best” could be described as maintaining an illusion of docile, ladylike perfection.
“Neither of you needs me to find eligible suitors,” Sir William pointed out. “I’m kept busy turning down men wanting to marry Torie.” He threw Kelbourne a manly grimace. “I don’t bother with balls, son, but you’ll see me at the wedding. And the first christening, provided it’s a child of Leonora’s, naturally . . . Better get on the stick. As you can see, I ended up with two girls. Should have married younger.”
Kelbourne appeared as horrified as a man with such strict control over his features could look. Torie wasn’t certain if his disdain resulted from being addressed as “son” or from the implication that he might father a child outside marriage.
“Even for you, Father, that suggestion is grossly improper,” Leonora observed. “Must I remind you that weddings are not conducted during mourning? Given Lord Kelbourne’s tragic loss, we shall not marry for another year.”
Her fiancé turned his head and looked at her beneath drawn brows. “Under the circumstances, I believe that polite society would forgive our breach of that rule.”
Torie managed not to roll her eyes. The viscount didn’t know Leonora if he thought she would contravene a social rule—any social rule.
Sure enough, her sister replied with undisguised distaste. “If you mean to suggest that I would overlook convention and marry you in order to act the part of a mother to two orphans, you are quite mistaken, Lord Kelbourne.”
There was an uncomfortable pause during which the only sound was Sir William gulping brandy.
Torie didn’t know Kelbourne well, having spoken to him no more than a handful of times over the two years of Leonora’s betrothal, but she didn’t like the look in his eyes. He’d gone from offended to enraged.
“I am certain that your insensate manner doesn’t reflect your true sensibilities,” he stated.
“To be blunt, Kelbourne, given the uncertainty surrounding their paternity, it would be kindest to raise your wards with modest expectations. In the country.”
The viscount’s eyes narrowed. “You surprise me, Miss Sutton. I’ll say again that Valentine and Florence are unquestionably the direct descendants of Lord Dorney.”
Did Leonora have to discard her docile demeanor today, of all days, when her fiancé had just buried his only sister? “I’m sure you’ll come to love the twins, Leonora,” Torie put in.
“My affection is not the question. Society’s stance cannot be overlooked. Valentine has a title and an estate, but given the late Lord Dorney’s public statements regarding his marital felicity, Florence’s chance of making a decent marriage is slim.”
Sadly, that was true. Lord Dorney had celebrated the birth of the twins by getting drunk and announcing in his club that he avoided his wife’s bed for fear of bumping into another fellow on the way out the door.
Leonora’s mouth firmed. “Questions about their parentage will dog their footsteps. Florence cannot be presented to the ton.”
Given the viscount’s frown, he finally suspected that his fiancée’s demure mannerisms were skin-deep. Leonora had spent the last two years agreeing with everything he said—while absolutely refusing to set a wedding date. That should have given him a clue about her malleability.
Torie’s heart thumped into a faster rhythm. Her sister prided herself on never having met a man whom she couldn’t manage—or bamboozle—but Torie had the feeling Leonora might have met her match.
“When Valentine and Florence are of age, my wife and I will introduce them to polite society as the noble members of the peerage who they are,” Kelbourne stated. “I seem to have neglected a signal question during my proposal two years ago: Do you plan to mother our children, Miss Sutton? Or are they to be discarded in the country like unwanted kittens?”
Leonora raised an eyebrow. “My understanding is that children are happiest and healthiest when they are not breathing the coal dust of London, but I am happy to consider differing opinions. In my answer to your proposal, I promised you two sons. I never hesitate to do my duty, Lord Kelbourne.”
Which was what?
Bear two children, or introduce said children to society? Torie was guiltily aware that Leonora considered bedding the viscount an unpleasant chore to be delayed as long as possible.
Her sister liked slender men with golden locks and winsome expressions. Viscount Kelbourne was black-haired, burly, and bad-tempered. And blunt. An alliterative plethora. Plethora was a word Torie had just learned in the funeral service, when the archbishop talked of a “plethora of grief and loss.”
“No matter where they grow up, your responsibility as my wife will include introducing my wards to the ton,” Kelbourne said flatly.
Torie held her breath while silence pooled in the drawing room. Not even Sir William’s glass clinked.
Just before the stillness became unbearable, Leonora gifted her fiancé with a sweet, utterly false smile and murmured, “As I said, I shall never neglect to do my duty as your wife. Florence promises to be beautiful, and of course that will help her marital prospects.”
Sir William stepped forward so quickly that liquor slopped over the rim of his glass, its fruity odor swamping Leonora’s perfume. “A lady does require a nanny,” he said, either missing the subtext of the conversation or ignoring it. “My household always had one, along with three nursemaids. My wife wouldn’t have accepted anything less.”
In Torie’s opinion, the veil of Leonora’s ladylike composure would shred at any moment, so she jumped to her feet. “If everyone will please excuse me, I shall greet Lord Kelbourne’s wards in the nursery.”
“I would be delighted to escort you upstairs.” His lordship rose.
Leonora’s eyes brightened. “You may not have an unmarried aunt in the family, Lord Kelbourne, but we have Victoria. She could raise those children in a cottage on your country estate.”
Torie forced her lips to curl into a smile. “I am not yet an old maid.”
“This Season is your third,” Leonora retorted. “I have no expectation that a worthy man will overlook your inability to run a household.”
“Your sister has received several proposals of marriage,” their father declared, setting down his glass with a click.
“Mostly withdrawn,” Leonora said dismissively. She leaned forward and gave Torie an encouraging smile. “You would do better to retire to the country, Victoria. You could indulge in your painting. Just think of all the rabbits hopping around the countryside.”
“I’m afraid that I must decline,” Torie said. “I am holding out for a love match,” she told Kelbourne.
He gave her a disbelieving stare, but Torie shrugged. She had not yet met the man she hoped for.
Leonora finally lost her temper. “You’re holding out for a miracle! A merely respectable dowry, a thick waist, and the inability to read or write . . . All the charm in the world won’t win you a worthy man. You’ll end up living under Lord Kelbourne’s roof, so you might as well make yourself useful now.”
Torie swallowed hard. Leonora was snappy when she was fraught emotionally, but she was still Nora, the big sister who always cuddled Torie after Nanny beat her hands with a ruler, shouted at her, and took away her supper—and often her breakfast as well—all because she couldn’t learn her ABCs.
“You paint rabbits?” Kelbourne inquired, acting as if his fiancée’s string of insults had not occurred.
“My younger daughter is a painter,” Sir William put in, his words slurring just a touch. “Kittens, roses, and bunnies, isn’t that right, Torie? Any gentleman would be fortunate to marry her.”
Torie drew herself as upright as possible, regretting that she didn’t have Leonora’s stature. Height made it so much easier to appear dignified. She raised her chin and met Kelbourne’s eyes. “I think kittens and roses are excellent subjects for paintings,” she said defiantly. “And rabbits as well, though I find their hindquarters difficult to manage.”
“A distasteful remark,” Leonora commented.
“You eat a rabbit leg fast enough,” her father pointed out. “Would you rather we refer to a rabbit rump?” He chuckled. “Rump of rear rabbit!”
“I can find my way to the nursery without an escort,” Torie said. She dropped a curtsy and treated the company to a glowing smile. “Sir William, please be so kind as to send our maid upstairs when you are ready to leave.”
Leonora had insisted on Emily accompanying them to dinner on the grounds that their father might collapse into a sodden heap, at which point chaperonage would be required.
“We’re supping here,” Sir William reminded her, picking up his brandy snifter again. At this rate, her father would pass out before the meal commenced.
“I shall dine with the children,” Torie said. She rationed the time she spent with her family members, and today’s limit was reached.
Exceeded, really.
The viscount opened his mouth, but Leonora continued before he could speak. “It’s best that Victoria come to know your wards, Kelbourne. One never knows what the future may hold.”
Except her sister did seem to have a clear view of the future: one in which Torie mothered orphans and never had a family of her own.
Torie held her smile as she walked away, which felt like a triumph.
Chapter 4
Torie was at the door to the drawing room when she realized that her sister’s fiancé had followed her.
“You needn’t accompany me,” she told Lord Kelbourne, pushing open the door before he could reach over her shoulder and do it for her; that courtesy had always made her feel useless and short. “Your butler will direct me to the nursery.”
Ignoring her, he closed the door behind them. “Flitwick, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Victoria, my fiancée’s younger sister.”
Flitwick was the stately sort of butler, with a melancholy face like a grasshopper’s. Torie had noted that butlers often resembled their employers. Naturally, her family’s butler had a red nose and a propensity to sway back and forth.
Flitwick bowed with all the elegance of a duke. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Victoria.”
“I prefer Torie.” Her smile seemed to soften his expression, so perhaps he wasn’t as rigid as his master. “Do you remain in London all the time, Flitwick, or do you travel to Kelbourne Manor when Parliament is out of session?”
“As his lordship’s head butler,” Flitwick said, “I accompany him to Northamptonshire.”
“May I ask whether you have a family?” Torie inquired.
“Mrs. Flitwick is my housekeeper,” Kelbourne put in, not hiding his impatience. “She travels back and forth to the country with us. Shall we go to the nursery?”
“In a minute,” Torie told him, relishing the fact that unlike her sister, she didn’t need to keep the viscount sweet. Not that Leonora seemed to bother, now that she had a ring and an emerald bracelet.
He blinked. Kelbourne was apparently unused to being contradicted. Married life with Leonora would be a revelation.
“Could you please tell us how the children are settling into their new life? My sister is most anxious that they be happily established.”
She caught Kelbourne’s twitch at this untruth, but she didn’t take her eyes off the butler.
“The twins have settled well,” Flitwick declared. “Nanny Bracknell accompanied them to London, so their education has not been interrupted.”
“Not that,” Torie said, waving one hand. “How are they, Flitwick? I’m certain that you know what I mean. It’s a terrible blow to lose both parents at once.”
Flitwick’s stern countenance eased. “The children are very lucky to have you take an interest, Miss Torie. They are well. Intelligent, without question, and Mrs. Flitwick tells me that they have pleasant manners when they remember to use them. But they’re eccentric, you might say. Always talking of the strangest topics.”
“They will outgrow such foibles,” Kelbourne said, frowning as if he had been informed that all the butter in the house was rancid.
Torie had the distinct impression that “eccentric” was anathema to his lordship. After all, he had chosen to marry Leonora, the epitome of an English lady.
On the surface.
“Lord Kelbourne, please do rejoin your guests in the drawing room,” she told him. “Flitwick will escort me upstairs.”
“I haven’t yet visited that floor, so I might as well make certain the children are comfortable.”
Torie stared at him. “You have not visited the nursery at all?”
“As I said.” Kelbourne’s expression was always closed, but his mouth got a little tighter. He clearly didn’t like criticism, even the implicit sort.
“Their parents died a week ago,” she pointed out. “And they arrived at your house when?”
“Four days ago,” Kelbourne said stiffly.
“Has anyone lived there in the nursery since you were a baby?”
“It was hardly the Middle Ages.”
“I can assure you that the mattresses were aired, and the rooms recently cleaned,” Flitwick put in.
“Of course they were,” Torie said. “But if Lord Kelbourne means to be in local parentis, he must be hands-on.” She began to climb the marble steps leading to the first floor.
“In loco parentis,” Kelbourne corrected, following.
“I took your use of the term to mean that you plan to be a father. You could stow them in the country, as Leonora suggested. She comes by that model honestly: after our mother died, we were sent to the country estate, and Sir William never darkened the door of the nursery again.”
“Was his absence significant to you as a child?”
She glanced over her shoulder, and then quickly turned her head forward again. Kelbourne was altogether too handsome for normal life. His profile belonged on a Greek coin. “A father’s attention would have been helpful. Our nanny was as cuddly as your Nanny Bracknell.”
“No nanny is cuddly,” his lordship said.
They reached the landing. Generous corridors stretched left and right, caramel-colored floorboards shining in the afternoon sunshine. The wallpaper featured brilliantly colored, improbable birds.
“I adore this paper,” Torie commented, stopping to admire it. “Peacocks and parrots!”
“My sister chose it just before she left the house to marry.” His voice softened. “Hand-colored and a ridiculous expense for a mere corridor. Letitia was extravagant.” He glanced down at Torie but held his tongue.
“A ‘luxury,’ like myself?”
Kelbourne’s eyelashes flickered. Torie let her smile widen. She always enjoyed it when she could interpret her acquaintances. Clara bounced on her toes when she was excited. Her future brother-in-law’s eyelashes fluttered when he was irritated.
“I particularly like these cranberry-colored birds,” she told him, tapping one. “I would like a reticule in precisely that color.”
He frowned at the wall. “The red ones?”
“They’re not red!” Torie protested.
“They look red to me.”
She held out her skirts. “I suppose you think that my gown is merely black?”
He looked at the fabric she was holding up. “You must be jesting.”
“I spent the best part of a day in Partlet’s Emporium finding just the right shade of mourning bombazine,” she told him. “This black has a touch of silver that complements my hair.”
His gaze went from her hair to her skirts and back.
“Don’t you dare look disdainful,” Torie cried. “The silver streaks in my hair would be garish against matte black. You’re going to be my brother, so you’ll have to trust my opinion.”
His eyes returned to her face. “Are you sure you want a brother? Your sister exhibits a remarkably dismissive opinion of your worth.”
When Leonora’s feelings were ruffled, she lost her temper and got snappy, but her sister never meant it. “That’s merely Leonora’s way,” Torie said airily. “I don’t take it seriously.”
His eyes were blue-gray with a black rim around the irises. “Is it merely your father’s way to compare you to an opera-singing pig?”
Torie cleared her throat. “Sir William loves me, if that’s what you’re wondering. As does Leonora.”
“Hmmm.”
She fidgeted, fluffing her skirts. “Shall we continue?”
“Why is your sister so brusque with you?”
“Leonora thinks . . . no, she is right. I am flighty and frivolous. I truly can’t read or write, which makes me fairly useless. I can count, but calculations are above me. I have a veritable passion for expensive silks; if I were Eve, Adam would likely scold me for overindulging in fig leaves and leaving none for his breeches.”
He took her hand in his. “I don’t think you’re flighty. You seem loyal and kind.” Warmth spread through her body from the large fingers wrapping around hers.
“I don’t mind the word,” she said, summoning up a smile. “We can’t all be in the House of Lords. I may be useless, but I am very ornamental. Rather like this wallpaper.” She was rattled—she shouldn’t be holding hands with her sister’s fiancé!—and so the next sentence just rolled out of her mouth, unprovoked.
