The Viscount and the Hoyden Page 4

  And yet it was Mary Rose who really deserved to have him. It was her cousin who needed to be married and away from her large family. It was Mary Rose who had no dowry to speak of. And it was Mary Rose who was the most beautiful girl ever to come out of Hampshire, by almost everyone’s accounting. Surely the viscount must have been impressed by Mary Rose’s beauty and her truly gentle spirit. Who would not?

  So Hally felt a little uncomfortable about the growing interest she was taking in Lord Marchwood. She did not wish to mislead him, for she had no intention of leaving her home to marry him or anyone else. Not that he had asked her! She wanted him in no doubt that Mary Rose was the one whose attentions he should vie for. Mary Rose herself seemed more shy than ever, keeping more to the family than to his lordship’s vicinity.

  Hally donned her grandmother’s old polonaise dress, the one with stiff, billowing skirts, in which she was wont to skate. It was actually quite an attractive dress, blue like her eyes, and the wrap she wore over it matched quite to admiration. Her fur-lined cap and muff were a little too stylish for such an occasion as a skating match, but she wore them nonetheless because they were the warmest things she had for such cold and snowy weather.

  Ralph and Brigid were already in the hall waiting for her when she descended. “Did you bring a pair of skates for Lord Marchwood?” she asked, smartly pulling on her gloves.

  “John said we could use his,” Ralph said, pointing to where John’s skates lay on the floor by the winter parlor door. “You know, Hally, John’s feet may be a trifle larger than his lordship’s. Perhaps we should bring Papa’s old skates, too.”

  “Oh, they’ll be quite covered with dust,” Brigid protested. “Lord Marchwood shan’t mind John’s being a little large.”

  “Shan’t I?” The viscount had appeared on the landing of the stairs, looking quite the handsomest man Hally had ever seen in his buckskin breeches and a wine-colored coat. His curly hair crept down over his ears, giving him a youthful look. He regarded his booted feet and frowned. “You don’t think your sister is trying to take advantage of me?”

  “Never!” Ralph cried. “Hally would not do such a poor-spirited thing. It’s all fair and square with her. She doesn’t have to play off tricks to win her races.”

  “I see.” The viscount descended the rest of the way and reached down to pick up John’s skates. “Perhaps they will be a little large, but I shall tie them tightly. Are we all ready? Will Miss Nichols not join us?”

  “Mary Rose preferred to stay and finish decorating the saloon with John and Miss Viggan,” Hally explained. Her voice made it clear that she considered this something of a betrayal of her plans. “And she doesn’t skate herself.”

  “Well, we will just have to manage without her.” Marchwood took one of Brigid’s hands. “To the pond, then.”

  Brigid giggled and led the way, with Ralph and Hally following. Hally reflected that the viscount seemed to have had no difficulty endearing himself to her sister. Even Ralph was coming around after the greenery gathering. Marchwood had proved himself a “right one” in the boy’s eyes then, someone who could enter into their conversations and interests with ease. Hally felt almost envious of the children’s uncomplicated relationship with him. Her own encounters seemed fraught with danger. And though the path to the pond had become icy and somewhat hazardous, Hally refused Marchwood’s offer of support. “I’ll be all right,” she assured him, with a careless swing of her skates.

  One side of the pond was open to the lawns while the other followed the wooded verges of the property. Hally and her siblings had skated there since they were tiny and knew every inch of the water and its banks. Hally sat on a log to one side and tied her skates securely over her half boots. She’d worn the same skates for three years now and had not a qualm about their giving her trouble. Lord Marchwood, on the other hand, found John’s skates even larger than he’d expected and had to tie them quite tightly to keep them on.

  “You’d best have a run to get the feel of them,” Hally suggested. “I don’t want you saying you weren’t prepared when I beat you.”

  “Ho!” Marchwood laughed and did indeed glide over the ice, carefully taking stock of the feel of the blades and how he balanced on them. “I think I’ll just run once along the course, if you’ll show me, Ralph.”

  Hally swung around in loops and circles while he sped off on his dry run, with Ralph skating beside him. Watching him she acknowledged that he would provide a skating challenge, certainly, but she rather fancied she had a surprise in store for him. He was so overconfident, too sure of his own prowess. Though Hally was very much aware that men did not like to be outmatched by women, she had never lost a race on purpose. She was a female, after all, and could be handily beaten by most of them if taken seriously. Too often her opponents assumed they could win and failed to put forth the necessary effort. Her eyes danced as she watched Marchwood skate back to join her.

  He tipped his hat and smiled. “A very fine course you’ve laid out, Miss Porchester. I especially appreciate the brandy barrels. Aren’t they a trifle difficult to negotiate with those skirts of yours?”

  “I manage.”

  “Yes, I imagine you do. Shall we have Ralph count us down?”

  Brigid stood by the bank at the end of the course, which wound down along the pond, round not one but three barrels, and back up to a spot close to the beginning. Ralph was declaring what good sport it would be, “For he may not have skated in years, Hally, but he’s no bad hand at it either.”

  “Three, two, one. Go!” he cried, bringing his hand up with a flourish.

  Hally knew her best bet was to get ahead of Marchwood from the start and try to maintain her lead. She was accustomed to racing and had set herself to be off like the wind at Ralph’s signal. Her skirts swayed dramatically as she raced along, swinging from side to side. She could tell that Marchwood was startled, but he quickly settled down to skate fast and hard after her. The most important part of the race was rounding the barrels, when her skirts did, indeed, give her trouble. If he had caught up to her by then, she would have very little chance.

  Coming to the barrels she scarcely slowed at all, still ahead of him by several yards. Her skirts knocked against the first barrel, but swung wide of the second as she wove past it. Marchwood wouldn’t be able to pass her at this point unless he planned to knock her down, because her skirts took up so much room that he wouldn’t fit between her and the barrel. Hally took advantage of this situation and swept through the last narrow bit to hit the open pond again with a slight advantage over his lordship.

  She could hear the hissing of his skates right on her heels and she increased her effort. This was going to be even more challenging than she had thought! But she would not let him win. Not a man who hadn’t been on skates for years. And it was more than that, she knew. Somehow if he won this race, it would be like his triumphing over her, without any effort at all. She simply refused to let it happen.

  Her heart beat so fast it almost frightened her as she put on a final burst of speed. Brigid was jumping up and down and clapping her hands. Ralph was frankly staring at her. Never had she skated this fast before. She simply had to win. But she could feel Marchwood almost at her elbow, coming on strong. And then she was flying past the marker.

  “Hally won! Hally won!” Brigid called. “Just barely, but she most certainly won, didn’t she, Lord Marchwood?”

  With a grimace Marchwood admitted that it was so. Hally could see in his eyes that he had tried to win, but that he too had underestimated her until too late. “Your skates were a little large,” she conceded, when she could get a breath to speak. “And I’ve never skated so well.”

  He looked down at her, a skeptical light in his eyes. “Haven’t you? I wonder why it was so important to beat me.”

  “I always play to win.”

  He restored a black wing of her hair to its place under her cap, his finger lingering on her cheek. “So do I, Hally. So do I.”

 
Chapter Five

  After they had dined that evening, Hally suggested a sleigh ride in the moonlight. This was a treat she had promised Mary Rose and it seemed to her that with a little management she could see her cousin bundled under a warm wrap beside Lord Marchwood. In the event, no one was willing to fall in with her schemes.

  John objected to her sharing the driving with him. “For you nearly overthrew us in the daylight, Hally, and it’s dark now!”

  “Nonsense. There’s plenty of moonlight,” Hally insisted.

  But when the sleigh was before them, the viscount brooked no argument. He handed Hally into the back and tucked a rug snugly about her before positioning himself directly beside her, touching from shoulder to hips. Hally remarked that he need not sit so close to her as there was plenty of room on the squabs.

  “Yes,” he agreed, “but the cold wind will whip between us if we don’t present a united front.”

  The night air was indeed icy, with stars dotting the black sky above and a wind whirling past on the snow and through the spidery branches of the trees overhead. Marchwood shifted his arm to a position along the back of the seat, just lightly resting along her shoulders. Hally gave him a look of suspicion, but made no comment. The viscount remarked that the moon was nearly full, and didn’t she find that a delightful circumstance. Hally agreed to it.

  John drove sedately down the drive and took a turn across the lawn and around the east woods. The jingling of the bells on the horses’ harness and the swishing of the sleigh blades over the snow were the only sounds for some time. No one seemed in a mood to talk, until John guided his team back toward the house and they could see the pinpoints of light in each window. The Hall looked quite enchanted.

  “That’s how it is at Millway Park,” Marchwood said, gesturing toward the tiny lights with his free hand. “My mother’s family has done it for eons. But the Park is a Gothic fantasy in itself, and the candles in the windows make it look quite fey. Sometimes, lights seem to appear at spots where there are no windows, and others seem to move where there is no possibility of someone carrying them.”

  “Really?” Hally bent toward him, her eyes wide. “How do you account for that?”

  “The magic of the season,” he suggested, his eyes alight. “Miracles happening. Being overcome with wonder.”

  She could tell that once again he was teasing her. “They don’t move at all,” she scoffed, leaning back, but only to find that his arm had dropped closer about her shoulders.

  “Oh, they do,” he assured her. “I imagine your brother Ralph could figure out a way to make lights move where they shouldn’t.”

  “Ralph? Well, I daresay I could do so myself.” Hally considered the possibilities. “First I would go up to the attics and lower a lantern on a rope. Then I would swing it back and forth. From a distance it would appear to be moving.”

  From the other seat Mary Rose’s muffled voice asked, “Is that how it was done, my lord?”

  “Perhaps. No, no, I am not going to tell you all my secrets, Hally. I want you to consider other possibilities.”

  Hally grumbled that she would certainly do so, that no Somerset mystery could stump her for long, and that she thought the Hall looked very beautiful. John seconded her opinion, saying, “It’s a wonderful idea, Marchwood. Somehow it makes one remember the true spirit of the holiday.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Mary Rose said through the scarf wrapped tightly about her neck and chin. “Like the night sky and the star of Bethlehem over the stable. Like a Christmas spectacle.”

  Under the cover of Mary Rose chatting away to John about Christmases celebrated at Chalford, Marchwood tightened his arm around Hally’s shoulder and murmured, “Are you cold? This icy air is going to get on your neck. I could hold you a little closer, if it wouldn’t discompose you.”

  Here was a challenge if ever she’d been offered one, Hally thought. And as with her skating challenge to him, she must try not to underestimate the viscount. The problem was that she liked his arms around her. She felt very comfortable that way, and rather daring. When she said nothing, he drew her closer to him, so that her head rested against his shoulder and she could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke.

  “Sometimes it’s hard to think of making a major change in your life,” he said. “More often than not you’ve got things set up just the way you like them. And yet, life moves on and things never stay the same, Hally. Your brothers will get married and your sister will grow up. Even, sadly, your father one day will be gone. You need to think about the future and what you really want to have for the next twenty years.”

  “My brothers and sister are still young,” Hally murmured against a flapping cape of his greatcoat. “Brigid is only eight. I’ve been like a mother to her.”

  “Brigid has Miss Viggan.”

  “It’s not the same!”

  “I know. Truly I do. But even she will one day be a young woman. You wouldn’t want to keep her here any more than she would want to keep you.”

  “I’m the only one who lets her have the freedom she needs. Everyone else is so intent on making her into a proper young lady. Brigid has spirit. I couldn’t bear to see it broken.”

  “It was never broken in you. I see no reason why it should be in Brigid.”

  Hally sighed. “I was only twelve when my mother died.”

  “A terribly difficult time for you.”

  “Oh, what do you know?” Hally twisted restlessly against his shoulder. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. It’s no concern of yours.”

  “But it is. I want to know everything there is to know about you, Hally. Because I think you’re a very special person.” He ran a finger along her cheek, tracing its shape down to her chin.

  Hally swallowed nervously. Even in the dim light she could see a question in his eyes. He was going to kiss her, right there in the sleigh, with John and Mary Rose laughing merrily on the seat in front of them. Unless she stopped him. Unless she turned her head aside or held up a restraining hand. She did neither of those things.

  His lips were cold from the night air, and yet they seemed warm, too. A shiver ran through her and he held her more tightly against him. And then, all too soon, he drew back slightly, studying her. “Perhaps next time you’ll kiss me back,” he whispered, smiling languidly.

  Unable to speak, she turned her head once again into his shoulder. What was happening here? Either he was courting her or treating her quite cavalierly, and she could not believe the latter. But why would he wish to marry her? He hardly knew her. She was not beautiful and pretty-behaved like Mary Rose. She was not a brilliant match in any respect. And she had let him put his arm around her and pull her to him and . . . kiss her. What would he think of her now? Probably he had gotten quite the wrong impression.

  The sleigh was closer to the house now, and the light of the candles danced as they glided over the snow. Hally watched silently until they drew near the stables. Then she straightened against the squabs and said to Marchwood, “There has been one good thing come from your visit, then—a new Christmas tradition. I shall see that it is carried out every year,” she added, somewhat defiantly.

  “Wherever you are,” the viscount suggested, giving her shoulders a slight squeeze.

  “I shall be right here,” she retorted.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Hally lay in bed longer than usual. Though she had slept perfectly well, she had awakened with a thousand thoughts in her mind, and all of them seemed to do with Marchwood. Quite vividly she remembered his lips on hers, gentle and undemanding. What did he mean by her kissing him back? It seemed a very bold thing to do, and surely one that would indicate that she had some affection for him.

  Well, she did have some affection for him. In spite of her very strong will to be indifferent, she found herself decidedly attracted to him. She liked the way he talked, the way he smiled, even the way be treated her—with that odd little sparkle in his eyes that was not the amus
ement she had at first suspected but something else—as if he was conspiring with her. Almost as if he knew her and cherished her. Which was a great deal of nonsense, after all, since he had only arrived a few days previously.

  But Hally could feel her heart beat a little faster at the thought of seeing him at breakfast. She was suspicious of this symptom, however. Maybe that’s what he wanted, for her to fall in love with him. It could very well be that he had responded to the challenge she’d laid down by indicating she had no intention of falling in love or marrying. His pride might have insisted that he wrap her round his finger before he left Porchester Hall. Some men were like that, she knew.

  How was she to know what kind of man Marchwood was? Everything he had done and said so far could be playacting, or unfeelingly falling in line with his mother’s desire for him to attach himself to her. Why, after all, would a man of Marchwood’s address show up in Hampshire to court a woman he had never met? There was something decidedly suspicious about that. According to John he could have his pick of the ladies of ton in London. So why hadn’t he?

  Confused, Hally climbed out of bed and allowed her abigail to assist her into her most attractive day dress. And what if Mary Rose was already particularly taken with the viscount?—Mary Rose with her exquisite face and blond locks and sweet manner. She deserved someone like Marchwood. Hally could not conceive of someone preferring her own Irish milkmaid looks and hoydenish manner. When her abigail suggested a slightly more modish hairstyle for the day, with her black hair swept back to a loose knot and tendrils framing her face, Hally sighed and agreed.

  Mary Rose was the first to comment on this change. She had just lifted a piece of toast, but put it back down, exclaiming, “Why, how charming you look, Hally! Such a becoming way of doing your hair.”

  Naturally the rest of the family, and Marchwood, turned to regard her. John and Marchwood rose to bow. Hally felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “Millie suggested it,” she mumbled, helping herself from the platters on the sideboard.