My Scandalous Viscount (12 page)

“Oh, yes. You’d better start thinking about where you want to go. I have to be back for the next round of interrogation in about a week. But it will be nice to escape with you for a few days in the meanwhile.”

She leaned against him, rested her head on his shoulder, gazing up at him. “Beau? Who is Mr. Green’s mentor?”

“Ah, you heard that, too?”

She nodded.

“While Green was at Cambridge, it seems he was part of a coterie of students devoted to a charismatic don, Professor Blake Culvert. Bit of a firebrand, known as The Prophet. Culvert was already infamous for his Radical screeds, but when he publicly declared his atheism, the university sent him packing. Understandably so,” he added with a shrug, “since most of the colleges at Cambridge are supposed to be turning out young clergymen.”

She nodded. “Atheism goes against the school policy at Oxford, too, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but Culvert’s followers among the students rioted when their hero was sacked. Not that their disgraced professor has fared too badly since then without his teaching post. Culvert has gone on to write a number of books—outlawed in France, by the way, after what they’ve been through over there. But I understand his writings and public speeches make him a decent living in England. His occasional arrests on charges of sedition or whatever mischief only seem to help his sales.”

She snorted.

“Of all the times he’s been arrested, none of the charges against Professor Culvert have ever stuck. He always walks free, but perhaps that has something to do with the fact that so many of his former disciples are now liberally peppered throughout the government.”

He said it casually, but Carissa was taken aback as she began to see the scope of what Beau was up against.

“I’ve heard that Culvert also receives grants and pensions from unnamed wealthy patrons sympathetic to his views. Which is rather disconcerting,” he conceded in a sardonic tone. “Who they might be . . .”

“Is Mr. Green one of his patrons?” she murmured.

“No. That would be too dangerous for his political career. Green cut off all ties with his former idol when he went into politics. At least, publicly.”

“Ah,” she said.

Beau sent her a rueful glance. “I heard that in the election that won Green his seat, his opponent accused him of still sharing Culvert’s extreme views. Green disavowed the old man repeatedly and presented himself to the voters as a moderate Whig.”

“The people must have believed him.”

“Perhaps. He’s also very good at the art of slander and character assassination, which is mainly how he defeated his rival, from what I hear. Dirty game, politics.”

She absorbed all this with a chill down her spine. “So this horrid little power-crazed bureaucrat that you have to answer to might still be harboring Radical sympathies that he’s taking out on the Order?”

Beau sighed. “I have no doubt that is the case.”

“My God, doesn’t that worry you? He’s not even being honest about his real motives!”

He shrugged. “What am I to do?”

“But it’s a conflict of interest!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said rather vehemently. “He’s not going to destroy the Order. Not while I’m there. He can try, but we’ve been around a hell of a lot longer than these ‘modern men of progress’ and their shiny new ideas.”

“What kinds of ideas?”

“Dissolve the monarchy. Disband the aristocracy. Marriage also is outdated in their circles. Free love is all the mode.”

She gave him a sardonic look.

“What?”

“Sounds like what the ton espouses.”

“No, no, there is a big difference between the time-honored tradition of adultery in the aristocracy and the Radical notion of free love, my dear. One abuses the sanctity of marriage with idle gallantry; the other rejects it from the outset, along with any notion of chivalry.”

“They don’t believe in chivalry?” she exclaimed.

“I should think not. They see it as an insult.”

“How?”

“In their world, women are the same as men, and neither want nor require any sort of male protection or deference.”

Carissa struggled to comprehend such a world. “But if there’s no marriage . . . and ladies are the same as gentlemen . . . then what about the children? And who takes care of the old people? What becomes of the families?”

“Oh, my dear, you are woefully provincial. Haven’t you heard? The family is an artificial system of oppression,” he replied. “They’ve got no more use for it than for the Church. Haven’t you read the inimitable Godwins, or noticed how poets like Shelley or Blake are always making up their own religions?”

“No one can simply invent right and wrong.”

“You can try, if you’re arrogant enough. Up is down, right is wrong, women are men, and before you know it, no one needs anyone anymore. Forget civility—the human race will then be free to descend into ‘the perpetual war of every man against his neighbor’ that Hobbes described two hundred years ago.”

“Sounds hellish.”

“I know. Yet they think they are building utopia. Bloody do-gooders.”

“Lud.” Carissa shook her head at his rant, but when the coach rolled to a halt before an elegant terrace, she turned to Beau in surprise. “I thought your mother lives in Lockwood House!”

“Well, that would make it rather awkward when her lovers come to visit, don’t you think?”

She winced. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was quite that bad.”

He sighed and climbed out of the carriage, then turned back to assist her. “My parents came as close as they could to divorcing without actually going through all the scandal and inconvenience of formal proceedings.”

“So, they hate each other now?”

“I don’t know,” he said wearily. “I always wonder if they could have reconciled their problems years ago if both of them weren’t so proud.” He avoided her gaze as he shut the carriage door behind her. “If she had tried just going to my father and talking to him, telling him why she was so unhappy, I know he would’ve listened. He is a reasonable man.”

He eyed her meaningfully; Carissa was not sure what sort of hint he was dropping her, or if it was just her guilty imagination.

“If my father ever had the chance to hear her side of the story, if she would’ve trusted him enough to explain, then who knows how things might have turned out for them? If only she had tried being honest.”

He gave her a pensive look, then walked ahead of her to the door.

Carissa’s heart was pounding.

Then they went in to see the countess.

Chapter 12

L
ady Lockwood’s butler opened the door before they reached it, sweeping them into the entrance hall with a polite gesture of welcome. “Congratulations, sir,” the butler said to Beau in a hushed tone.

“Thank you, Franklin.”

“Lady Beauchamp, if I may, I wish you much joy.”

“Thank you so much,” she said warmly, blushing a bit.

“Franklin’s been an installment here since I was a boy,” Beau informed her. “Helps look after the old gel.”

“Sir,” Franklin chided, fighting a disapproving smile. “May I take your coat, my lady?”

“Perhaps you’d better not,” Beau interrupted in a low tone. “Let’s not settle in until we see what sort of reception we are going to get.”

Franklin gave the viscount a subtle nod. “If you’ll wait here, sir, I’ll go and see if she’ll receive you.”

“Here’s hoping,” he mumbled.

Franklin bowed, then ascended the stairs to inform Her Ladyship they had arrived. Beau put his hands in his pockets and paced across the entrance hall as they waited. Carissa checked her reflection in the pier glass. She turned to him. “Do I look all right?”

“You are always beautiful,” he said. “But you should’ve worn the hat I gave you.”

She grinned.

Franklin returned with a look of relief. “Her Ladyship will see you now.”

“Huzzah,” Beau said under his breath.

Carissa shot him a look as they climbed the curving staircase, trailing Lady Lockwood’s stately butler.

When they reached the drawing room, Carissa hung back a little, letting him go first. Beau swept off his hat with a gallant air as he breezed into his mother’s drawing room. “Good morning, Barbara!”

The beautiful blond woman sitting by the fireplace did not smile back. “Well, if it isn’t my traitorous son.”

“Pleasure to see you, too,” he said brightly. “I’ve brought someone to meet you.”

“By all means.” As the bristling countess stared at her, Carissa searched her brain for every lesson Aunt Jo had taught her about standing up for herself before the haughty denizens of Society.

Though her knees felt like rubber, somehow she kept her face serene, reminding herself she had every right to marry Beauchamp. It was not
she
who had sought the match, after all. He was the one who had insisted.

“Mother,” Beau introduced her softly, “this is my wife, Carissa.”

Carissa gave her new mother-in-law a most respectful curtsy. “My lady.” Having made this show of deference, she cautiously lifted her gaze.

The countess rose slowly from her chair. Heart pounding, Carissa felt like she was watching some sort of glacier-dwelling dragon rising to devour her. At that moment, it was easy to envision the disruption this grand, terrifying lady would have likely brought to their wedding day. On the other hand, she certainly saw where Beauchamp got his looks. “Barbara” was as blond and beautiful as he.

Lady Lockwood regarded them with a haughty lift of her eyebrows. “So, the two of you have come to apologize? You humiliated me in front of Society,” she accused her son. “And you let him do it, whoever you are,” she added with a frosty glance at her new daughter-in-law.

Taken aback, Carissa glanced at Beau.

“Mother,” he chided, a soft edge of warning to his voice. “You know precisely why it had to be this way. You are proving it now, confirming my expectations.”

She huffed. “You grow more like your father every day. No consideration for anyone but yourself! I hope you know what you’re in for, dear,” she said to Carissa. “The Walker men are infamously selfish.”

“Please do not abuse my father’s name in my hearing, Mother. The fact is, I was not going to let the two of you ruin our wedding day.”

“It was a very small affair, Lady Lockwood,” Carissa sought to assure her. “We meant no offense. Lord Beauchamp was only trying to be kind to me since I am an orphan. He thought it would pain me if he had his parents there while I did not.”

Lady Lockwood took her measure, scanning her from head to toe. “You are the Earl of Denbury’s niece?”

“Yes, my lady. My father was the earl’s younger brother, the Honorable Benjamin Portland.”

She flicked her eyebrows and looked away with a dismissive air. “So, you set your cap at my son, did you?”

“Come, Carissa, we’ve stayed long enough.”

“It’s all right,” she assured him. He had warned her in advance to be ready for a confrontation. “I’m sure Her Ladyship only wants to make sure I am good enough for her son.”

Lady Lockwood seemed surprised by her show of pluck. “Our match
was
unexpected, my lady. It came about quickly, but it wasn’t quite as sudden as it seems, for Beau and I were friends before we—became involved. In any case, my aunt Josephine, the Comtesse d’Arras, will be holding a reception for us when she arrives from the Continent. We would be most honored if you would attend.”

Lady Lockwood gazed at her for a long moment. “The Comtesse d’Arras? Denbury’s sister, yes? Formerly Lady Josephine Portland?”

“Yes, before her marriage long ago. Do you know her, ma’am?”

“We were friends at finishing school.”

“Really? She raised me!”

“Did she?”

Carissa nodded enthusiastically. “Aunt Jo had no children of her own. Her husband, a French émigré, was well advanced in years when they married. When my parents died, she took me in and raised me as her own—well, after my grandparents became too old to keep me,” she amended.

“How did your parents die?” Beau inquired softly. “I don’t think I ever heard.”

“They went to Ireland in 1800 to celebrate the Unification with some friends in the Irish aristocracy, but their ship went down on the voyage home.”

Beau put his arm around her. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right.” She gave him a wan smile.

“So you stayed with your grandparents first?”

She nodded. “They had me for several years. They were already in their sixties. Within a few years, I became too much of a burden to them. I suppose I was rather noisy and rambunctious.”

Beau smiled at her.

“It was decided that I should go and live with my aunt Jo,” she resumed. “I stayed with the comtesse until a year and a half ago, when I came to London to live with my uncle, Lord Denbury, and his family. They have girls about my own age, and Aunt Jo wanted to do some traveling once the war had finally ended,” she said vaguely. “She was not at the wedding, either, my lady, but she’ll be here any day now, and when she arrives, we’ll have the big reception, and everyone must come. I do hope you will consider attending—”

“Of course she’ll come,” Beau said, giving his mother a pointed look.

Her Ladyship said nothing for a moment. “Let me know the date, and I will see if I am free. Your father won’t be there?” she asked her son.

“I can’t promise you that, but you know he hates coming to Town,” Beau said with a shrug.

Shortly after that, they took their leave.

Carissa fairly collapsed in the privacy of their carriage. “Lord, I’m glad that’s over!”

“Not a bad first foray. She’ll come round, I think. Now you have just one last hurdle.” He smiled ruefully at her. “Meeting Father. That won’t be anywhere near as hard as this. He’d like you better if you were an animal, of course, but above all, he will be satisfied that I’ve finally taken a wife.”

“So, you’re saying he’ll see me as a broodmare?”

“Yes, but don’t take it personally. All women are broodmares to him.”

“No wonder your mother objects.”

“True. It takes two sides to make a war.” He studied her for a moment. “That was an eye-opening story, hearing about your life.” He shook his head. “I never knew you’d gone through so much. Passed around like that from home to home. It must have been difficult.”

“Well, it’s not as if you had it easy, either. At least my parents loved each other. It must have been hard for you, having your home serve as a battlefield.”

“It did rather lead me to conclude that only fools believe in love,” he admitted.

“You don’t believe that anymore, do you?”

He gazed at her intently, as though waiting for something.

Like an explanation she ought to have volunteered.

“Beau?” she asked, growing nervous.

“I am no expert in these things,” he relented, “but it seems to me that love goes hand in hand with trust. Don’t you think?”

“Yes . . .”

“Do you think you could ever come to trust me, Carissa?”

She nodded, but her mouth had gone dry.

“Good,” he whispered. Then he lifted her hand and gave her knuckles a kiss through her glove, a wistful glow in his eyes.

She looked away, her heart pounding. As the carriage rolled on, she was seized with private dread.

Her doubts whispered:
He knows.