Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) (8 page)

His tone was deliberately provoking, and she blushed, just as he’d hoped. He liked the way the colour rose in her cheeks and flushed her upper chest.

“Some of the men are quite capable of working, my lord. I wasn’t meaning you should offer them charity.”

“Hire them.” He gestured to his own scarred face and wounded limbs. “The more the merrier.”

Her smile was dazzling, and he was pleased to have inspired it, but when she brought a spoonful of egg to his lips, he turned his head to the side.

“No more,” he mouthed, too exhausted for further speech.

“You’ve done well.” She set the tray aside. “I’m surprised you’ve stayed awake this long, as you’ve had a very full morning for a man so recently returned to the land of the living.”

He huffed a feeble breath but didn’t dispute her assessment.

“Mrs Potts is in a cooking frenzy now she knows you’re awake, so you’ll have ample opportunity to indulge your appetite as it returns,” Hannah continued. “You should regain your strength in no time.”

William certainly hoped so, for there were numerous matters requiring his attention.

Thank God the Pottses were all right, but he couldn’t help worrying about the rest of the staff. Grantham would pay for his perfidy, though William couldn’t help feeling ashamed he’d not once returned to check on the people who’d tried to protect him when he was a boy.

“It’s time you rested.” Miss Foster’s tone was firm, though he had no intention of arguing. His arm had begun to throb, and he gladly allowed her to lower him upon the bed.

“Trevor will be here to assist you when you awake,” she added once he was settled.

“What about you? When I awake,” he clarified when she frowned. “Will you be here also?”

“I’m afraid so, my lord,” she said, her words clipped. “You’ll need someone to manage your medicines and see to your dressings, but I’ll stay out of your way as much as possible. The Pottses need my help, though that will change once the estate is fully staffed, of course.”

“I wasn’t saying I wanted you gone.” He grasped her hand when she would have moved away, using his injured arm without thinking. It was a relief to know the limb still worked . . . in a fashion
 . . .
but the action was premature.

“Careful,” she murmured, when he groaned in pain. She placed his arm back by his side, but didn’t unlink their hands. “I’ll stay for as long as you need me.”

“Does the offer of a shave and haircut still stand?” he asked, inwardly berating himself. Having one’s face shaved was an intimate act, and allowing her to perform the service was clearly unwise. But he didn’t retract his words.

“How about we tackle your transformation when you’re feeling a little stronger?”

Relief and fatigue overwhelmed him in equal measure, and he managed a weary nod. She released his hand and brushed his hair away from his forehead, presumably to see if his fever had returned. Her touch was cool and comforting. Like a mother’s . . . or a lover’s. He’d had neither so could only assume.
 

“Thank you, Hannah.” He gave in to the temptation to speak her name aloud as sleep overcame him.

Chapter 8

Speculation

Hannah’s breath hitched at the viscount’s use of her Christian name. It was . . . unexpected. Remaining beside the bed, she allowed herself a few minutes to watch over her sleeping patient.

The man’s moods were certainly mercurial. One moment, he was lambasting her for improper behaviour; the next, he was practically begging her not to leave. He’d acted in a similar manner when consumed by fever, vacillating between accusing her of torturing him and mistaking her for a celestial being. As for his language, she had no idea what some of the curses he’d used meant and no means to satisfy her curiosity, as repeating the undoubtedly profane phrases was not an option if she wanted to maintain her social standing.

His behaviour wasn’t all that surprising, considering what she knew of his childhood. Life had not been easy for the sad-eyed boy who’d occasionally come to play. Despite inheriting a lofty title and wealth almost beyond her imagining, the price he’d paid for such privilege was high.

Even before her mother fell ill, Hannah’s family had experienced its share of sorrows, her parents having lost two sons between Hannah’s birth and those of her much younger sisters. Money was never plentiful. Her father, a youngest son, had little to his name other than his calling, while her mother’s modest settlement had been eaten up by the cost of her illness. What they
had
possessed in abundance were warmth and affection, and they shared them unstintingly with their children.

The viscount, on the other hand, had been born into a family blighted by tragedy. His grandfather, like his father before him, had ruled over his empire like a feudal lord. With a vicious temper, inflamed by his taste for hard liquor, he’d lashed out at anyone who displeased him, none more so than his only child, William’s father. Having borne him late in life after virtually purchasing his highborn wife in exchange for rescuing her family’s estate, the intemperate lord had possessed little patience when it came to his son.

After his grandfather’s death in a riding accident, William’s father, the
fifth
Viscount Blackthorn, had spent vast sums of money seeking an end to the curse that labelled him a pariah in polite society. A steady stream of Eastern mystics, self-confessed clairvoyants, and practitioners of a variety of forms of witchcraft had visited the manor, one eventually convincing its incumbent lord his wish had been granted . . . in exchange for a hefty fee, of course. When, despite all his efforts, the wife he’d purchased succumbed to childbed fever after William’s birth, he gave himself over to licentious living.

Hannah regretted not speaking to William at his father’s funeral, but she had barely recognised the tall young man he’d become during his years away, and his coolly distant expression had robbed her of courage.

“He never had a childhood, poor lad,” Mrs Potts had told Hannah a few nights earlier while she’d been eating her supper in the kitchen. “His nannies never stayed long, driven away by ’is father’s temper and roving ’ands. The last one left when the master was only four, but ’is father refused to employ another. Said the boy was old enough to fend for ’imself.”

“At four years of age?” Hannah hadn’t bothered to hide her outrage. “But he wasn’t much more than an infant. Who cared for him?”

“We all did our bit,” Mrs Potts had said with a sigh. “But we ’ad to be careful. If the viscount got wind we were spoiling the lad in any way, ’e’d go into a terrible rage. We’d cop such a tongue lashin’, but it was poor, wee William who bore the brunt of ’is anger. ’is Lordship chose the ’arshest of taskmasters to tutor the boy and then sent ’im off to school when ’e was only ten, refusing to let the lad come ’ome, ’cept for Christmas. Not that there was much celebratin’ done . . . well, not the sort suitable for a child to witness. After ’is father died and Mr Grantham took over, William was sent back to school and we never ’eard from ’im again. Can’t say I blame ’im. Who’d want to come back to this gloomy old pile of stones after that?”

Who indeed, Hannah had mused, returning to her patient’s side even more determined to take excellent care of him. Of course, it had been easier when he wasn’t conscious and complaining about her presence.

“William,” she murmured, allowing herself the use of his name as he had hers. Grace’s warning about a patient becoming infatuated with his nurse echoed in Hannah’s thoughts. Used to scrupulous honesty in all her dealings, she acknowledged the risk ran both ways. While he couldn’t be called handsome, there was something about the viscount that stirred her feminine instincts. Not that a man of his station would ever be interested in a woman such as herself, of course. He did have a way of looking at her—intently, as if she was
important
to him, and after a little pondering, she discerned where his need lay.

Deprived of both mothering and kindness as a boy, the viscount craved mature, nurturing female companionship. Relieved to have solved the puzzle, Hannah smoothed back his overlong fringe from his forehead. It was only temporary, but she was happy to fill such a place in his life—that of an older sister. They might even become friends if
he could learn to control his abominable temper.

Ignoring a sudden squeamish sensation, Hannah formed her lips into a smile when she saw her father and sisters sitting at the kitchen table with the Pottses when she returned the viscount’s breakfast tray. They weren’t alone; two girls she recognised from the village were peeling vegetables and washing dishes under Mrs Potts’ supervision.

Naomi and Rachel had visited several times since Hannah had come to stay at the manor, curious to discover how she was faring and relaying suitably reassuring messages to her father. He’d been unable to visit again, busy seeing to the needs of his parishioners . . . needs that typically would have been brought to his eldest daughter.

“Hannah, are you absolutely sure the viscount is going to survive?” Naomi asked the minute she walked into the room. “Applicants are lining up at the gates to fill the roles I’ve advertised, but I don’t want to hire on any more workers if we can’t guarantee payment.”

Hannah sighed at her golden-haired sister’s typical bluntness, a lack of dowry not the only impediment to Naomi’s finding a suitable husband.

“Grace believes the worst is over,” Hannah said. “The viscount’s fever has broken, and he’s given tacit approval for the hiring of staff.” Specifically, a man to assist him in her place, but she didn’t elaborate with her father present. “As to
when
wages will be paid, there may be some delay. I’m assuming His Lordship will have to contact his lawyers to organise funds, as he only had a small purse on him when he arrived. Mr Grantham has access to estate funds, but I’m not sure how long he’ll be employed considering he appears to have been acting without approval. Lord Blackthorn doesn’t seem to have any idea what’s been going on.”

“How could he not
know?” Rachel asked, but Hannah had no answer for her youngest sister. Still just a girl when their mother became ill, she’d grown into a beautiful young woman with features far more delicate than Hannah’s. She didn’t begrudge either of her younger sisters their beauty, but she did worry about Rachel’s lack of decorum.

“The viscount has only been awake for short periods of time,” Hannah reminded them. “So I’ve not had the opportunity to question him further.”

“I’m sure we’ll receive answers in good time.” Her father rose to give Hannah a hug. “We’ve missed you at home,” he said, his gaze uncertain. “Mr Potts has been telling me how poorly he and Mrs Potts have been and how they wouldn’t have managed without you. Something about the stairs being too much for them?”

“But we
have
managed, haven’t we?” Hannah looked to her assistants, willing them to mirror her rapid nods. “And Tommy’s been a great help.” Truth be told, she hadn’t felt confident about giving the nine-year-old too much responsibility, certainly nothing involving the personal care of the viscount. “Anyway, it’s not for much longer,” she said, taking a seat at the table and hoping her next words would alleviate her father’s concerns. “His Lordship has asked me to send for his military valet
and
given approval for us to hire Trevor Dawkins as interim valet until Corporal Markham arrives.”

“That’s excellent news.”

Hannah breathed a quiet sigh when her father’s face lit with a broad smile. The Dawkinses were valued members of the parish, and the extra income, not to mention the opportunity for their son to find respectable employment in spite of his war injuries, would be greatly appreciated.

“Will the viscount keep Trevor on after his valet arrives?” Naomi asked.

“He said he will, and any other wounded soldiers we employ, as long as they prove themselves reliable and able to do their work in a timely fashion.”

“I told ye ’e weren’t like ’is father, God rest ’is soul.” Mrs Potts turned to the village girls who had paused in their work to listen in. “Ye can tell yer mothers ye ’ave nothing to fear from the new viscount. ’e’s a true gentleman, ain’t ’e, Miss Hannah?”

“Absolutely,” Hannah said, choosing not
to mention his, at times, colourful speech and irascible nature. Despite his shortcomings, she didn’t believe he was a violent man, nor one to take advantage of those who served him. Although she might have crossed her fingers behind her back when offering her assurances.