Winning the Viscount’s heart (Regency Romance) (Regency Lords Book 2) (2 page)

The next few days were, for Emmeline, a personal ecstasy. She had no clue what the true personality of the Count was, but she was satisfied just imagining that he could be hers. His dark eyes haunted her; she heard his voice in her dreams, low and kind as she had always imagined her love’s would be. All of her dreams were finally falling into place.

For Lord William Blackwood, the days passed in more scorching torture, for many of the same reasons. Emmeline Knight, who pinned her hair up in the neatest of curls even when the balls were small, who danced around the room more for personal joy than for the favour of her partner, was rumoured to have her heart stolen away by a man she had seen for only a moment.

He could hardly understand it. Her thoughts were a mystery to him, no matter how he struggled over them day after slow-moving day. Instead of a conclusion, he poured over memories of her tinkling laugh, of her hand brushing his, of her light blue eyes watching the dancing room. She was naïve, certainly, and could even be vain. But, she was passionate and clever in a way that brought light to their conversations, as one-sided as they tended to be.

Perhaps that was it. He had always been too subtle. Admittedly, William was not known for his passionate expressions of emotion. He knew well the bounds of propriety and strived to stay within them. Had such a code of honour lost him her heart? Then again, perhaps not. She was not yet securely in the arms of the Count—or at least, he hoped she was not—and he could still win her.

A few evenings after the Count had exchanged calling cards with her family, Emmeline attended a modest card party at the home of a friend. It was so much easier to breathe in gatherings such as these. There were only a few faces in the crowd she knew with familiarity, and she immediately went to the side of Miss Lucy Grove. Lord William Blackwood watched her from a distance, only vaguely aware that he was staring until her eyes met his and immediately looked away.

His plan had been to ask her to the first dance, then to ask her to another later on to make his intentions clearer without endangering her reputation. But after such a cool reception he thought otherwise.

He was a most eligible bachelor. His fortune was significant. He was on an annual sum of £13,000 a year. And he had a title. Whilst this was enough to garner the attention of the genteel in Berkshire it had not been enough to solicit even a second of interest from Emmeline Knight. Frustrated he turned to the first lady he could and asked for a dance, then tried to act pleased when she accepted.

The dance went by in a blur. The music was pleasant and lilting and his partner was not impolite, but he broke away when the song was over to be by Emmeline’s side. She was still speaking to Miss Grove in quiet tones, and Lord Blackwood did not lean forward to hear. Instead, he simply smiled as he approached and gave the two ladies a curt nod when they looked up at him.

“Miss Knight,” he said. “Miss Grove.”

“Lord Blackwood,” Miss Grove exclaimed excitedly as the two curtsied. Miss Knight said nothing at all.

Lord Blackwood inhaled sharply to clear his mind. “I do love these private parties,” he said, looking around.

“There are always just the right amount of people, all of them perfectly reasonable. As exciting as a public ball can be, it is far less relaxing than the leisurely comfort of a card party.”

“I agree.” Miss Grove gave him a warm, inviting smile. Still, Miss Knight was hardly looking at him. Her golden hair was pinned up in a bun of tight ringlets. One fell out of place, nearly into her eye. He lifted his hand as if he would tuck it behind her ear, caught himself, and let his hand fall. Miss Grove looked at him with a curious expression. He had no clue whether it was a blessing or curse that Miss Knight had not seemed to react at all.

“Well,” he said in a curt voice, “it sounds as if the next dance is starting. Farewell.”

“Farewell, Lord Blackwood.” Miss Grove smiled.

“Farewell,” Miss Knight murmured, barely an echo of her friend, eyes still downcast but bright as ever. Lord Blackwood strode briskly to the card rooms where Archibald Knight sat in a leisurely low-stakes gamble.

“Mr. Archibald Knight,” he said, coming up from behind the younger man.

“Hmm? Oh, Lord Blackwood!” Archibald set his cards down and stood. “How can I help you?”

Lord Blackwood struggled for the words. Under most circumstances, they came easily. He was known for his wit within his circles and never failed to charm new acquaintances. This had not happened before. Then again, the stakes of socialization had rarely been this high. “Have I… done something to offend your sister?”

Archibald’s eyes widened. “Did she reject an invitation to dance?”

“No, she simply seemed heavily disinterested.”

Lord Blackwood’s heart hitched at a sudden unpleasant thought. “Why? Did she indicate that she would if I were to ask her? Have I truly offended her so?”

“Nothing like that, Lord Blackwood. I implore you not to worry. Your reputation is very much intact,” he said, clearly misunderstanding the viscount’s intentions. “I had made a comment to her once to be careful of higher society, for despite their flirtations, they did not often mean to marry, however—”

“You advised her such?” Lord Blackwood asked, voice tinged with irritation.

“Yes.” Archibald seemed taken aback by his emotion. “Well, I know this to be true. Despite our standing in Berkshire, she is still only the eldest daughter of a country gentleman. I had not assumed that—someone of higher standing would have honourable intentions.”

“A strange conclusion to come to,” Lord Blackwood replied tersely, “no doubt influenced by the protective nature of a brother. I cannot begrudge you for your blindness, but I assure you that her status would cause no barrier in finding an advantageous match. She more than makes up for it with her accomplishments, her passion…”

His voice trailed, but his mind continued listing her virtues: Her impish smile after whispering a secret to her friend, her dreamy view of the world, the way she put her hands in his and looked so closely at them as they danced, as if he were a book to read, when he was too beguiled to even look her in the eye. He shook himself back to reality before he could voice any of his more embarrassing thoughts, not eager to embarrass himself a third time that night.

“An interesting opinion, Lord Blackwood,” Archibald said carefully. “I am sorry if I created a blockade to her heart when there should have been freer passage. But, I feel sure that if she is really as magnificent as you seem to think, someone will find the fight worth it.”

“But why has she grown so cold today, of all days?”

“I fear she has an infatuation,” Archibald said as he sat back down to his cards. “That Count renting the Archester Manor. De Coligny.”

So that is my rival’s name
. Better to know your enemy, Lord Blackwood thought grimly.

“They have only met once. I doubt it will evolve into anything serious, despite her fantasies,” Archibald continued.

The knot in Lord Blackwood’s chest unravelled. “Well. Thank you, Mr. Knight.”

“Of course,” Archibald muttered distracted, as he lay down his hand to the dismayed groans of his companions.

When Lord Blackwood asked Emmeline for the next dance, she did not refuse. She did, however, touch him only with feather-light taps whenever strictly necessary, like a faithful maiden already promised to another. Still, he remembered her brother’s word. The fight would be worth it.

Emmeline felt a quiver of excitement run up her spine as she looked at the card just delivered to them. It was a beautiful card, embossed with fine lettering, and it was from the Count.

She held it against her in joy, swaying about with her eyes closed. The card was an invitation to a ball that De Coligny would be throwing at his residence. This would be a perfect opportunity for her to enjoy a dance or two with the man himself. She thought about how handsome he was, how dashing and charming. He seemed, by all appearances at least, to be the perfect gentleman.

“Emmeline,” said Mrs. Knight, “you seem to be in a fine mood. What is the occasion?”

“We have received an invitation, mother,” Emmeline replied. “From the Count. He is inviting us to a ball at Archester Manor.”

“Oh, that sounds absolutely lovely,” Mrs. Knight exclaimed. “It will be such a wonderful opportunity for you and your brother to frequent a member of the peerage, despite him being French. Who knows who else will be in attendance? The prospects for an arrangement could be endless.”

Emmeline sighed and replied, “Mother, if you would put aside your plans to get me married for just one moment. I for one, have my sight set on a French peer!” Emmeline exclaimed before having a fit of giggles.

“Indeed you do,” said Mrs. Knight replied smiling, “but he does have all of Berkshire, London and France to choose from. I do not want you pinning for the unattainable.”

“Oh Mama,” said Emmeline. “This is
my
fairy tale. How could he not fall for me?” With those parting words she sailed out of the room to prepare herself for the evening’s merriment. She wanted to look as pretty as she could and fervently hoped she would yet again catch the eye of the Count. She had a feeling she had made an impression on him when he had visited their home the previous day, and she wanted this good first impression to become a permanent one.

Once she and Archibald reached the home of the Count, they were amazed by how decadent the decorations were. It was unlike any ball they had attended in their life, and they were frankly intimidated by it. It was a rather bawdy affair, all things be told, but Emmeline was far too entranced by the prospect of dancing with the Count to take note of any of that.

Archibald was the type of person who cared a great deal more about propriety, and he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable in this environment. Still, so many pretty young women distracted him somewhat from the rather inappropriate nature of the ball that the Count was throwing.

“Ah,” said the Count, spreading his arms as he saw Emmeline and Archibald arrive. “What a vision you are, my dear.”

The Count grasped Emmeline’s hands and brushed his lips against it, never for once breaking eye contact with her. Emmeline felt her heart flutter. How was he able to make her feel so utterly helpless like this? She had never thought that any man could win her over with a single gaze, but De Coligny differed from other men. Emmeline knew she was the luckiest girl in England. Surely what she was feeling was love?

“Archibald,” said the Count, grasping Archibald’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “You look well, my boy.”

***

As the Count looked upon the two young people in front of him, he felt a sense of victory.
This will be easy. Too easy.
He would have his revenge soon, and the revenge would be sweet.

“May I have this dance, my dear?” asked the Count. He could almost hear the people around them gasping under their breath. It was most unseemly for an unmarried man such as the Count to pay such homage to a young maiden such as Emmeline. And yet, he did not care. These Englishmen were so boring, so prudish. They would associate any inappropriate behaviour with the fact he was from France, and would excuse him for anything and everything that he did.

He danced with Emmeline, taking care to tread the line between propriety and impropriety with great expertise. He touched her just enough to make her know he was interested, but not enough that anyone around them would object. And she looked at him with the wide eyes of a girl completely and utterly in love.

He would have smiled his wicked smile if that would not give the game away.

He asked her for the second dance, and this time there was a barely suppressed muttering around them. “Such a lovely dress,” said the Count. “Are you prone to dressing with such grace at all balls, or would it be too bold for me to assume that you have dressed this way for my pleasure?”

Emmeline blushed profusely and said, “My lord Count,” said Emmeline. “I do think that is a tad bold.”

Her tone was not harsh, however. It was more of a teasing tone, the tone that one would use if they were not overly displeased with the state of affairs. The Count smiled inwardly once again. He knew that he had captured his prey.

They danced twice more, and the fourth time that they danced the people around them were itching to stop it from happening. On the morrow, the gossip would be rampant. This was just not how things were done in England. However, they were all guests in his home, and they would have to bear with their host’s eccentric mannerisms.

Now that he had successfully worked his charm on Emmeline, it was time to focus on Archibald.

“My esteemed guests,” said the Count de Coligny, “Now that we have danced to our hearts content, I think it is time that we start with activities that are equally fun but perhaps a little less tiring. Would anybody like to play cards?”

There was a general murmur of approval and everyone gathered around the tables to play cards. The Count de Coligny turned out to be incredible at both whist and faro. People mumbled that the Count was as lucky as the Devil himself. Archibald in particular fell prey to the Count’s skill. He lost a great deal of money, and by the time the party was over he was left rather red faced and embarrassed.

The Count watched them depart with a satisfied grin. His plan would soon come to fruition.