Vacancy: Viscount Preferred: Calling All Rakes Page 2

  “Why do I keep you around?”

  “For the same reason I nag you. We’re all the family the other has left.”

  That was the truth. Which was why he reached for his shirt. “Fine, I’ll go. But I’m not making any promises beyond that.”

  Ralph gave a curt nod, attempting to hide his smile. “Good.” Then he went back to brushing Wyatt’s boots. “And don’t forget to be nice. Nicer than you are to me, anyhow.”

  Wyatt lifted a single brow. While the papers made him look like a hero, women who met him without a mask on his face considered him anything but. “It might take more than nice to convince her I’d make a good choice for a husband.”

  Ralph looked down at the paper. “She advertised in The Times. Clearly she’s desperate.”

  “Your faith in me is so generous.”

  “I don’t think it’s my faith that is the problem,” Ralph answered before he turned and left Wyatt. Who still wasn’t dressed.

  “I really need to fire you.”

  But he knew he wouldn’t just like he knew that he’d attend the meeting with this mysterious woman because Ralph was right. Ralph was the only family that Wyatt had. He’d have to marry and make an heir at some point and he might as well make Ralph happy by taking this easy first step.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Priscilla stood next to a bunch of bushes, hunching down so that she might remain partially hidden. She peeked around the hedge, watching the entrance to the rose garden.

  Beside her, Clara held a copy of The Times. “I expected your ad to be larger.”

  Priscilla waved her hand, not bothering to look at the paper, instead she kept her gaze trained on the entrance. “All advertisements are the same size.”

  “True. And if you’d made it larger, you might have called undo attention to your unconventional methods.”

  Unconventional methods meant that she’d behaved in manner most would find untoward. Society would label her with all sorts of unattractive names if they found out what she’d done. Normally she didn’t care about them, but if this plan didn’t work, she’d need to find another way to marry and she might need society then. Another reason she was hiding in the bushes. She wouldn’t put it past some gossiping biddies to come today to find out who had placed the ad. “Eugene barely allowed me to come here today under the guise of walking through the park with you when it would be near empty.”

  “He didn’t see the advertisement, I’m assuming?”

  “He’s spoken loudly and often about how he finds them untoward and therefore doesn’t read them. Fortunately for me.”

  “Are you certain you don’t want to ask Brax for help?” Brax was their friend Mona’s husband. A duke, and while he couldn’t change the law, he might be able to provide a suitor. Possibly.

  She winced. She’d also be leaning on Mona, recently wed and embroiling her new husband into her family affairs. “If this doesn’t work then perhaps I’ll have no choice.”

  Clara looked up from the paper. “Have you seen any men who look as though they might be answering your ad?”

  Priscilla shook her head. “Not yet.” Most of society didn’t utilize the park until later when it was more fashionable, so the courtyard before the garden was completely empty. She’d chosen a quiet time of the day for two reasons. One, Eugene had been more likely to consent, and two, she hadn’t wished to accidentally approach a man who was just out for a stroll and propose marriage to him accidentally.

  That might get awkward.

  “While you wait,” Clara started, “I’ll read you this article on that man they’re calling the Bushy Hero.”

  “Bushy Hero?” she asked, looking away from the entrance for the first time since they’d arrived. “What a terrible name.” But even with her scathing comment, the tiniest thrill down her spine made her straighten. Did the man save ladies with terrible guardians? Then she chastised herself. She didn’t need a hero. She was going to save herself. “Do they call him that because of his hair?”

  Clara pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. They were supposed to be somewhat hidden after all. “No. I believe he saved the first would-be victim in Bushy Park a few months ago.”

  Priscilla half-remembered the story. She’d been too preoccupied with her own troubles of late to pay attention to a hoodlum seeking justice. Or at least that’s what the papers said. Who knew the truth? “What does the article say?”

  While she wasn’t certain she cared about the details, Clara had the right of it, discussing something to distract Priscilla from the fact no one had arrived was a good idea. It had to be one o’clock by now and still not a single gentleman had responded to her ad.

  “It says that he chased a cutpurse to the docks.”

  “Did he return the purse? Apprehend the thieves?”

  Clara scanned the article. “Doesn’t say.”

  Priscilla frowned. “Not even articles in the paper have a happy ending. What do you think that says about my story?”

  Clara touched her arm, likely afraid to answer because they both feared the truth. Eugene just might win.

  Which made Priscilla bristle. What kind of world stacked the odds so clearly to one side that men like Eugene could best her?

  “What does your mother say?”

  Priscilla winced at the mention of her mother. “She’s doing an admirable job of buying me time by openly taking up the fight with Eugene. I don’t know how to thank her other than to find a husband as quickly as possible and move her out of the house that she’s called home for the last thirty years.” Neither wanted to leave. All their best memories were there, surrounded by her father’s things. But they had to escape Eugene.

  Clara started rubbing Priscilla’s arm. “You’ll succeed, I’m sure of it. If no one answers the ad today, let’s call upon Mona and Brax.”

  Priscilla gave a silent nod as she looked into her friend’s angelic face. A halo of blonde hair and large blue eyes looked like they belonged in a classic painting as Clara gave her a sympathetic smile. “I agree. Thank you for coming today. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Clara shook her head. “Think nothing of—” But she stopped as a thumping noise caught both their ears.

  Priscilla looked up. A lone man crossed the cobblestone, walking with a cane, which caused the echoing noise radiating through the open space. Her heart began to loudly thump in her chest at the sight of a man, any man, in the courtyard.

  Even from this distance, he appeared to have a slight limp.

  “Oh my,” Clara whispered as if echoing Priscilla’s own heartbeat.

  Priscilla cocked her head to the side as she studied him. Despite the limp that had instantly caught her attention and the fanciful worries of her imagination that some beast of a man would be the only one to respond to her call, he was tall and broad, he didn’t look too old, nor too young. He was well dressed, though not a dandy to be certain. His clothing had a neat but careless air that spoke of masculine confidence.

  Her breath caught as she squinted her eyes to see him better.

  His hat was tipped slightly to one side, shadowing half of his face, but dark hair curled out of the other side, its waves enviable to any man—or woman for that matter.

  He stopped just at the entrance and pulled out a pocket watch, clicking it open and checking the time with deliberate movements that held a touch of stiffness but a great deal of dexterity.

  “Priscilla,” Clara hissed, the hand that had been patting her arm, locking into a death grip around her biceps. “Do you think…” But her words faded out as the man looked toward the bushes they were hiding behind and stared directly at them as though he knew they were there.

  Priscilla straightened. Of course he saw them. The bushes were not a solid wall. Which meant there was no backing out now.

  He took a paper out from under his left arm and refolded the pages, tucking it back under his right. Was that his way of signaling that he was answering the ad? Why hadn’t she thought of a signal beforehand?

  With a gulp of air and a little shake, Priscilla dislodged Clara’s fingers from her upper arm and took her friend’s hand in hers. “Now isn’t the time to become scared. Shall we?”

  Clara shook her head. “I disagree. Now is precisely the time.”

  That made Priscilla smile. At least a little. “Either way, I’d like to meet him. I’ve come too far to stop now and besides, Eugene is at home waiting for me.”

  “A motivator if ever there was one,” Clara murmured as she straightened her spine. “I’m ready if you are.”

  “Ready.” Holding Clara’s hand, she stepped from her spot behind the bushes.

  Wyatt had seen them long before he’d reached the entrance to the garden. Neither had worn skirts that would blend into shrubbery and he’d trained his eye to search for detail. Not that much training had been required for this particular endeavor. One set of skirts was a particularly bright shade of periwinkle blue while the other a light lavender.

  The two women stepped out from behind the hedge, their hands clasped together. Relief washed through him as he noted that both were young, attractive women. At least from a distance.

  Even from here he could see that the first was tall and blonde, her willowy figure highlighted by her height.

  The second…his gaze lingered. Dark haired and petite, her curvy figure was on display in the low-waisted gown she wore, her hoop skirts accentuating her tiny waist. While both women were attractive, he far preferred the second, and for a brief moment, he found himself hoping… That had not been part of his promise to Ralph.

  He straightened a bit, turning his face the slightest bit to disguise his scar. She’d notice, of course. And perhaps she wouldn’t care but he didn’t wish for it to be the first thing she saw.

  He was not ashamed of the scar itself, but it wouldn’t do to frighten them before an introduction had even occurred.

  They moved nearer, his gazed trained on the ladies.

  Her lavender gown only highlighted the delicate ivory shade of her skin, her dark brown eyes, and plush pink lips.

  Her features erred on the side of sweet rather than seductive, and somehow, for him, that only added to her appeal. Would she be as kind as her looks implied?

  He shifted as they moved closer, tugging at the lapels of his coat, his walking stick brushing his knee. He shifted the highly polished stick of wood to his other hand as he executed a short bow. “Ladies.”

  The dark-haired beauty stepped forward. A bit of satisfaction rippled through him to think she’d placed the ad. She pressed her lips together a moment before they parted again. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister…”

  The question in her voice was unmistakable.

  “Viscount Ware, at your service.”

  The other woman gave a tiny gasp. Almost unnoticeable, but he heard it anyway. Was she pleased to learn we had a viscount? Had she noted his scar and wondered at its cause?

  The lady gave a small nod, her gaze trained somewhere on his chest. “Lady Priscilla Applegate.”

  Wyatt had ceased following news of the ton some time ago. A fact he regretted now. “You are the one who placed the ad?”

  She gave another small jerk of her chin. “Correct, my lord. And just to further clarify, we are speaking about the ad for…” She drew in a steadying breath.

  “Marriage,” the other young lady supplied.

  “Thank you, Clara,” Lady Priscilla said half turning back to look at the other woman.

  Which left him free to observe her profile. She had a lovely neck, long and slender, her cheekbones were full and only highlighted the dimples on either side of her generous mouth. Why would a woman such as this have to advertise for a husband? Scandal?

  He had to be a head taller than Lady Priscilla and as she turned back to him, she tipped her face up to look into his.

  He knew the moment she noted the scar. Her eyes widened, even as she drew in a quick breath.

  His hand clenched around the top of his cane as he forced himself to remain still. She’d just discovered the reason that he’d been willing to answer an ad. Well, one of the reasons, anyhow.

  Would her discovery lead her to back away?

  It wasn’t so odd for a man to have a scar. Granted, his wasn’t thin like the ones some men carried from rapier blades, but thick and puckered like the knife that had caused it.

  She swallowed, her mouth pressing into a firm line. “What questions might you have for me?”

  His brows lifted. She wasn’t running away after all. At least, not yet. “Let me see. First, your lineage.” He didn’t care all that much. He’d like a well-mannered and kind woman to raise his child. But they had to begin somewhere.

  “My father was the 10th Earl of Purlington.”

  “Was?”

  Her spine straightened. “Yes. Was. A distant cousin now holds the title.”

  Ahh. He began to understand. “And the reason you bucked convention and utilized the paper?”

  “Her cousin is atrocious,” Clara supplied.

  Priscilla’s lush lips pressed together. “He is that.”

  Her answer served only to whet his appetite to ask more questions. In which way was he atrocious and how had that led her here? But the answers could wait. She was a young, attractive woman who came from a good family. it would seem that Ralph had been correct. This might be an excellent opportunity to find a bride quickly and without much fuss.

  And in terms of making an heir…

  He looked again at her pleasing features, her lovely figure. He’d see the job done without much hardship. “How do we proceed?”

  Her mouth opened and then closed again. “To be honest, I’ve no idea. I’m not sure I expected anyone to arrive, at least not a man who might actually be a suitable match.”

  Suitable? He could live with that. At least long enough to secure his line. “First we must decide on a story of how we’re acquainted. A common relative?”

  “Good idea,” Priscilla answered, Clara nodding too.

  “Perhaps then we’ll say that I am an old friend of…” He looked at Clara, hoping she might lend her aid.

  She bobbed a curtsy. “Miss Clara Wilkins, my lord, and our mothers are related by marriage on the Bromfield side. You’re my third cousin.”

  That was a suitably convoluted connection but one that would explain how he’d obtained an introduction. “Excellent. Because of my…” and he gestured toward the left side of his face, “I prefer to walk in the park when it is quiet and I happened upon the two of you while you did the same. I…” He shifted his cane to the other side as he prepared to share the next bit was unsettlingly true. “I was instantly smitten with the lovely Lady Priscilla and asked my distant cousin to make the introduction. As such I shall deliver my card to…”

  “One hundred eleven Cardinal Way,” Priscilla answered one brow quirking. “And that was quite quick of you.”

  Did he explain that he had a great deal of experience making up fast lies? Best not.

  Instead, he nodded his thanks. “Do I leave a card for both the lord and lady of the house?”

  “Please,” she said with a genuine smile of relief. “That would be most helpful.”

  He nodded again. “In that case, Lady Priscilla, I look forward to our next meeting.”

  “Of course,” she replied. “As do I.”

  With a final jerk of his chin, he gave her one last lingering look as he turned to leave. Ralph was going to be abominable after he learned this meeting had been a success.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Three days later, Priscilla sat in the morning room, a pink silk gown floating about her as she waited for her scheduled visit with the Viscount Ware.

  He was taking her for a drive.

  And while she had a great many questions about the man himself, she needed to actually escape the house in order to have them answered.

  He wasn’t due for another quarter hour and so her mother and Clara waited with her.

  Priscilla wished she didn’t have to keep the details of her meeting with the viscount secret from her mother, but the older woman would never approve of Priscilla’s plan.

  Her mother was a gently bred woman. Not that Priscilla wasn’t also raised to be a lady. But her father had instilled in her a practicality that many of her contemporaries lacked.

  At least she hoped practicality is what dictated her actions now.

  As a child, her father had walked her through difficult choices, like when to sell land in order to make certain the people were fed or when to plant more crops to prepare for lean years that might be ahead.

  He’d known she couldn’t take over his earldom but it had been a means to spend more time together and she’d enjoyed the lessons.

  She’d been attempting to utilize those teachings when she’d placed the ad.

  “I’m not sure I realized one of your relations was a viscount,” her mother said, her brows drawn together in contemplation. “But how fortunate you happened upon one another in the park.”

  “No. I suppose we don’t talk about him all that much. He’s a bit of a recluse, as I mentioned.” Clara gave Priscilla a sidelong glance. Clara fibbed admirably, and in full support of Priscilla, but that didn’t mean her friend didn’t have reservations about this entire arrangement.

  Priscilla understood Clara’s hesitation. It had all seemed fine when the ad had only been paper, but when a flesh and blood man had appeared…

  Priscilla acknowledged that the man was a bit different. The scar on his face, which ran from his temple to the corner of his mouth, was nearly an inch wide, red and angry. Then there was the limp which told her there might be more extensive damage underneath his clothing.

  But neither of those concerned her all that much.

  The scar did not hide the fact that he was handsome, tall, and muscular. Besides, plenty of men were physically appealing while completely lacking in character. And a good man would make a far better husband than a handsome one. If she wanted a man without character, she might as well just marry Eugene.