The Dark Viscount

Just when the solicitor seemed on the verge of escape, the viscount held him up with another pointed question concerning the dearth of servants. Red-faced and bowing, Mr Sparrowhawk dutifully promised to send someone out immediately.

‘Very good. I shall hold you personally responsible, then?’ Barto asked, in a tone that Sydony barely recognised as his. It was not loud or forceful, but ripe with the expectation of having his wishes fulfilled. Unsaid, but implicit, was the promise of swift and merciless retribution, should he not be obeyed.

That silent vow she remembered from her childhood, as his will and her stubbornness had often clashed. Not without her own resources, Sydony’s revenge had often involved public embarrassment of the young peer, the recollection of which made her flush with mortification.

Now, however, she was sullenly grateful for his expertise. There was no denying that Barto got things done. He had power, but that was not all of it. He was more determined than Kit, who had a casual outlook on life. Why demand a trip through the house? her brother would ask, if she pressed him. What did it matter? It really didn’t, but still, she was grateful to the viscount.

Anyone who could find her servants was someone to be reckoned with. But why had Barto gone out of his way to help them? Sydony could not think it kindness that drove him or even any pledge to his mother. What, then?

As if reading her mind, he turned toward her and Kit. ‘I’ll have my groomsmen stable the horses. And my valet can ready a room, with your permission?’

Sydony could only gape while Kit agreed.

‘You’re staying?’ she said.

Barto nodded, a dark brow lifting at her question.

‘But there isn’t any staff or foodstuffs!’

‘Actually, I did bring some supplies in from the village,’ Kit said, turning to follow Mr Sparrowhawk out the door.

Sydony was left standing with a smug-looking Barto. The curve of those full lips was slight, but enough to remind her of his small victories over her in their youth. Sydony’s eyes narrowed. ‘Very well. I hope you are comfortable, my lord,’ she said.

‘Surely it can be no worse than the time we spent lost in the wilds of Sherwood Forest,’ he said, that lovely mouth quirking at the corner.

Sydony blinked, first in confusion, and then with recognition as the long-forgotten incident returned to her mind. That was when Barto was going through his Robin Hood spell. Having read all that he could upon the subject, he gathered his small band together for excursions into the vast tracts of wood that were part of his birthright.

Sydony never wanted to be Maid Marian, so she took up a variety of roles, including Friar Tuck. That day, Kit had twisted his ankle, and so Little John had limped home, but Barto and Sydony had gone on. He had dared her to follow, and she would not refuse a challenge.

He never admitted they were lost, of course. And when darkness fell, he made them a bed of leaves and told her that this time she was Maid Marian, captured and forced to spend the night with the brigands, but she was not to worry as he would keep her safe. And Sydony had never felt so secure as with the boy she fought with and tagged after, unwanted.

Suddenly, Sydony wanted to weep for that boy and for a sweet memory that the man he was now had ruined. But she would not allow how much it had meant to her, would not give him that further triumph, and so she again blinked, banishing the moisture that threatened her eyes.

‘Indeed, for at least we shall have a roof over our heads,’ she said. The words came out brittle and hoarse, with more emotion than she intended. And just as if they were children again, Sydony was seized with an urge to push him hard for his taunt. She could happily imagine knocking him to the stone floor, his elegant garb damaged along with his pride.

But, besides the fact that she was too old for such behaviour, Sydony suspected that he would not be so easy to move these days. And something else made her wary of touching him again, something that ran far deeper than her battered emotions: a fear that this time she might not let go.

Chapter Three

Bartholomew Hawthorne, sixth Viscount Hawthorne, waited until his former neighbour was well out of sight before slipping off to the stables, where he found Hob keeping watch. Ostensibly, Hob was a groomsman, but his expertise went far beyond handling horses. His shadowy background of pugilism and military service, rumoured to include some spying for his Majesty’s government, was just what Barto wanted after recent events.

‘Well, my lord?’ Hob asked, from a darkened corner of the old stables.

‘Well, indeed,’ Barto said, looking around at the building that was even more neglected than the house. ‘Would you like a room in the servants’ quarters, though I dare say they aren’t much better?’

‘No. I’d prefer to keep to myself, me and Jack,’ Hob said, referring to the man who was sorting through some old tack. Jack had been part of the hire, as Hob didn’t want anyone else aware of his movements. ‘Did you find out anything?’

‘Not much,’ Barto said. ‘If they’ve come into a fortune, it certainly isn’t visible.’

‘Hmm. The fellow’s an open sort. What about the lady?’

Barto thought about Sydony with something akin to chagrin, a sensation that rarely visited him. Of course, he had stepped out of the bounds of good taste by mentioning the night he had spent with her, no matter how young they had been at the time. But the look on her face when he mentioned that night had startled him. He had not meant to draw blood with the reference, merely prove that he could survive without the usual comforts.

‘She seems to think I can’t do without my luxuries,’ Barto said, a tinge of asperity creeping into his voice. Did she think him a pampered, fat, titled buffoon, like the Prince Regent himself? The contempt lurking in her green eyes had managed to pierce his usual aplomb, making him want to respond in kind.

But the contempt hadn’t always been there. When she rushed from the house, Barto had seen a flash of surprised recognition and pleasure before she threw herself at him. For a moment, the years melted away, and Barto knew an urge to gather her to him and weep—both with the joy of reunion and with a grief that he had not even revealed to his mother.

The feelings were wholly unexpected, but when Sydony Marchant put her arms around him, Barto wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her embrace. It had taken all his discipline not to keep her close, but his will had held. He was thankful for that discipline when he considered what had followed: a complete turn of mood that culminated in her apparent disapproval of his plans.

‘It could be that she doesn’t want me to stay here,’ Barto mused aloud.

‘Any idea why?’

Barto shook his head. She had turned and stalked away without the slightest attempt at gracious excuses, leaving him to watch the slight sway of her hips, a sure indication that Sydony Marchant had grown up. Although he had glimpsed her at the funerals, he’d been too sunk in his own misery to notice. But now, in much closer quarters, the changes were very apparent.

Sydony had always been boyish, a smaller, more delicate version of Kit. Although she was still slender, she could not be mistaken for a lad with those round breasts, gently curved hips, and that luxurious mop of hair. Mop was right, as her tomboyish ways still left her looking more dishevelled than any proper female should. So why did he feel a sudden interest in seeing her even more dishevelled?

Barto frowned at the thought, which he found both repugnant and vaguely incestuous. Although they had no blood ties, a childhood spent in close contact with Sydony Marchant made her seem like a relation, which would explain his fury over her being here alone and unprotected.

He glanced at Hob. ‘Did you find anyone else around?’

‘No, sir. Not a soul, and it looks like the place has been abandoned for a while.’

Had Barto known of their solitude when she threw her arms about him…But he hadn’t, and he had been chased by too many females intent upon the promise of a comfortable living and a title not to wonder whether Sydony would presume upon their old acquaintance to secure her future. The idea seemed laughable now, after the abrupt change in her attitude, but what had caused the change? His failure to return her embrace? Kit’s arrival? His subsequent plans to stay? Or was it something more sinister?

Barto’s expression hardened at the reminder of his mission, and he turned his full attention to Hob. ‘We’re going to need some help…’

To Sydony’s surprise, they soon had more supplies and the crates that had been shipped ahead, as well as a cook, a maid and a man to help with unloading, lifting and general repairs. Throughout the afternoon and evening, Sydony hurried from one task to another, consulting with the new servants and doing what she could to make the place more presentable, but her mind kept drifting back to one thing. And it wasn’t the maze.

Try as she might to dismiss him from her mind, Barto lingered in her awareness, drawing her attention like a nasty boil of which she could not be rid. It seemed that everything she did made her consider his reaction, which only annoyed her further. She was torn between her desire to improve the house, so that he not disparage it, and a wish that he be as uncomfortable as possible, so that he would leave.

Even Sydony recognised the impulses as contradictory.

She acknowledged that the manor had begun to look better already. Cleaning and airing and light did much to improve the place, though Kit would not hear of removing the ivy that clung to the exterior. He claimed the vines added character, while Sydony thought they just made the building dark and eerie.

Barto said nothing. For Kit’s sake, Sydony had hoped that the easy familiarity that once existed between the neighbours would return, but that had not happened. The friendship of two boys who seemed to share each other’s thoughts had been replaced by a mannered distance imposed by Barto.

He stalked around the their home with a coldness and arrogance that Sydony found unbearable. Although she told herself that she was outraged on Kit’s behalf, she was more angry with herself, for noticing the man at all.

Indeed, far from cheering her, the presence of their former neighbour seemed only to heighten the sensation of being cut off from all she knew, the servants, friends and villagers, the country dances and small social pleasures of her former life. Although remotely situated in their new location, Sydony was surprised they had received no invitations from the local gentry or welcoming visits from neighbours. But for Mr. Sparrowhawk and the arrival of the servants, it was as if the Mar-chants were alone.

And now, as they sat in the hastily cleaned dining hall, Barto’s presence cast a pall over the table, making her tense and aware of all her shortcomings, or, rather, the house’s shortcomings.

Oblivious to any undercurrents, Kit chatted away about the place, while Barto contributed his opinions. To Sydony’s surprise, he appeared to be very knowledgeable about managing property. When had he come to care about drainage and tenant farmers and enclosure laws? Although he probably could use all that information to run the family seat, she thought he’d lost all interest in his future responsibilities when he went off to school. Were the rumours of him being sunk in dissipations in London just that, ill-founded gossip?

‘Are you living at Hawthorne Park, then?’ she asked.

Barto’s dark gaze skimmed over her, as though he had forgotten her very existence. ‘Yes. I have been home for some time.’

His cursory response irked her, and Sydony was tempted to ask why he had not paid them a visit before they moved. But the maid entered the room at that moment with another course.

‘The cook is to be commended,’ Kit said, as he dug into a piece of boiled beef. He was happy with simple fare and lots of it. Although he was nearly as tall as Barto, Sydony swore he was still growing. ‘I think she will do nicely for us.’

‘But she won’t stay above a month,’ Sydony said. ‘She is moving away to live with her daughter.’ Or, at least, that’s what she had told Sydony when pressed. The woman was terse and uncommunicative, so Sydony could only hope for someone more agreeable in the future.

‘Have you talked with all of them, the new servants?’ Barto asked.

‘Of course,’ Sydony said. Did he think her a useless henwit? Or did he imagine that Kit had suddenly developed an interest in running a household? As the sole female, she had been in charge of their home for years.

Barto did not glance her way when she answered, but looked to Kit. ‘It appears that Mr Sparrowhawk was not exaggerating his difficulties, for they seem rather reluctant to be here.’

‘The servants?’ Kit asked, with a look of surprise.

Sydony frowned. ‘That is not true. The maid is fresh and eager for her first position.’

‘Perhaps because she does not know the house, but the other two are less enthusiastic,’ Barto said.

Sydony blinked at him. Had he always been so obnoxious, or had he acquired the habit when living in London? Perhaps it was his newly elevated rank that made him an expert on every subject, even her own staff.

‘I don’t know about the cook or the maid, but I talked to the fellow, Newton, and he did seem a bit peculiar,’ Kit admitted. ‘When I said we needed someone to clear brush, he was quite adamant in refusing any outside work.’

‘Perhaps he has an aversion to fresh air,’ Sydony said.

Barto ignored her jibe, as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Apparently, there’s some sort of history to the house, but I can’t discover exactly what. No one is very talkative.’

Although Barto’s words confirmed her own suspicions, Sydony did not want him ruining Kit’s pride of ownership with vague insinuations. ‘I think I should appreciate a house that has been talked about,’ she said.

‘Most definitely, especially if there is a delicious scandal attached,’ Kit said with a wicked grin. ‘Perhaps an illicit affair.’

Sydony nearly choked at the thought of Great-aunt Elspeth being involved in something so tawdry, but she fell in with the spirit of the moment. ‘I think I would prefer a duel,’ she suggested.

‘Or orgies along the lines of the Devil’s Club.’

‘Kit!’ Sydony sputtered in shock, while her brother laughed at her outrage. But Barto didn’t join in the play. Apparently, he was too dignified to engage in such silliness, because he looked annoyed, if not affronted, by their amusement. But he said nothing further on the history of the house, and Sydony was glad when the conversation veered in another direction.

She couldn’t help wondering just what Barto had discovered, but even if there were some sort of story to the house, what could they do about it? They could not sell, except at a great loss, so they must live here and make the best of it.

And they did have the maze, Sydony thought as she remembered the mysterious labyrinth that Aunt Elspeth had so disliked. Suddenly, Sydony wondered if the hired man’s aversion to exterior jobs had any relation to the overgrown hedges behind the house. At the thought, she drew in a sharp breath, and was glad to see that her brother was too deep in conversation with Barto to notice. Of course, if she suggested such a thing, Kit would say her imagination was running wild, a result of reading too many Gothic novels. But didn’t they always have a dark, mysterious villain?

Sydony glanced surreptitiously at Barto. Handsome, cool and stiffly polite, he was too elegant and collected to qualify. No doubt, he would be at ease even in the finest circles, which made her wonder what was he doing in their dining hall. Why did he insist on staying? And why would a nobleman concern himself with another’s servants at all, let alone question them about the house he was visiting?

Sydony frowned, unable to piece together the puzzle that was Viscount Hawthorne, but she had the feeling, just as she’d had with the solicitor, that there was something their old friend wasn’t saying.

Although it was late by the time Sydony heard Kit come to bed, she drew him into her room for a private conversation, their first real chance to talk since he had left the house this morning. Pulling him over to a seat by the windows, she listened as he spoke enthusiastically about his plans for the property and Barto’s suggestions. But at the mention of the new viscount, Sydony studied her brother closely.

‘Don’t you think it odd that he arrived here immediately after we did when he hasn’t approached us for years?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Kit said. Leaning back in the upholstered chair, he crossed his arms behind his head and stretched out his long legs. ‘He’s been busy. And you heard him—his mother had only just informed him of our move.’

‘But common courtesy requires that a visitor, especially an uninvited one, wait until their hosts are settled into the new residence.’

Kit grinned. ‘I’m afraid that men don’t think along those lines. And since when are you a stickler for etiquette?’

‘I’m not,’ Sydony said. ‘But Viscount Hawthorne should be, given his vaunted position in society.’

‘He’s human, Syd, just like he’s always been,’ Kit countered.

‘And how would we know what he is now or has been over these past years? We saw little enough of him once he went off to Eton, to be among his own.’

Kit snorted. ‘He had no choice, Syd. He wasn’t blessed with a father who held the public school system in contempt, like we were. I was lucky to be tutored at home, rather than be tormented by older boys and sadistic men with little or no interest in teaching.’

Sydony glanced at him sharply. ‘What? Is that what Barto endured? Did he tell you so?’

Kit shrugged, obviously unwilling to share a confidence. ‘It’s what everyone endures and why Father took our studies upon himself.’

‘Beyond his own love of scholarship,’ Sydony noted, with a smile. She was grateful for their father’s habits, which had given her the opportunity to learn more than most females.

‘I suppose that you saw him more often than I did,’ Sydony mused.

‘Who? Barto?’ Kit asked.

Sydony nodded, but Kit only shrugged again. She knew that they had sought each other’s company often enough when younger, devising ways to exclude her. And they probably had continued the practice long after she stopped chasing after them.

‘When I did chance upon him, he seemed so much older. Harder,’ Sydony mused.

‘He was always more mature,’ Kit said. ‘From birth he had the responsibility of nobility hanging over his head. That vast estate and the people it supports were always destined to be his, and it weighed upon him.’

Sydony looked up in surprise once more, but Kit appeared uncomfortable. ‘I hardly saw him in the later years, either,’ he added.

Sydony frowned. ‘Yes, I imagine he had other pursuits.’ They had heard of wild times in London and his mother’s concern for his future. But now she wondered just how much of it was true.

Again, Kit snorted. ‘Well, they seem to have done him no harm.’

Sydony refused to admit that Barto bore no ill effects from any sordid adventures. ‘No, they appear only have made him more arrogant.’

‘Lud, Syd, what have you got against the fellow? He’s always had his duty hanging over him, and he never seemed pleased about the prospect.’

‘He looks eager enough now to play the lord.’

Kit threw up his hands in exasperation and stood.

‘I just think his sudden desire to visit is odd, that’s all,’ Sydony said.

‘You think everything is odd,’ her brother called over his shoulder.

‘If I do, it’s because…every thing here is,’ Sydony whispered, though Kit was already closing the door.

She nearly called him back, but the knowledge that he was weary after their long day kept her silent. With his exit, the night drew in around her, and Sydony felt a sudden pang of loneliness. She tried to dismiss it as she prepared for bed, for, were she at her former home, she would still be by herself. No one would be joining her here in the darkness.

Yet her father had always been available, like as not nodding over a book in his study at all hours. The servants were well liked and of long standing, though she would not have disturbed their rest. And there were her friends and neighbours, who sometimes shared extended visits. Of course, Molly was married now, as was Eliza, but Sydony had remained close to them until the move. Theirs was a small set, not polished or grand in the manner of Viscount Hawthorne’s London circle.

Thoughts of her unwanted guest made Sydony feel even more bereft, for she found herself missing the boy she had once known, replaced now by a stiff and arrogant nobleman. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she remembered his earlier taunt about Sherwood Forest.

Not only was she far from her home and all that was familiar, but this stranger was ruining treasured memories of her childhood. Crawling into bed, Sydony turned on her side and finally let herself weep for all that was lost.

During the long hours until morning Sydony tossed and turned through distressing dreams in which huge hedges walled her in and Barto stood by, doing nothing to help her. She woke up gasping for breath, having buried herself under the covers, but she swung out of bed, determined to avoid another night of such torment.

Today she would satisfy her curiosity about the maze, once and for all. The mysterious greenery couldn’t haunt her sleep if she faced it in the daylight. She had the ring of keys from the solicitor, as well as a workman to remove the shutters that barred her view. Either way, she was going to see the source of her curiosity, and, by doing so, put it to rest.

Sydony’s heart picked up its pace as she headed down to the dining hall, eager to tackle the secret of the labyrinth. Hurrying into the room, Sydony startled Kit by demanding the keys without preamble. Caught with a mouthful of breakfast, he pointed soundlessly toward the library, where she found her brother had piled the papers that Mr Sparrowhawk had given him.

Muttering to herself at the habits of men, Sydony gathered them together, lest they become mixed in with the stacks of old receipts and miscellany that were already crowding the secretary. Then she snatched up the ring and headed back up the staircase, nearly running into Barto, who was descending, elegant as always—thanks to his valet, no doubt.

Thanks were surely due someone, Sydony thought, for Barto was a sight to behold. He didn’t dress like some of the peacocks she had seen on her rare visits to London, but with an understated sophistication that made him look…well, beautiful. For some reason, Sydony’s pulse started pounding at that revelation, but the mocking lift of one of his dark brows quickly brought it back to normal.

‘Pardon me,’ Sydony said as she hurried past him. Better she be obsessed with the maze than her old neighbour, no matter how handsome he had become. Pushing Barto firmly from her mind, Sydony reached the door on the first floor and tried the new set of keys, her excitement growing with each attempt. But, just like yesterday, none of those on the ring worked the lock. In disbelief, Sydony went through each another time, to no avail.

Thwarted once more, she could do nothing except return to the dining hall, where Barto had joined her brother. His greeting at her entrance was perfunctory, and again, she wondered just why he was here. Perhaps he would leave today, Sydony thought with a mixture of pleasure and vague disappointment. If she were disappointed, she told herself, it was only because the reasons for his visit would remain a mystery.

As she filled her plate, Sydony considered the possibility that he might be hiding from someone—a pack of creditors, perhaps. The new viscount might have amassed gambling debts from his forays to London, and who would look for him here?