Page 41 of Vanquishing the Viscount

James Markham, Viscount Tidworth, was perfectly placed to break her heart. She’d seen him brought low and pleading, she’d seen his superiority and arrogance shorn away by his illness, and she’d seen his desperate need for her help. Right up until that moment when he’d called her by the wrong name, she’d even believed he had tender feelings toward her.

Elias, Earl of Overcrich, had given her the same impression, and look how that had turned out! She’d sworn off handsome men once before, and to protect her vulnerable heart, she needed to reinforce that vow.

That wasn’t the only thing that counted against James Markham, the Vacillating Viscount Tidworth. He wanted to wreck her childhood home.

Fortunately, as nothing further had been heard from James, she began to hope Tresham might be safe from his destructive intentions. It still needed to be sold, however, and he was, unfortunately, the only person thus far who’d shown an interest in the property.

A tap on the door shattered her depressing thoughts.

“May I come in?” asked her mama.

“Of course.”

As her mother entered the room, Emma could tell immediately she was bursting with significant news.

“What is it? Is George coming home?” How she missed her brother! Even just a few days in his company would brighten her spirits.

“Oh, he’s such a kindly gentleman,” Mama exclaimed, clutching a folded piece of paper to her breast. “So generous and thoughtful, for all his parents are so stiff and proud!”

Not George, then. “Who is this paragon who’s written to you?” Emma inquired warily.

“Surely you know? I’m surprised you didn’t come down—didn’t you hear the horse in the courtyard?”

“What horse in the courtyard?”

Mama settled herself on Emma’s bed. She had something momentous to impart, judging by the brightness of her eyes and the flush of color in her cheeks. Emma caught sight of an impressed seal on the opened edge of the letter. It was a coat of arms she’d seen just once before.

Emblazoned on the walnut box belonging to Viscount Tidworth.

Her heart lurched uncomfortably in her chest, and a feeling of impending doom settled over her.

“Please explain, Mama,” she said quietly. Whatever James had written was bound to be to her detriment. Better get it over with quickly.

“Well, my dear, the simple fact is that Tidworth has made such a generous offer for Tresham that we can afford to rent a very respectable new home. And can you believe it? He has been inquiring on our behalf and has found us one! And where do you think it is? Bath!”

“Bath?” Emma queried. Why ever did they want to move to Bath? She’d always assumed her parents loved the countryside just as much as she. But then, they weren’t getting any younger. Perhaps Bath would be for the best. But what right did James have to interfere with their plans? His arrogance was unsurpassed!

She stood up and opened the window, leaned out, and took several calming breaths before saying, “Are both you and Papa happy to sell to Tidworth, then?”

“Whyever not?” Mama sounded shocked.

Emma turned back to her mama. “I thought you might not like the changes he plans to make.”

“We can’t afford to repine on those. What will it matter, once we’re gone? It will be so much easier for George to visit us in Bath than here, for the roads are better and the stages more numerous. I’m sure we’ll love the house—it has ever so many stories, he says, and an open area with steps down to the basement in front. There’s a long, narrow garden behind, but not too much to manage.”

Hardly tempting. The gardens at Tresham were extensive and stunning—when properly cared for—and Emma would miss them dreadfully. Hadn’t it occurred to James that his veterans might actually enjoy doing the gardening themselves, assuming they were capable?

“There may be enough money left to employ additional staff,” Mama continued enthusiastically. “Can you imagine me not having to help Sarah with the cooking and mending but able to follow more ladylike pursuits instead? And we’ll be able to go visiting, for there is good society to be had in Bath, you know. As good as anywhere else, they say.”

Society that might include James. Emma frowned. She would have to time her visits to her parents for when he was out of town.

“I’m delighted for you,” she said, and truly meant it. “After all your troubles, you couldn’t have hoped for a better resolution. I regret only that Bath is farther from Figheldene so I won’t be able to visit you often.”

Mama appeared bewildered. “Figheldene? Why, Emma, there’s no need for you to go back there.” She fluttered the letter in front of her face like a fan, then burst out, “Oh, I am so pleased! What a generous man. I declare, if I were twenty years younger—and not married to your father—I would be half in love with him by now.”

A grim sense of foreboding coursed through Emma’s body, and her limbs felt heavy as lead. “Not go back to Figheldene? Why should I not?”

After scanning her face anxiously, her mother said, “I can see I’m just making you more confused. Here, this will explain it so much better than I can, I assume.” She fished in her apron pocket and withdrew a second letter, still sealed. “It’s addressed to you from the viscount, but I believe I know what’s in it.”