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At least, he supposed, the awful weather allowed him some privacy to be rid of the thing for a few moments. Another look out of the window told him they were a distance from the tenements. Time enough for him to do a little research on his bride-to-be.
He picked the newspaper from the top of the pile and flicked straight to the gossip column. He’d been out of the country too long to know much of the Musgraves, and he did not much like going into anything unarmed, let alone a marriage with a stranger.
One of the useful things about having an exceedingly sharp and oft cunning steward meant Cillian could have access to any information within an exceedingly short period of time. There were many in the household who resented his hiring of Shah, but he trusted no one more than the ex-soldier.
When he saw no mention of Musgraves in the gossip column, he returned to flicking through the paper, finally coming upon a small comment on the earl’s title and how he gained it. He supposed Lady Ivy Musgrave’s father effectively buying his title did not help matters at all, but it still didn’t explain why she had been treated so distastefully by the crowd that discovered them.
Well, discovered all three of them.
Bloody Irving. Of course the man pointed the finger at Cillian and of course everyone believed him. It had not been the first time that happened though he rather hoped it was the last. Being painted as the evildoer was getting boring.
Still, he did need a wife. At least according to his mother. He’d gone from being entirely unanswerable to anyone but himself to having tenants and investors and farms and a duty to the title. No one could ignore the fact he was now meant to sire an heir.
Cillian eased out a breath. If only his stupid cousin hadn’t behaved like the stupid idiot that he was none of this would have come to pass and Cillian could return to the army and wait for the next war.
He didn’t want blood and death, not really. However, the battlefield was the only place he’d ever felt truly at home. He didn’t know why but every close call had only ever been that. Some might think losing one’s eye was more than a close call but when one had seen men ripped apart by cannon shot, one struggled to see it as anything more than a scratch.
He tossed aside the first newspaper and scoured the next three. Here, there were mentions of the marriages of two of the Musgrave sisters and some snide comments about them snaring up eligible men. Finally, Cillian came upon a look at what had seen the Musgraves’ secure their reputation as ‘those scandalous Musgraves’ or so the newspapers called them.
As far as he could tell, they’d done little more than be new money. The act of the son, climbing a statue whilst inebriated and entirely naked almost made Cillian laugh. He hoped he’d meet the young man one day. There were far worse things taking place amongst thetonthan a little naked statue climbing. As for the rest of their indelicate behavior, it seemed like no more than unfortunate incidents.
He shook his head. He knew only too well how rumors could be spread. It seemed to him Ivy Musgrave was no more scandalous than he was a murderer.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and he peered out of the window to see blurred outlines of people then hastily retied his eyepatch before the door opened.
His people. The tenants and farmers he was now responsible for. He felt the weight of their stares despite not even being able to make out faces. These families were looking to him to make a success of the estate or else they would be out of jobs and homes, and sadly his stupid cousin had done a poor job of keeping the estate profitable.
He regretted that he hadn’t waited until the weather cleared for him to come on horseback. When he stepped out, the men and women eyed him cautiously. He caught the cold flick of a gaze over the shiny black vehicle, the family crest beautifully emblazoned on with gold.
He noticed the slight mutter between two women. He saw a young girl tucking herself behind a farmer. He’d never been one to draw the best kind of attention and the eyepatch did not help matters. Cillian strode over to the farmer and offered out a hand. The little girl’s eyes widened, and she darted away into one of the farm buildings.
Cillian forced a tight smile as the farmer made his apologies. If he doubted he should marry a woman he did not know, that doubt was gone now. He imagined the pretty Ivy Musgrave, all wide pale eyes and soft cheeks, greeting the little girl with a gentle touch. If anything, a wife at his side would help him with his new role.
Now all he needed to do was figure out quite what one did with a wife. Most especially an unexpected one.
Chapter Three
Ivy wrapped a curl around her finger and released it then repeated the movement. She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. The clop of hooves and the clack of the wheels were her only other accompaniment. After what had to have been an hour of traveling, her new husband had yet to utter a word.
Husband.
How odd that sounded. How odd thatfelt.
She supposed it was made all the more strange given she barely knew the man and nor did anyone else. He might as well have magically appeared at Lord Birchley’s ball to rescue her then vanished again had it not all gone disastrously wrong.
She issued a long breath and started toying with the curl again. A sideways glance revealed little. The viscount remained upright, tension tearing through his posture as they were bounced back and forth on the road to Devon.
The eye patch did not help matters. Sitting over his left eye, it blocked much of his face from her, however his mouth remained impassive, his gaze fixed ahead. He did not want this anymore than she did, and she had to wonder why he had leapt forward to protect her reputation when he likely knew little more of her than she did of him.
She had to wonder on many things. Perhaps it would help to recount the things she did know. Viscount Hartwood had an estate practically bordering her father’s lands on the outskirts of Bath. He had inherited the title after his cousin died, mere months after the cousin took the title himself.
Ivy knew of the cousin, but they had never met given he was a member of thetonand spent most of his time in London and the cousin’s father had certainly avoided the Musgraves. Her father muttered something about a dispute when he’d built their family home near the original viscount’s land. However, that did not help her with the matter of figuring out who her husband was.
The accent hinted at his Irish heritage, of course. Aunt Sarah said he and his Irish mother moved back to England after the death of his father, but she knew little of them. His father had been the gentleman, brother to the original viscount, however, there was some talk that her husband’s mother was much lower in rank to the point of being quite poor indeed.
And of course, he’d been at war. That was another thing she knew. He’d ranked as Captain, and she had to assume the eyepatch was due to an injury gained in France.
He was also tall. Muscled too. She didn’t need him to shuck off his jacket to know that. She’d witnessed how easily he snared and controlled Mr. Irving. That was something pleasing in a husband was it not? She’d seen many a young woman marry gouty old men with bellies that hung over their breeches. He had to be an active man to maintain such a build. That would please Lilly, and Ivy could not deny she was grateful he was not some hideous beast.
