A Viscount is a Girl’s Best Friend Read online

  A Viscount is a Girl’s Best Friend

  Gemma Blackwood

  Copyright © by Gemma Blackwood

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  About Gemma Blackwood

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  Standalones

  The Duke’s Defiant Debutante

  Destiny’s Duchess

  Redeeming the Rakes

  The Duke Suggests a Scandal

  Taming the Wild Captain

  Let the Lady Decide

  Make Me a Marchioness

  Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall

  The Earl’s Secret Passion

  The Duke’s Hidden Desire

  The Lady He Longed For

  The Baron’s Inconvenient Bride

  The Impossible Balfours

  A Duke She Can’t Refuse

  The Last Earl Standing

  A Viscount is a Girl’s Best Friend

  No Dukes Need Apply - Coming Jan 2020

  What an Heiress Wants - Coming Feb 2020

  Sign up to my mailing list to receive a free copy of the prequel novella to Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall and an additional romantic short story set in Regency England!

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Free Reads from Gemma Blackwood!

  Also by Gemma Blackwood

  1

  Paris. Strasbourg. Lyon. Marseilles.

  Lady Edith Balfour traced her finger lightly across the surface of the map, travelling the length of France in one easy swoop before falling south into Italy. She paused briefly to appreciate the majesty of the Alps, evoked in minimal fashion by a zigzagging black line, and descended towards Venice, Florence, Rome. She circled the Colosseum once or twice before sailing the Adriatic Sea, bypassing Belgrade and zooming overland at an impossible rate to the eastern edge of the Ottoman Empire, where she rested a moment at Constantinople.

  There, she hesitated. North, around the Black Sea, across the Danube and towards Bucharest? Or south, to Cairo and the pyramids, the long blue line of the Nile?

  Africa was calling. Lifting her hand from the map to push an errant strand of hair back into place, Edith eyed up the mysteries that awaited her itinerant finger. Egypt, Abyssinia, the thickly forested Congo Basin, and finally that most thrilling sight of all: the vast white space marked only Unknown Parts.

  She landed her finger directly in its centre, as though she had become a bird with a vast wingspan, capable of crossing jungle and desert and wilderness in one beat of its wings.

  A gentle hand descended on her shoulder, pulling her thoughts four thousand miles north and back into her brother’s library.

  “Planning your next excursion?” asked Selina, the oldest of Edith’s siblings and therefore the one least likely to understand a flight of fancy. Edith laid her hand flat across the continent of Africa and shrugged carelessly.

  “I thought I would calculate how long it will take Alex and Daisy to travel home from Vienna.”

  “And what did your calculations come to?”

  “Too long,” sighed Edith, pushing the map away. “Too long, and too far. I miss them both.”

  “I miss them too. Not least because it’s more difficult than I ever imagined to run a duke’s affairs without having a duke in residence.” Selina touched her hand to her forehead, only a slight tightening of her mouth revealing that she was exceptionally annoyed. “You would not believe the letter I had from his land agent this morning. He thanked me for my ladylike attention to detail and requested that all further matters of business be put on hold until His Grace returns from his diplomatic mission.” Her eyes flicked upwards, and she gave her head a tiny shake. “I am forgetting myself. I don’t want to trouble you with all that while you’re resting.”

  Edith looked speculatively at the swollen ankle she had propped up on the chair beside her, wrapped in a damp cloth. “I don’t need to rest it much longer. I’m sure I can walk on it without any pain.”

  “And if you can walk, you can dance. Is that it?” Selina folded her arms, though she was smiling. “Edith, I promise you that the world will not come to an end if you miss one ball.”

  “Perhaps not, but I gave my word I would be there. It would be a dreadful shame if I had to break my word, all for the sake of an ankle that barely hurts at all.” Edith made her eyes round and wide, in the hopes that Selina had suddenly become susceptible to pleading. “May I go?”

  If she could not have the unknown vastness of Africa, she could at least have a lively cotillion with her dearest friend at a private ball.

  Selina narrowed her eyes. “To whom did you give your word?”

  Edith hesitated. She had never been much good at making up excuses.

  Selina sighed and waved off Edith’s attempts at an answer. “Don’t panic! I don’t need you to tell me. You have been writing to Nathaniel Townsend.”

  “I think you mean Lord Rotherham,” said Edith primly. “And I haven’t been writing to him. I’m not as silly as all that. I saw him this morning while I was taking a walk through the park –”

  “Was this before or after you decided to chase a pigeon, slipped, and turned your ankle?”

  “Before, since you must know, else I’m sure Nathaniel would have carried me home. Anyway, I saw him, and he begged me to come to the ball tonight. He said it would be no fun at all if I were not there. So I gave him my solemn promise to attend.”

  Selina raised an eyebrow. “That sounds a little close to flirtation for my comfort.”

  “Nothing of the sort! Nathaniel and I have a perfect friendship. We enjoy each other’s company immensely, but I am far too romantic for him, and he is far too much of a realist for me. There is not the slightest chance of anything more developing between us. Why, he has even promised to tell me the darkest secrets of all the gentlemen I dance with this evening, so that I need not waste my time being courted by a bore or a fortune hunter.”

  Selina took careful hold of Edith’s ankle and began turning it this way and that. A twinge of pain brought a treacherous whimper to Edith’s lips.

  “You should not be dancing with anyone in this state,” said Selina. “I’ve half a mind to write to Mrs Grayson now and give our apologies.”

  Edith’s shoulders slumped forward. She was on the brink of defeat. Only one weapon remained in her arsenal, and it was one she rarely dared employ.

  Desperate times, however.

  “Aren’t Mr and Mrs Grayson invited to your party?”

  The mention of the dreaded p-word had Selina jerking upright as though a bolt of lightning had shot up her spine.

  “It is not my party,” she said stiffly.

  “No, I did not mean –”

  “It is a very important diplomatic event.”

  “Yes, I certainly –”
br />   “Alex and Daisy are escorting the new Austrian ambassador to London, and it is essential that he finds a warm welcome. He will expect us to introduce him to the very best of London society.”

  “That shouldn’t be too difficult. Alex is a duke, after all.”

  “They are relying on me to ensure everything goes perfectly. Our country is relying on me.”

  “Are we at risk of war with Austria?”

  Selina, perhaps aware that she was becoming ridiculous, shook a cautionary finger in Edith’s face. “If the canapés are not perfectly formed, if the water ices melt prematurely, or if the guest list is lacking, we may well be.”

  Edith maintained an angelic smile in the face of Selina’s anxiety. “Then it would be prudent not to miss the Grayson’s ball, wouldn’t it? We wouldn’t want to offend them at this late hour. Heaven knows what they would make of it. They might very well discover another pressing engagement on the night of the ambassador’s party –”

  “Yes, very well!” Selina threw up her hands, defeated. “I take your point.” She shook her head, a few strands of hair coming loose from her strict bun and trailing across her angular cheekbones. Selina did not have the golden Balfour hair that the other three siblings boasted. Hers was dark, like their mother’s. Edith had always been secretly jealous of it.

  She waited with bated breath for Selina to give in. In truth, her oldest sister had little choice. There were not many Balfours remaining in Mayfair to attend the Graysons’ ball. Alex and his wife were, of course, abroad. Anthea, the second sister, was away on her honeymoon – and was no longer a Balfour, but the Countess of Streatham. Isobel, closest in age to Edith and furthest from her in temperament, was accompanying their elderly aunt on a tour of the Peak District. Aunt Ursula had insisted on going mid-Season – as she put it, she did not have many spring days left to waste in London drawing rooms sipping lukewarm tea.

  That left Selina, who never danced at balls anymore but went only to act as chaperone for her younger siblings. And Edith.

  “Let me see you walk across the room without wincing,” said Selina. “If you can manage that, I suppose it will not do too much harm to sit at the side of the ballroom and watch the dancing.”

  Edith was determined that there would be no sitting out at all that evening. Why should a little touch of clumsiness condemn her to be a wallflower? She lowered her ankle to the ground and stood up with ambitious speed. Finding the injured limb steady, she took three smart steps across the floor.

  A little pain. Enough to remind her to be careful, not enough to show in her face. She twirled around on her good foot to face Selina and held her arms out stiffly in front of her.

  “Oh, Prince Aurelio,” she sighed, softening her fingers into the hair of an imaginary beau. “I never dreamed you would ask me to dance!”

  Her feet made their careful way through the steps of a slow waltz. As she spun, the invisible prince in her arms, she grew in confidence until she was whirling across the room, ignoring the intermittent stabs of pain in favour of a vigorous dance.

  “Stop, stop!” Selina caught her, laughing. “You are making me dizzy, never mind your fairy-tale prince.” She tapped her fingers against her chin. Edith could see that she was trying to look stern, but the battle was already won. “Very well. We will go to the ball. But the moment your ankle tires, I am taking you home. Understood?”

  “You darling!” Edith flung her arms around Selina’s neck and gave her two smacking great kisses on each cheek, mussing her hair even further. Selina sighed and raised her hands to return it to its impeccable upsweep.

  “I expect you to behave like a lady!” she called out as Edith left the library – limping only slightly – and went towards her bedroom to ring for the maid and begin preparations.

  Edith hesitated, one hand on the bannister and one foot poised on the first step.

  Behave like a lady was one of Selina’s favourite phrases. Edith knew well enough what it meant.

  Ladies were calm. Ladies were steady. Ladies did not sprain their ankles chasing pigeons or laugh raucously in public with their friends. Ladies did not flirt with dashing young viscounts. Ladies danced with suitable gentlemen, and ladies sat at home and practised embroidery when they were not required.

  Edith wondered what Selina would make of the ladies who were her own idols. Women who had crossed the globe fearlessly, watching the sun rise over lands Edith could only dream of, and journaling each day of adventure to inspire those poor souls still trapped, as Edith was, in London, without even the prospect of a trip to the Peaks to soothe her wandering soul.

  Had Lady Mary Coke spent much time on embroidery as she travelled across Europe, befriending royalty and fleeing from scandal? When Celia Fiennes rode side-saddle from Newcastle to Cornwall, was she much troubled by questions of etiquette? Had Lady Mary Wortley-Montagu cared a fig for how a lady ought to behave when she first visited a Turkish bathhouse?

  Edith made her way up the sweeping staircase one step at a time, biting the inside of her cheek to hide her grimace at the pain in her ankle. There was more than one way to be a lady.

  There had to be.

  2

  “Well, Nathaniel,” said Uncle Adolphus, peering at him over his steepled fingers as he sat behind the desk where, by rights, Nathaniel should have been himself. “At least you have taken my advice on gentlemanly timekeeping.”

  Nathaniel kept his gaze firmly on the portrait on the wall behind Uncle Adolphus’s white head, where an imposing man some twenty-five years younger than Adolphus stood with one hand resting lightly on the sword at his side. Nathaniel straightened his own shoulders, mimicking the gallant pose of the father he had never known.

  “I did not want to keep you waiting, Uncle.” Not after the dressing down he’d had last time.

  “It is not lordly to waste others’ time.”

  Nathaniel had been Lord Rotherham since his second birthday. He was rather of the opinion that the intervening twenty-one years had taught him well enough how a lord ought to behave. But he would not risk an argument with his uncle.

  Not with Edith Balfour expecting him at the ball.

  Uncle Adolphus returned his uncomfortably penetrating gaze to the sheaf of papers on the desk before him. “Before we leave for this evening’s festivities, I wanted to discuss an irregularity I discovered in the accounts.”

  Nathaniel shifted his weight from foot to foot but kept his shoulders straight. “I looked over the accounts myself this morning. Everything is in order.”

  Uncle Adolphus raised his head and adjusted his spectacles, his eyes looming large behind them. “Do you mean to suggest that I have made an error, Nathaniel?”

  Nathaniel’s hands snapped behind his back. The portrait of his father glared down at him. “No, sir.”

  “Good. I did not think you would.” Uncle Adolphus licked a finger and delicately turned a page. “Here it is. Five hundred pounds missing from your personal accounts.”

  The tight cravat Nathaniel had put on for the ball was beginning to itch terribly. “You have been monitoring my personal accounts?”

  “Certainly I have. I would not be doing my duty if I did not. And it seems I was right to do so.” Uncle Adolphus’s wizened forefinger stabbed down at the offending entry in the ledger. “Five hundred pounds, unaccounted for! What have you to say about it? Are your estates in such good order that you can afford to be profligate? Speak up, speak up!”

  “My estates have nothing to do with it. If you were more of a man and less of a schoolmistress, Adolphus, I would have money to spend as I chose. My mother’s fortune could cover a hundred such expenditures and have funds to spare. I am not the boy you think I am, but a man grown, and I demand my inheritance!”

  All of this Nathaniel did not say. The unspoken words burned in his mouth, but, despite what Uncle Adolphus might think of him, he was no fool.

  The Rotherham estates were solvent, but no more. His mother’s money might be tainted with trade, bu
t it was a sum large enough that even the worst of the society snobs could overlook it.

  Nathaniel recalled, with familiar bitterness, the words of the damnable will that had ruled his life since a certain ship had sunk when he was a boy, taking his mother and father with it.

  This sum of money to be kept by the child’s appointed guardians until he reaches the age of five-and-twenty, unless it is agreed upon by all guardians that he is worthy of the responsibility at an earlier date.

  Nathaniel’s other guardians had been old men when his parents died, and the single remaining barrier between him and his fortune was Mr Adolphus Townsend, his father’s younger brother, and the most notorious stickler for good behaviour in England.

  “The five hundred pounds are not unaccounted for,” said Nathaniel. “I know what I have spent them on, and I did not see the need to record it in the ledger. It is not as though I have many expenses of that sum.”

  Uncle Adolphus lowered his craggy eyebrows. “I thought as much. You wished to conceal the nature of the expenditure from me. You ought to know by now that all such attempts are futile. What was it? A gambling debt?”

  “Nothing of the sort.” Nathaniel had recently escaped a nasty brush with an illegal gambling hell thanks to the intervention of the Earl of Streatham, Edith’s new brother-in-law. He had no intention of embroiling himself in such a precarious situation again. “It was a racehorse.”

  Uncle Adolphus’s eyes bulged. “A racehorse?” His voice cracked on the word. “Of all the imprudent –”

  “His name is Merlin,” said Nathaniel. “He is a very fine thoroughbred, sired by –”

  “As if I give a stuff who he was sired by! He might be Pegasus himself for all I care!” Uncle Adolphus slammed his hand palm down on the ledger, his leathery jowls trembling. “Just as I began to think we were making progress –”