Page 4 of Two Vows and a Viscount

The viscountess’s eyebrows knit. “What on earth do you mean, Lord St. Trevelyon?” Her fan was visibly trembling.

“The baker is unpaid,” Ella said bluntly. “As is the wainwright, the brewer, my uncle’s tailor, and his perfumer.” She met the viscount’s eyes squarely. “I cannot acquire garments befitting your daughter’s betrothal to one of the richest men in London without funds.”

Her aunt drew in a startled breath, and even Fulvia gaped at her father.

His lordship showed no sign of shame. “Blame my feckless brother, who didn’t leave provision for his own offspring, let alone the estate. Close your mouth, Fulvia! You look like an oyster-wife bawling her wares.”

“No money for the debut,” the viscountess gasped. She had dropped her fan and was wringing her hands. “But, Lord St. Trevelyon, that costly portrait of myself and Fulvia—”

“You don’t think I paid the man, do you? Sir Thomas Lawrence had the honor of presenting a portrait of the two most beautiful women in England at the Royal Academy. That portrait led to Fulvia’s betrothal to Lord Peregrine, by the way. He’d seen it.”

“We didn’t need a new carriage …” his wife said in a weak voice.

He rearranged his cuffs. “As viscount, I must maintain my station.”

“You must outfit your daughter if you wish this wedding to go through,” Ella stated.

“No, I mustn’t,” he retorted, dark humor in his voice. “You must, Niece. You manage the finances for this household. Either you outfit your cousin and your aunt, and I suppose yourself, or Fulvia doesn’t marry. Ever. You three can go back to the country and molder there, for all I care.”

Fulvia began to wail, but he raised his voice.

“God knows, the marriage will be off if Lord Peregrine catches sight of those grotesque ruffles.”

CHAPTER TWO

LORD PEREGRINE ARRANGES TO MARRY … A WOMAN HE’S NEVER MET

THE SAVOY CLUB

THE GAME ROOM

“You are not planning to meet your future wife until her debut ball?”

Fiennes Lawrence Peregrine shrugged at Lord Devin’s incredulous expression. “Would it make you feel better about the fact that I bought a woman sight unseen if I told you that I just did the same with a pair of matched grays?”

Devin was a cheerful fellow with a bouquet of sisters and a romantic temperament. From his glowering expression, that information did not make him feel better. “You plan to have children with this lady. To live with her. What if she’s buck-toothed or worse?”

“After the first two years of marriage, my parents never lived together again,” Fiennes said. “I won’t martyr myself if we’re incompatible. As far as looks, Lawrence painted her and her mother for the Academy exhibit. You must have seen the St. Trevelyon portrait—both of them flaxen-haired, dewy-eyed, dimpled.”

“There’s more to marriage than dimples,” Lord Devin retorted. “Your parents were reckless to have an heir and no spare. The barony might have gone to a cousin.”

Fiennes leaned over the snooker table and pocketed a red ball. “My mother refused to see my father ever again after she overheard an insult. As you can imagine, that precluded further offspring.”

Devin raised an eyebrow. “What did your father say about her, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Family lore—that is, the butler—has it that Father informed a friend that his mistress ‘gabbled like a goose,’ but his wife ‘chattered like a whole flock of daws.’ He had a vivid turn of phrase, and unfortunately, he didn’t like women very much.”

“Yet he had a wife and a mistress. I gather your mother had no idea?” Devin asked, leaning one hip against the snooker table.

“If you remember, my mother created a scandal by running away with my father. She considered it a true love match, guaranteeing fidelity, I suppose. Once she realized her feelings were not reciprocated, she retired to the country. When my father was in residence, she stayed in the dower house.” Two more red balls followed the first.

“Didn’t he die there?” Devin asked with clear fascination. “She wouldn’t see him even on his deathbed?”

“No, but I was there, and I need to marry a nobleman’s daughter in order to fulfill my father’s dying wish. My father thought well of St. Trevelyon’s brother, the late viscount, and said he’d like me to marry the viscount’s daughter. He met her when she was a girl.”

“Your father met the daughter of the late viscount or the current one?”

Fiennes walked around the table, bent over, and pocketed another ball. “Current. His lordship recalled my father being introduced to his daughter Fulvia.”