The Viscount Finds Love by Bess McBride

Author:Bess McBride [McBride, Bess]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bess McBride
Published: 2018-01-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Rachel watched Halwell storm from the room and turned to see St. John look at his wife.

“I can’t believe you did that!” Mary said, tears streaming down her face. She looked at Rachel. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Miss Lee, please forgive me,” St. John said, his anger gone.

Roger stood back, his hands clasped behind his back. Mrs. Green shooed the footmen away and closed the door behind them.

“I’m okay,” Rachel said, “I’m okay.”

“He just wanted to know about Hickstrom,” Mary said to her husband. “I think she must have talked to him about something. He seems very angry and very confused. I’ve never seen him so upset, but he wasn’t angry with me. What did you think he was doing?”

“I saw you fall back as he lunged toward you,” St. John muttered. “Knowing how he felt about you, I thought he was on the point of—”

“St. John,” Roger cautioned.

St. John pressed his lips together.

“He was just excited. He wasn’t going to touch me. He surprised me, and I jumped back. That’s all. This has nothing to do with me. That had nothing to do with me.”

Rachel disagreed, but she didn’t voice her opinion. The situation was already too volatile.

“What did Hickstrom say to him?” she asked Mary.

Roger turned to Mrs. Green.

“Please do what you can to calm the servants, Mrs. Green. Thank you.”

“I will try, sir, but they will talk. I cannot prevent this scandal from leaving the castle.”

“Who cares?” Mary asked in obvious frustration. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”

“Everyone will care, Mary,” St. John said roughly. “I have done such damage to our good name, perhaps even to Halwell’s reputation. I am so very sorry.”

Mary moved toward him and took his arm. “No, you haven’t. It was just a thing. I don’t care what people think.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Green,” St. John said, as if encouraging her to leave.

She turned and left.

“Let us all sit and calm ourselves,” Roger said. “I think a glass of brandy for everyone is in order, even given the early hour of the day.”

Rachel sat down next to Mary on the couch and took her hand. St. John stood rigid, his hands clasped behind his back, genuine remorse on his face as he stared down at the carpet.

Roger poured out drinks and handed one to St. John.

“Please sit down, St. John.” Roger spoke to him in a familiar tone. “The ladies cannot know your sorrow if you loom over them thus.”

St. John looked up, took the drink and sat down in a chair opposite the sofa. Roger handed Rachel a drink and offered one to Mary.

“I’d better not, thanks,” she said, pressing a hand to her abdomen. She drew in a sharp breath, then looked over at her husband with wide eyes.

Rachel stared. Mary hadn’t merely declined the drink but had suggested she shouldn’t drink.

“Mary?” Rachel asked.

“It’s too soon to tell,” she said, color bright in her cheeks.

“What is too soon?” St. John asked.

Rachel turned to look at the men. No woman should have to tell her husband she was about to have their child in such awkward company.

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