Page 2 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
There was something about the gently flowing River Churn which never failed to soothe Jane's spirits and help her make sense of her muddled thoughts. Today, her thoughts were especially muddled, given that she had—only last night—had an epiphany.
Jane's distant wish to be a spinster was completely at odds with her daily wish to avoid her mother as much as was humanly possible. With Mary's departure to Northcott Manor—and now to town for the Little Season—Jane had been forced to note how much her sister had acted as a buffer between Jane and her mama. If Emily and Eudora were to marry, which they most likely soon would given the family's sudden boost up the social ladder, Jane would then be left alone in Primrose Cottage with no one to shield her from her mama's attentions. As her father, Mr Mifford, spent most of his days ensconced in his library—which was so small it might be mistaken for a cupboard—Jane would be left to entertain Mrs Mifford alone.
The thought of endless days spent only with her mother for company had awoken in Jane a realisation; the life of a spinster sounded terribly alluring when one imagined herself living alone and having adventures. When one framed it in the context of living with one's mother and being at her beck and call until her dying day, its appeal soon lost its lustre.
Thus, Jane, for the first time in her life, finally understood the two reasons why a woman might wish to marry; to have a household of her own and to escape her mother. Though the second reason was, perhaps, only pertinent to Jane.
Marriage, Jane realised, was something which she would have to embark upon—and soon. But where on earth would she find a gentleman to marry? she wondered, as she traipsed along the path. Interesting men, with intelligence and wit, who were also financially solvent and passably attractive did not simply fall from the sky. Especially not in Plumpton, where the bachelor pickings were not just slim—they were in a state of famine.
Jane paused and gave a sigh, and as she did so a loud crack sounded out from the canopy of trees above her head. This crack was accompanied by an epithet—one entirely unsuited for female ears—and Jane glanced up to spot a burgundy shape tumbling through the branches toward the ground.
She leapt quickly out of the way, as the burgundy mass—which on closer inspection was revealed to be a man—landed inelegantly upon the mucky path, rear-side down.
Upon impact, the man uttered another word which did not bear repeating, though Jane decided to overlook this given the indignity of his landing. He muttered to himself for a moment, before glancing up, his expression registering surprise as he spotted Jane.
"Forgive me," he said, in an accent which hinted at gentility, "I did not see you there; if I had, I would not have chosen to land so perilously close to you."
"I was rather under the impression that you did not have much choice in where you landed," Jane replied, amazed at her ability to sound so calm after having had a gentleman quite literally land at her feet.
That he was a gentleman was beyond doubt, if one disregarded his colourful use of language. His buff breeches, fine merino wool coat, and beaver hat exuded wealth and taste, while his Hessian boots were polished to a shine that only a valet could produce.
The gentleman gave a rueful chuckle at Jane's remark, before hopping—with remarkable agility for one who had just taken such a tumble—to his feet. He stood, Jane guessed, just over six-feet tall, and was in possession of a fine pair of shoulders which Jane had not truly appreciated whilst he was seated.
He glanced down at Jane from his lofty height and she felt a shiver run through her as his green eyes met hers for the first time. He wasn't handsome in the current fashion; his eyebrows were thick and dark, his nose a tad larger than most would consider attractive, and his square jaw was shadowed in stubble despite the early hour. All this, however, when combined with his unfashionably tanned skin, gave him an air of masculinity which Jane guessed that none of the Romantics like Byron might ever hope to master. His raw, almost visceral, maleness, sent Jane's heart askitter in her chest, and she struggled against an urge to giggle.
"I see that I cannot convince you that my tumble from the tree was intentional," the man spoke again, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his generous mouth, "And as I have already disgraced myself once before you, I am a tad reluctant to do so a second time, yet needs must."
"Oh?" Jane was momentarily taken aback, for it was not often that she found herself alone with a man intent on disgracing himself. Another lady might be worried by such a statement, though Jane was more curious than frightened.
"I am lost," the gentleman quickly supplied, having perhaps realised the error of his words, "I have been walking for nearly two hours and cannot find my bearings. I thought to climb that tree, in the hopes that I might spot the direction in which the village lies—but, you witnessed how well that went."
Jane hid a smile, as she realised that the disgrace the man had been reluctant to commit was admitting to being lost. Masculine pride was such a fragile thing that Jane sometimes wondered how men had managed to dominate the world for centuries, when they were oftentimes as sensitive as flowers.
"I am usually a much better navigator," the gentleman stressed, as he spotted Jane's badly hidden grin, "Though I will admit that I do not often travel by foot. When I am not at sea, I prefer to ride, but my mount lost a shoe this morning and my host's stable was lacking in animals suited for my stature."
"Of course," Jane soothed, adopting a more sombre mien. She had not much experience of men, but if she was not mistaken, she could almost believe that this gentleman was peacocking for her benefit. This thought left her feeling rather flustered and she had to fight valiantly against the blush which sought to bloom upon her cheeks.
"If you are seeking the village of Plumpton, then I advise you to cross the fence just there," she answered quickly, waving a hand at the fence she herself had come over, "Walk straight across the field and on the other side you will meet the road. If you travel uphill you will reach Plumpton Hall, downhill leads to the village."
"My thanks, Miss—?"
"Mifford," Jane answered, feeling both relieved and disappointed that their meeting was now coming to an end.
"Miss Mifford," the gentleman sounded out her name, his expression rather pleased, before offering his own along with a short bow, "Ivo Bonville, much obliged."
"You are most welcome, Mr Bonville," Jane inclined her head, half-torn between lingering and fleeing. Deciding on the latter, she offered Mr Bonville a cheery smile, wished him well on his continued journey, before she herself took off at a break-neck pace.
Jane longed to glance back to see if Mr Bonville was still watching her, but a sense of self-preservation forbid her. If she were to glance over her shoulder and see him gone, without a second thought to her, Jane realised that she would be hugely disappointed.
As Jane continued her walk along the riverside, her mind began to dissect every word that had passed between the pair. Mr Bonville had stated that he was more comfortable at sea, but was that in the navy, the merchant navy, or a one-oared fishing boat? While he did have the look of someone who could afford to buy himself a handsome commission in the navy, there was a rakish—almost piratical—look to him that made Jane think it was the merchant navy with whom he had sailed.
And who was he staying with? He had said his host's stable had no suitable animal for his stature, which was why he was on foot, but who in Plumpton kept such a poor livery? Any farmer worth his salt had one mount capable of holding Mr Bonville's athletic bulk, though to Jane's mind, Mr Bonville did not seem like the type of man who would be the guest of a farmer.
If the Duke of Northcott had been at home, Jane would have assumed him to be one of his friends, but Northcott was in London with Mary. The only other person of status to host a man such as Bonville in the vicinity was Lord Crabb...
That was it! Lord Crabb was as parsimonious as he was cantankerous, and Jane thought it highly possible that his stables were filled with old nags. He was also shortly due to be wed, perhaps Mr Bonville was to be a guest at the viscount's impending nuptials?
The path before Jane split in two and she took the track which would lead her to the village, her mind now on Lord Crabb's marriage instead of Mr Bonville. The crotchety octogenarian viscount had recently announced his engagement to Miss Prunella Hughes, eighteen years old and pretty as a picture. The viscount's first marriage had not resulted in the issue of any heirs—or any children at all—and it was well known that Lord Crabb had contented himself with leaving his title to a long-distant second cousin—the only male heir in a line filled with female offspring.
