Page 4 of A Victim, A Viscount, And Miss Mifford
"I really would rather not," Emily shrugged, standing from the table along with the other two. Only Jane remained and in a fit of sisterly affection, she decided to stay and listen to Eudora recount the obituaries listed in The Times.
It was an exceedingly dull listen, but one which required very little interaction on Jane's part for Eudora preferred soliloquies to conversations. As her youngest sister droned on and on, Jane allowed her mind to wander back to Mr Bonville.
If it was true that he had turned up uninvited to the wedding, then it was rather strange—though Jane was disinclined to believe the gossip. Mr Bonville was far too handsome—er, kind—to have attached any nefarious motives to his visit, she thought, quelling a blush as she fervently thanked God that Eudora could not hear her thoughts. For, if any hint was to reach Mrs Mifford's ears that Jane was in anyway taken by Mr Bonville, then it was certain that her mama would engage in a machination to bring them together.
A machination which would no doubt bring embarrassment down upon poor Jane, for Mrs Mifford was about as subtle as a kick to the head from a donkey. No, Jane would not breathe a word of her meeting with Mr Bonville to anyone—though, if they were to meet again by chance, Jane would certainly not fight against fate's wishes...
Chapter Two
As Ivo William Bonville strolled up the winding driveway of Plumpton Hall—a good three hours after he had departed—he noted a peculiar sight. At each one of the windows which faced out onto the rolling lawns stood a maid, ostensibly cleaning the glass.
Ivo might not have thought much of this, had it not been for the fact that every one of the young women was not actually doing much cleaning, rather the cloths in their hands were idle, whilst their noses were pressed up against the panes as they peered out at some unseen spectacle.
It was not until Ivo reached the top of the driveway—which led to a circular courtyard with a fountain at its centre—that he discovered just what it was that that had the housemaids all a flutter—or rather who.
Lord Crabb, with his betrothed Miss Prunella Hughes by his side, stood conversing with a gentleman of such masculine beauty that Michaelangelo himself might weep in his presence. Even Ivo could understand the housemaids' gawping, for in his one and thirty years he could not recall having ever seen a man so beautiful as this. Golden hair, fine, noble features, and an athletic physique which was highlighted by a pair of very snug breeches—was it any wonder the maids were so enthralled?
"Ah, Bonville," Lord Crabb called, as he caught sight of Ivo, "Come meet—what was your name again, my lad? You'll have to forgive me, my memory is not what it once was."
"Adonis," the handsome gentleman supplied, in a voice so melodic it was like dripped honey, "Mr Theodore Adonis."
"Mr Adonis," Lord Crabb echoed, puffing out his pigeon chest importantly, "He is here to landscape the gardens. My dear Prunella—I mean, Miss Hughes—tells me he comes highly recommended. He studied at Cambridge."
"Oxford," Adonis corrected, politely.
"Then trained with Capability Brown," Lord Crabb continued, as though he had not heard Adonis' remark.
"Humphry Repton, actually," Adonis corrected again, for the world and his dog knew that Brown was long since dead.
"And he recently redesigned the Duke of Portland's grounds," Lord Crabb finished, in triumph, oblivious to Mr Adonis' pained expression.
"It was the Earl of Kettle's, my lord," Adonis said, but the viscount was not listening.
"He has great plans for the place, Bonville," Lord Crabb beamed, "Perhaps you will stay and see the final results."
"I am sure that Mr Bonville must soon return to town, my lord," Miss Hughes interrupted, her eyes narrowing in dislike as they fell on Ivo, "You did mention, Mr Bonville, that you were thinking of leaving tomorrow morning, did you not?"
"I do not recall having said that," Ivo answered honestly, causing Miss Hughes to flush prettily with indignation. Perhaps chivalry might have obliged another gentleman to defend her honour and continue the lie, but Ivo found his sense of chivalry shrivelled up and died in Miss Hughes' presence.
"My dear, you are becoming as absent minded as I am," Lord Crabb said affectionately, "Or perhaps, excitement for the wedding day is addling your thoughts."
Judging by Miss Hughes' brief grimace of distaste, Ivo safely assumed that "excited" was not the word that she might have picked to describe her feelings toward the impending wedding.
"What young lady would not be distracted when her life's greatest dream is soon to be realised?" Ivo agreed, mildly, his observation causing Miss Hughes to frown once more.
She sensed his sarcasm, but dared not call him out on it, for to do so would be to reveal that she too thought her marriage to Lord Crabb the farthest thing from any young lady's dream. It was quite amusing to watch her pout in annoyance; Ivo was not often given over to needling, but Miss Hughes and the particularly cold—one might say hostile—welcome she had offered him meant that he quite enjoyed exacting her ire. Silly chit thought he had come to steal away Lord Crabb's fortune, when anyone who read the papers would know that he had amassed a fortune of his own, which rivalled even that of a viscount.
"Yes, yes," Lord Crabb agreed, his ego so large that he did not see anything amiss in Ivo's statement, "One cannot blame Miss Hughes for having scattered thoughts with the wedding so close. We shall leave her with Mr Adonis, who might oblige me by distracting her with his ideas for the gardens."
"I would be only too happy to distract Miss Hughes," Mr Adonis volunteered.
And she to be distracted by you, Ivo thought, though he dared not say it for even he adhered to some social strictures at times.
Ivo and Lord Crabb left a very pleased looking Miss Hughes in the company of the God of Gardening, and made their way inside. A footman rushed to open the front door for them, and Ivo followed Lord Crabb inside to the entrance hall.
"Sir Charles is waiting for you in the drawing room, my lord," Allen, the elderly butler intoned as the door closed behind the pair.
"What about Mr Just?" the viscount answered, "Did you inform him that I wished him to remain after he had gone through the marriage contract with Sir Charles?"
