The Viscount's Kiss by Margaret Moore

must you quarrel?” the countess pleaded. “Justinian’s only just arrived and—”
    â€œNo, Mother, we shan’t quarrel,” Bromwell said as he got to his feet. No doubt this visit had been a colossal waste of time and effort, except that he’d made his mother happy, and met Lady Eleanor. “I’m well aware of Father’s opinions, as he should be of mine. I know my duty, as you call it, but I also have a calling that I consider at least as important.”
    â€œYou call studying bugs a calling? ” his father demanded.
    Bromwell ignored that question and addressed his mother as well as his father. “I’m not opposed to the idea of marriage, but I won’t leave a wife behind in England while I’m on my expedition. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to rest before supper, provided you’ll allow me to stay even though I have no interest in Lady Eleanor as a prospective bride.”
    His mother reached out and took hold of his hand, then looked beseechingly at her husband.
    â€œOf course you can stay,” his father muttered.
    â€œThank you, my lord,” Bromwell said with formal politeness and a bow before he turned and left the room.
    Â 
    Nell looked out the window at the beautiful gardens laid out below and wondered how soon she could get away.
    To be sure, this bedroom, with its lovely flowered wallpaper of roses and vines and delicate mahogany furnishings, was absolutely charming and more comfortable than she would have expected. Given the grand entrance hall, she’d been anticipating a vast, chilly chamber with a huge curtained bed from the Elizabethan age. Instead, because it faced south, the room was bright and warm and even cozy. Everything was spotless, from the linen on the washstand to the silk draperies. There wasn’t a speck of dust, not even in the crevices of the ornately carved wardrobe, suggesting that the chamber was cleaned daily whether anyone was using it or not. A thick Aubusson carpet covered the floor and a gilded cheval glass stood near a screen painted with an oriental scene that hid the washstand.
    A knock sounded on the door, and in the next moment, a tall, thin, middle-aged maid glided into the room with some gowns over her arm. “Mrs. Fallingbrook said youwere to have these, my lady,” the maid intoned, her voice as sepulchral as her manner.
    â€œThank you,” Nell replied, thinking it was a relief that a lady didn’t owe a servant any explanations for anything, whether it was her presence or apparently missing garments, while wondering how Lord Bromwell’s meeting with his mother had gone.
    Surely better than any encounter with his father, who clearly didn’t appreciate his son’s intelligence or accomplishments.
    â€œI’m to be your maid while you’re here. My name is Dena. Shall I help you change, my lady?” the woman asked as she laid the gowns on the bed.
    There was a light green one of silk that was very pretty, a scarlet one of soft wool with gray trim that was more suitable for an older woman, and a pretty sprigged muslin with a square neckline she could hardly wait to try on. “The muslin, I think, please.”
    The maid didn’t reply as she took Nell’s pelisse, then helped her change her simple gown of light brown wool for the muslin.
    Fortunately, Nell had no cause to be ashamed of her chemise or pantelettes. Although it had been an extravagance, she’d purchased new ones before she’d gone to the Sturmpole estate in Yorkshire, suspecting that life as a lady’s companion was going to permit few luxuries.
    She had not expected it to be dangerous.
    Soon enough Nell was dressed in a gown that, if it didn’t fit perfectly, fit as well as the blue silk she’d worn the night before. She had no jewellery, so she tied a ribbon she retrieved from her valise around her neck.
    Looking at herself in the cheval glass, she was