The Viscount's Kiss by Margaret Moore Page B

about that.”
    â€œShe would be if he’d settle down and marry and not go sailing off again for who knows how long.”
    Nell was sure Lord Bromwell didn’t plan his expeditions as a means to upset his mother; his zeal for his chosen field and his belief in the necessity of learning about the natural world made that quite clear.
    And after all, he wasn’t the only man who travelled far from home. Mothers, sisters and wives of whalers and other seamen must get used to their sons and brothers, fathers and husbands being gone for years at a time.
    Or perhaps, she silently acknowledged, they had merely learned to hide their fears beneath a mask of stoic acceptance.
    She couldn’t fault the countess for being worried or Dena for her sympathy for her mistress, especially when she recalled how her own mother had cried before leaving her at school. She, on the other hand, had been too excited by the possibility of making friends to be sad, as Lord Bromwell was no doubt excited by the possibility of making new discoveries.
    â€œHe’s advancing the cause of science and our understanding of the natural world,” she pointed out in his defence.
    The maid’s only response was a loud and scornful sniff. Fortunately, Dena had also finished dressing her hair.
    â€œI’ll be here to help you when you retire, my lady,” she said, stepping back.
    That wasn’t exactly cheerful news, but there was no way to refuse, Nell supposed. “Thank you,” she said, rising and leaving the room, heading for the drawing room where, she assumed, the family would be assembled prior to proceeding to the dining room.
    This must be how prisoners being taken to the Old Bailey must feel, she thought as she went down the stairs. Afraid, uncertain, worried that every past transgression was going to be used against you…
    She hesitated on the threshold of the drawing room and slowly surveyed the grand chamber dominated by an ornate fireplace of marble, wide and with a mantel the height of a man’s shoulders. Two figures of women in Greek garments were on either side of the opening, and a large pier glass hung above it. The walls were painted a pea-green, with white plasterwork of Grecian urns and vines around the ceiling. The furnishings were of various gleaming woods, and included several Hepplewhite chairs and a Grecian couch upholstered in green silk, with curving gilded arms and feet. The heavy velvet draperies were still pulled back to allow the last of the daylight to shine into the room, although candles in shining silver holders had also been lit, and a fire kindled in the fireplace. A painted screen stood near it, and there were more paintings on the walls, of men, women and children in sober family groups dressed in the fashions of years gone by. Huge oriental vases full of rosesand hothouse flowers stood on side tables, their scent mingling with beeswax and burning coal from the fire.
    It was a lavish, expensively decorated chamber, if not an overly pleasant one.
    Nor was it unoccupied.
    In evening dress and with his hands behind his back, Lord Bromwell stood by the window, looking rather like a beetle among the butterflies as he stared up at the moon as if contemplating its composition.

Chapter Seven
    So much remains to be learned about the natural world, including human beings. Are we subject to the same needs and instincts as the lesser orders, or can our impulses be controlled by reason and rational discourse, as we would like to believe?
    â€”from The Spider’s Web , by Lord Bromwell
    W hat a will of iron must be concealed beneath that handsome, studious, civilized exterior, Nell thought as she studied him, noting his well-cut and immaculate evening attire of dark cutaway coat, gray vest, white shirt and cravat, breeches and silk stockings that proved his calves were as muscular as the rest of him. How dedicated he must be to his chosen field to continue his studies despite his