A Bride for the Viscount Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  A Bride for the Viscount

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Lord Holt ignored the letter

  Ariadne held in her outstretched hand. “You realize the estate is haunted.”

  “I have heard something to that effect,” Ariadne said cautiously.

  “Until the spirit is satisfied that an appropriate union has taken place, some disruption and discomfort may be expected.” He lifted an eyebrow. “It has taken to standing all the furniture upside down each morning.”

  “How very droll of it.”

  “You will often encounter exceedingly cold drafts in the house.”

  “How fortuitous indeed that I packed my pelisse and shawl.” Given the prospect of poverty and starvation that had greeted her yesterday, the Holt ghost seemed quite tame in comparison. “Has the ghost any other accomplishments?”

  A small smile tugged at the corner of Holt’s stoic face. “It will sometimes hurl religious objects, such as a Bible, across the room.”

  Ariadne shook her head. “Such heathenish goings-on. I would have expected a better caliber of ghost lurking around an illustrious estate such as this.”

  Holt threw his head back and laughed. “It spooks the horses on occasion. Even my stallion, a fairly stoic chap, has been known to become skittish for no reason.”

  “Many animals are fairly high strung by nature. The ghost may not be able to claim credit for their white-livered behavior.”

  Holt was silent for a moment, though a smile lingered around his lips. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve laughed like that?”

  A Bride

  for the Viscount

  by

  Sara Freeze

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Bride for the Viscount

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Sara Freeze

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Tea Rose Edition, 2017

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1676-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For my daughter, Emma.

  Chapter One

  To my dear Sir John and Lady Partington,

  As you know, I am not one to mince words. My son is in need of a wife. You—and the rest of the Polite World—are aware of the rumors surrounding Holt Hall. In the spirit of honesty, I must admit that the rumors are true: Holt Hall is haunted by a ghost who will not be satisfied until a true lady joins hands with my son in the holy bond of matrimony. I promise you that your daughter, whichever one you choose to send, will be entirely safe. The spirit possesses more of a mischievous leaning than malicious one. In return for your daughter’s hand in marriage, your family will, of course, benefit from an alliance with one of the country’s most respected and ancient family lineages. In addition, my son is, if I may say so, quite pleasant to look at (he takes after his esteemed mother).

  I humbly await your reply.

  The Right Honorable

  The Dowager Viscountess Holt

  “Mother, what have you done?” James Knighton, Viscount Holt, glowered at his mother as he folded his six feet and several inches into one of the dainty chairs in his mother’s parlor. As it was, he was not having a particularly salutary day. His experiments with crop sequences were not achieving their desired result, and now, on top of that, he had just learned from his valet that his loving but interfering mother was seeking to auction him off like a bit of livestock.

  “I did what any concerned mother would in this situation.” Lady Holt raised one elegant eyebrow as she considered the wrathful figure of her son and set down her needlepoint. “My dear, do stop frowning. You will develop creases in your face, and who will want to marry you then? I already assured Lady Partington you are quite handsome, though you may not be the Pinkest of the Pinks.” She ignored James’s groan and continued on, “As it is, I have a battle on my hands.” His mother sighed and fanned herself. “And with my delicate nerves to think about.”

  “Your nerves are fine. It is your sanity I have some concerns about. Tell me the truth, Mother. Did you really write a letter to solicit a bride for me?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “I can find one on my own,” James said through clenched teeth.

  “You are not getting any younger.”

  James threw up his hands. “I am just thirty years old, madam.”

  “Thirty is but a hop, skip, and a jump to forty, then before you know it you will be fifty, and all the rakes and swells of the first stare will have their choice of bride. They will be producing heirs and continuing their family lineage while you grow long in the tooth. Time is not kind to any of us as we age.” His mother nodded sagely. “Best to find a bride now before your looks start to fade.”

  “My loving mother, ladies and gentlemen,” James drawled to the frowning portraits of his ancestors that adorned the parlor. “Please also enjoy her finesse with mathematics.”

  “Do not use that tone with me, young man. I did what needed to be done. And it’s been days since I sent the letter, so there’s nothing to be done about it except to wait.”

  James rubbed his chin as he gazed at his mother. It was useless to argue with her; she had never been bested in a duel of wits. Though he was loath to admit it, his mother was right about the marriage question. Since he has inherited the title, he had been desperately trying to make peace with the estate’s disgruntled tenants and to untangle the family’s complicated finances. His father had certainly served his family ill, James thought grimly. Through a stunningly unlucky combination of gambling, drink, and incognitos, his father had alienated his wife and son and diluted the Holt fortunes.

  Before he’d had time to devastate the Holt fortune altogether, the viscount broke his neck after pitching himself out of a third story window in an effort to avoid an irate husband. James, recently returned from the Peninsular wars, and his mother were seated at dinner when the news arrived, and for a moment, they sat in silence before grimly hoisting their glasses. Luckily, James’s facility with finance, combined with the hiring of a competent estate manager, had succeeded in slowly reversing his estate’s decline, but much work still remained.

  They had little time to celebrate their improving fortunes, however, since the Holt family ghost immediately declared its presence after the viscount’s death with an ever-increasing series of bizarre events, creating one more wrinkle in an already convoluted tapestry of familial nonsense.

  Now, it was up to James to restore the estate. The time-honored tradition of marrying for money and status was alive and well, but the idea of making such a mercantile match created a sour taste in his mouth. His father had allowed Society and its gaudy
attractions to lure him away from his responsibilities, and James would be damned if he would saddle himself with some Society wife who would interfere with his restoration of the estate. With careful planning, he knew he would completely restore his family’s fortune in just a handful of years. That is, if the deuced ghost would leave off scaring his staff.

  The ghost would have to wait its turn, however, as James dealt with the more pressing matter of his mother’s blithe interference in his affairs. James narrowed his eyes at his mother. “So you are content to auction me off to some desperate lady, then, madam? Did you provide all my measurements, as the horse dealers do?”

  She gave him a measured look. “What a perfectly marvelous idea, my darling. I wish I had thought of it sooner. In fact, I should have ordered that a miniature be sent along with the letter, much as the monarchy used to do centuries ago when they were arranging marriages.”

  “None of those blasted monarchs had to contend with an impish spirit and a languishing estate.” James strove to keep the anger out of his tone even as his hands curled into fists. He refused to be bitter about things he couldn’t change.

  “You face a great many obstacles, dear. But look at this way, it could be worse. You could have been the poor man in charge of arranging Henry VIII’s marriage.”

  Sometimes, his mother’s logic was deuced difficult to understand. Still, James made his best stab at it. “I suppose I am quite a bargain compared to a portly, irascible, and murderous monarch,” James agreed.

  Lady Holt waved away James’s statement. “Enough of this. The legend is very clear; you can ask your uncle again about that if you wish. The spirit must be appeased by your union to a true lady of worth and virtue. Sir Partington’s daughters are gently bred ladies whom I am sure will find favor with our dear spirit.” Lady Holt picked up her needlework again and jabbed at the center.

  “Hang the spirit,” James growled.

  His mother shushed him then shot a wry look at him. “Hang a ghost; where is your head, my darling? At any rate, everything is at sixes and sevens.” His mother set aside her needlework once more and leaned over to trace her son’s chin. “Ghastly spirit aside, I would like for you to be happy, my dear.”

  “I am content with my lot in life. Regarding my future bride, I have no especial interest in her looks or personality. I just need a wife who will bear my children and not interfere with my running of the estate. She will also need to understand that she will spend a great deal of time on her own since I must manage the fields.”

  “Ah, yes, just what every marriageable young lady is eager to hear from a prospective bridegroom,” his mother said in her driest tone.

  What he wanted simply didn’t exist—a practical and loving woman who accepted him for who he was and who possessed her own active intellect and interests was what he yearned for at night. However, he had yet to meet one of these in either the ballrooms of London or the small villages of Yorkshire; James resigned himself to accept his fate. Sir Archibald Banbury, leaning heavily on his cane, trundled into the room. It was destined to be a day of frustration and irritation.

  “Heard about your proposal, my boy.”

  James heaved a disgusted sigh. “It wasn’t my proposal.”

  His uncle went on as if James hadn’t spoken. “Sad state of affairs, very sad,” he said, shaking his head in a ponderous manner. “It’s all the fault of the demmed magpies. Oh, I beg your pardon, my dear,” he said, turning toward his sister with a flustered look.

  “That is hardly the most shocking thing I’ve heard in this house over the years.” Lady Holt jabbed a needle at the center of the elaborate floral design she was working on then sent her son an arch look.

  James lifted his eyes heavenward. He scowled at a faint crack that had appeared in the previously pristine ceiling. “What the devil do you mean by magpies?”

  “It’s very simple. I heard the story recently from a very reliable source.”

  James braced himself. Whenever his uncle declared the simplicity of a thing, James knew he would somehow succeed in complicating and muddling the issue beyond recognition. He and his mother exchanged meaningful glances as they waited for Archibald to clear his throat and wipe his nose.

  “One of your illustrious ancestors, the first to possess the Holt title, was out hunting back in the time of Henry VIII.”

  “Henry VIII again, what are the odds?” James muttered in an aside to his mother, who promptly shushed him.

  “He became separated from the rest of the hunting party and found himself in a secluded part of the forest.” His uncle dropped his voice for effect. “The part of the forest rumored to be haunted by the fae folk.”

  “Fairies, of course,” James said, striving to remain patient.

  Sir Banbury nodded his head in thanks as his sister poured him a cup of tea. “He became more and more lost until he found himself in a part of the woods where even the birds were silent. He must have trampled one of their sacred circles. Just then a magpie flew out in front of him. And as you know, ‘One for sorrow, two for joy, and so on.’ ”

  “That old rhyme,” James said in a dismissive tone.

  “Not just an old rhyme; it speaks to a deep truth in men’s fortunes and fate. The person who told me about it is greatly knowledgeable about such things, you may depend upon it, though I can’t quite remember his name at the moment. When your ancestor rejoined the hunting party, he was deeply shaken.”

  His uncle puffed out his cheek and exhaled. “Just a few days later, he discovered his bride-to-be had been unfaithful—and with one of the viscount’s oldest and dearest friends, no less. His bride-to-be eloped the following day with the viscount’s friend, and once they disappeared, the family discovered the Holt jewels had vanished as well. Those jewels, my boy, were worth a king’s ransom. The entire manor was turned upside down to find the jewels but to no avail. A week after those dreadful events, the spirit manifested. Now every generation, this house suffers the scourge of the original Viscount Holt’s vengeful spirit. As you know, the spirit becomes active when the current heir is unmarried; he will be appeased when your own lovely bride graces the doorway.” He turned and smiled at James’s mother. “Just as my dear sister did thirty-one years ago.” He turned back toward James. “So as I said, it’s all the fault of those dratted magpies.”

  James rubbed his forehead. That the house was haunted was a given unfortunately. Once the shock of its presence had been dealt with, it had been remarkably easy to accept the presence of a spirit. He was less willing to concede the presence of fairies and magic, much less the existence of some mythical jewels.

  “How do you know what the spirit wants? And why did the damned thing wait so long to make its presence known?”

  “The Holt ghost works in mysterious ways, my dear nephew.” Archibald tapped his forehead with a plump finger. “And I have a special understanding of the spirit world, if you will. As I said, the magpie story came from a highly reliable source.”

  James stared at his uncle for a moment then directed his attention to his mother. “Even if I marry, the spirit will simply return to plague another generation. It irks me to think that my children and grandchildren will be bothered by this nonsense.”

  “Children and grandchildren.” His mother shook her head at him. “Let us first get you caught in the parson’s mousetrap. Then we can sit around and contemplate the fate of the next generation.”

  “Fine. However, I very much doubt Lady Partington will send one of her daughters.”

  His mother frowned down at her needlework. “You must have a bride, James, you must.” She threw her needlework to the side with an impetuous hand. “And I will have you know I have already begun work on hosting a ball to celebrate your impending nuptials, such is my optimism that your bride will arrive any day now.” She sighed as she added, “Perhaps that way, the village families will see that we are not doomed and that it is safe to send their sons and daughters to work here. We cannot survive much longer wi
th such a shortage of staff, and you need help, my dear, so you are not working away in the fields all the time.” She heaved another sad sigh then picked up her needlework again.

  As though on cue, Woods, the Holt butler, glided into the room. “Lady Holt, a young woman has requested your presence. She said you had sent for her.”

  James’s mother threw down her needlework with a delighted shriek, causing her brother to upset his tea. “We are saved at last! One of Lady Partington’s daughters has graced us with her presence.” She darted an impish look at her son. “And see, James, I didn’t even have to send your measurements.” She looked over at Woods and said, “Please inform Miss Partington that I will join her soon.”

  Woods lifted an eyebrow as he stated “It is not Miss Partington. She states she is a dear friend of Miss Partington’s, and that she has come for Lord Holt.”

  James guffawed at the arrested expression on his mother’s face. “Please, Mother, let me handle this. I will be sure to resolve the mystery of this new arrival. If this lady is indeed to be my bride, I should be the one to greet her.”

  As with any butler worth his salt, Woods maintained a passive expression during this exchange, only intoning that he would have refreshments delivered to the library. James trailed in his wake.

  “James, at least comb your hair and change out of your muddy clothes,” his mother called out after him. “Your boots are a disgrace.”

  Without turning around James said, “If this woman is indeed to be the next Lady Holt, she should suffer no illusions about her choice of husband. If she is a Society lady, she must accept that she is not marrying a Society man.”

  “Remember you are a gentleman, my dear,” Lady Holt called out.

  Intrigued despite himself, James strode to the library. Who was this mystery woman? Few ladies of the ton would ever willingly venture to their isolated spot in Teesdale, nested along the Pennines. He stopped just short of the door. Since his father had died and James had assumed the reins of the Holt fortune and estate, he had felt a crushing sense of responsibility. So many people’s lives depended on him. How he wished for a partner to share the load, but he was well aware that at his station in life, a Society wife would give him little of the support he needed. Nevertheless, securing such a match would ensure that he would never be seduced away from his work with the estate. His sire’s detestable habits had made James determined to be his opposite in every way. He would never allow himself to become so distracted by Society and its temptations that he would neglect his estate.