Season for Temptation by Theresa Romain Page B

specific amount of Louisa’s dowry wasn’t really a concern for James, since the Matheson viscountcy wasn’t at all short of funds; still, it felt like something he and his future father-in-law ought to work out.
    Instead, he found himself trotting after Lord Oliver through a whirlwind tour of the stables. He was willing to profess admiration for the horses, but James split from his host when the latter professed a desire to check on a newborn calf and its mother. Saying he would meet Lord Oliver back at the house later, he trudged back across the muddy ground, looking dolefully at his mud-caked boots and remembering their mirror-bright gloss of the morning.
    It wasn’t as if he had never been in the country before, but getting into the stables of a manor house was an experience entirely new to him. He was used to grooms bringing horses out for him to ride, already saddled and bridled. Had he even been in a stable since he was an inquisitive young boy? Surely not since his father had tanned his backside and told him sons of the house didn’t associate with servants.
    He paused in his walk for a moment, regarding a clump of—yes, he was very much afraid that wasn’t dirt on his boot, but something far more . . . organic. And suddenly, he felt his natural good humor returning. Cleaning his boots would be just the job for his valet, who tended to be supercilious at the best of times, and whose best personality traits were definitely not brought out by country life.
    James’s pace quickened as he imagined the man’s face upon seeing his soiled boots, and he had to laugh to himself. He even veered toward a fresh-looking deposit and tramped through it with both feet.
    He felt more cheerful at once. It would do Delaney some good to clean a bit of excrement off his master’s boots every once in awhile. And the Olivers were odd, true, but they were kind people—and at any rate, he was certainly gaining plenty of new experiences. He would hardly have wanted to marry into a dull family, would he?
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    The succeeding weeks of James’s visit drifted by pleasantly, with few notable events to mar the placid country life he expected to constitute most of his days following his marriage.
    But when, one day in mid-September, he received word over the dinner table of the impending arrival from London of the family’s doughty relative, Lady Irving, he decided that this might well be a good opportunity to leave for a while. Only to oversee restorations, of course; not to avoid his future wife’s relatives. Not even to escape from the aunt who could have taught lessons in sharp-tongued repartee to Attila the Hun. If Huns practiced repartee, rather than just whacking at their enemies with swords.
    Actually, it wasn’t all that difficult to imagine Lady Irving with a sword in her hand.
    He waited until the next day, two days before Lady Irving’s expected visit, to broach to Louisa the topic of his return to his estate. He found her in the early afternoon; she was, as usual, in the library. As was now his routine, he knocked on the door before entering. When he did, Louisa was seated expectantly on her favorite red sofa, a book at her side, her hands clasped on her knee.
    â€œHello, my dear,” he greeted her, kissing her on the forehead in their accustomed ritual.
    â€œGood afternoon to you,” she replied. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
    â€œDo I need a reason for coming to speak to my fiancée?” he answered gallantly.
    She looked at him expectantly for a moment, and his bravado deflated. “Oh, very well, if you must know—I was thinking of returning to Nicholls for a time.”
    â€œTo shoot partridge? Or to avoid shooting my aunt Estella?” she asked, quirking an intelligent eyebrow.
    â€œUm,” he replied. He hadn’t expected to be caught out so quickly. “Well, perhaps a bit of both.”
    Louisa shook her head.