LITMIR.BIZ

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quite looking forward to discovering whether William had managed to teach me any new tricks. He said that if I had learned to be a little more enterprising, then he might not find it such a chore to resume his marital duties once I had delivered his child. That I might look forward to receiving more of his attention—’ The feverish confession had ended in a fit of coughing, as it so often did.

      Imogen tried to shut out the image of her mother’s wasted frame, but she could not silence her words. Not when they chimed so exactly with what her aunt was warning her marrying into the nobility would entail.

      ‘I do concede,’ her aunt admitted, ‘that there were extenuating circumstances. I remember that the Earl of Leybourne was your mother’s most ardent admirer, until Baron Framlingham came onto the scene. The woman he married was nowhere near so beautiful as your mother, and I suppose, when they were all thrown together by that Home Office business—’

      ‘Yes!’ Imogen sat up and grasped her aunt’s hand. ‘He told her that although he had tried to be a good husband, the feelings he had for his first love had never completely died. And she said the moment she saw him again, she was filled with regret for the choices she had made, and wished she could somehow wipe away all the years of misery she had suffered with Kit. They went outside into the garden, and she wept all over him, and he tried to comfort her, and…’

      ‘I suppose she told you one thing led to another,’ said her aunt dryly. ‘But I have to inform you that nobody just falls into an affair. They choose it. For whatever reason. Boredom or revenge, or as in your mother’s case,’ she added wistfully, ‘perhaps for comfort.’ She visibly took herself in hand, before saying bracingly, ‘Imogen I do hope you will take your mother’s fate as a warning. You must not yearn for the unobtainable in your marriage. Strive instead to be content with what you have.’

      On these words, her aunt left the room, leaving Imogen sickened at the prospect of enduring the kind of marriage her aunt had just outlined. Where she was expected to turn a blind eye to her husband’s infidelity, as her aunt clearly had to whenever her uncle strayed, and count herself lucky anybody had deigned to marry her in the first place!

      She was the very last person in the world who ought to become a viscountess!

      Although, realistically, she supposed it was too much to hope that a man as attractive as Viscount Mildenhall would stay faithful to any one woman for very long. Especially one as plain as her. She sank back into her pillows and glared up at the canopy.

      And her aunt, who she had always thought of as being the arbiter of etiquette, seemed to think there would be nothing wrong with her having adulterous affairs as some sort of…compensation! So long as she had got the main duty of being a wife over with first.

      She sat up, blew out her candle with a vengeance and thumped her pillow before flinging herself back into it.

      She supposed at least she was going into her loveless marriage with her eyes open. Whereas her poor mother had believed Kit loved her.

      Her aunt seemed to think Viscount Mildenhall would restrict himself to her, until he had got her pregnant, too, whereas her father…

      She rolled onto her side, drawing her legs up to her chest. Kit had never had any intention of so much as nodding towards the conventions of marriage. As soon as he had got his hands on the inheritance he had married Amanda to secure, he had gone out and celebrated in the wildest fashion imaginable. He had flaunted a succession of mistresses in public. And then, when Amanda did not immediately fall pregnant, set out to prove that the fault was not his. He had eventually brought home a baby boy that he had fathered on a Gypsy woman, informing Amanda that since she could not give him a son, she would have to see a bastard filling the empty crib in the nursery.

      Kit had intended to humiliate her by forcing her to care for his illegitimate son. But he had overlooked the fact that Amanda adored babies. And that by this time, she had given up all hope of ever having any children of her own. He had told her so often she must be barren, that she had come to believe it.

      ‘Imo,’ she had sighed, her eyes filling up with tears, ‘he was such a beautiful baby. With a shock of dark hair and your father’s smile. I might not have been his real mother, but I felt just as though he was my firstborn. He was not responsible for his parents’ actions. Poor, helpless little mite! It was cruel of Kit to bring him into our home and try to use him as a weapon. I never forgave him for that!’

      Kit had been disappointed to see Amanda finding consolation in caring for the boy as if he was her own, and quickly tired of having a squalling brat in the house. So he began to torment her by threatening to send the boy back to his real mother. What had sealed little Stephen’s fate, though, had been Grandpapa Herriard storming into the house and demanding that Kit house his by-blow elsewhere. Amanda had, she told Imogen, gone up to the nursery and held the little boy in her arms, fearing it might be the very last time she held any child she could call her own. But her father’s attempt to browbeat him into ‘doing the right thing’ made Kit dig in his heels. For if there was one thing Kit Hebden relished, it was behaving badly. Having a Gypsy brat openly living in his house, forcing his wife into what everyone interpreted as a humiliating position, suited his warped sense of humour down to the ground. And so Stephen had stayed.

      And Society had been duly shocked.

      Imogen frowned. Viscount Mildenhall had told her he was no stranger to scandal, on account of his stepmother’s actions, but he had not said he would ever actively court it. On the contrary, he had not even wanted anyone to know what had happened out on Lady Carteret’s terrace. He also said he was willing to take her in hand, to spare Rick’s blushes for her future conduct. If he had an affair—no, when he had an affair, she corrected herself—he was the kind of man who would conduct it with discretion. And if there were any by-blows, he would certainly not bring them home and force her to raise them!

      Viscount Mildenhall might be a handsome charmer, but he was not cast in the same mould as her father. In his own fashion, he would probably attempt to be a good sort of husband.

      Anyway—she huffed, turning over—if he wasn’t, he would have Rick to answer to!

      Imogen woke the next morning, feeling a sense of hope rising unbidden within her. It was the culmination of every girl’s ambition to marry well. And in Society’s eyes, she had succeeded.

      Viscount Mildenhall was handsome and wealthy, and his kiss had been so potent she still felt a little thrill every time she thought of it. She had no reason to feel cheated. Persons of her class very rarely found love within marriage. Her aunt may have had hopes at one point, but now she seemed heartily thankful that Lord Callandar scarcely set foot in his own house. She had her own social circle and her own interests which kept her cheerfully occupied.

      And very few endured such misery as Kit Hebden had put her mother through, either.

      No, it was far better not to marry for that sort of love. For, after the fires of passion had burned out, her mother had warned her, all that was left were the ashes of cold despair.

      She flung the covers aside and swung her legs out of the bed. There was no way of knowing what marriage with Viscount Mildenhall would bring her, but today she was going to cling to the hope that perhaps, given time, they might achieve that state of easy companionship she had observed her mother enjoying with Hugh Bredon.

      And at least she had the satisfaction of knowing she was repaying all the kindness her aunt had shown her, by entering into a marriage of which she thoroughly approved.

      Imogen smiled wryly to her reflection in the mirror as her maid fixed her bonnet in place. It had felt like a crime to hide her gorgeous gown under her coat, but the day was too chilly to drive to the church without one.

      As she climbed into the carriage, it struck Imogen that there was another aspect to her wedding day that pleased her. Gathered in St George’s chapel that morning would be representatives of all the families that had been torn apart by the murder of her father. Lords Framlingham, Leybourne and Narborough had once been friends, working together to solve a crime that was taking place in some high office.

      Until

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