Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

Daisy could tell from that letter that Lady Pinckney must have been one of Papa’s old paramours.

Now Cassandra threatened to burn the letter in the fire. She looked back at Daisy with glee in her eyes. “What will you do if it goes up in flames?” she asked in a wheedling tone.

That green, pushy thing growing inside Daisy shot up another inch. “I’ll break your arm,” she said, “the same way you broke mine.”

Cassandra sucked in a breath and stared at her. Perdita let half a cake fall out of her mouth onto her lap.

Daisy strode toward Cassandra with her hand outstretched. “Give it to me now, or rest uneasy tonight.”

Cassandra blinked repeatedly. “Why, you—you—”

Daisy snatched the letter out of her hand. “Cat got your tongue for once?”

Cassandra’s mouth gaped even wider, and she blinked more and more rapidly, and then her chest started heaving.

Daisy had a sneaking suspicion Cassandra was trying not to cry.

“What’s happened to you?” Perdita roared at Daisy.

Perdita couldn’t help roaring. It was simply her way. Everything she said came out as a roar.

Daisy turned to look at her, feeling powerful with that letter in her hand. She didn’t even know what it said, but it was from her godmother, by God, and that was something.

It was something, indeed.

“Nothing’s happened to me, Perdy,” said Daisy. “But something may happen to you .”

“What do you mean by that?” shrieked Cassandra.

Perdita merely gave a soft roar, which was as close to a whimper as she would probably ever get.

Daisy turned her back on them and walked out the drawing room door and up to her bedchamber. For the first time, she looked at the writing on the note.

Her heart sank. It was from a man. The handwriting was strong. Even fierce.

Some of the concern came back. What would Cassandra and Perdita do to her after that scene in the drawing room? She’d gone a bit far, hadn’t she?

But it had felt good. It had felt right .

Still. She’d never done it before. It had been the letter that had given her courage.

Pushing down her worry, Daisy closed the door behind her, broke the wax seal on the paper, and unfolded it, all the while wondering what the man in the letter would want of her.

After she finished reading, she folded the long-awaited note back up and stared into space. “I’ve been given a viscount,” she murmured, testing out the words.

But she hadn’t asked for a viscount. She’d asked for a godmother.

He’d be here any day now. His name was Charles Thorpe, Viscount Lumley, and he was Lady Pinckney’s grandson.

What in God’s name was Daisy to do with him?

A month earlier

Charles Thorpe, Viscount Lumley, held up a missive written in a feminine hand to show his three best friends, all of them Impossible Bachelors, who’d been designated by Prinny as experts at both charming women and avoiding the marriage altar. They were seated in a private room at their club in London.

“As you know, I’m taking care of Grandmother’s business while she’s gone,” Charlie said in his best leading fashion, which really wasn’t very leading at all.

Not known for nuance, he was now the most physically imposing of the Bachelors—and rumor had it the most menacing when his ire was up. All the amateur boxing matches he’d trained for and won under the tutelage of Gentleman Jackson the past several years attested to that.

Harry Traemore, second son of the Duke of Mallan and the first of the Bachelors to get leg-shackled, barely glanced at the letter. He even let out a tremendous yawn and settled deeper into his club chair. “Lady Pinckney’s a spitfire, but it can’t be too taxing looking after an elderly woman’s affairs, can it? At least in comparison to your usual endeavors.”

“Wining and dining widows and actresses, and making money hand over fist, you mean,” interjected Stephen Arrow, a captain in the Royal Navy who was now on a new adventure as a landlubber—a married one, at that.

In the old days, Charlie would have chuckled at Stephen’s comment. But he was far too cynical and jaded these days to do that. “You must admit it takes some skill to do either.” He paused. “Especially at the same time.”

“Is that possible?” Nicholas Staunton, the Duke of Drummond, who’d also succumbed to marital bliss, lofted an enigmatic brow. Being mysterious was a passion of his.

“No doubt with Lord Lumley, it’s doable,” Harry said.

“I won’t deny it.” Charlie shrugged. “But now my greatest task is to send round no s to all Grandmother’s invitations.”

“Feed her canary,” Stephen added.

“Walk her poodle,” Nicholas said.

Charlie acknowledged their repartee with a tip of his head. “But this is Lady Pinckney, not your typical elderly female. Did you know she has seven goddaughters?”

“Seven?” Harry stirred himself. “That does seem a bit excessive.”

“She collects them the way you collect boats, Arrow,” Charlie said, “or you accrue your horses, Drummond.” He snorted. “Or you collect children, Harry.”

Harry winced. “Three at the moment. I suppose that is considered a collection, eh?”

Nicholas shook his head. “I’m fast on your heels, old man, with my twins.”

“And don’t forget, I’m just getting started with my little sailor,” Stephen said. “I’ll catch up soon enough.”

“You forgot to boast that they all have me as their adventurous uncle,” Charlie reminded them, “the one with no rules. Speaking of which, I’ve got a fresh situation on my hands, a rather awkward one. Before I take action, I could use your counsel.”

“Here’s mine,” said Harry. “Take a moment to recover from the last situation before you move on to this one.”

“Nursemaid’s advice,” Charlie promptly told him. “Is that what comes with settling down?”

“Point taken, old friend.” Harry’s tone was dry. “Please. Go on chasing the wrong women as long as you like while I remain settled down, as you say, with a lovely, loyal wife who doesn’t pocket the expensive baubles I give her and then walk away.”

“Touché.” Charlie considered his most recent romantic folly. “At least you’re the only ones who know. Outside my family, that is.”

“Are they speaking to you yet?” asked Stephen.

Charlie shook his head. “Only Grandmother.”

“Perhaps her heart was broken once,” suggested Nicholas.

“Or more than once,” added Stephen, no doubt alluding to the fact that in the past two years, Charlie had had lengthy affairs with three women.

“Rest assured,” Charlie said, “I may have been involved with more than my fair share of grasping females, but my heart’s never been broken.” Dented, maybe, but that had only made it more impervious to hurt. “At the moment, I’ve got a bigger problem on my plate.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

Charlie was loath to tell them. “I’ve been completely cut off from the family coffers.” He felt quite bitter about it, too. “My parents believe that as the heir, I need to stop throwing money about carelessly.”

“Interesting.” Harry nodded, quite as if he understood.

Which rather riled Charlie. “I excel at investing on the family’s behalf.”

Harry and the other Bachelors exchanged neutral glances.

What’s that about? Charlie wondered.

“Lord and Lady Frampton”—he referred to his parents testily—“say that no matter how rich I make the family, thoughtless spending will eventually lead to my ruin.” He waited for someone to say such a claim was ridiculous. “Can you believe that?”