Mary Brendan - Reunited With Her Viscount Protector

‘And when I get back I will let you know all about my trip to Essex.’ Dawn assisted her friend in rising from her chair. Linking arms, they set off at a slow stroll towards the house. Dawn raised a hand in farewell to the Earl. He had his son in his arms and was on his way across the lawn to the flag-edged pond to show the boy the goldfish. He shifted Bernie in his grip to return her a farewell salute.

‘I’ve not heard of this Miss Sarah Snow or her family. Is she young...out this Season?’ Still Emma seemed absorbed in knowing more about Jack Valance’s plans.

‘I believe she keeps to herself and hasn’t been seen much. But she is pretty from what the ladies were saying. A redhead.’ Dawn hugged Emma closer. ‘She sounds like a wise young lady. Thank goodness we no longer have to attend those ghastly balls at Almack’s. I feel quite sorry for those poor girls being criticised as though they were a herd of prime fillies.’

‘I’ve asked Lance to bring me home some tattle, but he rarely does. He says it all passes over his head when he’s in his club. Not that he goes there much. I expect he might go more often now that Jack is home. They’ve been friends since school, but have hardly seen one another in years.’

Dawn thought back on those years, wondering where the time had flown to. Yet much had happened in her life: she’d been married, widowed and now had a family, none of whom were her blood relatives. The only one of those left to her was her papa.

‘Once my confinement is over we must sally forth and find out what the beau monde is up to,’ Emma announced, interrupting her friend’s pensiveness.

‘The beau monde will be much as it always was, my dear,’ Dawn returned. ‘You will discover nothing much more than who put their last shilling on the turn of a card and lost an estate and which husband was found in flagrante with his chum’s wife.’

‘You are a dreadful cynic, Dawn,’ Emma fondly chided.

‘Am I? I don’t mean to be. Perhaps life has made me grumpy.’

Emma hugged her friend. Indeed, Dawn had had some tough luck and words were of little comfort to somebody who had found contentment with a gentleman, if not love, and had settled for that consolation just to have it whipped away.

The following morning Dawn was up early to post a letter to her stepdaughter, belatedly accepting Eleanor’s invitation to visit. Her second child was soon due and Dawn guessed the expectant mother was becoming easily tired and would like some help looking after her boisterous little daughter.

The Reverend Peter Mansfield wasn’t a fellow given to lending a hand to his wife. In fact, Dawn had had to bite her tongue when she was there last time. The couple employed just two servants: a maid and an elderly cook. When the maid had been laid up with raging toothache the vicar had allowed Eleanor—in the early stages of her pregnancy—to sweep out the grate rather than do it himself. At the time Eleanor had said she didn’t mind, although Dawn had noticed a certain spark in her stepdaughter’s eye. Dawn had rolled up her own sleeves to take over the task, while hoping her stepson-in-law might feel shamed into acting. He had, dropping to his knees with a martyred look. Dawn imagined there had been other, unwitnessed, times when Eleanor had been treated less than considerately.

But Dawn did her best to be amenable to Peter for his wife’s sake. She had put off this visit by some weeks because she hadn’t relished having his company. She had—quite validly—blamed the delay on the vagaries of the March winds making travelling hazardous. She gazed up at the clear azure sky. There was no such excuse to be had now the weather had turned unseasonably fine. But before it returned to normal for this time of the year she must make that trip or she might be caught out. Besides, she genuinely loved seeing Eleanor and Lily, so enduring the vicar’s bombast was a price worth paying. And she’d only be out of town for a fortnight.

Dawn lived on the fringes of town in a modest town house on a leafy crescent. She walked on in the direction of Regent Street, intending to browse the shops for something nice to take with her to Essex for her little granddaughter.

* * *

Reaching her destination, she sought out a toy shop, browsing the counters and pondering on whether a spinning top would be too advanced for Lily and a rag doll too mundane. The girl was by no means a baby, but Dawn had little idea of the progress children made as they grew, having never been a mother herself. In the end she purchased just the doll, undecided about the top, and headed to the drapery to buy some pretty clothes. She was on the point of entering the premises when a sleek black curricle drew her attention as it pulled in to the kerb some distance away. Its arrival seemed to have caused a stir—she noticed that people had turned to observe the passengers. Idly, she tilted her head to get a better view of the driver.

Dawn stood quite still and, once she’d conquered her surprise, commenced wondering how she had recognised him. It had been years since she had seen or spoken to Jack Valance and he looked very different. His hair was no longer fair and cropped short, but a silvery tone and worn rather long. His face had lost its city pallor and was now bronzed by a foreign sun, but his height and breadth were familiar. As was the way he agilely leapt to the pavement to assist his companion to alight.

Dawn watched his strong dark hands; once she had felt those long fingers fastened on her, courteously helping her from a vehicle. There had been two occasions on which he’d invited her to take a drive with him. Before they’d parted for the final time he had crowded her behind an oak tree in Hyde Park to kiss her as soon as her chaperon’s back was turned. During that snatched, thrilling episode Jack Valance had broken her heart. He wasn’t in a position to court her, he’d told her. But he’d promised to come back as soon as he improved his prospects enough to take a wife. She’d not seen him again until this moment. Dawn focused on the young woman smiling coquettishly at him...to little response. He seemed more interested in ensuring the tiger had the reins of the fine pale-flanked Arabian in harness.

He hadn’t recognised her , Dawn realised—his gaze had roamed her way and then travelled on. Rather than feeling piqued at being overlooked by a gentleman who once had told her she was beautiful, she was rather glad to be able to discreetly observe the couple from her vantage point in the shop doorway. With an amount of wryness she realised that if that was his future wife, then Sarah Snow wasn’t the refined young lady she’d believed her to be! Neither was she a stunning redhead. But the blonde was pretty, if a touch gaudy in her fancy bonnet and diaphanous muslin gown of pale blue. Dawn imagined that Jack Valance was out shopping with a chère amie . And she wondered how his prospective betrothed might feel about that.

Hastily she entered the shop on realising the couple were heading towards her. She was sure they hadn’t noticed her vulgarly staring at them—even so, she felt annoyed at herself for having done so. She forced herself to put him from her mind and to inspect small ribbon-trimmed bonnets and a lemon-hued dress that the draper assured her were all perfectly sized for a growing toddler.

Having made her purchases, Dawn headed towards the exit, keen to get home and wrap her gifts in colourful paper.

‘Mrs Fenton?’

His voice hadn’t changed even if his appearance had...but she’d been Miss Dawn Sanders when last they had spoken. So he knew she’d been married... Perhaps Emma had spoken about mutual acquaintances yesterday evening when they’d dined together. These thoughts whizzed through Dawn’s mind as she slowly turned about with an admirable show of surprise at seeing him. In fact, she was a trifle alarmed as she’d not been conscious of him entering the shop, let alone approaching her.