Free Return of the Viscount by Gayle Callen

in her stomach to imagine that by one extra day, he’d lost his life, his chance to retire from the army. She wanted to be angry at God for such cruel fate, but every day, people suffered life’s traumas. She was no different.
    Lord Blackthorne had surely acted out of honor and duty by marrying her; she should be grateful, and she was. But for the first time, it bothered her that she was someone’s idea of a debt, she, who’d been the toast of London her first Season, who had already been proposed to several times. Ah, she was a vain creature after all, that she’d want a convenient husband to confess he’d fallen in love with her letters, like the fictitious story she told others about their relationship. She’d boasted they’d debated books and art, that they’d even shared amusement over the mundane topics of raising sheep versus cattle. In reality, she’d told him about her life on the country estate, just hoping to have him keep writing more about the military world that her own father chose over his family.
    At luncheon, there was a strained tension coming from Oliver toward Lord Blackthorne, whose topic of conversation left Parliament behind and switched to horses. Oliver reluctantly told him about several new additions to the stables, and they discussed the breeding of horseflesh for a while, from the demands of a military horse all the way down to what a lady required. Cecilia contributed where she wanted to, for she knew all about the cost of Oliver’s new horses.
    â€œLord Appertan, would you show me about the estate by horseback?” Lord Blackthorne asked. “I would like to continue this discussion and see more of the land your father described to me in such detail.”
    Cecilia saw the suspicious glance Oliver gave him, as if Lord Blackthorne shouldn’t be curious. He was her husband, after all.
    Her temporary husband, she reminded herself.
    â€œOf course, Lord Blackthorne,” Oliver said at last. “I have time to ride this afternoon.”
    He sounded as if he had a rigorous schedule that he could hardly interrupt, Cecilia thought, briefly lowering her gaze to hide her amusement.
    â€œCecilia,” Oliver said, “I will be having several friends over tonight for an evening of cards. Would you speak to the housekeeper and make whatever arrangements are necessary?”
    She withheld a frown as she considered him. He’d always met his friends elsewhere for whatever drunken fun they had. Was the sudden change due to the arrival of Lord Blackthorne?
    â€œOliver, I will see that you and your friends have whatever refreshments you need.” She barely knew his friends, only one or two of whom were from local families, and the others up from London on occasion.
    â€œWe’ll use the billiard room. Oh, and you might have the maids prepare several guest rooms, just in case.”
    She nodded, not wanting drunken young men falling from their horses. He did not ask Lord Blackthorne to join them, and Cecilia gritted her teeth at his rudeness. She was about to speak, when she could have sworn Lord Blackthorne almost imperceptibly shook his head, as if he had other plans for her brother.
    She’d agreed to this, she reminded herself. She’d wanted Lord Blackthorne to focus on someone other than herself. When the men left on their ride, she told herself she was relieved to be free of the both of them.

    T hat night, well after midnight, Cecilia could hear the drunken laughter of Oliver’s friends echoing through the castle. She was in her room but not undressed; servants kept sending messages via the new page, Francis: “Are you certain we should provide more brandy, Lady Blackthorne?” “They are roaming the corridors, Lady Blackthorne, making a terrible mess in more and more rooms!”
    She had greeted their guests earlier in the evening, of course. They’d grinned as they each bent over her hand, eyeing her too