The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) by Linda Rae Sande Read Free Book Online Page A

painting on the west wall seemed to warm up the room considerably. Adeline Carlington was obviously having a positive affect on the household, even if it was several years too late.
    “Lord Morganfield will see you in his study,” Alfred said with a nod as he turned to lead her there. Josephine followed at a respectful distance, allowing the butler to set the speed at which they walked down the wide hall. It gave her time to study the slight changes in decor in the hallway. A new painting here and there, a dais displaying a suit of armor from what looked liked the age of the Crusades, a marble bust of a Greek god – Apollo, she thought from her quick glance – and myriad objets d’art atop pedestals. No matter how many new things might be added, she decided that Carlington House would always seem old , somehow, as if the place had taken on the feel of a museum.
    Even before they reached the door to David Carlington’s study, Josephine detected the scent of an expensive cheroot recently extinguished. She hoped the marquess hadn’t stubbed it out on her account. Alfred stepped to one side and motioned for her to enter. “Thank you, Alfred,” she said with a nod as she crossed the threshold. Once inside the marquess’s study, Josephine curtsied before reaching up to push back the black veil off the front of her hat. “Hello, Morganfield,” she said with a nod in his direction. “Thank you for seeing me.”
    David Carlington stood up from behind his massive desk, the surface of which was covered in papers and a few books. The remains of his cheroot were still giving off tendrils of smoke from the crystal ashtray in the center of the desk blotter. “As if I would not,” he replied warily. “Should I ask who died?” he wondered with a nod toward her gown.
    Josephine gave him a wan smile. The expression helped to soften the effect of the severe coloring of her gown against her pale skin and light auburn hair. “I would hope you have heard about the Wainwrights,” she answered, her smile suddenly gone.
    The marquess sobered, motioning her to a chair. She took the seat that was offered, carefully arranging her skirts as she did so. “The on-dit has it that the entire family was lost to a fire,” he finally offered, wondering why Josephine would see fit to wear widow’s weeds for a ducal family based in Sussex.
    Josephine shook her head. “Then you have not heard of Lady Charlotte’s involvement.”
    David straightened in his chair, leaning his elbows on his desk as he did so. “What has my daughter’s best friend done now?” he asked, his brows becoming one.
    “Joshua Wainwright survived. But he was badly burned and is in hospital. St. Bart’s. Lady Charlotte saw to it he was transported from Kirdford yesterday. Apparently the village doctor who was seeing to his care used all of his stock of morphine in the first few days following the fire.”
    Sucking air through his teeth, the marquess eyed Josephine with a bit of suspicion. He was having a hard time believing Lady Charlotte would have enough pluck to get herself down to Kirdford and arrange for a badly wounded man to be brought back to London. But her father would have been useless, and her mother suffered from vapours when anyone looked the least bit askance at her. Someone had to have helped. Since Charlotte Bingham’s charity was to assist in the children’s ward at St. Bartholomew’s, it didn’t surprise him that she would have Joshua placed there for his medical care. “Will he live?”
    Josephine shrugged. “He must. He is the sole heir to the Chichester dukedom,” she replied in a manner that said she fully expected the new duke to survive. “And since Lady Charlotte was betrothed to the Earl of Grinstead, and since he, the older brother, perished in the fire as did the duke, it seems she will become a duchess upon her marriage to Joshua.” She paused a moment before adding, “A far better fit for Lady Charlotte than John the younger