Read Online The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) by Elisa Braden - Free Book Online Page B

made, for Harrison’s sake and for
her own future. But ever since, she had felt adrift on a sea of
uncertainty. Would he be kind to her? Did he wish to use
her—again—as leverage against Harrison? She did not know how he
might do so without her cooperation, but she could hardly rule it
out. Would he seek to further humiliate her? Swallowing hard, she
acknowledged that it was her greatest fear. As her husband, he
would hold absolute domain over her person, her assets, her life.
If so inclined, he could torment her in numerous ways, both public
and private. Harrison had made that very argument when she had told
him of her decision. Now, however, with little more than an
offhanded comment, Mrs. Bowman had given her a glimmer of hope. If
she could, in fact, retain some power within the marriage, at least
she would not be helpless.
    “What do you think, dear?”
    Victoria absently glanced at Lady Berne.
“Hmm?” The countess smiled, and Victoria knew she had been caught
woolgathering. “I beg your pardon, my lady. It seems my thoughts
refuse to settle today.”
    The dear woman hooked her arm through
Victoria’s and patted her hand understandingly. “It’s to be
expected. Tomorrow is your wedding day, after all. So many changes
all at once. It is exhilarating, and yet I daresay I remember
feeling much trepidation myself before I wed Lord Berne.” She
smiled fondly, her eyes clouding with nostalgia. “He was terribly
handsome, you know. Could have chosen any of a dozen beauties that
season. But he landed on me, and that was that.”
    Victoria smiled, momentarily caught up in the
countess’s happy recollection. “What drew you together?”
    “It was the horrid punch at the Duchess of
Harrington’s summer ball.”
    Victoria laughed. “Indeed?”
    The lady’s warm brown eyes sparkled merrily,
and she leaned closer as though imparting a delicious bit of
gossip. “Oh, yes. The duchess was a vain, haughty woman whose wig
was always rather precariously set upon her head. I have no notion
as to why. One would have thought she would take greater care, but
…” She shrugged. “In any event, Sir Albon Throckmorton—a more
addlepated gollumpus I’ve never met—was having a heated exchange
with a potted plant which had imposed upon his posterior. He
collided with the duchess, and her wig did not survive the
tussle.”
    Giggling and shaking her head at the absurd
image, Victoria asked, “It fell off?”
    “Directly into the punch bowl.”
    “How embarrassing for her.”
    Lady Berne grinned wickedly. “Mortifying,
yes. But, as I stood very near the refreshment table, the incident
proved providential. Lord Stanton Huxley, the dashing first son of
the Earl of Berne, was just behind me, intending to fetch a cup of
that wretched punch, presumably. When the wig landed in the bowl,
he quickly pulled me to safety.”
    Victoria grinned and nodded. “Lord Berne is a
true gentleman.”
    “Oh, I suspect it wasn’t so much that he was
trying to rescue me as that he wished to ensure I remained between
himself and the splash. But that was neither here nor there. I said
something about how the good Lord had answered my prayer in smiting
both her grace’s dignity and her dreadful punch in one fell swoop.
I believe I referenced the miracle of Moses and the Red Sea.”
    “You made him laugh,” Victoria said
fondly.
    “So loudly we began attracting attention. I
was forced to dance with him just to get him to quiet down.”
    Several minutes of companionable silence fell
between them, filled only with the din of the street—clacking
carriage wheels, clopping horses’ hooves, the shouts of coachmen,
and the buzz of shoppers—as Lady Berne seemed lost in reminiscence
and Victoria contemplated what tomorrow would bring. Quietly, she
leaned toward the older woman and asked, “Is that the secret, then,
to a good marriage?”
    The countess’s surprise was evident in her
raised eyebrows. “What, dear? Humor?”
    Victoria nodded.
    She