First Comes Marriage by Mary Balogh Page A

dead.

    “Thank you.” She forced herself to look into the viscount’s eyes as she set a hand in his and descended the carriage steps to the terrace. But then her eyes moved to the house. “Oh, it is far more vast than it looked on the approach.”

    She felt like a dwarf. But what gauche words to speak aloud!

    “That is because from a distance one sees the house and terrace and flower gardens as a unit and is impressed more by the pleasing vista than by the size of the house,” the viscount said. “One is meant to be impressed by the house itself when one arrives here.”

    “The steps are marble,” she said.

    “They are indeed,” he agreed, “as are the pillars.”

    “And this is where our grandfather grew up,” she said.

    “No,” he told her. “This house is no more than thirty years old. The old medieval hall was torn down and this built in its place. It was shabby and crumbling, I have been told. And this is certainly beautiful. I nevertheless wish I could have seen the house as it was. Much character and many memories must have been destroyed in the name of modernity.”

    Vanessa looked at him with appreciation for his feelings. But at the same moment she realized that her gloved hand was still in his. She snatched it away as if it had been scalded, drawing attention to the fact, and he raised his eyebrows.

    A very superior-looking gentleman, dressed all in black, was bowing to Stephen and indicating the marble steps. Vanessa realized in some shock that he must be the butler. Halfway up the steps stood a plumpish woman, also in black, who was probably the housekeeper. And at the top of the steps, she noticed for the first time, were two lines of smartly dressed servants, one line on each side of the huge double doors, which stood open. The servants were being paraded for their new master.

    Oh, goodness. Could their arrival at their new home have been more intimidating? How would Stephen be able to deal with it all?

    But Stephen had offered one arm to Margaret and the other to Katherine and proceeded up the steps in the butler’s wake after throwing a glance over his shoulder at Vanessa to see that she followed.

    Viscount Lyngate offered his arm, and she took it.

    The servants were not wearing cloaks and it was a chilly day despite the sunshine. Nevertheless, not one of them moved a muscle except to bow or curtsy to Stephen as each was introduced to him. He had a word with all of them—as if to the manner born, Vanessa thought with some pride.

    She forced herself to smile and nod at all of the servants as she passed, and they bowed or curtsied in return. Rundle Park was like a rural cottage in comparison with this.

    Mr. Bowen came behind them.

    And then they were inside the great hall, which was great indeed and fairly robbed Vanessa of breath. It was round and pillared and stretched up the full height of the house and into the dome, which was gilded and painted with scenes from mythology. Light from its long, narrow windows streamed into the hall below, making patterns of light and shade on the pillars and checkered floor.

    They all stood and gaped.

    Viscount Lyngate was the first to speak.

    “The devil!” he muttered while the rest of them were still standing with their necks craned backward, and the butler and housekeeper waited to escort them elsewhere.

    Vanessa looked at him in some surprise. But then she saw that another gentleman was striding into the hall through one of the arches surrounding it, his boot heels ringing on the tiles.

    Vanessa had an impression of tall, dark handsomeness, of a dark-complexioned face, a lock of dark hair fallen across his forehead, of black riding clothes that were well worn but nevertheless becoming on his athletic form. He stopped and clasped his hands at his back and smiled.

    It was a smile of considerable charm.

    He looked sufficiently like Viscount Lyngate that Vanessa would not have been surprised to learn that they were