The Viscount and the Virgin by Annie Burrows Page A

clothes!’ wailed Lady Callandar.
    â€˜But you have bought me so many pretty clothes already,’ Imogen pointed out.
    â€˜Indeed,’ Viscount Mildenhall put in smoothly. ‘Miss Hebden is a credit to your good taste. She always looks quite…lovely.’
    The telling pause as he sought for a suitable epithet to describe her appearance had Imogen grinding her teeth. He did not think she was lovely at all. Though she might be the only one who noticed, he had as good as said that anything praise worthy about her appearance was due to her aunt’s good taste, not the raw material she had to work with!
    However, on one thing they were in agreement. ‘I do want to marry before Rick’s furlough is over,’ she put in, though it almost killed her to appear to side with the viscount. ‘It will mean so much to have him to walk me down the aisle.’
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous, niece!’ blustered Lord Callandar. ‘ I shall be giving you away. You are living under my roof and I am supporting you. Captain Bredon is not even a blood relative!’
    â€˜Forgive me, Miss Hebden,’ put in Viscount Mildenhall in a voice that, though quiet, managed to cut straight through her uncle’s hectoring tones, ‘but I have already appropriated Rick for my groomsman.’ He turned then to her aunt. ‘And I am sorry to rob you of your shopping expedition, too, but I have promised my father to return to Shevington as soon as is humanly possible. However—’ and he turned on his most dazzling smile‘—we will be returning to town after a suitable interlude, and at that time my bride will require a whole new wardrobe to befit her new station in life. I am sure she will wish to involve you in carrying out the requisite purchases.’
    Both her aunt and uncle subsided, vastly pleased with the viscount’s suggestions.
    Only Imogen still felt disgruntled. Nobody was making any concessions to what she wanted. It felt as though everyone she loved was ranged against her, on the viscount’s side.
    But worst of all, it had just hit her that she was going to become a viscountess. The notion was so absurd, she did not know whether to laugh or cry.
    Since she was at the dinner table, she naturally did neither, but let the conversation flow round her without any further input.
    When the ladies withdrew, her aunt wasted no time in letting her know she had erred, yet again.
    â€˜I know I have told you, time and time again, that it is not proper to display too much emotion in public, but I really think, on this occasion, that it would be permissible to look just a little pleased at your great good fortune. Your demeanour at table could have been interpreted as positively lukewarm.’
    Imogen obediently mustered up a wan smile and, when the gentlemen joined them, set herself to being as pleasant as she could force herself to be. Viscount Mildenhall let no trace of the anti pa thy he felt towards her show at all; he was so charming towards her aunt and uncle, and on such very easy terms with Rick, that before long, she even began to wonder wistfully if, some where underneath all the finery and sarcasm sheassociated with Viscount Mildenhall, the Monty she had once admired so much might still survive.
    How differently she would feel towards this match, if he had approached her first as Monty, the hero of her girlhood dreams. If she could believe he was spiriting her away from London because he under stood how badly she wanted rescuing!
    Instead of being determined to bury her in the country side, and ‘keep her in line.’
    The next morning, Lady Callandar came bustling into the drawing room with her hands full of lists she must have sat up well into the night compiling.
    She wore a very smug smile as she offered the first one for Imogen’s inspection.
    â€˜The guest list,’ she explained.
    â€˜It is rather short,’ Imogen observed.
    â€˜Yes,’