A Viscount for the Spinster

A Viscount for the SpinsterSpinsters and RebelsSamantha HoltHelstone Press Copyright © 2023 Samantha HoltAll rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Contents Title PageCopyrightChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-OneChapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-ThreeChapter Twenty-FourChapter Twenty-FiveAbout The Author Chapter OneThis was it.Her year of independence.Her fresh start.Well, her second fresh start technically. Maisie gulped down a breath of air, free from the taint of the unwelcome blend of heavy perfume and the fetid breath of her travelling companions in the mail coach. This time, however, this was the fresh start she wanted. Far from glittering chandeliers and polished floors and ferns that always snagged one’s dress as one breezed past. She looked along the road. Green leaves were beginning to gingerly cling to the trees, the only evidence of winter the browns and reds lingering in the ruts left by wagons. The gentle arch of the branches framed the path to her favorite place in the whole world. A place she should never have left. A place most would not say could compare to the excitement and glamour of living in one of the more genteel boroughs in London. Tightening her grip on the wooden handle of her travel bag, Maisie hastened along the lane and ignored the slight twinge in her body from too long pressed against the window of the mail coach in a bid to avoid one of the male traveler’s widely spread legs. The aches would fade along with the inevitable bruise on her side from being crushed to the coach frame before long, and none of it would matter. Not her uncomfortable journey, nor her time away. This time she was staying in Oakfield, and no one could take her away. Not her mother, not her brother, not her sisters. No one.Not even Apollo.Not that he’d be there, of course.Her heart gave a flutter at the sight of the inn sign swinging upon a rusted iron pole. It creaked gently, and almost sadly, the paint flecked away and leaving the image of a swan.Maisie steeled herself against the ache burning in her chest. It had been over two years since Papa had passed and, with it, her dreams of returning and running the coaching inn he had so adored. The Swan had been a bone of contention between her family, and only she fought against the selling of the building. Every time a potential buyer had shown interest, Maisie had prayed and begged that it would amount to nothing.Well, her prayers had been answered and here she was, with enough money in her pocket to secure the future of the inn thanks to Aunt June, and more determination than ever. Her family might be content in London, hoping and pretending they fit in there, but her heart had never left Oakfield.Even when it had been shattered in two.Pulling the heavy key from the reticule she’d kept tucked under her thick pelisse, she slipped it into the door lock and gritted her teeth as rust and neglect battled against her entry. Why her family had been so quick to turn their back on their roots, she did not know. Surely her sisters had the same memories that she did? Of noise and laughter and interesting visitors? But perhaps they were too young to really understand. Only she and James were ever really involved with the business. She sighed, stretched her aching fingers, and tried the key again.Well, however her family felt about the inn, she would bring it back to life soon enough, and maybe they’d change their mind. It seemed doubtful, though. Mama never took much joy in being an innkeeper’s wife and her brother James escaped Oakfield as soon as he could. He was an excellent lawyer with enviable charm that allowed him to make friends easily—friends who had helped him climb several rungs of society. Maisie’s mother and two younger sisters were more than happy to cling to his coattails and be dragged up with him. Perhaps if they witnessed what she had, perhaps if they too had been sent away at eight and ten, they might have felt differently.A tingle of sensation prickled through her before settling low in her stomach. Maisie twisted to glance down the quiet road that weaved its way down toward the rest of the village. The shadow she spotted from the corner of her eye made her heart jolt. No.It couldn’t be.He’d left years ago. She knew that for certain, or else she might not have been brave enough to come back.Yet there was no mistaking that walk. Even after just over a decade, she couldn’t forget that confident stride. A tumult of curse words tumbled through her mind. She couldn’t make out his features, but his stride never faltered and under that hat, she swore his gaze had to be pinned on her.This wouldn’t do. She couldn’t see him now. Not when mussed from a journey and probably smelling about as ripe as the rest of the travelers. She gripped the stubborn key again and twisted until her hand ached. In the periphery of her vision, he continued his direct path to her as though drawn to her by way of a guide rope.Her heartbeat increased its pace.What did he even want with her? He couldn’t have known she was returning. No one did. So why was he here? Both hands to the key, she closed her eyes and uttered up more prayers as she used all her strength on the lock. The slightest grinding sensation rumbled through the key. It twisted.She opened her eyes. Risking the briefest