Caution: May contain spoilers for An Improper Aristocrat...

An Improper Aristocrat- Deleted Scenes

As it turned out, it wasn’t until the next day that Chione’s curiosity was satisfied and not until she had settled a last bit of unpleasant business. 

Everyone was gathering in the comfortable family drawing room where Mrs. Ferguson had planned a sumptuous celebratory tea.  Chione, on her way down, was stopped on the stairs by the butler.

“Pilkins, please,” Chione said as the man produced a pair of calling cards on a salver.  “Today of all days, we are not at home to visitors.”

In answer he offered the cards again.  “I’m afraid the lady was most insistent.”

Sighing, Chione looked them over.  “I’m sure she was,” she said thoughtfully.  “Where are they?”

“I’ve placed them in the back of the house, in the bookroom,” the butler said.

“Very good, I will see to it.  You make sure that none of the others discovers that they are here.” She paused.  “We will not be offering refreshments, Pilkins, but some discreet reinforcements might not go amiss.”

Pilkins nodded and Chione girded herself for battle.  Mrs. Stockton had been trying to intimidate and manipulate her since she was a girl.  It was time for it to end. 

She slipped so quietly into the bookroom that the inhabitants did not notice her at first.  Mrs. Stockton was pacing up and down in front of the sofa.  A bespectacled man stood by, watching her progress with seeming unease.

“How unexpected to find you in London, Mrs. Stockton,” Chione said.

The older woman whirled towards the door, her skirts swaying.  “Chione,” she said.  Neither woman curtsied.  “This is Mr. Brentwood.  He is a member of the Board of Directors for Latimer Shipping.  We have traveled from Bristol in order to speak with you.”

“Mr. Brentwood,” Chione returned his nod. 

“Let us skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point of our visit,” said Mrs. Stockton, taking a seat on the sofa. 

“As you wish.”  Chione took a chair.

The gentleman remained standing.  “We, that is the Board,” he began, “we have received word from your betrothed’s solicitors.”

“Yes,” said Chione.  “I do believe they had asked for an accounting of the state of the company.  Lord Treyburn means to do his duty by his ward, young William Latimer.”

Mr. Brentwood cleared his throat.  “Yes, and we’ve a plan to present.”  He cleared his throat again. 

“Some of the members of the Board have agreed to allow my Orville to head Latimer shipping,” Mrs. Stockton broke in.  “The rest will agree to it, if your . . . if Lord Treyburn will go along.  We want you to talk to him, to make him see that a member of the family will be guided by the boy’s interests far more than some random man of business.”  She raised a scornful brow.  “For I doubt that the earl will be planning on staying long enough to do the job himself.”

“Truthfully, I do not know what our immediate plans are,” Chione replied.  She tilted her head.  “But I shall tell Mervyn that the Board is at last agreeing to something.  He will be thrilled to hear it, I am sure.”  She smiled at Mrs. Stockton and stood.  “Just as I shall be sure to tell him all that you have done to us . . . excuse me, for us, in his absence.”

“Now, let us not start that nonsense again, Chione.  You know that—”

“Today,” Chione interrupted.  “I shall be sure to share your good news today.  Not this very moment, you understand, for Mervyn is resting in preparation for the welcome celebration we are planning.  But I’ll be sure to mention it sometime this afternoon.”

All color drained from the woman’s face.  The effect made her look even more skeletal.  “What are you saying?” she whispered.

“Mervyn is home, Mrs. Stockton.  ” Chione said quietly. “In this house.  Now.”

“He is?”  Mr. Brentwood sat abruptly down.

“He is.  Perhaps you would be so good as to deliver the news to the Board, Mr. Brentwood?  I’m sure he will be eager to address you all.”

In marked contrast to Mrs. Stockton, the man had flushed a bright red.  “Of course.  Right away.”  He shot up again and bobbed an awkward bow, nearly vibrating in his eagerness to get out of the room.  “I’ll take my leave of you now, if you please.  Mrs. Stockton, you must not worry, I’ll get a hackney back to the hotel and see about getting back to Bristol right away.” 

Mrs. Stockton sat very still as she watched him go.  Slowly, then, she rose to her feet.  She cast her gaze in Chione’s direction and her thin face twisted with hatred.  “I will see him,” she said.

“Absolutely not,” Chione replied.

“Don’t get above yourself, girl, you’re no countess yet.  I will see him.”

Chione stood.  “You are quite fond of reminding me of my mother’s ancestry, Mrs. Stockton.  It is perhaps, not the wisest course.  Were we in her country, I could have your tongue cut out for addressing me so disrespectfully in my own home.”  She swept a hand towards the open door, where Pilkins and one of Trey’s guards hovered.  “If you leave now, quietly, I will be more inclined to be civilized.”

“Oh, you think you’ve landed in clover, don’t you girl?”  The smirk on the older woman’s face grew.  “Do you actually believe Treyburn will go through with this farce of a betrothal now?”  She laughed.  “Time will tell which of us has won.” 

“Life is not a race, nor a contest.  There are no winners or losers, Mrs. Stockton.”  Chione went to stand at the open door next to the butler.  “We can but make the best of our choices and grasp the happiness that is offered us.”  She swept her hand towards the hall.  “It is a lesson I hope you will finally learn.  Goodbye, Mrs. Stockton.”

The woman hesitated a moment.  Chione could almost see her mind spinning, grasping for a way to salvage the situation. 

“Goodbye, Mrs. Stockton,” she repeated.

The woman gathered her skirts and swept out without a further word.

Chione breathed deep.  A weight she had only dimly recognized slipped at last from her shoulders.  She thanked Pilkins  and then, her step light, her eagerness growing, she went to join her family in the drawing room.