Note – The second "chapter" is just a continuation of this story from another point of view. All writing remains third-person omniscient, thank you very much. :-P If I ever start writing in present tense or from a first person perspective, I need all of you to throw things at me.

The Virgin Viscountess

"Good night, Elizabeth."

"Good night, my lord."

Jason closed his eyes as she disappeared into her bedroom, tempted to bang his head against the wooden threshold. No matter how many times he told her to call her by his given name, she always demurred and used a more formal title. The same one she had used when she first met her husband, his older brother Alan James, the Viscount of Charles Porte.

Letting out a sigh, he slipped into his bedchambers and walked down the little hall leading to his changing room. As always, she was in his thoughts as he pulled off his riding boots and undid the long row of buttons on his breeches. He thought of her in the Viscountess's bedchambers just next door to his as he whisked his linen shirt off and threw it on top of his rumpled coat. She was just next door, in the very next room at Morgan House, the official seat of the Viscount and his Viscountess.

He had never asked her to move out when he assumed his place as the head of the family. He could never have asked her something like that. Elizabeth Webber, as she was known before she assumed her official title, was from one of the finest families in all of London. Her father was a medical practitioner who had even advised the Prince Regent on matters regarding his health. Her mother was one of the society matrons renowned among the ton for her kindness and grace. Her siblings, Lord Steven Webber and Baroness Sarah Spencer, were wildly popular among the other men and women of the ton, and all of London had celebrated her arranged engagement to his brother, the noble Viscount Alan James Morgan.

But things did not bode well for the handsome young couple.

Their engagement ball was the talk of the town, and anyone who was anyone in London had been invited. They'd made the front page of the society paper for weeks as more and more details about their engagement party emerged: the elegant evening kit AJ would wear, the imported wine they'd serve, the Rugghieri violins that had been brought in from Italy especially for the orchestra, the color of her exquisite engagement dress that the modiste had accidentally let slip.

And all the while, Jason lurked at the sidelines, doing his best to remain out of the way and not ruin this momentous occasion for his brother. After all, it wasn't Alan's fault that Jason had fallen in love with his intended the night of the Cassidine gala during her first official season in London. But he was a second son, perpetually short on funds and second in line to a title possessed by his extremely healthy and most likely virile brother, and she the daughter of a Lord and Lady. He'd been too afraid to voice his affection for her and approach her father for her hand, and the Webbers and his mother Monica, the dowager Viscountess, had brokered their own match but with AJ as the champion.

She was beautiful that evening, their wedding day. The ceremony was a private affair, attended by just the family. Elizabeth had wanted it that way. She claimed that the engagement ball was enough; they had their obligations to London society and they had fulfilled them by throwing such an elaborate ball. But now it was time to celebrate the union with just their closest, most intimate friends. His brother had praised her level-headedness and modesty and agreed most readily.

The families and friends were assembled in the main room of Morgan House, just downstairs. Elizabeth had been attended by her best friend, Miss Georgiana Jones, and Alan had been attended by his younger brother.

It had been the worst day of Jason's life, but he made it through to the evening. And as the Viscount and his new Viscountess bid their guests goodnight and prepared to depart for their first night as husband and wife, Jason had left through the servants' door, hitched up his black steed, and left London for good.

What he didn't know was that as he was galloping toward the pier to catch the last boat to India on his brother's wedding night, Alan James was suffering a fatal brain aneurysm. He kissed his new bride, began to loosen the buttons on her blue silk gown, winced at his lingering headache, and fainted dead away. There had been nothing the doctors could do.

Three months passed before he got word, and it took him another three months to frantically wrap up his official duties in Bombay and return home. In those short six months, much had changed. His mother, the dowager Viscountess who had purchased a little apartment of her own in London to leave Morgan House for the Viscount and the family he planned to make, was the first to receive him home.

She shared the details of AJ's death and opened her grief anew to join her youngest son – her only remaining son – in his. Alan had been the best sort of brother that Jason could have hoped for, and it broke his heart that his life had ended so prematurely. Equally troubling was the fact that now Jason had no choice but to assume the family title and continue the family line as the Viscount of Charles Porte.

Elizabeth had stayed on at her late husband's home, and she was sitting in the office at Morgan House when Jason returned. It was disconcerting to see her there, a woman in the office of the Viscount, but Jason had already been told by her mother that Elizabeth had been doing an exemplary job managing AJ's estate.

She managed his affairs in Parliament, everything short of physically attending and casting her vote, which she was prohibited to do by law. She managed his properties and kept herself informed on his investments, frequently meeting with his bankers to update his portfolio and cut the dead weight properties that were costing Morgan House more than they were worth. She even toured the properties and visited their tenants, making sure that everything was in order for them and that they were able to make their payments on time. She even kept up AJ's stables, filled with his prize-winning stallions, in tribute to her husband's memory.

She had awkwardly accepted his praise and his gratitude when Jason told her that Morgan House and the Morgan family could not have been in more capable hands than hers, and then she smoothly transferred all the affairs to his charge so that he could assume his rightful duties.

He insisted that she stay at Morgan House rather than move back in with Lord and Lady Webber on Baker Street. He did this partly because it felt right: she was the Viscountess of Charles Porte, even though she was not married to the current Viscount. But also because he couldn't bear the thought of her leaving and having to face the ton, who could be as vicious as they were jubilant.

The men of the ton were the worst. Elizabeth hadn't yet come out of mourning, so she attended very few society functions and wore all black to the ones she did attend. At her sister's most recent gala, however, Elizabeth had honored the Baroness by wearing a lavender sash and lavender gloves with her black dress.

Even though lavender was still a mourning color, the men of the ton had been beside themselves at the thought of the Viscountess being on the Marriage Mart again and had made the night most unbearable for her. Countless men had asked her to dance, although she had not danced in public since her engagement ball. Others tried to lure her out onto the balcony for a few stolen kisses; still others were so moved by her dark blue eyes that they composed (very bad) poetry on the spot in tribute. She had been declared the season's Incomparable and had even outshined the newest debutantes and their overbearing mothers in her black dress and lavender accents.

When it became clear that Elizabeth Morgan did not intend to choose a new husband, the men turned on her as quickly as they had all flocked to her. She was branded a tease, a wanton, the oddest paradox considering that her husband before his untimely passing had not even touched her.

His mother had spared Jason of this news and so he had the unfortunate task of finding out about the turn in public male sentiment at his club. He had been drinking brandy and trying to disappear from his new life behind a newspaper when he heard the men in the other room talking. They were lead by Patrick Drake, the biggest rake and scoundrel in all of London that had somehow managed to win the hand of the lovely Robin Scorpio – and then proceeded to step out on her almost every night and pay a little visit to La Belle Maison for some extra attention and company.

That was when Jason learned that the men likened his chaste former-sister-in-law to the Whore of Babylon. Well, not quite, but by the way his blood boiled at their talk, they might as well have. That was also the night that he learned of their not-so-affectionate nickname for her: the Virgin Viscountess.

They'd only gotten the chance to say it once in his presence, for that was when Jason threw his full glass of brandy against the wall and leapt at Patrick. He tackled the insufferable bastard to the floor and pulled punch after punch, similarly taking down Baron Logan Hayes of Baldwin Estate and Earl Cooper Barrett of Holden Hills when they tried to help Patrick out. And once all three men were sufficiently bloody and apologetic, Jason made it clear that no one would ever dare to breath one word against his Viscountess.

And then he had left the club and gone straight home, where Elizabeth broke out of her normally stiff and reserved demeanor and exclaimed in horror when she saw his hands and his face. She had immediately called for his butler Reginald to fetch warm water and washcloths for her. And then she had taken him by the hand, sat him down in her private parlor, coaxed his rumpled coat off his shoulders, and gently cleaned each of his knuckles and the cut on his cheek.

It had taken all of his resolve to remain still under her tender ministrations. He had no idea how he made it til the end without gathering her up in his arms and making her unfortunate nickname perfectly irrelevant and erroneous. But somehow he had, and as he staggered up to his bedroom alone he reflected that it was, of course, for the best. She would never be his Viscountess. No matter how deeply he loved her, he could never insult her love for his brother that way. And he could never insult his brother's memory by stealing his intended, either.

Jason let out a heavy sigh as he passed the door by his antique armoire on his way to his bed. They were in the marital bedrooms of the house, of course. The Viscount's bedroom included a door to the Viscountess's chambers for those late-night visits once the honeymoon was over and they'd moved out of the marital suite in the house. That door was one through which he could never enter, the one door through which he did not dare set foot.

His fingers traced the lock, itching to loosen it, but he forced himself to hold still. What if she heard? There was only a short connecting hall between the door in her bedroom: if she heard him wiggling the lock, what would she think? He'd scare her, he'd mortify her, he'd repulse her, and Jason wasn't about to take that chance.

So he touched his forehead to the heavy slab of wood, his palm flat against it, and closed his eyes, doing his best not to think of the woman that lay innocently sleeping on the other side. There was a first time for everything, after all.