Angling his head to one side, Godfrey considered the question. He had expected Elise would wonder at his motives, wonder why he would propose to her and not someone else. He didn’t expect her to wonder at his timing. “I am six-and-thirty. Like Reading, I know I must marry soon. I need an heir,” he replied, the words tumbling out. “As for nineteen years ago...” Here he paused and set down his tea cup. “I wasn’t of a mind to marry. I had just started at university. And then, after a time, I was led to believe you and Grandby were...” He swallowed. “Were... well, exclusive with one another,” he stammered, realizing far too late he probably shouldn’t have brought up the Earl of Torrington.
Elise blinked, setting down her tea cup as she leaned forward. “Grandby?” she repeated in disbelief. “Are you referring to Lord Torrington?” The alarm in her voice was unmistakable. Everyone in the ton knew the earl had spent his unmarried years in the company of a string of widows, choosing a different one every Season until he ended up proposing to Adele Slater Worthington. The sister of the Marquess of Devonville and the wealthy widow of a man who helped design the early steamships, Adele was rather surprised when Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, proposed at the end of the Season of 1815. They were married shortly thereafter, and Adele gave birth to twins in September of the following year.
“Are you implying I had an affaire with the Earl of Torrington?” Elise asked in a hoarse whisper. Halfway up from the divan, her question was clearly a warning as to how Godfrey Thorncastle should answer the question.
Unfortunately, he didn’t heed the unspoken warning.
“There is no need to deny it. I hold nothing against you for seeking a possible life with the Earl of...”
He really should have heeded the unspoken warning. He really should have understood from his original mistaken impression that mentions of ‘Lady E’ in The Tattler never referred to Lady Elise. But, alas, Godfrey Thorncastle didn’t understand just how offended Lady Lancaster, daughter of a duke and sister of a duke and widow of an earl, could become. Nor did he have particularly fast reflexes, for before he could even finish his comment about the Earl of Torrington, Elise was off the divan. Her right hand, bare of a glove and no longer holding her teacup, flew through the air and soundly slapped Godfrey Thorncastle hard across the face.
For a moment, the viscount was left staring at the bookshelves of his study, wondering why there were white stars dancing in front of his books.
Or were they in front of his eyes?
In another moment, his head recoiled back to where he should have been able to look upon Lady Elise’s beautiful visage. However, only the rich, dark leather of the divan came into view once he was finally able to focus. Elise was already halfway to the door, her strides as long as her gown and pelisse would allow.
“Thank you for the tea, my lord,” she said before taking her leave of the study. She had to redirect her exit, however, when she nearly collided with the butler—the man was very nearly leaning against the door! “I can see myself out,” she stated in a tone that suggested the man would find himself without a position should she ever be mistress of this particular house.
With that, Lady Lancaster took her leave of Viscount Thorncastle’s townhouse and marched to her unmarked town coach.
Her driver, Sims, was quick to dismount the box and rushed to open the door for her.
“Home, Mr. Sims,” she said as brightly as she could muster at that moment. Once inside, she settled herself into the squabs and allowed a long sigh. Before Sims had the coach moving, though, tears pricked the corners of her eyes and were falling quite freely before the coach had even reached Curzon Street. Once it had, however, Elise realized she needed a shoulder on which to cry. Lifting her arm, she rapped her knuckles on the door in the ceiling of the coach.
The driver opened the door and glanced down. “My lady?”
“I’ve changed my mind, Mr. Sims. Take me to Worthington House,” she called up.
“Right away, my lady,” the driver acknowledged.
If anyone could provide a shoulder on which to cry, Adele Slater Worthington Grandby, Countess of Torrington, could. And would.
Chapter 9
The Aftermath of an Announcement
Meanwhile, back in Jermyn Street
Adam stared at the woman who stood before him, rather liking how she gazed up at him just then. As if she were hanging on his every word. As if she truly wished to hear what he had to say. As if she was expecting him to...
Kiss her.
The thought, more of a command than a simple desire, had him blinking at the same time he realized he was going to do just that.
So he did.
The only way out of what had turned into a public spectacle—from where had all these people suddenly come?—was to make everyone believe he had proposed marriage.
That didn’t mean he actually had to ask for her hand, of course.
“But... but you don’t even know my name,” Diana managed to get out as Viscount Breckinridge offered his arm again. “You know nothing about me,” she added as she shook her head. She wasn’t about to add that she knew nothing about him. At least, nothing other than that he was Adam Comber, Viscount Breckinridge, and heir to the Aimsley earldom. She supposed that was quite enough. Quite enough to realize she had made a terrible mistake in wondering how she ranked in the eyes of the handsome man. “Truly. I apologize for having bothered you. I didn’t intend for you to have to—”
“Oh, please don’t,” Adam said as he placed his free hand over the one that was practically gripping the top of his arm. He watched as Diana’s eyes widened, sure she was about to put voice to a protest of some sort, and he nearly lost himself in their depths. “You appeared at the perfect moment. As if I conjured you out of thin air,” he countered.
Faith! The man looked as if he actually believed what he was saying! “You did no such thing,” Diana answered with a shake of her head. “I was simply on my way to Jermyn Street.” Damnation, but the man was handsome! Did he have any idea of just how he made her knees as weak as if she had drunk two glasses of champagne?
But, of course not. I’ve never drunk two glasses of champagne in my entire life!
“Miller’s Hotel?” he guessed before he suddenly frowned and realized she would probably have no reason to go to that establishment. Unless she was from out of town.
Those lovely large eyes widened again. “Of course not!” she countered. She wasn’t about to admit she was off to Carter’s to buy a pair of shoes and then to Floris to buy a new comb. She was tempted to mention Floris just to see how he would react. Why, he probably didn’t think a finishing school teacher would use a perfume. Not that she did, but she could.
“My tailor has his shop there,” Adam said absently. His face screwed up a moment before he added, “In fact, so does my shirt maker. And my cordwainer, and my boot maker.” He suddenly rolled his eyes and allowed an audible groan. “Oh, dear.”
“What is it?” Diana asked in alarm.
“You’re already married. You’re off to fetch your husband’s new clothes. Or shoes, or boots at Hoby’s,” he guessed. “Please, tell me I’m wrong,” he pleaded.
Diana blinked. Well, this was easy. “You’re wrong,” she assured him. “I am not married,” she added, although she realized too late she could have claimed she was and then she’d be rid of him.
Not that she really wanted to be rid of him, but this was becoming quite a spectacle. And she certainly couldn’t afford the scandal. Why, she was an instructor at a finishing school. The very last thing the headmistress would abide was a hint of impropriety associated with one of her teachers. Mrs. Streater, the ancient woman who had hired Diana three years ago, was quite clear in that regard.
His look of relief was stunning to behold. Diana was quite sure she’d never seen a man look so... beholden. So bewitched. It would be very easy to simply allow him his fantasy. What was so wrong with agreeing to be the man’s wife? Except, he probably wasn’t real
ly after a wife so much as a tumble.
Which had her thoughts reeling in an entirely different direction.
Did he do this often? Accost young ladies in front of White’s and propose marriage to them so that he might whisk them off to his bachelor’s quarters in Bruton Street or Green Street or Golden Square and have his way with them?
She cursed the frisson that shot through her body just then.
“Have a care, my lord,” she warned in a quiet voice. “Ruining young ladies may not cost you more than a six-pence, but their lives as young ladies are forever forfeit.”
Adam blinked, rather startled by the instructor’s words. “I assure you, my lady, I have never ruined a young lady,” he claimed with a shake of his head. He frowned, although his expression quickly changed to that of a wounded man. “That you would think that of me...” He shook his head. “I find myself rather offended just now.” Truth be told, he felt hurt more than anything else. He had thought his days as a troublemaker long past, and such comments merely reminded him his reputation would precede him wherever he went until he had the means to change it.
And change it, he would, especially if he could marry the woman. Why, he would show the ton he was a responsible man. A viscount worthy of his father’s earldom. A model aristocrat. He had already accepted the writ of acceleration, offered at a time when it was determined Parliament was made up of too many older representatives and needed a bit of new blood. His fascination with politics and a willingness to discuss issues whilst at White’s had helped secure the offer. As a result, he was a Member of Parliament as a viscount instead of merely a viscount in name only. He had already attended the few spring sessions that had been held, finding he rather enjoyed the process of making laws, of negotiating to win over those who hadn’t yet decided how to vote.
Now he merely needed the wife to go with his new standing. What better wife to have than one who taught young ladies of the ton? Why, she already knew all the rules. Knew how to speak and dance. How to dress and wear her hair. How to behave.
“You kissed me in broad daylight. In front of all those people. And only a half-block from your men’s club,” she countered as one of her dainty gloved fingers pointed down the street toward the white edifice. Her ire was suddenly evident. “What, pray tell, am I supposed to think?”
The question was familiar to him, if only because his mother had asked it of him on more than one occasion. Dammit, but if this woman wasn’t perfect for him. This was his chance. Make it right, he thought. “That I wish to marry you. That I will marry you,” he answered simply.
Diana blinked. Then she looked down at the pavement below before raising her eyes to meet his. “Forgive me if I seem incredulous. It’s merely because... I am,” she said in a calmer voice.
“Allow me to escort you to wherever you wish to go,” he stated.
A bit leery, Diana finally allowed a nod. “Carter’s then. And after that, Floris.”
Adam gave her a nod and a rather appreciative glance as he considered her destinations, rather surprised she didn’t mention a modiste. “A pair of shoes and a fragrance, then?” he half-asked as he led them down Jermyn Street. “No... clothes? Gowns? Naughty night rails?” This last was said with eyebrows that waggled in a tease that had Diana giving him a quelling glance.
“A pair of shoes and a comb, actually,” she corrected him, managing to suppress a sigh at the mention of the latter.
“You’ll have to let me know if you like the scent they created for me,” Adam said as they strolled.
Diana dared a glance up at the man. “Are you wearing it now?” she wondered.
“I am. A bit of lavender mixed with citrus, but then I suppose I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s rather pleasant. So much better than the Bay Rum so many men of your persuasion prefer,” she replied curtly, not about to add that her father always smelled of Bay Rum.
Adam blinked. “Most of my associates actually prefer amber with a hint of citrus, or leather, or sandalwood,” he argued.
“Sandalwood is nice, but not on just any of your sex,” she countered. “And amber is rather... common.” This last was said as they entered Carter’s. The smell of leather assaulted her nostrils as they made their way to the counter, which had her giving Adam a quick shake of her head. “I cannot imagine a gentleman wanting to smell like this all day long.”
Adam took an experimental sniff and found he couldn’t have agreed more.
A portly man with just a hint of hair combed over his scalp regarded her from over the tops of his spectacles. “I’ll just be a moment,” he said with a nod before turning his attention to the viscount. “Lord Breckinridge,” he added with a half bow before he disappeared behind a curtain.
Rather surprised the man recognized his female customer—not to mention him—Adam was about to ask just how many pairs of shoes Diana had purchased at this particular establishment when the man reappeared with what was obviously a pair of dance slippers. Although they lacked the usual ornamentation of those worn at balls, they were elegant in their simplicity.
“Would you like to try them on?” the proprietor asked, his face once again lowered so he could peer at her from over the tops of his eye glasses.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Diana replied with a shake of her head. If she hadn’t been in the company of the viscount, she most certainly would have tried them on. She wasn’t about to remove her half-boots and have the man gazing at her stocking-clad ankles and feet as she tried on the dance slippers, though. Why the thought of the viscount doing so sent a shiver of excitement up her spine, she had no idea.
Diana lifted her reticule to the counter so she could dig for some coins. Adam was quicker, though, a crown suddenly on the counter. He heard Diana’s gasp, but ignored how she stared up at him. “Do keep the change, my good man,” he stated.
“Much obliged, my lord,” the shoemaker replied with a nod, his eyes widening when he realized the denomination of the coin. He hurried to place the shoes into a colorful pasteboard box, the name of the shop printed on the sides. “Will there be anything else, my lady?” His manner was suddenly more solicitous, as if he realized there might be more in it for him if he saw to her happiness.
Embarrassed and suddenly aware of just how this purchase would appear to the shoemaker, Diana shook her head. “No, thank you.” She was about to retrieve the box from the counter, but Adam beat her to it and then held out his arm for her. She managed to keep her thoughts to herself, but only until they were outside of the shop.
“Whatever do you think you’re doing?” she asked in dismay, adding a, “Milord,” when she realized she hadn’t said it.
Adam allowed a shrug. “Buying my intended a pair of dance slippers. A rather... elegant pair of slippers, I might add,” he said as one of his eyebrows waggled. “I do hope you’ll be wearing them when next we dance together. Which means you’ll probably need a ball gown. Do you have a ball gown?”
Shaking her head in disbelief, Diana was about to admonish him, but he already had them approaching the door to a shop of ready-made clothing. “I don’t need a ball gown,” she said, attempting to redirect him to the next shop. “I do own one,” she claimed, not bothering to add that she had just worn it the night before. Given the comment he had made to Lord Weatherstone only moments ago, it was possible he could have seen her in it at some point during the evening.
“Of course you don’t need a ball gown, my lady, but I think I should like to learn what pleases you,” Adam said as he opened the door for her. “When it comes to color and style and fabrics and such,” he added with a wink.
A wink!
Rolling her eyes, Diana entered the small shop, her gaze immediately going to a night rail draped over two shelves dressed to look like a bed with pillows. Although the neckline was rather chaste, the rows and rows of delicate lace repeated on the bodice hinted at something promising beneath. The same pattern of lace edged the long, full sleeves, and several rows decora
ted the bottom flounce.
Adam watched Diana as she gazed at the night rail, the edge of one lip turning up when he decided what he would do next. When Diana turned her attention to other racks of gowns, he waved a hand in the direction of the shopkeeper and pointed to the night rail. The woman gave a nod of acknowledgement and made her way to the garment, carefully removing it from the display when Diana’s attention was on a rack of day gowns. She returned to the counter and began folding the garment, wrapping it in tissue and placing it into a pasteboard box.
“I should think you would look stunning in this,” Adam suggested as he pulled a royal blue ball gown from a different rack as a means of distraction from what the shopkeeper was doing.
Diana looked over from the simple round gown she held and gave him a quelling glance. “I should think any woman would look stunning in such a gown,” she agreed. She put away the gown she had been studying and moved on to a rack of carriage gowns. While she was occupied, Adam placed a coin on the counter, gave the shopkeeper a nod, and tucked the box under his arm alongside the shoebox.
“Is there anything you’d like to try on, my lady,” the shopkeeper asked as she moved to join Diana.
Looking as if she’d been caught with her hand in the biscuit jar, Diana took a step back from the carriage gowns and shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”
“Oh, come now, my sweeting,” Adam said from where he stood regarding her. “Not even a ball gown for Lord Huntington’s affair?”
Diana’s eyes widened—and not just from his endearment. An invitation to Lord Huntington’s annual ball was rather hard to come by, at least according to her father. “Have we received an invitation?” she countered, not feigning her surprise.
Adam blinked, remembering he didn’t have such a document. At least, not yet. “I expect one will arrive in the next week or so.”
Realizing she had a good excuse for denying him the pleasure of buying her a ball gown, Diana angled her head and said, “Then you may buy me one when we receive the invitation,” she said brightly.
The Secrets of a Viscount Page 6