And then, because he of all people deserved an explanation, she said, “It is not you, my lord. I don’t wish to marry anyone.”
There, she’d said it aloud. Her secret.
“Then why are you here this evening?” he said.
“Must you always challenge everything I say?” she countered.
“Apparently.”
Leonie made a sound of frustration. “I’m here for the same reason everyone is—my parents. They have been plotting for me to marry well since I was in the cradle. It is the only thing the two of them can agree upon. They wouldn’t hear me if I told them what I wanted. Fortunately, last year, I was jilted by a duke. That has made me ‘used’ goods in some people’s eyes.” She thought of Camberly. “Of course, my parents might still try to make me a duchess and then I would be forced to suffer through it all until he was bored with me.”
“Suffer?”
Leonie met his quizzical gaze. “You know what I mean. That man thing.”
“That ‘man thing’?” he repeated. “No, I don’t understand. And how can you wish to suffer through life?”
She blew out her breath in exasperation. “I don’t wish to suffer through life. Which is the reason I don’t wish to marry. I want something more from my life.” And she wanted to be in control of what that was.
He considered her a moment. “So, you would marry Camberly?”
Leonie crossed her arms. “I suppose I would. Then I’d be a duchess.”
“Is that what you want from your life?”
“It is what my parents wish.”
“Camberly has a man thing.”
His statement caught her off guard. “What?” Was he mocking her?
He appeared completely serious, even as he said, “You said you didn’t want a man thing and I pointed out that Camberly has a man thing. At least, I believe he does. I don’t know that for a fact, however, most men have a man thing.”
“More’s the pity,” she snapped.
“Yes, but you said you were open to a ducal man thing, but how do you know an earl man thing wouldn’t be better?”
“Because one belongs to a duke.”
“But what if the duke doesn’t know what to do with his man thing? Is that what you meant by suffering through life?”
Leonie would have dearly loved to slap him again, except her wrist still hurt from the last one. “I don’t find you amusing.”
He shrugged, the picture of reasonableness. “You are the one who brought up the subject of man things.”
She felt her jaw tighten. “I wasn’t talking about what I think you are talking about.”
“Then what were you talking about?”
Leonie could have screamed. Now she remembered why she had favored Arthur Paccard over Roman. Arthur had been courtly and light. Roman had been serious and had on occasion let her know he believed her immature. His verdict had angered her. Even at seventeen she had known her own mind . . . and she didn’t like being told she didn’t.
Then again, Leonie had never been so happy to see someone as she had Roman when he’d come upon her and Arthur. He’d been a savior.
She changed the subject. “Do you wish that dance or not?”
“Will you accept my marriage offer?”
“You are astounding. I’ve done my best to be as kind as possible, my lord. However, you leave me no choice other than to be blunt—”
“I’ve always appreciated your bluntness more than your kindness, Miss Charnock,” he interjected, matching her formality.
She could have boxed his ears. He was deliberately making this difficult. She decided to move on with it. “Thank you for your offer but I will not marry you.”
He appeared far from disheartened. Instead of saying the usual proper words to gracefully accept a rejection, he said, “Oh, you will marry me. You owe me, Leonie. I lied for you once. It cost me my military career. It turns out they don’t take kindly to officers shooting each other, even in affairs of honor. The time has come to pay up. I need your dowry.”
The stab of disappointment confused her. She knew her dowry was all any of them, including Camberly, wanted. However, against all logic, she had expected at least a bit of earnest pretense from Roman. Instead, he behaved as if this was a business transaction—which marriage was, except she was rather offended by this attitude of his.
“I see,” she said airily. “I am nothing more than a bag of money to you.”
“Well, there are your ‘garden pebbles.’ I do have a man thing, you know.”
“Then you best be careful because it may fall off from neglect,” Leonie returned, matching his mock seriousness.
Roman grinned, the expression changing his face. He appeared younger and more relaxed. Ah, yes, when Roman let down his guard, no one could be more charming—
The door to the room was thrown open by a laughing young woman pursued by an amorous lord, his arms around her waist. Light flooded in from the hallway as the couple came to a halt upon discovering the marquis’s study occupied.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the gentleman said. The woman giggled her thoughts.
Leonie seized the interruption to leave. “It is of no matter,” she hastened to say, crossing the room and slipping around the couple. “We were just discussing something but I must return to the ballroom.” She started walking swiftly in that direction. There were other couples in the hall. The marquis’s punch was having a potent effect. They were huddled together in that way of lovers. Leonie tried not to look at them as she hurried along.
She had reached the ballroom door when she sensed rather than heard Roman’s presence behind her. His hand touched her elbow. “I will claim that dance now.”
Leonie could refuse, or she could give a bit of her time as a peace offering.
“Very well,” she decided, and took his offered arm. She did not look at him but she was very aware of him. Too aware.
“You should smile,” he whispered as they were taking their places for the next musical set.
She did as bid, plastering a false sweetness across her face. He rolled his eyes to let her know he was not impressed.
Truly, the man was like vinegar in her life. To keep a bit of her own, she observed in a whisper, “Most men would not wish a dance after their marriage offer, however calculating, was turned down.”
“Calculating? You wound me, Miss Charnock.”
“You appear anything but wounded, my lord.”
His eyes met hers. They were gray, the silver gray of coins or a bolt of lightning . . . she remembered thinking when they first met that they were the most unusual eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that could reveal everything or nothing.
Right now, they gave no indication of anything other than a mildly amused gentleman waiting with his lady for a dance.
The music began. Leonie enjoyed dancing and could often lose herself in the music and the patterns. This time, she found herself watching Rochdale.
Roman was a proud man. In India, several of the other officers had mentioned he had rather humble roots. No, not other officers—Arthur had mentioned that fact. Arthur had not wanted her giving even a sidelong glance to another man, and she didn’t—at least not overtly. However, she had noticed the new young lieutenant and she’d been quite taken with him, especially because she was growing tired of Arthur’s petty jealousies.
To be honest, Leonie didn’t know why she let Arthur convince her to elope. Such a silly, foolish idea now, but at the time, she had been swept up into the excitement of being wanted, of being chosen.
Now, she could see how much she had longed to be noticed all her life. Her parents were locked in their own battles. At the time, it was over her mother’s indiscretion with a clerk in the main counting office. They rarely spoke to each other, let alone their daughter. They’d been consumed with their own lives.
Arthur had offered freedom from that world and she’d grabbed at her chance to escape.
She glanced at Roman. He was a good dancer. She reme
mbered this from the past. The other women in their set had noticed him as well. Leonie could imagine that if he and Camberly were placed side by side, she might choose Roman.
He caught her regard and gave her a smile, just as the pattern of the dance had them both turn away—and a wayward thought struck her, one she’d never considered before.
It was so startling that she missed her next step. She recovered but could not wait for the music to be over.
He bowed over her hand. “Thank you for this dance.”
She didn’t mince words. “Why did you follow Arthur and me that night? How did you know where we were? What made you come after us?”
Chapter 5
God save him from intelligent women.
Leonie Charnock had the mind of a barrister. These were the questions Roman didn’t want to answer, the ones he’d thought long and hard about.
Before he could muster a response, a tall, blonde woman linked her arm with Leonie’s. “I’ve been looking for you. What are the points for being escorted to the supper room?” Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. In fact, she was so intent on sharing her news she hadn’t truly registered Roman’s presence until Leonie brought him to her attention.
Pointedly, she said to her friend, “May I introduce you to the Earl of Rochdale? My lord, this is Miss Holwell.”
Holwell. Another of the Spinster Heiresses.
Miss Holwell blushed prettily at her own forwardness and Roman realized this was his chance to avoid Leonie’s questions. He was not ready to reveal too much to her.
He made his bow to the new heiress before saying, “Miss Charnock, may I return you . . . ?” She shook her head. “Ah, then,” he said gratefully, “I will leave the two of you to your confidences.” Roman walked away before Leonie could reply.
The crowd had not thinned. He used it to hide, swiftly moving away from her until, safe, he glanced back.
Leonie watched him. She knew he had evaded her . . . and he also knew the conversation between them was not over.
Leonie could not believe that she had been so naive all those years ago to not have wondered why Roman had been there that night. She’d been too thankful he had appeared when he did to ask any questions. Indeed, she would have appreciated him even more two hours earlier, but he had been a godsend when he’d walked through the door of that hovel.
Still, why had he been there?
She followed his tall figure through the marquis’s guests so intently she was not surprised when he stopped and looked to her. Their gazes held. She knew she was being bold, but let him be wary. Let him wonder what she was thinking—
“Leonie, who is that gentleman?” Cassandra asked.
Pulling her gaze from Rochdale’s, Leonie said, “The Earl of Rochdale. I introduced you.”
“You did . . . but there seems to be something between the two of you?”
“There is nothing between us.” Leonie faced her friend. “What were you saying? You have six points?”
“Yes,” Cassandra said, happily changing the conversation to herself, “and Camberly escorted me into the supper room after we danced. How many points is that?”
“Well done. Out of all the pigeons in this room, he chose you. The Vetter sisters and our dear Lady Bettina must be green around the gills with envy.”
Cassandra lowered her voice to concede, “They are. Even Willa is a bit jealous. That doesn’t happen often. Usually, I’m the jealous one. I saw him dance with you so you have at least five points.”
Leonie nodded absently, her mind taken up with the sight of Roman leading Lady Imogen out onto the floor. Leonie had suspected he had hurried away to avoid answering her questions, but what if he’d just wanted to dance with someone else? Even though he’d told her in the marquis’s library he intended to marry her?
Or was he going around the room asking for the hand of every heiress? It would be a short trip. There weren’t that many.
Beside her, Cassandra prattled on. “His Grace told me you had taken ill. I was happy to see you were still here. Oh, by the by, Lady Bettina wants to be certain you don’t claim points for dancing with him. She says you didn’t finish the dance.”
Women could be so competitive. However, Leonie had weightier things on her mind than the game. “I won’t.”
“So, what do you think of him?”
What did she think about him? Her mind on Roman, Leonie said, “I do not think he is being entirely honest with me.”
“What?” Cassandra said with alarm, and Leonie realized she’d spoken aloud.
“I’m sorry, Cassandra. My mind was on something else. What did you ask?”
“Were you thinking about the duke?”
“No,” Leonie admitted.
Cassandra frowned thoughtfully and looked in the direction Leonie had been facing. “The earl? Interesting.”
“Not very.” Leonie forced a smile. “He writes terrible poetry. He compared me to garden pebbles.”
Cassandra stifled a laugh, and Leonie smiled, feeling they would safely move on to other topics and they did. They went back to the duke. “What did you think of Camberly?”
“I found him understanding when I had to race off the dance floor.” Leonie didn’t know if this was true or not, but did it matter?
It did to Cassandra. “Yes, understanding. He is, and it is such a good quality. What else do you think of him?”
Leonie really hadn’t given him much thought. “He’s young and attractive.”
“Oh, yes.” There was a swell of warmth in Cassandra’s words. “I was stunned when he asked to escort me to the supper room. Every woman here had been making calf eyes at him and he chose me. The tall one. The big one. You know what they whisper. But do you know what? Camberly is taller than I am by several inches. Lady Bettina was eaten up with jealousy. I could see it in her eyes.”
“So, what happened in the supper room?” Leonie prodded.
“He was the very picture of a gentleman. He offered to fill my plate and he didn’t give just a spoonful of peas or a half of a pheasant wing like so many others do. He was generous.”
“And the conversation?”
“Wonderful, except Soren York joined us.”
“Soren York?”
“Lord Dewsberry. He is a family neighbor and a bigger oaf you could never hope to meet. He should have known I wished to be alone with His Grace. Instead, he invited himself to sit right down and take up the conversation. Apparently, they are great friends. I hinted to him that the duke and I were enjoying a companionable moment but he didn’t pay any mind. I tell you, Leonie, if Dewsberry has ruined my chance with Camberly, I don’t know what I shall do to him.”
“If the duke escorted you to the supper room and filled your plate, then there must be some interest.”
“I pray it is so. If he doesn’t call on me, I don’t know what I’ll do. He’s the one.”
“The one?”
“Yes, the one. The husband I have always dreamed of. The man who would be perfect for me.”
“And you discovered all of that in a dance and spot of supper?”
“I knew it the moment I laid eyes on him.”
“Ah,” Leonie said, pretending to understand. In a way, she did. Arthur Paccard had been very handsome, but looks lie. That was a hard lesson she’d learned.
She also didn’t believe there was a “one.” She’d never witnessed the sort of love the poets praised. Lust, yes. Love, no.
Gently, she suggested, “The handsome ones do make you feel that way, but give it time. Learn to know his character.”
Cassandra grabbed Leonie’s arm. “My feelings for him run deeper than that. Someday you will know how I feel when you find ‘the one.’ There isn’t any of us who wants to be alone, not really. I mean, the three of us have all said we could manage, but when I was dancing with Camberly, I thought, yes, this is where I belong . . .” Her voice trailed off in a sigh.
“Excuse me, Miss Holwell?” a deep voice interrupted them. A str
apping young man with a Viking’s blond hair stood before Cassandra. He, too, was inches taller than her. “Will you give me the honor of this dance?”
Cassandra’s immediate response was a frown. She made a begrudging introduction to Leonie. “This is Lord Dewsberry. He and my family have been neighbors of sorts in Cornwall forever. My lord, this is my good friend Miss Charnock.”
This was the man Cassandra was avoiding. If he’d been a short, pock-faced, squeaky thing, Leonie could understand her friend’s complaints about him. However, Dewsberry was certainly as handsome in his way—well, there was the nose that had obviously been broken a time or two—as the Duke of Camberly.
Dewsberry bowed over the hand Leonie offered. “Of course, I have heard of you, Miss Charnock. Those who praise your beauty have not exaggerated.”
His compliment sounded a bit rote but Leonie didn’t mind. She was more bemused that he seemed obviously smitten with Cassandra . . . while Cassandra appeared anxious to avoid him. Perhaps if they had not been neighbors?
“Why have we not met before, my lord?” Leonie asked. Cassandra had never mentioned him.
“I spent time in the Canadian wilderness seeing to family interests and then my father died and we have been in mourning.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you for your kind thoughts.” He looked to Cassandra. “The set is starting. Will you come? You have not danced with me this evening.”
“I haven’t seen you dance at all, my lord,” Cassandra complained. They spoke with the familiarity of people who had run around in nappies together.
“I am honored you noticed,” he answered. “Flattered actually.” Leonie almost laughed at the way Cassandra reacted, as if she could bite her tongue for having said such a thing.
Lord Dewsberry offered his arm. “Come on, Cass.”
She did not take his arm. “I detest being call Cass.”
“Come along, Cassie?” He was prodding now. Leonie rather liked his spirit because everyone knew she hated “Cassie” most of all.
“Soren, what is my name?”
If Ever I Should Love You Page 5