A Viscount's Proposal

by Melanie Dickerson

  It was ridiculous to think about such a thing, for she could not have accepted his proposal. It was made under compulsion and without any attachment on either side. Besides that, just as they had hoped, the scandal surrounding their carriage accident seemed to have passed without too much damage to their reputations—though she would not know the extent of the damage until the Season had begun.

  She could not have accepted him. He did not love her. And yet . . . the prospect of marrying the viscount was not so distasteful as it had once been.

  Edward made his way toward Glyncove Abbey and the Langdons’ Christmas Eve party. Rain had made the roads a muddy mess, and the cold had frozen them solid. The carriage rocked from side to side, dipping in and out of the ruts. Sims, his new coachman, was not as skilled at missing the deepest ruts and holes as Pugh had been.

  Poor Pugh. It was on the road to Glyncove Abbey where Pugh had met his untimely end. Had it been only a few months ago when he’d watched as Leorah Langdon’s horse threw her? Much had changed since then. He’d been on the verge of becoming engaged to Miss Norbury, and when he’d seen that it was Miss Langdon whose horse had thrown her, he’d groaned at his bad luck. To be forced to assist Miss Langdon, she whom he had vowed to avoid . . .

  But it had been many weeks since he’d wanted to avoid her. In fact, his heart thrummed at the thought of seeing her again—and sank at her past indifference. But that was all over. They were friends now, were they not? Truthfully, it was difficult to tell with Miss Langdon. She did not flirt with him. She was polite, but there were times when he thought she was a bit more than polite, when interest shone in her eyes, such as when she had visited Grimswood Castle.

  He could be imagining it.

  The carriage hit a particularly deep hole, and a loud sound, like a gunshot, rang out.

  Sims yelled. Edward lunged forward and threw up the seat opposite him. He grabbed his gun and readied it to shoot.

  Sims was yelling encouragement to the horses and cracking his whip. The carriage was moving so fast that they would break an axle if they hit a deep hole now.

  “Slow down!” Edward banged the top of the carriage and stuck his gun barrel out the window with one hand, throwing the curtain back with the other. Trees lined the road. He stuck his head out to survey the road behind them. No one was there, unless they were hiding behind Edward’s fast-moving carriage.

  The horses gradually slowed and resumed their normal pace.

  Had someone been trying to kill him? Or was it just someone out shooting pheasant? Either way, they seemed long gone now.

  He kept his gun in his lap until they neared their destination, then he put it back inside the seat.

  In front of Glyncove Abbey, Edward alighted from the carriage and found Sims staring at him with wild, wide eyes.

  “Not injured, are you, Sims?”

  “No, Lord Withinghall.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No, but I saw the flash of the gun. He was hidden in the trees, but I’m sure whoever he was, he was shooting at us.”

  Edward wished Sims had stopped so he could return fire, but the poor coachman was too clear and easy a target. He did not blame the man for whipping up the horses to a gallop. He certainly did not want to lose two coachmen in one year.

  “You did the right thing, Sims.” Then, on a whim he asked, “Do you have any enemies?”

  “Me, my lord? No, sir. I’m not even married.”

  Edward chuckled. “I’m not married either, but it would seem I have at least one enemy.”

  Surely his father’s heritage was not catching up to him, the violent end he had met. His father’s demise could have been predicted, but Edward had never hurt anyone, not that he knew of.

  “Lord Withinghall!” Nicholas called to him from the top of the front steps of Glyncove Abbey as he started down toward him.

  Edward greeted his friend.

  “Did you have a good drive over?”

  “As a matter of fact, we had a little incident.”

  Edward proceeded to tell him about the shooting.

  Nicholas creased his brow. “I will make sure to send some men with you when you go home.” He lifted his head as a thought seemed to occur to him. “Has your sheriff, Mr. Yarbrough, found out any more about your carriage being tampered with?”

  “Other than the fact that Pinegar was present at the inn where I changed horses and that he was talking to someone fitting Hastings’s description, nothing. Pinegar was very quiet during the most recent sittings of Parliament. I hardly saw him. And I’ve not seen Hastings since your house party.”

  “Well, it is very troubling. Whoever was shooting at you knew that you were coming here tonight.”

  Indeed. Was there a spy in his own household? Or the Langdons’?

  More guests were arriving, so they went inside, where Edward’s eye immediately caught Miss Langdon’s.

  She was looking particularly beautiful. Her hair was decorated with tiny white ribbons, and she wore a lovely dress. He could not have said what color it was, for she smiled at him, and all thoughts seemed to flee his mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Leorah smiled at Lord Withinghall. He was looking particularly handsome, with a stylish new coat in a rich brown that contrasted nicely with his fawn-colored waistcoat and breeches. He was taller than anyone else in the room. But he was too far away for her to speak to, and two other gentlemen nearby began talking to him.

  Nicholas made his way through the crowd, looking preoccupied as he glanced around the room. “Have you seen Father?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It seems someone shot at Lord Withinghall’s coach on the way here.”

  “Oh dear!” Leorah’s stomach dropped.

  “I want to let Father know. If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him.” He moved on through the crowd. Lord Withinghall had left the two men behind and was moving toward her.

  As soon as he was near enough, she said, “My brother told me what happened to you on your way here. Are you sure you are not hurt?”

  “I am surprised he would burden you with something like that. No, my coachman and I are not hurt.”

  “It is no burden. But I do think you should stay here tonight and not go home in the dark.”

  He stared into her eyes as if trying to read her thoughts.

  “I am in earnest. It is easier to protect oneself in the daylight than in the dark. And we would all be horrified if anything happened to you.”

  “You would?” His gaze never wavered from her face.

  “You do so much for the poor and for children, for girls’ education . . .”

  He said nothing. Did he have to look at her so intently?

  “And Nicholas is very fond of you. Where is Nicholas? I shall speak to him about it.”

  “Stay and talk with me. You can speak to Nicholas later.”

  “I suppose I can.” Normally she would have bristled at being told what to do, but there was such a look of pleading in his eyes that she did not mind it.

  “Have you been riding your beloved horse now that your wrist is healed?” He angled his body toward her, putting his back to the rest of the room.

  “I have.” Her heart beat extra hard as she could see nothing in the room except Lord Withinghall. People were milling around and talking and even laughing, sipping port wine, but it was as if she and this tall, handsome man in front of her were the only two people in the room.

  “Isn’t his name Bucky?”

  “How did you know?” She couldn’t help smiling. All her senses were heightened, and her breathing was fast and shallow, like when she and Buccaneer were galloping through the meadow near her house. “Actually, his name is Buccaneer. My father gave him to me when I was twelve, and we have been best friends ever since.”

  “Buccaneer. That is an interesting name. Do you have an affinity for pirates, then?”

  Leorah smiled in what she hoped was a flirtatious manner. “I do like pirates,
especially . . .” If she were truly bold and flirtatious, she would say, “Especially handsome ones,” but she could not bring herself to flirt that shamelessly, so she said, “Especially useful ones who save damsels who have been thrown from their horses.”

  But apparently that had also been quite bold, as Lord Withinghall swallowed, his throat bobbing.

  “Do you forgive me now for saying you reminded me of a pirate?”

  “For thinking me daring and bold enough to defeat enemies at sea? Of course.” He smiled, revealing a glimpse of perfect white teeth.

  They were standing very close. Any minute someone might notice and begin whispering about them, or worse yet, someone might come and insert themselves into their conversation. She cast about for something to ask him.

  “Have you ever had a favorite horse?”

  “I did. He was an Arabian with a blond mane, gentle but spirited. He is rather old now, and I no longer ride him. But he was a great comfort to me as a boy.”

  “Yes, I can imagine.” She did not want to pry or make him uncomfortable, but she did want to hear him speak of personal matters. “Nicholas told me about your father and the duel. That must have been devastating for you.”

  “Yes.” His jaw flinched, and he looked away from her, staring past her for a moment. “I was not only hurt, but I felt humiliated at what had brought about my father’s death. It was a great scandal, and my poor mother never got over it. She died a year later.”

  “That is very sad.” How could she tell him that her heart broke for him at the thought of his pain? “Did your uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, come to stay with you then?”

  “Yes. When I was not away at school, they were with me at Grimswood. I was very fortunate to have them, I now realize, but at the time, I did not appreciate them as they deserved.”

  “I’m sure they understood.”

  “But this is a Christmas party. We should not be speaking of such gloomy subjects.”

  “I have not even asked about your aunt and uncle. They did not come with you?”

  “No, they send their regards and apologies.”

  “They are not in ill health, I hope.”

  “Only a slight headache for my aunt, and my uncle has caught a cold. They decided it best to stay home.”

  She asked some more about his uncle and aunt, and he spoke with real warmth and affection. “But you will tire of hearing all about me and my family.”

  “I like learning more about you. I now know quite a bit more about you than just your great love for the writings of Hannah More.”

  “You are teasing me now.”

  “No, no. I like hearing what you think of that lady. I admire her more myself, the more I hear you speak of her.”

  “I appreciate her courage to speak the truth about the aristocracy, about the immorality and lack of decency amongst the upper classes—the same indecency that caused me so much pain as a boy, as my father was a perfect example of society’s moral depravity. Miss More represents both strength and morality to me. She is still fierce and active and not afraid of anyone, which I also respect. She cares about upholding the standards of Christianity by caring for the poor and not showing partiality in educating girls and boys.”

  “Yes, I can see why you hold her in such high regard. I have been reading her work lately.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, and I particularly liked when she said, ‘The chief object of the Gospel is not to furnish rules for the preservation of innocence, but to hold out the means of salvation to the guilty.’”

  He reached toward her. But he pulled his hand back before he touched hers. “I think the two of you are rather alike.”

  She must have given him a disbelieving look, because he said, “Truly. Neither of you will accept any nonsense or hypocrisy from society.”

  She smiled.

  “Neither of you care a whit about what people say about you, and you are both quite fierce in your defense of the poor.”

  “I am humbled and honored to be compared to a woman you think so highly of.”

  They were staring into each other’s eyes. How had she ever denied that he was a most attractive man? She could almost imagine being in love with him and marrying him, and she’d never imagined such a thing in her life. She felt herself blushing.

  “Lord Withinghall, is that you?” an elderly woman called from behind him.

  He took a breath, his chest expanding, and slowly turned—reluctantly, from the look on his face as he tore his eyes from hers—to nod a greeting to the Baroness de Tournay.

  Since the baroness seemed to have no interest in talking to anyone but Lord Withinghall, Leorah excused herself and went to find Nicholas. He was receiving guests with Julia and Mother, and she walked up to him.

  “Nicholas, please do not allow Lord Withinghall to go home tonight. He must stay, and you must send some men with him when he—”

  “I was already planning to do just that,” he said. “But what does all this concern signify?” He leaned down as if to better examine her expression.

  “I don’t know what you mean. I would be concerned for any of our guests if someone had been shooting at them.”

  “Who was shooting at Lord Withinghall?” Julia, ever the discreet lady, kept her voice low.

  “We don’t know.” Nicholas squeezed her arm soothingly. “But I will make sure he is protected.”

  When the butler announced that dinner was served, they made their way into the dining room two by two. Leorah was not seated anywhere near Lord Withinghall.

  When the long meal was over, they moved into the music room, where Mother asked one of their guests, a Miss Thompson, to play a Christmas song. When the gentlemen joined them, Lord Withinghall sat next to Leorah. But they were only just able to begin a conversation before someone joined them and began talking to Lord Withinghall, at which point Miss Thompson vacated the pianoforte and sat on Leorah’s other side and began asking her about her favorite music.

  The rest of the night went similarly, as Leorah and Lord Withinghall would begin a conversation with each other only then to have someone approach and interrupt them.

  As the guests began to leave, they smiled and expressed their enjoyment of the party. But there was nothing to distinguish it as a Christmas party except for the fact that Leorah’s mother wished them each a “Merry Christmas,” and a few of the guests responded with a tepid “Merry Christmas” as they took their leave of Leorah and her family.

  Leorah glanced around and finally saw Nicholas speaking with Lord Withinghall, just the two of them in a corner of the room.

  “Do not worry,” Julia said, touching her elbow. “Nicholas will convince him to stay the night. He will not let him come to harm.”

  Compassion shone out of Julia’s eyes.

  Julia and Leorah finished bidding a good night to their departing guests, then Nicholas approached.

  “Lord Withinghall has agreed to stay, but he says he must leave in the morning. He will only be home a short time, as he will have to travel back to London and his duties there. But he will see us at the rally in Surrey in several weeks.”

  “The political rally. Yes, of course.” Leorah pretended not to notice both Nicholas and Julia staring meaningfully at her.

  Father and Nicholas began discussing something and hung back. As Julia and Leorah climbed the steps, Leorah felt strangely out of sorts.

  “I don’t see why Christmas has to be such a dull, formal occasion. I happen to know that the servants’ Christmas parties provide much more amusement. When I was a child, the upstairs maid once told me that they play games—the same games people played in the Middle Ages at Christmastime—and they hang mistletoe, and if you’re caught underneath, you have to kiss the first man who approaches you.”

  “Leorah! You would not want to embrace such a practice, would you?”

  “It would depend upon the man, to be sure.”

  “Leorah!” Julia laughed, as she usually did when Leorah sh
ocked her.

  “Besides, you must admit that Christmas parties are nothing more than sitting around having dull conversations.”

  “Was Lord Withinghall so dull? For I saw you speaking with him several times.”

  “No, he was not dull. It was everyone else. Inane gossip and asking after everyone’s family and discussing the weather and the roads. Reading a good book alone in one’s room would be more exciting.”

  Julia patted her arm. “Perhaps something interesting will happen soon.” She smiled as if she knew something Leorah did not. “Besides, you’ll be going to London to stay with your friend Felicity, will you not?”

  “Yes. In a fortnight.”

  “Well, then, something exciting is sure to happen in London.”

  Leorah encountered Lord Withinghall on the stairs the next morning as he was leaving.

  “I am praying for you to have a safe journey home,” she said.

  “Thank you very much. I hope you enjoyed the Christmas party last evening.”

  “I think I would enjoy Christmas parties more if they were less similar to every other dinner party and more distinctly about Christmas. We have taken all the meaning out of Christmas. Doesn’t Miss Hannah More have something to say about that?”

  “As a matter of fact, Miss Hannah More has said that the upper classes have turned a holy day’s festivities into a formal party of little or no significance, where people simply feast and gossip and forget what the day is about.”

  “That is just what I think,” Leorah said. “At least during the Middle Ages, people had many traditions and ways of celebrating the day, giving gifts to their workers and to the poor.”