A Viscount's Proposal (The Regency Spies of London Book 2)

by Melanie Dickerson

  “I have heard the viscount has twenty-five thousand a year.” Eleanor’s eyes were wide with interest, looking as if she had entirely forgotten what they had been saying about Hyde Park and the best places to walk. “He is quite handsome, don’t you think?”

  “He seems rather plain and grossly lacking a proper sense of style in his clothing choices.”

  “Oh no, not grossly lacking. Besides, I’m sure his future wife could easily contrive to change his fashion sense.”

  “Yes, but don’t you think his manner is rather . . . I don’t know . . . ill-tempered and unbending? He’s the sort to prevent his wife from doing anything agreeable, like reading novels. I would lay down ten pounds that he plans never to allow his wife to read anything more stimulating than Fordyce’s Sermons.”

  “Leorah!” Eleanor covered her mouth with her fan and giggled softly. “The things you say! But I daresay his wife may be hard-pressed to not cower before him. He has such a frightening expression on his face nearly all the time. I have never dared venture near him. Still, if he asked me to marry him, I’d say yes immediately. Twenty-five thousand pounds can make up for a lot of frightening looks. And I still say he is handsome.”

  “If he were ever to smile, perhaps.”

  Nicholas and Lord Withinghall began walking toward the chairs as the musicians readied their instruments. Julia motioned with her hand for Leorah to come.

  “It appears as if you will be sitting with him.” Eleanor squeezed Leorah’s arm excitedly. “Try to make a good impression. He may be searching for a wife.”

  “Oh, Eleanor, if he is, nothing could horrify me more.”

  But her friend didn’t seem to hear what Leorah said or notice her reluctance. Instead, Eleanor smiled broadly as she waved and turned to find her own party.

  Leorah had no choice but to join Nicholas, Julia, and Lord Withinghall for the concert. At least she was able to contrive a seat beside Julia with both her sister-in-law and Nicholas to block her view of Lord Withinghall. Still, good manners dictated that she acknowledge his presence, so she nodded to him coldly.

  He focused on her with his dark-blue, almost black, eyes beneath those distinct eyebrows that had put her in mind of a rakish pirate. He nodded back at her as gravely as if he were at a hanging, and with equal distaste.

  Had the man ever smiled in his life? She doubted it.

  She endeavored to put Lord Withinghall out of her mind and enjoy the concert.

  The music was pleasurable, but it seemed to go on too long. By the time the musicians stopped for intermission, Leorah was feeling restless and wishing to be back at their town house in Mayfair, or better yet, at their country estate in Lincolnshire where she could ride her horse and explore the land nearby to her heart’s content. But alas, she was a long way from there.

  Leorah wandered the corridor and foyer of the concert hall in search of an acquaintance to talk to. She spied Lord Withinghall ahead of her, speaking to Miss Augusta Norbury and her aunt and guardian, Mrs. Palladia Culpepper.

  What an appropriate couple Lord Withinghall and Miss Augusta Norbury made. Miss Norbury was someone Leorah avoided at parties and other social gatherings. The girl seemed polite enough, but there was something about her demeanor, a cold haughtiness in the tilt of her head and her lack of conversation, that always put Leorah off. She always felt as if the girl was looking down on her, which was the same feeling she got when she was around Lord Withinghall.

  Yes, they made a perfect couple.

  When the concert was set to resume, Lord Withinghall had not returned to sit with them. Instead, he was sitting with Miss Norbury and Mrs. Culpepper, looking very rigid and proper. Leorah suddenly wondered why she and Felicity had imagined him as a pirate. No self-respecting pirate would be caught dead in such attire—that plain waistcoat and even plainer black evening coat, that stiff cravat tied in such a simple way, and the severe style of his hair. He had no watch fob or chain, nothing to distinguish his dress.

  A pity he was not a pirate. Instead, he was only an uptight viscount who aspired to be Prime Minister.

  Miss Norbury still appeared as haughty as ever, but there was also a look of interest Leorah hadn’t seen before. Leorah sensed Augusta Norbury would be more than pleased to accept Lord Withinghall if he asked her for her hand.

  There was no accounting for some people’s taste.

  Edward hadn’t realized Nicholas Langdon’s sister, Leorah Langdon, would be accompanying her brother, or he never would have ventured to sit with them at the concert. But the object of his interest—indeed, the object of his intentions—made herself visible at the intermission, and he was able to find a seat with her for the remainder of the evening’s entertainment. Miss Augusta Norbury was just the sort of genteel girl who would make him a suitable wife. He had singled her out and only needed to make a show of his preference for her before asking her to marry him. She appeared quiet and complying and didn’t seem to be the sort who would do anything impulsive. He couldn’t imagine her flouting polite society’s rules of gentility, running willy-nilly through a maze, galloping through Hyde Park where people were walking, and generally making a spectacle of herself. Nor would Miss Norbury engage in reckless conversations about a respectable Member of Parliament—a viscount, no less—looking like a pirate.

  Miss Norbury was the sort who would do her duty as the wife of a viscount. She would be a perfect hostess with perfect manners—what more could he want in a wife? And she was very pretty too. Though perhaps not so beautiful as to excite the interest of rakes and buffoons who preyed on women’s silly imaginings.

  He had a horror of impulsive, flighty women such as Miss Leorah Langdon. It was a pity an upstanding young man like Nicholas Langdon should have such a sister. Comparing him to a pirate! It was ludicrous and unseemly. And she was dangerously beautiful besides. The worst combination, to be sure.

  When the concert was over, he offered to escort Miss Norbury and her aunt to their carriage, then promised to call on her the next day.

  The next day, he called at one o’clock—not too early nor too late. He stayed an appropriate length of time—half an hour—and asked if he might call for Miss Norbury the next day at four thirty for an outing in the park. His offer was accepted, and he departed.

  He would go on in this manner for precisely four weeks—plenty of time to form an attachment, as people referred to it—and then he would ask her to marry him. She would say yes, no doubt, and they would wait eight weeks—a most suitable amount of time for the banns to be read—and then they would be married at her home parish in Northamptonshire.

  Miss Augusta Norbury was the daughter of the now-deceased Sir Walter Norbury, a man of spotless reputation and a friend of King George in the height of his power and sanity. Her aunt was also upright, completely devoid of foolishness, and disapproving, loudly, of any sort of folly to be found in human nature.

  Everything would be done in a tidy, proper way, and he would have no fear of further rumors about his frequenting the Cyprians, those women who lived their lives to ruin reputations and draw men away from their wives and their homes. If Edward could show the world he had a wife who esteemed him, could show he was above courtesans and intrigues of that nature, he could laugh at any reports such as the one falsely circulated about him in the papers. Most importantly, he would continue to show the world that he was nothing like his father.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Several weeks later, at Lord and Lady Upchurch’s ball, Edward’s plan was coming together. It was nearly time for him to ask Miss Norbury to marry him. He had danced with her four times, enough to ensure that he had made his interest in the lady known. The whole night had been a success, as he had also managed to avoid Miss Leorah Langdon.

  As the evening’s festivities drew near an end, he searched the crowd for Miss Norbury. There she was, on the other side of the room. He nodded farewell to the gentlemen he had been speaking with and turned to make his way to Miss Norbury when someone collided wit
h him.

  He reached out to steady the other person and found that she had spilled her drink down the front of his jacket.

  “Oh.” The lady straightened away from him, staring at his chest and the stain she had made.

  “Miss Langdon.” He momentarily imagined himself strangling her. “What are you about?”

  “Spilling my negus, apparently. A gentleman—I believe it was Mr. Pinegar—pushed me. I assure you it was not my intention, nor was it my fault.” She stared up at him with a scowl of irritation.

  How dare she scowl at him! “Young lady, you should watch where you’re going.”

  “I was watching where I was going, unlike some people who can barely see past their noses.” She said the latter under her breath, but he heard her perfectly well.

  He no more believed her story of being pushed than . . . “Miss Langdon, I would appreciate it if you would steer a wide path around my person, as, whenever you are around, I tend to get bumped into, have my clothing spoiled, and find my dignity otherwise injured by your carelessness.”

  “You are the most obstinate, arrogant . . . The only thing preventing me from saying what I really think is my respect for my brother, who, for some reason, values your friendship.”

  “Oh, I am most grateful, I assure you, for your forbearance. Heaven forbid you should say what you really think.”

  He was insane to be allowing her to engage him in a childish squabble like this at a respectable ball. Dear God, get me away from this woman.

  Leorah’s face heated as she noted the sarcastic tone of Lord Withinghall’s voice. How dare he speak so derisively to her? She’d never wanted to slap anyone’s face before in her life, but she was now experiencing that very urge.

  “Forgive me for anything unjust that I might have said.” He had wiped the patronizing look from his face and replaced it with a more placating one. He bowed quickly as he said, “And please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness. Good night.”

  “How dare you spout that drivel about your best wishes for me. Save the hypocritical, rote politeness for someone who will pretend to believe it.”

  Lord Withinghall’s face turned a shade darker as he stared down at her with fire in his eyes. “Drivel? That’s a fine accusation from someone who said I resembled a pirate. Utter nonsensical . . .” His voice trailed off as he wiped at his waistcoat with his handkerchief.

  “Calling you a pirate was an undeserved compliment.” Leorah knew she should keep quiet, should walk away and clamp down on her temper. But the heat in her head blurred her vision as well as her self-control. “A pirate would at least be interesting company.” What was she saying? They both sounded like children.

  “Excuse me, but I have someone I must speak to. I bid you good night.” He bowed smartly and turned away.

  How dare he turn away to prevent her from having the last word! The man was insufferable.

  But her behavior had been less than seemly, or at least her family would have said so. Her mother would have been appalled, and Julia, her sweet, gentle sister-in-law, would have turned pale to hear her so forcefully insult a peer of the realm.

  It wasn’t her fault. The man was exasperating, infuriating. How could anyone, someone she hardly knew, at that, bring out the worst in her, and so often?

  There he was, standing at the door looking frustrated.

  “Lord Withinghall!” their host, Mr. Upchurch, said, red in the face from too much brandy and speaking too loudly. “I trust you enjoyed yourself tonight. Is something wrong?”

  Lord Withinghall answered him, but in a much quieter voice, and said something about “missing Miss Augusta Norbury before she departed.”

  “Oh yes, I’m afraid you missed her departure while you were speaking with that beautiful young miss. Oh, there she is now.” The slightly inebriated Mr. Upchurch pointed at Leorah.

  Leorah pretended not to hear or see him and turned to join Nicholas and Julia as they were gathering Julia’s shawl.

  Isn’t it too bad that he missed his precious future wife before she went home? The two would probably have that cold, unfeeling marriage that Leorah planned so assiduously to avoid.

  If only she did not have the sinking regret of having insulted him rather harshly. She did not want to feel guilty for anything she’d said to that man. She’d rather not think about him at all.

  Edward dressed with care for his visit the next morning with Miss Norbury and her aunt. He supposed he ought to go out and buy some more fashionable clothing, but he rarely gave his clothes a second thought. There always seemed to be more important things to do. His valet, Boyles, was old, and his taste in clothes and ways of tying a cravat were probably as old as he was. Not that Edward had noticed it himself, but one of the manservants, Gates, had pulled him aside the other day and mentioned that it might be time to let Boyles step down to lighter duty and let a younger man, “with more fashion sense,” take over as his valet.

  Edward had brushed him off as impertinent, imagining that Gates only wanted the job for himself. But now, looking in the full-length mirror, he began to really scrutinize his dress.

  What did young men wear these days? He didn’t care about the dandies; he considered men like Beau Brummel caricatures and absurdly stupid to spend so much time and money on their appearance. Would Augusta be put off by him if he dressed out of fashion? Perhaps he should get new clothes. But even if he were fitted today, it would take days for the clothes to be ready.

  Still, he could at least get a more fashionable cravat. Perhaps he should take Boyles with him, so he could learn to tie his neckcloth in the current style. Then he would still have time to call on Miss Norbury.

  Edward arrived at Mrs. Culpepper’s front door at three o’clock, barely within the most polite visiting hours, with his new, fashionably tied cravat. He was allowed in by the butler, who took his calling card and said, “Mrs. Culpepper asked me to inform you that she and Miss Norbury have gone. They do not expect to return to town until next Season.”

  This was a blow, a serious blow, to his plans. Why would she have left so suddenly? “Can you tell me where they have gone?”

  “Of course, Lord Withinghall.” The butler bowed respectfully. “They are gone to their country estate in Northamptonshire, and the rest of the servants are to follow as soon as we have closed up the town house in a few days.”

  Edward felt a lurch in his chest at being so thwarted in his plan, but he was a little surprised that he also felt a tiny bit relieved. Was he afraid of being rejected? Or was he unwilling to be married? Later, when he could be alone with his thoughts, he would have to examine his feelings more thoroughly.

  “Can you tell me why they left so suddenly?”

  “They received word that Miss Norbury’s younger sister had an accident. They do not believe her life is in danger, but they wanted to go to her and make sure every attention is being paid.”

  “Of course. Perfectly understandable.” Edward thought for a moment. “Thank you, I shall go.” Edward turned and left, walking slowly down the street to his own home nearby.

  Perhaps when Parliament adjourned at the end of the summer, which would only be a few more weeks at most, he would be invited to Mrs. Culpepper’s Northamptonshire estate. Otherwise, he’d simply have to wait until next spring to ask Miss Augusta Norbury to be his wife.

  This was only a small setback. He would still get his politically acceptable wife, and within six months, God willing.

  Leorah reveled in the beautiful countryside of her Lincolnshire home. She galloped over the gently rolling hills, skirting the dense forest that ran the eastern length of their property as she pushed her mount farther south, the wind tugging her hair loose and whipping it about her face and shoulders.

  It was so good to be riding free and alone on her favorite horse, Buccaneer, whose name now unfortunately reminded her—and how ironic it was—of Lord Withinghall. Whatever had made her think the stuffy viscount resembled a pirate? It seemed incredibly sil
ly now. The man was as un-piratical as a person could possibly be. Buccaneer was truly fearless and bold, spirited and always ready for adventure. Lord Withinghall, on the other hand, was just the opposite.

  But why was she thinking about him? She had left him in London, as Parliament was still in session, and was quite pleased to do so. And though she had never mingled with him in Lincolnshire, it was a bit disturbing to think of him in her own dear county, as he lived at the far northeastern part, at the coast. He’d no doubt be coming back to his home before the chill of autumn set in, as many people could not bear to be in London when the cold temperatures and coal fires brought on the stifling smoke that made the air nearly unfit to breathe. The higher echelons of society had already started their mass exodus back to the countryside.

  As Buccaneer dashed toward the next hill, Leorah sensed that something was not quite right. There seemed to be an inconsistency in his gait, as if he were favoring one of his legs, the way he did when he had thrown a shoe. She would stop in a moment to examine his hooves.

  They topped the next hill, and a covey of pheasants exploded into the air in front of them. Buccaneer reared, his front hooves lifting off the ground.

  Leorah grasped at the reins, but they slipped from her hands. Her body sailed backward toward the earth. Instinctively, she put her hand behind her as she hit the ground with a sickening jolt.

  She struggled to breathe. Don’t panic, she told herself. She’d just had the breath knocked out of her. She forced herself to roll onto her side and was able to take in a tiny breath of air, then a full breath, filling her lungs.

  A searing pain in her wrist caught her full attention. The sinking feeling in her stomach—along with the searing pain—told her she had broken her wrist.

  She sat up and cradled her hand against her midsection. Surely it wasn’t broken. Probably only sprained.

  Buccaneer ambled over and nudged her shoulder with his nose, snorting and snuffling his concern. He nudged her again and nearly knocked her over. That was when she heard a shout from the road below them. A carriage came to a stop at the bottom of the slope, about a hundred feet away.