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

by Melanie Dickerson

  “Oof.”

  “Oh!”

  “What is this?” someone asked from the doorway of the carriage.

  Leorah pushed herself up enough to look over her shoulder, but her hair was covering her face. She slung her head to move her hair out of her eyes, and a lantern shone through the door of the carriage. She blinked, trying to see who was there. Then she realized she was lying across Lord Withinghall’s chest, her forearms braced against his body, her long hair falling all over both of them. And staring right at them, their two faces peering through the doorway above their lantern, were Mr. Felton Pinegar and Mr. Dunnagan Moss, Leorah’s parish rector.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Miss Langdon,” Lord Withinghall growled. “Get off me this moment.”

  “What is going on here? Who is that?”

  Leorah recognized her rector’s voice. “Mr. Moss, I am so grateful you are here.”

  “What are you doing in here, at night?” His eyebrows were drawn together, creating a deep wrinkle in between.

  “We were in a terrible accident.” Leorah scrambled off Lord Withinghall’s chest and got to her feet, keeping her hand on the side of the carriage to make sure she didn’t lose her balance again. She shook off the pair of Lord Withinghall’s trousers that had tangled around her ankles.

  Oh dear. This did not look good. But surely her rector wouldn’t assume anything scandalous. Mr. Pinegar, on the other hand . . . Reputations had been ruined by a far less serious incident.

  “What were the two of you doing in this carriage alone together late at night?” Mr. Pinegar’s eyebrows were raised so high, his eyes so wide, he resembled one of her father’s hounds when he scented a fox. His long face and pointy nose made him fit the picture even more.

  “I’m afraid we were sleeping,” Leorah answered honestly, but she regretted her words as Mr. Moss’s mouth fell open.

  “Oh dear,” he muttered.

  “‘Oh dear’ is correct,” Mr. Pinegar said gravely. “I had no idea the two of you were engaged to be married.” He stared directly at where poor Lord Withinghall lay.

  “You know very well that we are not engaged. Can’t you see we were involved in an accident? Our carriage overturned.” Lord Withinghall’s voice conveyed both agitation and insult, as if they were either imbeciles, blind, or both. “My coachman lies dead out there on the road, my leg is broken, Miss Langdon has a broken wrist, and she was unable to catch the horses and go for help before it started to rain and night fell.”

  “There is no need to be discourteous, sir.” Mr. Moss looked a bit taken aback. Her gentle rector was obviously not accustomed to the rudeness of a lord like Withinghall, and furthermore, had no idea that he was addressing a viscount.

  “What Lord Withinghall is trying to say is that our carriage overturned as we were on our way to Glyncove Abbey, and his poor coachman, Pugh, was killed. The horses have run off, the rain started, and the viscount is greatly in need of a good surgeon for his injured leg.” Leorah looked down at his leg and shook her head, clicking her tongue against her teeth to elicit sympathy in the two gentlemen and perhaps distract them from their thoughts about finding her and Lord Withinghall in such a compromising position.

  “Oh, forgive me. I had no idea . . .” Of course, Mr. Moss was referring to the fact that he had no idea he had been addressing the Viscount Withinghall.

  “We must go fetch a surgeon at once,” Mr. Moss declared, recovering his composure. “Miss Langdon can come in our carriage, and we will search out the surgeon, Mr. Quimby, and bring him here. I do not believe he would have us move Lord Withinghall.”

  “I would be much obliged to you, Mr. . . .” Lord Withinghall waited to hear the man’s name.

  “Lord Withinghall,” Mr. Pinegar said with great self-importance, “may I present Mr. Dunnagan Moss.”

  Lord Withinghall acknowledged him by saying, “Mr. Moss.”

  “Mr. Moss, the Viscount Withinghall of Grimswood Castle.”

  “Lord Withinghall, I am honored to make your acquaintance.” He bowed rather awkwardly in the doorway of the overturned carriage.

  “Let us make haste.” Leorah held out her hand so that Mr. Moss and Mr. Pinegar could help her out. “Poor Lord Withinghall’s discomfort must be extreme. One of you gentlemen will want to stay with him, I presume.”

  “I shall stay with Lord Withinghall,” Mr. Pinegar said, “if you will take my carriage and fetch the surgeon.”

  “That we shall certainly do,” Mr. Moss said.

  Leorah hurried out into the rain, slipping on the muddy road, as she and Mr. Moss carried a second lantern to the carriage and hastened inside. Once the door had been closed and the carriage set out on its way, Mr. Moss turned to her, half his face bathed in the yellow lantern light, and said, “I very much fear, Miss Langdon, that you and Lord Withinghall, after being found together in that manner, shall be forced to wed.”

  But he didn’t make the statement as if he actually did “fear” it. He said it as if he welcomed it and thought she would as well!

  A slow dread began to seep into her chest, like a black fog. But she simply had to keep her temper, as well as her mental faculties, and set her rector straight on the subject.

  “Mr. Moss, I very much fear that you entirely mistake the matter.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Entirely. There is absolutely nothing amiss about the way you found Lord Withinghall and myself.”

  “How came you to be in his carriage at all?”

  He would understand as soon as she explained. “You see, I was out riding my favorite horse, Buccaneer, and he threw me after a covey of pheasants startled him. Lord Withinghall and his coachman happened to be driving by on the road nearby and saw it. They stopped to ask if I needed assistance. It so happened that Bucky had thrown a shoe, so I was unable to ride him home, and besides that, it seems I had broken my wrist when I fell. Lord Withinghall, as any gentleman would have done”—even a rude, uptight one—“kindly allowed me to ride in his carriage, as he was going near Glyncove Abbey on his way home to Grimswood Castle. On the way, something must have gone wrong with the carriage, particularly the part harnessing it to the horses. The horses ran away while the carriage lost control and overturned, killing poor Pugh, the viscount’s coachman. And Lord Withinghall’s leg was broken in the crash, and also, he had a gash in his head, but I managed to stop the bleeding.”

  Mr. Moss was looking more distressed than ever, his brows drawn low over his eyes.

  “But the point is that we were in a terrible accident. Otherwise I would be home safe and dry with my mother at this moment, and Lord Withinghall would be well on his way to his home. So, you see, there was no impropriety at all in the situation, and I’m sure Lord Withinghall has no intention whatsoever of thinking any more of it than I do.”

  His brows were still drawn together.

  She added, “And neither should you. Or Mr. Pinegar.”

  “Well, my dear, I’m sure if you say that there was no impropriety . . . but when we found you, you were lying on top of him. How do you explain that? And his clothing was scattered about the carriage?”

  “Nothing could be more simple. You see, I had fallen asleep, as I told you before, while waiting for the rain to stop so I could go for help. And when I heard voices, I stood up to see who had come to save us when my foot became entangled, and I fell, right on top of Lord Withinghall, as ill luck would have it—although it would have been much worse luck had I fallen on his poor broken leg, don’t you think? And his clothing was scattered around because I went through his trunk to find something to place under his shoulders to make him more comfortable, and a blanket for me, since I had become wet when I went looking for the horses earlier.”

  If the expressions on Mr. Moss’s face were any indication, her words were only inciting more suspicion, condemning rather than acquitting her of wrongdoing.

  “Honestly, Mr. Moss, everything I have told you is the utmost, complete truth.”

&nb
sp; He said nothing, and she could see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. “If you say so, my dear, then I must believe you. And now, can you explain how your arm came to be bandaged, in what looks like a skillfully wrapped splint, if you only broke your wrist a few hours hence?”

  “Of course. You see, Lord Withinghall saw that I was in pain every time the carriage hit any little bump in the road, so he had Pugh stop the carriage, and he bandaged it for me, so the bone would stay still and I would not be in so much pain.”

  “You’re saying Lord Withinghall, the viscount, splinted your arm?”

  “Well, I know it sounds rather incredible, but it is true, I assure you. He remembered as a boy how he had broken his own arm falling from a tree, and he splinted my arm just as he’d observed the surgeon splint his as a child.”

  “My dear.” Something about Mr. Moss’s smile, patronizing and mollifying at the same time, put her on her guard. “I advise you to accept Lord Withinghall’s proposal as soon as it is offered, for I can assure you, there can hardly be another girl in this county, and few, indeed, in the entire country of England, who would not be quite happy and gratified at becoming Lord Withinghall’s own viscountess. And the story you have told me will become so contorted and confused that you and Lord Withinghall will not be able to save your reputations without marriage.”

  “And what makes you think he shall propose marriage to me?” Leorah knew her tone was angry, defensive, and otherwise not permissible in addressing her own rector. But how dare he assume that she would be forced to marry Lord Withinghall? Lord Withinghall! Of all people, he was the very last man she would ever accept as a husband! It would be prison! Misery! Intolerable! To marry someone so rigid, so rule abiding, so . . . so . . .

  “He must ask you to marry him, for he has compromised your reputation most dreadfully by being alone with you, in a lying-down position, and at night. And unless you can swear Mr. Pinegar to secrecy, as well as the surgeon and the servants who will be privy to it, I’m afraid you have no choice.”

  Leorah’s face began to sting and her breath to quicken.

  “No, no, you are mistaken entirely, Mr. Moss. Indeed, you are. No one will think . . . anything at all. After all, who could think that I and Lord Withinghall . . . You said you believed me!”

  “I do believe you, my dear, but you must admit, it all sounds very suspicious and far-fetched and easily misunderstood—”

  “But that is unfair! How can you believe me in one breath and say it’s suspicious in the next?”

  “Because I have known you all your life, Miss Langdon, and your brothers and mother as well, but those who will hear the story who are not well acquainted with you, who will perhaps hear an exaggerated version of the story, retold and rehashed as it may be, will find it very hard to believe that there was not some impropriety involved. And to tell the truth, none of that even matters. The story behind it makes no difference. The fact remains that you and he were alone together for hours.”

  Even as the rector spoke, Leorah knew it was true. After all, there were so many people who thrived on gossip, and any scandal was bound to cause wagging tongues to fan the evil imaginings of some.

  “I hate to say it, my dear, but you must also think of Lord Withinghall’s reputation and his political career and how it would suffer from scandal.”

  Lord Withinghall’s political career, indeed! His political cronies would be horrified, no doubt.

  “He has enemies who will make the most of this.” There was worry in Mr. Moss’s voice.

  He was sadly mistaken if he thought she would be made to feel sorry enough for Lord Withinghall and his political career to marry him! Preposterous.

  Leorah sat in silence, holding her injured arm in her lap. She wouldn’t encourage Mr. Moss to share his opinion by giving her own. God, I just want to be home! To send someone to fetch her horse and a surgeon to tend to Lord Withinghall. And she wanted her mother to reassure her that this would not turn into a scandal. But under no circumstances, not even these, would she be induced to marry the cold, cantankerous viscount.

  Edward lay against his folded-up coat in the overturned carriage, praying his leg would not be permanently damaged, and praying that Miss Langdon would return quickly with the surgeon and a carriage home.

  He eyed Mr. Pinegar as the man set the second lantern down, sat, and stretched his legs in the inverted carriage. There was something about his expression. Was he gloating over this misfortune? Edward’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Pinegar intended to use this incident, if at all possible, to ruin Edward’s reputation and to further his own political ambitions.

  “What rotten luck, having this accident. I had no idea you and Miss Langdon were so well acquainted.”

  “We are not well acquainted. I am well acquainted with her brother Nicholas Langdon. She needed transportation, and, as any gentleman would, I offered her that transportation, the short distance to her home.”

  “As I said, it is rotten luck about the accident. Now you will have to marry the girl, and, I daresay, her dowry isn’t as fine as some.”

  “Sir, you are out of line and very much mistaken, I assure you.” Edward pretended a calm coolness, even as his blood began to boil in his veins. But he had known the insinuations would come. He would have to prepare himself to face them.

  “Forgive me if I have offended you, my lord.” But the little weasel didn’t look sorry at all. “I assumed you would want to marry her to prevent a scandal.”

  “There is no scandal. She is an innocent girl, and I am just as innocent.” He wanted to defend himself further, but anything he could think to say, any facts he could think to offer, only seemed likely to incriminate rather than exonerate. They had been alone together for a few hours. That fact was enough to create a scandal, and he knew it.

  “Be that as it may, Mr. Moss and I saw you and the girl in a very compromising . . . ahem . . . position.”

  “Miss Langdon tripped and fell.” He could have added, “As it was very dark,” but that, again, seemed likely to incriminate rather than exonerate.

  “You must admit,” said Pinegar, a broad smile on his face as he appeared to struggle not to laugh outright, “it looked quite damning to see her lying on top of you—”

  “You forget yourself, Mr. Pinegar. There was unequivocally no impropriety at all.”

  The man held up his skinny little hands. “I would not accuse you for the world.”

  But Edward’s trust in the man, if he ever had any, was entirely gone. He would spread this story himself. Edward debated whether to save time and just call the man out now. But no. He had sworn to his poor grieving mother all those years ago that he would never, ever participate in a duel. After what had happened to his father . . . Oh God, you wouldn’t allow me to be trapped in a similar situation? Not when I have striven so hard and so long to be as unlike him as humanly possible.

  He had to pull himself together and think clearly. Besides, this was nothing like his father’s situation. His father had deserved disgrace and dishonor. His father had taken several courtesans, including a married woman—which was common enough, though no less wrong—while married to Edward’s mother, and in the end, he met his fate at the end of his lover’s husband’s pistol.

  Edward, on the other hand, had never taken a courtesan, had never done anything so disgraceful, and did not deserve to be accused of impropriety with Miss Langdon. And she, though reckless, also did not deserve such ignominy.

  But however little they deserved it, it still might come to pass.

  “I shall trust you, Mr. Pinegar, to be discreet and not spread vile tales that appear scandalous but, in actuality, are completely harmless and unfounded.”

  “Oh, you may depend upon me, my lord. It is that clergyman, Moss, I’d be worried about, as well as the girl. What girl, one without a title, would not want to marry you, a wealthy viscount? Not to mention the country surgeon they’ll be going to fetch, along with any assistant of hi
s. Then there are the Langdons’ servants, who will undoubtedly see or hear something about their young mistress coming home after being alone in your carriage with you for several hours in the dark.”

  “Instead of imagining terrible consequences for my future, Pinegar, perhaps you should be helping me figure out what happened to my carriage and why it apparently broke apart, thereby killing my coachman.”

  Was it Edward’s imagination, or did Pinegar’s face suddenly go a shade whiter? His face twitched just below his eye, once, twice, at least three times.

  “Oh, that was very bad luck, very bad luck indeed.” He cleared his throat and suddenly became restless, picking up the lantern and turning up the wick. He almost bumped Edward’s broken leg with it.

  “Have a care, Pinegar. Don’t forget, I am injured.” His suspicions about Pinegar churned as he tried to recall all their past interactions and dealings with each other.

  “It is very fortunate for Miss Langdon and myself that you came along when you did. I am most grateful, as was Miss Langdon, I am sure.” He eyed Pinegar for his reaction while trying to look nonchalant.

  “Oh yes, the good clergyman, Mr. Moss, and I were on our way back to his parish after a friendly call on Lord Delamere. We were to dine there last week but had to postpone the pleasure due to my illness.”

  “I’m sorry to hear you were ill, Mr. Pinegar.”

  “Oh yes, I was deathly ill, but I am very well now. And now you will be laid up for some time, I fear, with this broken limb. Dear, dear, what a shame. But I’m sure your leg will be as good as new in a few weeks, in plenty of time for when Parliament reconvenes in November.” He smiled, his weasel-like eyes narrowing to slits. “I do hope the surgeon will be able to do a proper job of setting it.”

  “I’m sure he shall. In any case, one does not die of a broken leg.” But one does sometimes die from carriage accidents, and poor Pugh was lying dead now. If Pinegar had had anything to do with this, he would pay a high price. Edward would see to that.