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

by Melanie Dickerson

  And Edward had not even told them about his suspicions that Pinegar was behind the sabotaged carriage.

  “There must be a reason for his hatred of me,” he said, as much to himself as to his political advisors. “We must trace his family connections, find out where he went to school. I must have run afoul of him somewhere, though I cannot think when, where, or how.”

  Lord Crenshaw said, “I shall personally search out his past for possible connections and encounters.”

  “There is one more thing we’d like you to consider that would help your cause,” Lord Blakeney said.

  Edward turned to face them. The three men had also stood up and were looking back at him, glasses of sherry in hand, but there was a sheepish look on at least one face. The other two seemed to be trying to keep their expressions bland.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “We think you should distance yourself from Miss Langdon in social situations around London, at least for a while.”

  Lord Matherly added, “We are only saying it would be better to avoid her this Season, until the gossip is no longer a point of contention with some of the other members.”

  “Oh? That is what you think? And you did not dare to share this view with Miss Langdon, did you?”

  Lord Crenshaw coughed and stared at the floor. Lord Matherly cleared his throat, and Lord Blakeney folded his hands over his prodigious stomach.

  “See here, Withinghall. The girl has a right to know what is being said about her and a Cabinet Minister whose future is as bright as he might wish it to be. She will think over what we said, and if she is a conscientious girl, she will see the wisdom of—”

  “No.” Edward did not raise his voice enough for it to be called shouting, but he clenched his fists at his sides and took a step toward them. Lord Crenshaw and Lord Matherly each took a step back.

  “No,” he repeated. “You should not have gone to her and said—whatever it was you said. She is not to be blamed, and I shall not have you bullying her.”

  “My lord, you must admit, the girl is not the most discreet or sedate . . . why, whatever happened to that Miss Norbury everyone thought you would marry? She was a very calm and prudent sort of girl.”

  “Get out.”

  “My lord?”

  “It is late. I am tired. I want to sleep.”

  “You are not pleased, my lord,” Lord Matherly said.

  “You must not be angry with us,” said Lord Crenshaw. “We have your best interests at heart. The girl will pay no heed to what we said anyway, I imagine.”

  “I hope she turned you all out of the house immediately.” Edward stalked toward them, keeping his voice low. “I hope she told you—that is enough. We shall speak of it another time.”

  They backed away as he continued to walk toward them.

  “But for the future, you are not to tell anyone that they should avoid my company, nor that I should avoid theirs.”

  They had all reached the door.

  “Thank you, my lords. The servant shall see you out.”

  They grunted, shuffled their feet, but ultimately turned and went out the door.

  Edward took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  There was a time he would have agreed with them, would have approved what they had done. But now . . . he calculated the earliest time he might pay Leorah a visit.

  If only it weren’t too late to call on her now. God, let her believe me when I tell her that those men were not sanctioned by me to say such things to her.

  “Oh no.” He groaned. He could not call on her in the morning. He was attending the children’s education rally tomorrow. Would Miss Langdon be there? Would he be able to speak with her privately enough to address this matter? Let it be so.

  Leorah dressed carefully for the rally. Mr. Mayson was sending a manservant with her, and he was not allowing Felicity to go along. There had been an incident at a political rally several weeks earlier during which a man had begun shooting. He’d been apprehended by some former soldiers standing nearby before anyone had been hurt, but it was fresh in Felicity’s parents’ minds.

  “You look lovely, Leorah.” Felicity frowned as she helped her on with her yellow muslin spencer with pink trim. “I only wish I were going with you. I could watch Lord Withinghall’s reaction to you while you are ignoring him.”

  “Oh, I shan’t ignore him. I shall walk right up to him and dare him to snub me.”

  “You’re so brave, Leorah. Nothing frightens you. I wish I could be more like you.”

  “You are very brave too. In fact, I see a great tenacity in you. If faced with danger, you would frighten someone twice your size.”

  Felicity laughed, such a merry sound. “You could be right.”

  “Besides, I don’t think I’m brave so much as . . . a bit cynical and angry.”

  Felicity shook her head. “You are such an honest person, Leorah, and also quite modest.”

  “I’m grateful your father is allowing me to go to the rally and is sending his manservant, but I do wish you could come and keep me company,” Leorah said. “We would surely have something interesting to talk over on the way home.”

  “Just be sure to tell me all about it when you return.”

  Leorah promised she would and stepped into the Maysons’ carriage.

  She arrived to find that the rally was in a field by the roadside where someone had built a platform and strung a curtain over a length of rope as a backdrop.

  Lord Withinghall stood in a small group near the stage. He was hard to miss, as tall as he was and wearing a black top hat. He was talking with an older woman with a cane and a large gray bonnet. Was it? Yes, it was Miss Hannah More.

  Leorah approached them both as she had told Felicity she would, first greeting Miss More and then Lord Withinghall.

  “It is lovely weather for a political rally. Lord Withinghall, I hope you and your speech are ready.”

  “Yes, I thank you, Miss Langdon. And your friend Miss Felicity Mayson is well, I hope?”

  “Oh yes. Her father thought it best if she stayed home. Men always feel free to tell women where they should go and with whom they should speak—or with whom they should not. Isn’t that so, my lord?”

  Lord Withinghall looked into her eyes. “Yes, and some men overstep their bounds and pretend to act on someone else’s behalf when their actions have not been sanctioned.”

  Leorah bestowed a smile upon him for that answer.

  “And I am very sorry that you were put upon. I hope you at least will not hold it against me.”

  “I have no notion what you are speaking of,” Miss Hannah More said in a loud tone, “but I shall go and sit in the seat my servant has brought me. Good day, Miss Langdon, Lord Withinghall.” So saying, she moved away to the chair her servant was placing at the front and center of the platform.

  “Nevertheless,” Leorah said to the viscount, “I do not wish to harm your political career, for you are a decent person and a good leader, and Parliament needs all the decent members it can get. Therefore, I shall bid you a good day and not stand here talking with you and no one else.”

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, but in that moment his name was called, and Lord Matherly and Lord Crenshaw hustled him up to the platform.

  Lord Blakeney introduced him, extolling his many virtues as well as touting his impressive record of never being absent from a vote and always voting according to his infallible sense of morality and adherence to God’s law.

  He did look tall and regal and authoritative standing up in front of about two hundred people with his speech in his hand. Indeed, he was very well spoken, and Leorah drank in every word as he pledged to help the poor to educate their children so that they could have a better future. He promised to do what no one had been willing to do up until then, which was to pass a law making it easier for all towns and villages to open schools that would be available to everyone for low or no cost, schools for girls as well as boys.

  Leorah positione
d her parasol to block the rays of the sun that were feebly penetrating the clouds overhead. The Maysons’ servant stood guard an appropriate distance away from her. On the other side of her, several men stood watching Lord Withinghall. The nearest one was rather short and nondescript, wearing the worn, slouchy clothing of a workman. He kept his hand in his coat pocket.

  The crowd applauded for Lord Withinghall at the beginning of his speech, and a few people cheered at various other points. Leorah could not resist clapping her hands, and her heart soared at the sincerity in his voice and his earnest expression.

  Leorah glanced around. There were very few women at the rally, but the ones who were there were bluestocking spinsters who gazed at Lord Withinghall as if he were the King of England—or at least the Prince Regent. Truly, his new valet had done an amazing job of making him more fashionable. And he did stand very tall and with great confidence—he had obviously had a lot of practice speaking in front of a crowd—but it was the earnestness in his eyes that was attracting them like moths to a flame. They could not look away.

  At least, for Leorah it was the earnestness in his eyes. Did the other women’s hearts flutter as they wondered if he was looking at them? Did they wonder if he thought they were pretty or thought of them at all?

  These ladies had rejoiced that Lord Withinghall had decided not to marry the cold and formal Miss Norbury, and they dreamed of what it might be like to be the viscount’s wife. They wondered if he would ignore his wife, spending all his time on politics and parliamentary duties—or if he would show the same passion for her that he did for his work.

  Or so Leorah imagined.

  Lord Withinghall continued to speak about the bill he was introducing in the House of Lords and the great benefits that would come from the widespread education of those who previously could not afford education for their children.

  Leorah could not help noticing how tense the man beside her seemed. He took off his flimsy hat and wiped his brow on his sleeve. His back was stiff, and his movements seemed exaggerated and slow. And all the while he kept his right hand buried deep in his coat pocket.

  While Leorah focused her attention again on Lord Withinghall, the viscount’s blue eyes suddenly widened as he stared at the man next to her.

  Leorah glanced to her left. The man was pulling out a gun. He pointed it at Lord Withinghall.

  Without thinking, Leorah raised her parasol in both hands and slammed it down on the man’s outstretched gun.

  He yelled, his face distorted. He grabbed her parasol and yanked it out of her hands.

  He raised the gun again, pointing it toward the stage.

  Lord Withinghall leapt off the stage at the man just as the gun went off like a crack of thunder.

  The viscount landed on top of the man, slamming them both to the ground. Arms and legs flailed. Lord Withinghall knocked the man’s head against the ground. The man waved the gun in one hand, then turned the barrel toward the viscount’s head.

  Leorah sprang at them. She grabbed the gun and wrenched it away.

  The Maysons’ manservant, along with several other men, grabbed the gunman’s arms and dragged him out from under the viscount.

  Lord Withinghall stood up. He was breathing hard. His neckcloth was askew and his hair mussed and falling over his forehead. He glanced around until his eyes met hers.

  “Are you injured?” he asked.

  “No. Are you?” Leorah’s gaze roamed over his tall, lean frame. “You were not shot, were you?”

  “No.”

  He looked around, spied her parasol on the ground, and picked it up. He handed it to her. She in turn gave him the assailant’s gun, a rather ornate dueling pistol.

  “My parasol appears to have received the worst of it.” She laughed, but it was a near-hysterical sound.

  “Shall I replace it for you?”

  “You did not break it. That man who was trying to kill you—it was his fault.”

  “Speaking of that man, would you excuse me?”

  “Of course.” She reached up to tuck in a strand of hair that had fallen. Her hand was shaking.

  Lord Withinghall turned to where several men were holding the fellow who had just tried to kill him. The man was struggling, but rather weakly.

  “Who sent you to try to kill me?” Lord Withinghall asked in the same tone of voice he might have asked his butler, “Shall we have fish or chicken?”

  That man said nothing, only stopped struggling against his captors, his head hanging forward in defeat.

  “Who sent you?” Lord Withinghall asked a little more forcefully.

  “Make way for the Justice of the Peace!” someone cried.

  A man pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered around them. People were starting to shout out to him what had happened. He held up his hand and said, “I saw the whole thing.”

  Lord Blakeney quickly introduced the Justice of the Peace, a Mr. Brooks, to Lord Withinghall. The viscount handed Mr. Brooks the weapon.

  Mr. Brooks said, “Very glad you are unhurt, Lord Withinghall.” Then he turned to the men holding the would-be assassin. “Thank you, gentlemen. You may turn him over to the constables, and we will take charge of him.”

  Lord Withinghall and Leorah stepped back to allow them some room as they made sure the culprit couldn’t escape, and then they led him away. One of the constables began writing down the names of the witnesses.

  The Justice of the Peace turned back to Lord Withinghall. “I shall charge him with attempted murder, my lord. We shall lock him up and have him sent to Newgate as soon as possible. Someone will contact you, of course.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Brooks.”

  The man puffed out his chest, obviously proud that the viscount remembered his name.

  The Lords Blakeney, Matherly, and Crenshaw all took a step toward Lord Withinghall.

  “The way you leapt off the stage will be all over the papers tomorrow,” Matherly said.

  “We can tell them you were defending Miss Hannah More from a madman,” Crenshaw said. “The lower classes will love you even more than they already do.”

  Leorah glanced back at the stage and at the authoress. She was still sitting placidly in her chair, looking a bit annoyed.

  “I think we should say you were heroic and challenged the man to a duel,” Blakeney said, “but he pulled out the gun and—”

  “You will tell only the absolute truth. Now, you will excuse me, my lords,” Lord Withinghall said, “I shall escort Miss Langdon to her carriage, as I believe this rally is over.”

  The lords pursed their lips and stared hard at Leorah.

  Leorah took Lord Withinghall’s arm as the scene around them devolved into chaos, with men shouting and running—more people running to the scene than away from it—and people asking what had happened.

  “You swing an impressive parasol, Miss Langdon,” Lord Withinghall drawled.

  “I only wish it were permissible for ladies to carry walking sticks. I could have brained him good.”

  “Very true.” He glanced down at her. He did not have a smile on his face, but his lip twitched, and there was a glimmer in his eye.

  They reached the carriage, and he held her elbow and hand to help her inside. She felt a sudden urge to throw her arms around him. It was so strong she clasped her hands together to stop herself. She wanted to tell him how glad she was that he wasn’t hurt, that the world would be a much worse place without him. But she bit her lip instead.

  “May I call on you tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yes. Felicity and I will be home.”

  He nodded and stared at her a moment. But then he closed the door of the carriage, and her driver quickly drove away.

  Leorah closed her eyes and relived the entire incident, the terror of seeing someone aiming a gun at Lord Withinghall and shooting. She had struck the man’s hand, but he had not dropped the gun. In the moment it was almost like a dream, but now, as she sat in the carriage on her way back to London, her heart pou
nded and tears ran down her cheeks at the thought of a bullet tearing through Lord Withinghall’s chest. Thank you, God, that he was unhurt.

  Her lips trembled as she pressed her handkerchief to her cheeks, preventing the tears from dripping onto her spencer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “How I wish I’d seen Lord Withinghall jump off the stage and onto that man with the gun.” Felicity rolled her eyes dreamily and clasped her hands against her chest.

  “Would you stop saying that?” Leorah huffed out a sigh. “You know you would not have liked to see anyone shooting at the viscount.” Indeed, Leorah’s breath hitched as she said the words. Shooting at the viscount.

  Felicity sat doing needlework, and Leorah went to the window to look out, staring down at the street, then to the doorway of the sitting room to listen for anyone who might be in the hallway, and then back to the window again as they waited for him to arrive. When had she ever waited so anxiously for anyone?

  She did not wait long, as he came almost before it was polite to call. He entered the room and bowed. They exchanged polite greetings and sat.

  “It is good to see you looking so well, Lord Withinghall,” Felicity said. “Yesterday could have gone very differently, I gather, from what Leorah has told me.”

  “Indeed. It is fortunate for me that the man was not a better shot with a pistol. Miss Langdon, you did not suffer any ill effects from yesterday’s incident, I hope.”

  “I am very well. Only my parasol was broken, thank God.”

  “Yes, I am very grateful to God that the man did not turn his gun on you after you struck him.”

  “You were his intended target. I only wish I could have done him more damage.” Leorah smiled. “But who would want to harm you, my lord? Have you made such an enemy?”

  “It appears I have. I still do not know why, though I’m fairly certain I know who was behind this attempted murder.”

  He must mean Mr. Pinegar. “Surely those three lords who take such prodigious care of you have an idea how to find the culprit out and present evidence of his evil actions.”

  Lord Withinghall shifted his body in his chair and cleared his throat. “Not yet, I’m afraid. And they are the reason I wanted to call on you, to apologize for those three lords of whom you speak.”