“I almost wish you were courting my daughter.”
Luke’s eyebrows lifted in shock. Now from where had that comment come? “Almost because...?” he prompted, wondering how he might make it so.
“Because I’ve heard quite enough about Lord Haddon on this day,” Marcus replied, his response making him sound cranky.
“Ah, yes, I noticed Christopher was back from Oxford. Quite popular with the young ladies, too,” he murmured. He wasn’t exactly jealous of the young man, but he had been annoyed to watch as he escorted Miss Analise into the supper.
Marcus went on as if he didn’t hear the younger viscount’s remark. “In fact, I am sorry I gave Morganfield’s whelp permission to escort my daughter to the supper last night. She could speak of no one else and nothing else in the coach on the way home last night.” He inhaled and let out the breath before adding, “To think—he’ll be a marquess when Morganfield has a coronary and finally dies from too much—”
“Shhh,” Luke interrupted, knowing exactly what Marcus was about to say. Sexual intercourse. The marquess and his wife were hopelessly in love with one another and took every opportunity to prove it. “Someone will hear you ranting and think you’re jealous.”
Dipping his head, Marcus apologized. “Still, I wasn’t expecting my daughter to be so enamored of him.”
Not having considered Analise Batey a potential wife—nor any other daughter of the ton, for that matter, until the night before—Luke was struck by the pang of jealousy that had him frowning just then. Faith! He hadn’t even danced with the young lady. He had certainly kept an eye on her all evening, but how could he not? She was strikingly lovely. Confident, and possessed of a demeanor that suggested she would be easy to please and eager to please.
He had a passing wonder if that eagerness to please would ever extend to the marriage bed.
Managing to mask the odd sound he emitted just then by clearing his throat, Luke regarded Marcus in a new light.
That of the father of the young woman for whom he was smitten. “I rather doubt he’s going to be in search of a wife anytime soon,” Luke murmured, referring to Lord Haddon. “He just finished his studies. He’ll want to spend a few years sowing his oats—”
“Not in my daughter, he won’t,” Marcus stated, his face reddening in anger.
Luke recoiled at the vehemence of the older viscount’s response. “I’m quite sure he’ll employ a mistress or two,” he said. Although he’d had a mistress for a couple of years, Luke had grown bored with the woman who constantly complained of not having enough of anything, whether it be jewelry or gowns or pin money. When their second contract ended, he made no attempt to renew it, and neither did she.
At the thought that Lord Haddon would employ a mistress instead of courting young ladies like Miss Analise, Luke found he hoped that would indeed be the case. Given his thoughts of courting Miss Analise earlier that morning—and encouraging his valet along those same lines—the thought of marriage no longer had him cringing.
In fact, the thought of courting Analise Batey wasn’t such a far-fetched idea.
The thought of marrying her wasn’t the least bit daunting, either.
Indeed, the idea of taking Analise Batey as his wife was suddenly an idea well worth his consideration.
Honey, indeed.
Would it be an idea Lord Lancaster could abide, though?
“Might I put forth a suggestion?” Luke asked then, wincing when one of the words came out sounding a bit strangled. When a footman opened the doors, the two made their way into the chambers. “Perhaps I could invite Miss Analise for a ride in the park?” Luke suggested. “Or otherwise ensure she’s engaged so that she won’t be available to spend time in Lord Haddon’s company.”
His eyes rounding at hearing the offer, Marcus stepped up and stood in front of his seat. “You would do that?” he asked in a whisper. “That’s rather sporting of you.”
Luke gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s the least I can do to keep Miss Analise safe from the earl.”
Marcus gave the younger viscount an approving glance. “Then please do.”
Rather satisfied with how he had manipulated the situation, Luke gave a nod and moved to take his own seat. If the session proved boring, he only need think of Analise to pass the time.
Rather pleased at how Lord Wessex had stepped up and offered his services, Marcus considered the ramifications. For if Analise was in another’s conveyance, she couldn’t be in Lord Haddon’s phaeton. And if she was in Luke’s phaeton—or whatever he was driving these days—Marcus could have Lady Wadsworth all to himself in his curricle.
That is, if he could ever get her to agree on a ride in the park.
Chapter 14
A Visit to a Charity to See Charity
Later that day
Top hat in hand, Marcus entered the offices of ‘Lady E’s Finding Work for the Wounded’ and ‘Finding Wives for the Wounded.’ His gaze went first to a tall gentleman who was getting up from behind a corner desk. Then it went to a shorter gentleman seated at another desk next to where a poorly dressed older man was perched on a wooden chair.
The reason for his visit was seated behind a desk in the opposite corner, her attention on a sheaf of paper.
“May I help you?” Nicholas Barnaby asked as he hurried up to the viscount. He knew from the visitor’s clothes that he wasn’t there about finding a position, but sometimes those with positions to fill stopped by the office to enquire about available laborers.
Marcus nodded toward where Charity sat. “I was hoping I might have a word with Lady Wadsworth,” he murmured.
Nicholas furrowed a brow, his suspicion evident. “There’s no Lady Wadsworth here,” he countered.
Marcus blinked as his gaze went back to where Charity sat. “Sorry. I meant to say Miss Seward.”
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
The viscount dipped his head. “I do not. Perhaps I could speak with her about setting one up,” he suggested.
Allowing a sigh, Nicholas angled his head in Charity’s direction. “Don’t be keeping her long, sir. She’s a busy lady these days.”
Marcus shook his head. “I shall be quick,” he promised before he headed back to the corner.
When Charity looked up from her paper, surprise showing in her eyes, he said, “My lady, I wish to apologize for having abandoned you last night. I feel awful about it—”
“Abandoned me?” she repeated. “Why, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
Marcus furrowed a brow. “After our time in the garden, when I discovered Lord Christopher—Lord Haddon, rather—with my daughter,” he said as he gave a slight bow. He reached for her hand, intending to brush a kiss over the back of it.
After a moment, she allowed him the courtesy, but pulled her hand away when she thought he might be lingering over it too long. Then she inhaled very slowly and gave a quick glance in the direction of Mr. Barnaby. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said in hushed tones. “Perhaps you have me confused with someone else?” She was about to accuse him of having been too drunk to remember, but she didn’t recall him smelling of alcohol, nor did he seem addled in any way during their waltz.
Marcus blinked. “Do you... do you not remember our time in the gardens?”
It was Charity’s turn to blink. “My lord, I am quite certain we did not spend any time in the gardens.” In fact, she hadn’t been with anyone in any gardens since Lady Morganfield’s garden party back in 1810.
She had intended to avoid dancing the night before, preferring instead to hide in the lady’s retiring room while gentlemen were searching for their next dance partner, but she hadn’t made it that far when he had asked her to dance.
“What about the waltz? The supper dance?” Marcus whispered, his eyes darting to where Mr. Barnaby stood with his beefy arms crossed over his rather impressive chest. “You fainted, and I escorted you to the gardens...” He stopped when she continued to displ
ay a blank expression. “Oh, dear,” he murmured.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Charity said with a sigh.
The viscount allowed a grunt of frustration. “None of it happened, did it?”
Charity leaned over the desk, her fingers interlinked as she rested her elbows on the edge of the desk. “You were there,” she said quietly. “And I was there. I admit that we did dance a waltz, but after it ended, I took my leave of the ball. And not by way of the gardens.”
Marcus nearly rolled his eyes in relief. At least he hadn’t imagined seeing her at the ball. He hadn’t imagined dancing with her.
But apparently he had imagined everything else.
It had all seemed so real!
“Did you... did you approach me to... to chide me for having stared at you?” he stammered, in an attempt to learn exactly where reality ended and his vivid imagination had taken over. He couldn’t have imagined her scolding him, could he? She seemed so incensed. So real as she confronted him. “I deserved the scold, of course, because I was staring at you.”
“I didn’t scold you,” Charity countered in her own defense. With another glance in the direction of Mr. Barnaby, she waved Marcus to the chair that was placed at the end of her desk. “Sit down, please, Lord Lancaster. Perhaps I may be able help you remember exactly what happened last night.”
Marcus was about to refuse her offer, but then realized he had been given an opportunity to spend time in her company in a manner he had never been able to before.
He took the proffered chair and gave her a nod. “I am relieved we danced the waltz, but then I was sure you were about to faint, so I hurried you out of the ballroom and into the gardens...” He stopped when he paid witness to her elevated eyebrows and look of disbelief.
“Oh, do go on,” she encouraged him. “I’m rather curious as to what I might have allowed you to do in the gardens when I was no doubt already in my town coach and on my way home.”
Marcus’s eyes widened in alarm. “But, you didn’t... that is to say, I didn’t attempt anything untoward, I assure you,” he replied. “You had your head in the crook of my arm, but then, if you hadn’t, you might have fallen to the ground.”
For some reason Charity couldn’t explain just then, the idea of resting her head in the small of Lord Lancaster’s rather impressive shoulder seemed rather appealing. “For how long?” she asked with a furrowed eyebrow.
“Oh, no more than...” He sighed as his broad shoulders slumped. “Well, until you woke up, but even then, you continued to use it to rest your head until we decided we really had to make our way back to the ballroom,” he explained. “For propriety’s sake, of course.”
Daring a glance at the small of his shoulder—both of them—Charity decided either would have worked well for a place to rest her head while she recovered from a faint. But she wasn’t about to admit it. “What did we talk about?”
Marcus was about to mention marriage, but thought better of it. “I said that no one had ever fainted on me before, and you seemed quite concerned and asked how you might have looked. I told you it was as if you were a ballerina playing a swan about to swoon—”
“A ballerina?” she repeated in disbelief. Well, at least she hadn’t looked like a sack of potatoes in satin.
“Oh, it was an elegant swoon,” he assured her. “It didn’t happen instantly, of course, because I was able to walk you out the French doors of the ballroom. That’s when you completely fainted, so I scooped you into my arms—you’re light as a feather, so it was no trouble at all—and I carried you to a stone bench and set you down.”
Charity was about to chide the viscount for his overactive imagination, but she found his tale of the imagined event rather entertaining. “And that’s when my head ended up in the small of your shoulder,” she murmured with a sigh.
He straightened and regarded her with a baleful look. “You think me a fool,” he said sadly.
“Unlike your daughter, I am not fresh out of the school room, Lord Lancaster,” Charity interrupted, setting aside a sheet of paper on which a number of details were written about one of her clients. “I arrived home safe and sound, and you’ll be relieved to know, alone.” This last was said with a roll of her eyes, as if she might be teasing him.
“Still, I am sorry. I should have escorted you home.”
Despite her initial annoyance with the viscount, Charity couldn’t help her reaction to hearing this tidbit. “I admit I am flattered,” she allowed. “But I am left wondering if perhaps we shouldn’t find you a new wife,” she added as she angled her head. “You, my lord, strike me as a man who is in need of a wife.”
Marcus blinked. He did miss having a woman in his life. His daughter was a joy to have in his home now that she was done with finishing school, but life had been rather lonely this past year. “Although I really liked Joan—Lady Joan... Joan Harrington—we were never really a love match,” he said in a whisper. “I had known her since we were children. Sort of like marrying a sister, I suppose,” he murmured.
A shiver raced through Charity. She knew exactly what he meant by those words. Her marriage had been much the same until her husband had lost interest. “So, you would like to find a love match,” she said as she pulled a sheet of blank parchment from the opposite side of her desk. She dipped her quill into an ink pot and regarded him for a moment.
The viscount angled his head to one side. “Still, I... I wish to make it up to you. Would you be amenable to a ride in the park during the fashionable hour? Later today, perhaps?”
Charity couldn’t help the frisson that shot through her body just then. She had managed to live for two years without the company of a man—not that she had much of her husband’s when he was alive—and just a few moments in the company of the one who sat next to her desk had her body responding even if her mind didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
“I believe my maid will be washing my hair about that time,” she replied with a smirk. But when she paid witness to his obvious disappointment, a pang of guilt had her adding, “But I probably could tomorrow. Once I’m finished here at the office.”
She was shocked by how his entire countenance changed with those simple words. A brilliant smile appeared, youthening his features and once again setting off the most unusual sensations deep in her body. That’s when she noticed his eyes. They were golden brown, almost the color of chocolate and just as warm. When her eyes took in his hair—she had noticed the style the night before—she realized it was the same color. She supposed under sunlight the golden shades became more evident.
Marcus gave a vigorous nod. “May I meet you here then? I can bring my phaeton or a... or a curricle, if you prefer. Then I can see to returning you back here... or to your home, whichever is more convenient, when we’re finished.” He thought about adding other possibilities—like a quick trip to Gretna Green, or at least as quick as a trip to Scotland could be—but he didn’t want her changing her mind about their ride in Hyde Park.
Charity couldn’t help the grin that softened her own expression. “You may come at four o’clock, but no sooner.”
“I’ll come for you at one minute after the hour,” he countered, giving her a wink when he noted her look of chagrin. Then he reached over, lifted a bare hand, and brushed his lips over the back of it. “Oh, and if you have a soldier looking for a wife, my butler has informed me that one of my housemaids could really use a husband.”
Her interest piqued—she hadn’t yet had many female applicants appear at the office—Charity arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Has she said so?”
Marcus screwed up his face a bit before saying, “Not exactly. But apparently she has... she has pleasantly exhausted all the footmen, if you catch my meaning. I figure it’s best she be married in the event she ends up with child.” This last was said in a whisper, at the same time his face took on a decidedly reddish cast.
Charity resisted the urge to blink several times when she not only caught his meaning but knew exac
tly which one of her clients might suit the randy maid. “It’s possible I may have someone perfect for that situation,” she murmured.
“My housekeeper would be ever so grateful.”
“Oh, I... I thought you said she was a housemaid.”
“Oh, it is a housemaid who is in need of a husband,” Marcus assured her. “Mary Baker is her name. Mrs. Barstow, the housekeeper, is the one who wants her to be married,” he explained, hoping his reddening face wasn’t too apparent.
“I thought you said it was your butler who informed you,” Charity said, her dark brows furrowing with her confusion.
Marcus angled his head first one way and then the other. “He informed me because she informed him. Now, had I a wife, I’m quite certain Mrs. Barstow would have gone to her as opposed to the butler, and then I would know nothing of any of it, but... there you have it.”
Charity nodded her understanding, amused that his face still displayed his blush. “Would I be allowed to pay a call on Miss Baker at your home? In order to interview her? I shouldn’t think it would take more than a half-hour out of her day.”
Nodding, Marcus said he would see to letting the housekeeper know when he returned to Stanton House.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Charity promised. “And in the meantime, I expect I’ll see you again tomorrow at one minute past four o’clock.”
Dipping his head, Marcus allowed a wan grin. “I look forward to it.” With that, he got up from the chair, gave a bow, and took his leave of Charity and of the charity’s office.
Charity stared after the viscount, now wishing she hadn’t agreed to a ride in the park. She certainly didn’t want to encourage Lord Lancaster. But there was something about the viscount that had her intrigued.
Entertained, even.
Chapter 15
An Invitation to Ride Proves Difficult to Write
The Charity of a Viscount Page 9